I woke up in the morning with a message from my dad together with an attached article. “Cohen passed away”.
Nonsense.
Please do allow me to call you with your first name. You never left Leonard.
It is indeed a bit surreal how much you may be affected from the passing away of someone you have never met.
The power of universal music.
I was thinking that it must be really tiring for you… All these memorials, features and the odes that are being written for you, at these moments. All in vain…
I can only tell you our story that includes both you and us.
I grew up in a house in which music was always prevalent.
It accompanied moments of sorrow and equally joyous ones.
Even at our saddest moments, we were always listening to music…
And yes, you decide to enshroud your memories with music, so much so that they become a part of your DNA.
Music was “tearing” the speakers of Mirafiori, the speakers of our sound system at home and was the point of reference accompanying each passing moment.
In all the dozens of moves of my family, my father always departed first for our new destination. He would take the sound system that we still have along with him, and would connect it first, before even plugging in the fridge.
Hundreds of tapes, vinyl discs and of course cd’s.
On Saturdays I would always be woken up by music playing, intermingled with the voices of visitors and the beautiful, unique voice of my father singing.
And I owe to him my first music stimulus. Greek and world music, a colourful blending mixture of different styles that had one thing in common: their authenticity.
One of the regular, immutable musical companions was you, Leonard Cohen. The all time favourite of my father’s. You, that became part of our family.
When I was young, I would call you Cohen (back then I didn’t know that the “h” was silent, but for me you will always be my adored Cohen)
This guy with the velvet voice, who was talking and singing, can not leave us.
My grandmother used to say that souls die only when there is no longer even one person on this earth thinking of you.
And we don’t just think of you. We sing for you. So, you aren’t going anywhere. Because together we sung until the end of love.
You are part of our family Leonard because I fell in love through your songs, I broke up with them and it feels like I have confessed parts of my life to you.
We have shared so much even though you never knew it.
And we sing on your voice , this voice that feels like an overcoat that covers you.
Like velvet that caresses your skin.
Like a confessor that you want to share everything with, from the very first time you hear him.
A voice like a father figure that soothes you.
You are the Papa Smurf of music. A man from an era long-gone that praises love, serves it and embodies it.
We have shared everything with you.
And whenever things get difficult, I will be wearing your famous blue raincoat.
(Besides, only you could write a song about the man who “stole” your woman…)
The sky became darker today
God speed, may the roads always be open for you.
E
PS. Your home in Hydra will always hold the chords and your voice, your wholeness. Because you probably found something in the light of Greece…
