New Podcast Episode: Goodbye, Dear Leonard Cohen!

leonard-cohen-2008-by-rama-own-work-cc-by-sa-2-0-via-wikimedia-commons

Listen to this podcast episode here or on Google Play, or subscribe on iTunes

‘I’ve been listening
To all the dissension
I’ve been listening
To all the pain
And I feel that no matter
What I do for you
It’s going to come back again
But I think that I can heal it
But I think that I can heal it
I’m a fool, but I think I can heal it
With this song’

– Leonard Cohen, ‘Minute Prologue’ from Live Songs, 1973

I heard of Leonard Cohen’s death when I returned home from work yesterday evening. Thursdays are my long day at the doctor’s office, and by the time I left, we had cared for about sixty patients, and I had just enough time on my short break to do a little reading and quickly tuck a little lunch away. No time for social media or news and no interest in them either, weary from election coverage and its aftermath.

So I learned of his death not from the cold glow of a screen but from the living face of my husband Bryan, who is also one of my oldest friends. We’ve sung Cohen’s songs together countless times over the years as he played guitar, or a capella while driving, which I especially love to do…. Read the full written version here

Ordinary Philosophy and its Traveling Philosophy / History of Ideas series is a labor of love and ad-free, supported by patrons and readers like you. Please offer your support today!

Goodbye, Dear Leonard Cohen!

leonard-cohen-2008-by-rama-own-work-cc-by-sa-2-0-via-wikimedia-commons

‘I’ve been listening
To all the dissension
I’ve been listening
To all the pain
And I feel that no matter
What I do for you
It’s going to come back again
But I think that I can heal it
But I think that I can heal it
I’m a fool, but I think I can heal it
With this song’

– Leonard Cohen, ‘Minute Prologue’ from Live Songs, 1973

I heard of Leonard Cohen’s death when I returned home from work yesterday evening. Thursdays are my long day at the doctor’s office, and by the time I left, we had cared for about sixty patients, and I had just enough time on my short break to do a little reading and quickly tuck a little lunch away. No time for social media or news and no interest in them either, weary from election coverage and its aftermath.

So I learned of his death not from the cold glow of a screen but from the living face of my husband Bryan, who is also one of my oldest friends. We’ve sung Cohen’s songs together countless times over the years as he played guitar, or a capella while driving, which I especially love to do. Bryan had his guitar out, in fact, likely expecting I would want to sing his songs together at that moment. But after feeling stunned and for some reason …well, what I can best describe as wounded, after a few moments I felt the urgent need to go out to a place where people gather. I felt that being in the presence of warm, vibrant life might prevent me from sinking backing into the glum pessimism that had overshadowed the last two days, a mood so at odds with Cohen’s own life and spirit. We went to Cato’s, a favorite gastropub on Piedmont Ave in Oakland, where the lights glow warmly, the food and beer are very good, the wooden tables are deeply carved with graffiti, there’s often live music, and always the pervasive sense of neighborly camaraderie.

Just one friend, it turned out, was free to meet with us on such short notice, and we passed a happy evening, talking about the arts (mostly music and film), politics, and work. And we talked about Cohen, his wisdom and his humor and his life and his poetry, about what his music meant to us and did for us, and we swapped favorite songs, my own which I’ll share with you below. And we talked about how we came to know his work.

For me, it was from a guy whose name, I think, is Brad. Certainly begins with a ‘B’. I worked with him a very long time ago at a vintage clothing store; I think I was eighteen or nineteen at the time. He usually wore rather close-fitting plain tee shirts with plaid shorts from the 1960’s and early 1970’s, of madras cotton, wool blend, or polyester, and had little round glasses. I loved his style. He was tall, blond, had good taste in everything, and was a linguistics major. ‘Brad’ put on 1975’s The Best of Leonard Cohen, a collection for which Cohen picked the songs, wrote liner notes, and designed the packaging. I was stunned at what I heard, and very soon afterward bought several of his albums on tape. I wore them out, especially in the little boombox I kept with me; it served as my car stereo from the backseat of my little hatchback. In Southern California, you can’t get much of anywhere without driving, especially then, so I spent a lot of time in that car listening to music, especially Cohen’s at that time, sometimes rapt in attention, sometimes singing along.

