That Don't Make it Junk

It was dark in the concert hall. He came on stage wearing a stylish grey hat and a finely tailored suit. I couldn't see my sketch book, but I had to make some kind of mark on the paper to commemorate the occasion.
"Thanks for coming out on a school night," he greeted the audience, many of whom likely hadn't been in a classroom for several decades.

I'd never seen Leonard Cohen in the flesh before. At 76 he looks as good as he ever has in the many photos, films and videos that have chronicled his career as a poet, writer and song smith. He told a joke involving a list of anti-depressants (to which a wry heckler from the audience added "Viagra", making Cohen pause and grin). He recited a version of "Thousand Kisses Deep" without the aid of his band of highly accomplished musicians and angel-throated backup singers. And he delivered almost every major song from his songbook in a performance that lasted two and a half hours, including three encores.

When he returned to the stage for the fourth time to close off the night with a slow, throaty version of "I Tried to Leave You", it seemed as though he could go on playing all night, digging even deeper into his treasury of verse to entertain the captivated auidence, some of whom were likely up well past their bedtime.

As they added another night to the local venue, I left the concert wondering how Mr. Cohen would spend the following day. Tour the industrial sector? Take in the new "Sex in the City" movie? Go-karts?

From the looks of this article, he didn't stray too far from the hotel.