By+Ann+Powers

Popular music， like every creative form， has produced iconoclasts and idols， whose charisma intersects with the historical moment to carry them into a singular space of greatness.1 Leonard Cohen was not that kind of star. He was the other kind， arguably more necessary： the companionable genius， compelled by the need to track the muse through the hallways of the everyday， to understand how profane existence can be shot through with profundity.2 In 1966， Cohen， who died lately at 82， told his friend and frequent interlocutor Adrienne Clarkson that poetry was in some ways analogous to polishing shoes.3 She questioned this remark. He replied， “If you want people to have shiny shoes， you want to write those very good kinds of instructions.”

The Montreal-born Cohen was 32 then， a published poet whod recently finished the proto-postmodern novel Beautiful Losers and was contemplating a career as a country musician.4 （Hed played guitar in a trio5 called the Buckskin Boys as a McGill University student.） According to his biographer Sylvie Simmons， Cohens first goal was to write songs worthy of diner jukeboxes， and though he became known as the most bookish of songwriters， he always maintained that vernacular impulse.6 Early songs like “Suzanne” and “Dress Rehearsal Rag” mix religious imagery with lines about shopping at the Salvation Army and the way a face full of shaving cream can make a man look like Santa Claus.7 His earthiness allowed him to leave fingerprints as he grasped the sacred8—to make that grasp feel truly close and real. Half a century and 14 studio albums later， Cohen was still approaching lifes greatest mysteries with incomparable ease. You Want it Darker， the final work released just weeks before his death， is a deeply lucid conversation with the self that might be divine but is surely mortal.9 “I guess Im just somebody who has given up on the me and you，” he intones in “Traveling Light”； its a line， like so many of his， that could be from a honky-tonk heartbreaker or a Buddhist meditation on the nature of nonduality.10

Cohen famously studied Buddhism for much of his long life； he was equally steeped in the Jewish heritage that was his birthright， and the Catholic imagery that surrounded him in Montreal and which formed the basis for many of his most lyrical songs，11 from “Sisters of Mercy” to “Joan of Arc.” He loved the oldest stories， the ones he borrowed from world mythology and the Bible， but retold them in the rhythms of the Beat12， of jazz standards and blue comedy. His lifelong dialogue with Bob Dylan was marked by good-natured rivalry； in a 1969 poem fragment he wrote， “To those few high school girls/who preferred my work to Dylans/I leave my stone ear/and my disposable Franciscan13 ambitions.” But instead of emulating Dylans obstinate mysteriousness， Cohen wrote in a way that made his allusions and metaphysical insights accessible.14 His songs were like constantly unfolding commentaries upon themselves—profoundly Jewish commentaries on the act of reading and writing as a way of navigating the world.Reimagining pagan myths and the lives of the saints， talking back to his songwriter peers and his Zen teachers， Cohen wrote a holy book across the lines of hundreds of songs， some of which took him years to write， all of which felt like they arose in Talmudic discussions held over red wine and cigarettes.15

Cohen was never a rock and roll satyr or a pop dreamboat； his appeal lay in the aura of experience and sophistication that came， in part， because he was a writer before he was a pop troubadour.16 Yet as he grew older and kept making albums that attracted new generations of fans， Cohen did become a physical marvel， too. His lachrymose baritone was a voice otherwise unheard in the rock era，17 and working with producers like Sharon Robinson， Patrick Leonard， and finally his own son Adam， he learned to enhance it using electronics and other production techniques. As a live performer， he conquered early stage fright to become remarkably generous， assembling stellar bands that enabled him to deliver meanderingly cathartic sets that were like nothing else at the time.18 After financial troubles led him back to the stage in his 70s， Cohen would perform for hours， dropping to his knees repeatedly as if to offer himself as either a sacrifice or a channel—a mortal man resurrected within his own lifetime， showing that real human transcendence remains grounded in the body， in the joints that can still bend to genuflect.19

His insistence on making profundity palpable allowed Cohen to write what has come to be known as one of the greatest secular hymns of the late 20th century.20“Hallelujah” may not be the song that ardent fans consider Cohens best， although it does boast a melody thats now nearly as indelible in the contemporary American consciousness as “Amazing Grace”.21 And since Jeff Buckleys definitive 1994 recording pushed it into newstandard territory， the song has definitely become one of pops most carelessly over-covered numbers， with singers leaning into its churchy elements while missing the point of its lines about catastrophic love and psychic22 brokenness. Yet “Hallelujah” does show what made Leonard Cohen so great—not the sweep of its arching choruses but the grime on the floor of its verses， the lines about being tied to a kitchen chair and realizing love isnt victory， but defeat， and the way that Cohen places one of his favorite words， “broken”， right next to the one he borrowed from some old hymnal.23 There it is： the spit that produces the polish.24 It comes from the same mouth that offers a kiss and a prayer. More than anyone， Leonard Cohen helped us know that.

