We were expecting a shy, even wary type, tired of being asked about his father in every interview. Not so. On this balmy summer day, Cohen sits quietly on his front steps. He has an elegant rocker physique: semi-unbuttoned shirt, skinny jeans, black hair, and a slight hangover. But that’s only to be expected; he must not have gotten much sleep after performing at Metropolis for the Montreal International Jazz Festival the night before.
Cohen took Quebec by storm last winter (pun intended) when he wowed critics with a performance at Montreal’s Club Soda, and again recently during the St-Jean Baptiste Festivities, during which he held up a sign stating: “Je suis Québécois.” He has excellent stage presence and warm and direct contact with his audience shines through his melodies. We like.
His masculine charm and deep, gravelly voice betrays his connection to dear old dad, which he’s come to embrace in his own way. But we’ll get back to that.
With his 40th birthday on the way, Cohen has shown us that he’s no longer the new kid on the block. We won’t mention that he’s not just “Leonard Cohen’s son” anymore. Even if he really does look like him.