Sometime in 1996 or ’97, I learned that Cohen was living at Mount Baldy’s Zen Center and that he would often visit the Village, the artsy little town center of nearby Claremont. So, being the ardent fangirl that I was, I began to hang out in the Village even more often than I had been, hoping I would find an opportunity to meet him. With its Folk Music Center (founded by Ben Harper’s grandparents), Rhino Records (one of the very best music stores ever), funky little stores, coffee shops, live music, and nearby drum circles at one of Claremont’s many colleges (I’ve forgotten which one), the Village was already one of this then-hippie-girl’s regular haunts. But, alas, that meeting was never to occur, not even a sighting from afar.

My Leonard Cohen tribute album I'm Your Fan

My well-played, yellowed copy of the Leonard Cohen tribute album I’m Your Fan

I’m quite sure I purchased my copy of I’m Your Fan at Rhino Records. This 1991 Cohen tribute album features prominently in Malcolm Gladwell’s discussion of the history and evolution of one of Cohen’s masterpieces, the majestic Hallelujah, in a recent Revisionist History podcast episode. I must admit, I experienced a moment of music-nerd smug self-congratulation when Gladwell speaks of being one of the enlightened few who bought this album. Anyway, it has some good covers on it. Geoffrey Oryema does a lovely performance of Suzanne; the Pixies rock I Can’t Forget; R.E.M. and David McComb with Adam Peters are true to the urban-decay spirit of First We Take Manhattan and the self-deprecating, odd creepiness of Don’t Go Home With Your Hard-On, respectively; Dead Famous People do a sweetly pop-py take on True Love Leaves No Traces; and Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds recast the reflective Tower of Song into a raucous tour of musical styles. (‘I was born like this, I had no choice, I was born with the gift of a golden voice’ remains one of the sneakiest, funniest witticisms I’ve ever heard.) But best of all, John Cale does a glorious version of Hallelujah. I very much recommend you listen to Gladwell’s telling of the story of how Cale came to create the definitive version of Hallelujah which, in turn, became one of the most-covered and most-loved songs in popular music. And, you’ll likely learn some other nice little music history tidbits you didn’t know, too. Thanks, Malcolm Gladwell!

My Leonard Cohen concert ticket from Apr 13, 2009.

My Leonard Cohen concert ticket from Apr 13, 2009. It’s pictured on the notebook that became my concert diary, which records every concert I’ve gone to which issues tickets that I could keep and was a gift from my first love, who broke up with me to prepare for the priesthood though he ultimately decided to remain a layperson. I feel this little anecdote fits in with this story, though I’m not sure how.

I did, finally, get to see Leonard Cohen in the flesh, in concert at Oakland’s Paramount Theater on Monday, April 13th, 2009. How lucky I felt that I would get to see him perform at one of my favorite theaters, a gorgeous Art Deco temple to the arts, its gold-and-green interior replete with sleekly ornate stylized figures of animals and humans, real, mythological, and archetypal. He sang, danced, told stories, kneeled then stood then kneeled again very like we used to do at Mass, and gesticulated for two and a half hours. I marveled at his vigor while I was transported by his beautiful performance, and I thrilled and smiled throughout, here and there weeping just a little.

If you’ve read this, thank you for allowing me to share this story with you, and if you’ve read this all the way here, you likely love Leonard Cohen too. I would love for you to share your stories and favorite Leonard Cohen songs, poems, and other things too.

Here’s to you, Leonard Cohen!

Sincerely, A. Cools

Listen the podcast version of this story here, on Google Play, or subscribe on iTunes

Here are some of my favorite songs and works from Leonard Cohen, those which first spring to mind that I must share with you. This list is by no means definitive and I will add to it over time, freely, as I am inspired to.

Please enjoy, and let Cohen transport, arouse, entertain, amuse, and enlighten you as he helps you find a little redemption here and there, as he has me.

God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot‘, poem from Beautiful Losers, 1966 reading by Leonard Cohen. When I read it to myself, it sounds more like a chant, with a study drumbeat behind it

The description of a dream feast in Beautiful Losers, where Kateri Tekakwitha spills a glass of wine which spreads everywhere. I discovered it’s missing from my bookshelf, I loaned it out and never got it back, and Google Books doesn’t include that chapter. I’ll borrow it from the library.