流行音樂與其他類型的創(chuàng)作一樣盛產(chǎn)叛逆者和偶像，超凡的個人魅力碰上恰到好處的歷史時機(jī)，便能造就偉大。但萊昂納德·科恩并非這類明星，他屬于另一種類型——也許是人們更加需要的：親切友好的天才，創(chuàng)作的靈感來自日常生活中的點點滴滴，他深知凡人世俗生活中蘊含深奧大義?？贫鞑痪弥叭ナ?，享年82歲。1966年，他告訴他的朋友兼采訪者阿德里安·克拉克森說，從某些方面來說，詩歌和擦皮鞋道理相通。她質(zhì)疑了這一說法，他回答說：“如果你想讓人們穿上光亮的皮鞋，那么你得寫出詳盡的擦鞋指南?！?

出生于蒙特利爾的科恩其時才32歲，已是一位有出版作品的詩人，剛剛出版了加拿大最早的后現(xiàn)代小說《美麗的失敗者》，考慮著把鄉(xiāng)村音樂作為自己的事業(yè)。（他在麥吉爾大學(xué)讀書時，在一個名叫Buckskin Boys的三人樂隊里擔(dān)任吉他手。）根據(jù)他的傳記作者西爾維·西蒙斯所述，科恩的首要目標(biāo)是寫出適合酒吧點唱機(jī)的歌曲，盡管他是眾所周知的最具書卷氣的歌曲作家，但他總保持著簡樸直白的創(chuàng)作風(fēng)格。早期的歌曲比如《蘇珊》和《彩排的破布》把宗教意象糅進(jìn)講述世俗事件的歌詞里，比如在“救世軍”慈善二手店里購物，或是涂滿剃須泡沫的臉看起來就像圣誕老人。他在寫到神的歌曲里，這種接地氣的特色十分突出，這種特色讓神變得親近而又真實。經(jīng)過半個世紀(jì)，推出了14張專輯之后，他依然堅持用最淺顯易懂的方式去探討生命的終極問題。他最后的作品是《你渴望更黑暗》，就在他去世的前幾周剛剛發(fā)布，這是一場與自己的極為直白的對話，既神圣又世俗?！拔蚁胛沂且粋€放棄了你和我的人?！彼凇遁p裝前行》中吟唱道。這句歌詞和他很多其他歌詞一樣，可能出自一個傷心失意的在廉價酒吧里買醉的人，也可能出自一個正在冥想不二論本質(zhì)的佛教徒。

眾所周知，科恩漫長一生中的大部分時間都在研習(xí)佛學(xué)；同時，由于出生背景，他繼承了猶太文化；而在他生活的蒙特利爾地區(qū)，周圍都是天主教的建筑——這些形成了他大部分浪漫抒情歌曲的基礎(chǔ)，比如《仁慈姐妹》和《圣女貞德》。他喜歡那些從世界各地的神話和《圣經(jīng)》中借用的最古老的故事，但用Beat、爵士標(biāo)準(zhǔn)曲和藍(lán)調(diào)喜劇的節(jié)奏將之進(jìn)行復(fù)述。他一生與鮑勃·迪倫保持著一種亦敵亦友的競爭關(guān)系。在1969年的一個詩歌片段中，他寫道：“對于寥寥數(shù)位比起鮑勃·迪倫/更喜歡我的作品的高中女生/我獻(xiàn)出我的耳石/以及我隨時可用的方濟(jì)各野心?！彼⒉荒７碌蟼愐回灥纳衩仫L(fēng)格，科恩用易于理解的方式引經(jīng)據(jù)典和表達(dá)深奧抽象的觀點。他的歌曲就像層層打開的自我剖析——這也許源于猶太人把閱讀和寫作看作探索世界的方式。通過想象異教神話和圣徒的生活，以及與同行作曲家和禪宗老師對話，他把整本圣書寫進(jìn)成百上千首歌的歌詞中，其中有些歌曲他花了數(shù)年時間才完成。他的所有歌曲都像是來自伴隨著紅酒和香煙的關(guān)于猶太法典的討論。

科恩從來不是搖滾高手或流行樂星，他的吸引力在于其豐富經(jīng)驗和世故老道，部分原因是他在成為一名流行民謠歌手之前是一名作家。然而隨著年齡漸長，他創(chuàng)作出的專輯依舊能夠吸引一代又一代的粉絲，其本身已成為一個奇跡。他的嗓音深沉而又催人淚下，在這個盛行搖滾的年代并不多見，通過與其他音樂制作人如莎倫·羅賓遜、帕特里克·倫納德以及最后他兒子亞當(dāng)一起合作，他學(xué)會了利用電子手段和其他制作技術(shù)將其聲音進(jìn)行強(qiáng)化。作為一名現(xiàn)場表演歌手，他克服了早期的怯場而在臺上揮灑自如，組建了杰出的樂隊，使他得以唱出綿延的深情，這種唱法在當(dāng)時頗為與眾不同。七十多歲的他由于經(jīng)濟(jì)問題重回舞臺，他可以連續(xù)歌唱數(shù)小時不間斷，不時雙膝跪地，就像是祭祀儀式上的祭品或通神的靈媒——一個有血有肉之人在有生之年重回巔峰，向人們展示真正的自我超越是基于身體本身，基于那對還能靈活彎曲跪地的膝蓋。

