If you still doubted the multi-generational and multi-cultural (and multi-everything) impact of Leonard Cohen, a quick glance inside the Wilfrid-Pelletier room on this chilly Monday would have been enough to convince you.
In what other context would a Westmount woman in her Sunday best, a young teenage couple and a dude with a mohawk of biblical proportions wearing a CH jersey with the words “FUCK BOSTON” as his last name have rubbed shoulders?
This duality, basically, is at the very basis of the clair obscure work of our Great Montrealer, and we also found it in the concept of the evening presented yesterday: a little tattooed bearded man best known for his soulful, powerful and high perch who sings the work of a great dark poet with an abysmal whisper, all accompanied by an orchestra of 40 pieces.
Yes, it was as good as you imagine.
Phil Cook, a pianist with a classical style, but with a resolutely folk and pop repertoire (we recognized tunes by Gillian Welch in the setlist, in fact), sets the table before the tribute.
Hunched over the ivory and ebony of his instrument, his nose at knuckle height, he strings together catchy melodies and jokes – a relaxed approach which immediately lightens the formal formula that a solo piano concerto can often assume.
Intermission. Refreshment.
Here we are now sitting in front of the strings, brass and winds of the Wordless Orchestra, who some may already know from their work with Icelandic post-rockers Sigur Rós.
We also notice a drum without a drummer, a bass without a bassist and an organ without an organist on stage, a harbinger of the possible arrival of more rock musicians (who will ultimately prove to be members of the Night Sweats, the group of blue-eyed-soul by Rateliff).
Then enters Nathaniel, in a well-tailored suit that completely recontextualizes him. Exit the rough n’ tough singer-songwriter, hello the crooner.
He explains to us that the evening’s menu will focus on Cohen’s first five opuses, and that one day, perhaps, he will have the chance to present the other ten to us. He also expresses his gratitude to us for not only being able to perform such a great work, but also for being able to do so in front of the native Montreal of the man who created it.
And it goes away.
Just a few notes of Bird on the Wire and we can already hear someone in the row behind us holding back tears. Then Suzanne. It’s my seatmate’s turn to open the eye shield.
Didn’t have the chance to see if the Mohawked CH supporter was also crying, though.
I like to imagine that yes, with tears.
A little later, we recognize the version of Famous Blue Raincoat that Rateliff had already recorded in 2022 on the album Here it Is: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen by legendary director Larry Klein.
It is perhaps on this piece that it is most possible to appreciate the extent to which this lower vocal register ultimately suits the singer wonderfully, although he usually tends to shout out loud.
Rateliff remains confident, unshakeable, even seductive, through all these songs, much calmer and more composed than what he is used to. As if Cohen’s spirit had decided to come and take one last little walk at Place des Arts before leaving.
Nathaniel truly lets himself experience the inevitable for the first time Hallelujahat the end of which he joins his backing vocalists in the high notes.
I don’t want to say that at that moment, it was up to me to contain my emotions, but…
The song ends. Standing ovation. The singer and maestro exit the stage (but the other 43 musicians remain there, so the most perceptive among us guess that an encore is likely).
Back on stage.
“That’s a tough one to follow,” said Rateliff. “I guess the only way to go now is with a proper goodbye.”
So Long, Marianne begin. The braying follows.
Our bulk photos