My illustration of Leonard Cohen's Lady Midnight, from about 1997 - 1998

My illustration of Leonard Cohen’s Lady Midnight, from about 1997 – 1998 according to my best guess; I was about 20 or 21

Suzanne, 1967

Sisters of Mercy, 1967

So Long Marianne, 1967

Bird on the Wire, 1969

Story of Isaac, 1969. The story of Abraham and Isaac has long fascinated and repelled me.

Lady Midnight, 1969. Has long delighted my romantic heart, this cry to the arch, cruel, enchanting, ageless, mythical woman who’s capured his heart, Cohen’s Helen

Famous Blue Raincoat, 1971

Joan of Arc, 1971. Like Mark Twain and Cohen, I’ve long been fascinated by Joan of Arc. My portrait of her hangs in my dad’s living room.

Minute Prologue, 1972.

Passing Through, 1972. Written by Richard Blakeslee, I love Cohen’s performance

Nancy, 1972. Originally titled Seems So Long Ago, Nancy in 1969’s Songs from a Room. I love this version best.

At the Chelsea Hotel in July of 2011, before they kicked everyone out to remodel

At the Chelsea Hotel in July of 2011, before they kicked everyone out to remodel it

Chelsea Hotel #2, 1974.

Why Don’t You Try, 1974. A feminist song

Take This Longing, 1974. Melts me every time

A Singer Must Die, 1974.

Leaving Green Sleeves, 1974. Only Cohen would think to write about a breakup with Henry VIII’s love interest

Paper Thin Hotel, 1977. The first song to make me empathize with a sex-starved voyeur. The next and last one to do so was Randy Newman with his You Can Leave Your Hat OnThe Telegraph listed Death of a Ladies’ Man as one of Cohen’s least-good albums, but I don’t agree. It’s wonderful, though it’s true it’s very weird.

The Window, 1979.

The Traitor, 1979.

Night Comes On, 1984.

Hallelujah, 1984.

The Captain, 1984. The production’s odd and rather cheesy, but I still love it

If It Be Your Will, 1984. Oh, the beauty!

First We Take Manhattan, 1988.

Everybody Knows, 1988.

Take This Waltz, 1988. …And only Cohen is brilliant enough to realize that Federico García Lorca’s great poem had be to set to music

Tower of Song, 1988.

… to be continued…..

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The Morning After Election Day 2016

3f86f-ballot2bbox2bclosed2bprotestI watched the election results roll in last night on the same sofa and in company with the same good friends as eight years ago when Barack Obama was elected the first black president of the United States. As the night wore on, our dearest hopes that we would see the first woman elected president of the United States were dashed, to the deep disappointment of everyone in the room. Trump was elected president. It was clear to me that though all believe that women should have equal chances of being elected president, the gender of the candidate was not foremost in their minds last night. It was the misogyny, racism, crass materialism, and bullying personality of Trump and his followers that must be defeated, showing the world that our values are much better than our new Twitter-troll-in-chief might have you believe.

My friends are nearly all liberal, my family mostly conservative. Some of my loved ones are rejoicing, some are mourning, and probably, given the new president’s coarse speech and demeanor, checkered past, and nonconservative positions on many issues, more were at least as glum as they were glad.

For some of my religious family members, I believe they did not vote for Trump because they like him, admire him, or agree with him on many issues. They voted for Trump while holding their noses at his attitudes toward women and minorities, his coziness with Putin, his anti-free-trade positions, his hiding of his tax returns. For them, abortion is by far the most important issue at stake, so the candidate that will nominate anti-abortion Supreme Court justices and oppose Roe v. Wade is their only viable choice. I understand their position: if you truly believe abortion is legalized murder, then the candidate that will likely to most to change the law in this regard must be their candidate. But that doesn’t mean they like having to vote for him.

Other people I know and love do sincerely admire Trump, dismissing some of his worst behavior as mere indiscretions, excesses of the vitality and exuberance that made him the go-getter they see him as: the man of the people who made himself rich in the can-do, hard-working, all-American way. For myself, I have a hard time seeing how exactly how the actual Trump fits in with this perception: his primary business is building luxury amenities for the wealthy, funding it at the beginning with piles of money he didn’t earn; he’s repeatedly exploited bankruptcy laws to the fullest which allowed him to escape personal responsibility for his bad investments while stiffing his contractors, the hard-working Americans that he’s supposed to represent; the things he does have made are often built from cheap Chinese steel and with low-paid Chinese, not American, hands; he starred in a reality TV show where he showcased his ‘business acumen’ by glowering behind a big shiny desk in a too-big suit, repeating generic self-help platitudes that convey no real guidance or information at all. In other words, he is just business-as-usual. But like so many Americans, they fell for his brand, the heavily marketed, glossy persona that the media lap up because he’s just so entertaining.