他堅持用淺顯的語言去講述深奧大義，從而寫出20世紀(jì)末最偉大的世俗圣歌之一。盡管《哈利路亞》是一首現(xiàn)代美國人腦海里抹不掉的《奇異恩典》般的曲調(diào)，但科恩的狂熱粉絲們也許認(rèn)為這首歌不是他最好的作品。自從杰夫·巴克利在1994年錄制的唱片把這首歌推向新標(biāo)準(zhǔn)領(lǐng)域，它在不知不覺中已成為聽眾最多的流行歌曲之一。哼唱它的人取其宗教因素，卻未曾注意到歌詞中關(guān)于毀滅性的愛和靈魂破碎的含義。然而《哈利路亞》確實體現(xiàn)了科恩的偉大之處，他的偉大不在于那眾人皆耳熟能詳?shù)那{(diào)，而是歌詞里蘊含的微言大義——比如歌詞中描述一個人被捆在廚房的椅子上，意識到愛不是勝利，而是被打敗；以及他把自己最喜歡的一個詞“心碎”與他從某些古老的贊美詩中借來的詞（指Hallelujah）放在一起。換言之，吐出口水才能擦亮皮鞋——這句話出自親吻和禱告的同一人之口。除了萊昂納德·科恩，沒有人讓我們更明白這一點。

1. iconoclast： 攻擊傳統(tǒng)觀念的人；charisma： 超凡的個人魅力；intersect with： 與……交叉。

2. companionable： 友好的，友善的；compel： 強(qiáng)迫，迫使；muse： 女神繆斯，喻指靈感；profane： 世俗的，塵世的；profundity： 深奧，深刻。

3. interlocutor： 對話者；analogous： 相似的，可比擬的。

4. proto-postmodern： 前綴proto- 用于構(gòu)成形容詞和名詞，表示“最初的”，postmodern意為“后現(xiàn)代的”；contemplate： 深思熟慮。

5. trio： 三人組合，（尤指）三重唱。

6. biographer： 傳記作者；jukebox：（酒吧等處的投幣式）自動點唱機(jī)；bookish： 書呆子氣的；vernacular：白話的，通俗語的。

7. imagery： 形象，意象；line： 歌詞，臺詞；the Salvation Army： 這里指的是美國一家名叫“救世軍”的慈善二手商店；Santa Claus： 圣誕老人。

8. earthiness： 樸實，直率；the sacred： 神圣。

9. lucid： 清楚明白的；divine： 神圣的，天賜的；mortal： 凡人的。

10. intone： 吟誦，吟詠；honky-tonk： 嘈雜的低級酒吧；Buddhist： 佛教的，佛教徒的；non-duality： 不二論，最早出現(xiàn)于印度最古老的吠檀多哲學(xué)流派，主張最高我和個我在本質(zhì)上同一不二。該思想在佛教大乘的經(jīng)典中也有多次探討。

11. be steeped in： 沉浸于；lyrical： 抒情詩般的，浪漫的。

12. Beat： 一種音樂形式。

13. Franciscan： 方濟(jì)各會的（基督教的分支之一）。

14. emulate： 模仿；obstinate： 固執(zhí)的，執(zhí)拗的；allusion： 典故，引用典故；metaphysical： 深奧的，抽象的。

15. pagan： 多神教徒的，異教的；Zen：禪，禪宗；Talmudic： 猶太法典的。

16. satyr： 薩梯（古希臘文學(xué)中半人半羊的神，代表歡娛享樂）；aura： 光環(huán)，氣氛；sophistication： 老練，精明；troubadour： 民謠歌手。

17. lachrymose： 使人傷感的，催人淚下的；baritone： 低沉悅耳的聲音。

18. stellar： 極好的，杰出的； meanderingly：曲折地；cathartic： 宣泄情感的。

19. resurrect： 使……復(fù)活，使……復(fù)興；transcendence： 超脫，超然；genuflect：屈膝（尤指宗教禮節(jié)中）。

20. palpable： 明顯的，明白的；secular：現(xiàn)世的，俗世的；hymn： 贊美詩，圣歌。

21. ardent： 熱烈的，熾熱的；indelible：擦不掉的，永久的。

22. psychic： 靈魂的，心靈的。

23. sweep： 廣博，廣闊；chorus：（歌曲中的）副歌，疊句；grime：（表面的一層）灰塵；verse：（歌詞的）節(jié)；hymnal： 贊美詩集。

24. 這句話來自習(xí)語spit and polish，指徹底擦洗打掃，過分注重整潔。