One moment it was bright and sunny.

The next, dark and apocalyptic.

On writing.

And you came up with a few half-baked ideas and they really went for them, but then you were forced to actually come up with the goods. What would you do?

So, seeing as you’re an occasional blogger, the first panel might be something about blogging.

The best who live in Sydney?

• Frockwriter
• Sydney Observatory
• City of Sound
• Nosey In Newtown
• Fresh and New

Who would you choose? What would you make them talk about? How do you avoid the dreaded love-in that usually happens at these things?

On another panel, you might want some proper writers. Like novelists and journalists. Being a festival, about writing. But because you’re obsessed with music, it has to have a music element.

Do you get silly?

• how music ruined me and saved me as a writer
• are lyrics good love advice?

Or serious?

• if music has gone through a billion changes and revolutions and genre-births – sampling, mash-ups, etc – how come writing hasn’t quite followed suit?” (Twittering and mobile phone novels aside.)

Or do you just throw that all away and put a bunch of writers and musicians on a stage together and stage and let them battle it out?

As you can see this is all just a ruse to get my blog posting up. There’s no way a festival would ever ask for panel ideas this half-baked.

Cohen was the first musician I obsessed over. I bought most of his records at the second hand shop between my high school cafe job at The Three Sisters and Katoomba train station. I borrowed his novels and books of poetry from a friend (still have them).

We make a bit of an effort to get him on the radio show. But apparently he’s not giving interviews this time – Radio National plays an interview from his last tour in ’83 or ’84. I’m glad we didn’t get him, to be honest, I can imagine sitting across in the studio, starstruck.

Anyway, at the Ent Cent. The band isn’t too far from Brian Wilson’s Weekend At Bernie’s/Late Show troupe of session musicians, and includes long time collaborator Sharon Robertson and back up vocals from the Webb Sisters. Cohen, dressed in pin-stripe suit, collared shirt, cowboy string tie and bull-tie clip, couldn’t be more different from Wilson though, he alludes to drugs but isn’t damaged, he’s sharp, articulate. He’s 75!

Still you can’t miss the age, as Cohen introduces the band, twice, right down to the wording: “prince of precision” (the drummer), “architect of arpeggio” (keys), etc – still, as someone else says, if I’m awake for 3 hours straight (and leaping about on stage) when I’m his age I’ll consider it an accomplishment.

He jaunts through hotel lobby band versions of ‘Ain’t No Cure For Love,’ ‘The Future,’ and ‘Everybody Knows.’ ‘Chelsea Hotel No.2′ kicks off unaccompanied:

I remember you well, in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed

There is a gasp of recognition as the audience picks up the line. Then laughs as it sinks in. There are so many punchlines in Cohen’s songs. I know them so well.

I find myself wishing there was less sax, less keys and less electric guitar. No solos. Love the flamenco guitar though. Having said that, most of his records (’70s onward) have kitsch accompaniments. But especially on the early songs, at the Ent Cent it really swamps the simple lyrics.

Five per cent of the audience sport fedora hats. I feel like one of the youngest in the audience. The guy next to me keeps yelling out “Bravo.” Cohen doesn’t talk much between songs, and when he does it’s lines I’ve read about him saying at other shows:

Last time I was on a stage, I was 15 years younger. Just a crazy kid with a dream.

Boom, boom.

I’ve never seen a show quite like this. The sax solos, the band, the soft pastel lights – the Ent Cent for god’s sake – it feels like 1987. Every time someone solos the crowd jumps up. The spontaneous ovations are driving me crazy, especially on a truly awful ‘Bird On The Wire.’

‘Hey That’s No Way To Say Goodbye’ was great.

The crowd evacuates at interval for ice creams and coffee. They return, and there’s another ovation as Cohen skips onto the stage like a spritely leprechaun.

He plays a rinky dink melody on his Technics keyboard. Another spontaneous cheer. He laughs self consciously, lifts his hand and says: “One hand.” It’s actually one of the highlights, a great version of ‘Tower of Song.’

Recent songs ‘Where Is My Gypsy Wife,’ ‘My Secret Life,’ and especially ‘Boogie Street’ are diabolically bad. Terrible. We tune out. Another solo. Another cheer.

‘A Partisan’ is actually a relief. The band’s pared back to a driving drum beat. It’s strident, terrific. ‘Hallelujah’ is nothing like John Cale’s version, it’s just like the original. It’s obviously why most of the audience is in the Entertainment Centre, and starting without fanfare it takes a verse for the audience to work out what’s happening. Still, another ovation.

He plays a sultry ‘I’m Your Man,’ leaving us wondering how he’ll encore. “If you want to take me for a ride, you know you can… I’m your man.” The tone’s resigned rather than defiant. It’s almost three hours into the show.

’1000 Kisses Deep’ starts off suddenly. It’s a poem, but most of the audience cheers after a couple of lines, I guess assuming it’s an aside. Another cheer at the end of the verse, but after that most people realise it’s a poem.

Back for an encore, ‘So Long Marianne’ is seriously disappointing. Kinda wish he didn’t play that. ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’ gets a run too. The Webb Sisters do ‘If It Be Your Will,’ which brings back memories of Antony’s swirling maelstrom of a version at the Cohen tribute Come So Far For Beauty at the Sydney Opera House several years ago. The show finishes with ‘Democracy,’ which gets a cheer with its line about “democracy coming, to the USA.”

Overcooked, these songs aren’t. Whether it’s Choir of Hard Knocks or John Cale doing ‘Hallelujah’ (both amazing) or Nick Cave doing ‘Tower of Song,’ Cohen’s songs have been perfect cover material for a long time. Perhaps most because (at least since the ’70s) his records are so kitsch. Live, he’s witty and self-deprecating, touching, a bit sleazy at times and at others a funny old man. There’s a fervour to his songs, a transcendent quality. Most of all, it’s funny.

A show quite unlike any other.