#bob johnson

Songs of Love and Hate, Part 4:

Live at the Isle of Wight

It's not impressive that Leonard Cohen took the stage and utterly transfixed 600,000 people in August 1970. It's miraculous.

Consider the circumstances:

Most of the 600,000 audience members were downright furious when he was introduced. They'd been outdoors for four days straight at that point, living in increasing squalor. They needed a shower, warm food and a chill pill, not a brooding poet with complex songs who sings incredibly slowly.

Most of them had been barricaded out of the event from the get go; when Cohen showed up they were still actively trying to tear down the makeshift fences holding them out. Even so, they could see and hear everything from a distance and they'd booed every previous moment.

Indeed, the whole festival had been a train wreck of animosity and conflict. Cousin Kris was there and describes it all well: "It was a total disaster," Kristofferson recalled. "They just hated us. They hated everything. They booed us, Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Sly Stone; they threw shit at Jimi Hendrix. At the end of the night, they were tearing down the outer walls, setting fire to the concessions, burning their tents, shouting obscenities. Peace and love it was not."

Cohen was literally asleep moments before he performed. It was like three in the morning when the powers that be woke him up and told him it was time to rock. He went on stage mostly in his pajamas. He was older than everyone there, did not play electric guitar and had no dance moves whatsoever.

And yet, somehow, Cohen saved the event. It's incredibly moving to watch and I cannot recommend the film of his performance enough.

I wish I could just paste the whole right here. But YouTube and the world at this moment are Stephen Stills-level dumb.

So let's just use our imagination. Here's audio of him first taking the stage.

There's the point in Dylan's Judas concert where he starts up a monotone rant with no coherence; he's not even using real words while the audience boos and heckles him but then they can't help themselves at that point and they stop to listen - because they want to know what the Bobster's saying - and that's when Dylan wishes "they wouldn't clap so hard" which allows him to dive into the next song with a modicum of bemused peace in the room.

Dylan's an annoying but witty teenager in that moment; he solves the problem like one of my student who didn't do their homework but does have Dodger hot stove news to report.

Cohen's approach is the polar opposite. His speech is clear; his words are simple; his imagery rich. He stupifies everyone, then unifies them with a match-based image and task, then openly chides all 600,000 people, calling their movement "weak". He even repeats the point, in case any one missed it the first time. At that point any other performer on the planet would have needed 600,000 layers of chicken wire to protect them from 600,000 thrown beer bottles.

But Cohen's magic here is far superior to that of any circus. He smiles to the mass of humanity he's already transfixed and then sings, "like.... a..... bird...."

Again, the whole concert is amazing. You can repeatedly catch Kristofferson in the wings, freaking out with wonder and joy.

And so it's no wonder that when it came time for Cohen's third record, his forgotten and largely ignored genius of a producer, Bob Johnson - the guy behind Johnny Cash's prison records and Dylan's Blonde on Blonde, who jettisoned his work with both men in 1970 to dedicate himself entirely to Cohen and who plays keyboards in Leonard's band at this point - never once considered attempting a studio take of Let's Sing Another Song, Boys. The live version, which channels and rewrites Shakespeare's equally anti-Semitic and anti-anti-Semitic Merchant of Venice and which anchors Songs of Love and Hate, is perfectly performed, perfectly punk rock, perfectly passionate, perfectly illusive and is just perfect, perfect, perfect:

Christmas Eve on Sesame Street, 1978

Signing thank you in American Sign Language

Bob Johnson, John Alvey and Oscar Isaac

it’s the beginning of a new day…