For me, what the Presidential candidates represent often does take priority over what they do, since they do not run the country on their own. Many of the qualities and principles that Trump represents to people are, I think, even uglier than what he’s said and done, which is often bad enough. But it seems that what he doesn’t represent is what got him into office: he doesn’t represent the establishment and he doesn’t represent the multicultural cosmopolitanism of the new information-centric world. And he doesn’t represent what’s been called the feminization of our culture, as machismo, militarism, and hyper-individualism slowly erodes from our national character. Hilary Clinton largely represented this feminization, the idea that the state also exists as a facilitator of care, for promoting health and education, of taking in those that flee to us for help, nurturing the young and the disenfranchised so that all have an equal shot or, if you happen to be a casualty of the capitalism most of us benefit from, you’re not out on your ear. And she represented it in a way that the strong mom does: idealistic yet practical, ruthless if need be in defense of her brood. Clinton has flaws, perhaps as many as Trump, but they are flaws of excess in the pursuit of greater and worthier things than self-aggrandizement and self-indulgence. But women, traditionally, are not allowed to have flaws, not if we are to be admired and promoted to any position of influence. For men, that’s just, well, part of being a man, part and parcel to being strong, bold, and getting things done.

I wish we could have shown the world last night that we believe in women too, that our girls do have the same chance of becoming president as anyone else, and they could do so by being women, unapologetically, able to succeed to our fullest potential whether or not we have flaws too.

Ordinary Philosophy and its Traveling Philosophy / History of Ideas series is a labor of love and ad-free, supported by patrons and readers like you. Please offer your support today!

New Podcast Episode: To New York City I Go, in Search of Margaret Sanger

margaret-sanger

Listen to this podcast episode here or on Google Play, or subscribe on iTunes

Hello, friends of Ordinary Philosophy!

From time to time, I take a trip to some corner of the globe, to explore the lives and ideas of great thinkers in the places where they lived and worked. For this series, I follow in the footsteps of thinkers who are no longer alive, since those who are still telling their own stories. But those who are no longer alive in the body live on in the ideas that they pass on, and in the examples they provide for us to follow.

I’m pleased and excited to announce my sixth philosophical-historical themed adventure, a rather impromptu trip to New York City to follow in the footsteps of Margaret Sanger.

Though the timing was spur of the moment, I’ve read and thought about Sanger quite a bit over the years and have some of the research done already for this long-planned trip. So when this little window of time opened up in my schedule, I happily seized the opportunity! As central to the history of women’s rights, free speech rights, and rights to sexual self-determination and privacy as she is, Sanger’s also the most problematic figure in the history of ideas I’ve followed so far for this series, with the possible exception of the brilliant but slave-owning Thomas Jefferson. She’s certainly the first that sparked immediate controversy when I casually mentioned my plans for following her on social media…. Read the written version here:

Ordinary Philosophy and its Traveling Philosophy / History of Ideas series is a labor of love and ad-free, supported by patrons and readers like you. Please offer your support today!

A ‘Light’ That Obscures: The Misrepresentation of Secular Thought in Pope Francis’s First Encyclical

Here’s a piece I wrote about three years ago today.

Ordinary Philosophy

foot-washing-255x212Like many, I’ve found myself pleasantly surprised and impressed by many of the sayings and doings of the new Pope. He emphasizes helping the needy and is critical of hyper-materialism (he practices what he preaches and drives a cheap car and lives in a simple apartment) and over-judgmentalism. He also goes out of his way to spend time with ordinary people, be it in a correctional facility, in processions, or on the phone. Often dubbed ‘The People’s Pope’, he’s making the most of his promotion, on a mission to do real good in the world. Catholic or not, most people are thrilled that such an influential person is providing an excellent example of how to live a life of service and mercy. 

But I wasn’t quite as pleased the author of an article in the Huffington Post about Pope Francis’ first encyclical (co-authored with the last…

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