Way back in 1967, I was the first person in my small town to purchase the album ‘The Songs of Leonard Cohen’ – at least the first in the only record shop we had. I had heard the track ‘The Sisters of Mercy’ and had become instantly enchanted.

I am not sure of the actual year, but I believe it was early in 1969 that I managed to get tickets to go see Cohen at the Royal Albert Hall in London. I had box seats just below the circle and almost directly opposite the stage. This was actually my first time in the auditorium and it was, for me, a magical evening.

This is all leading up to another magical evening my wife and I had last night. She is also a Leonard Cohen fan and as a part of her recent birthday gift I managed to once again get tickets for what surely must be his final appearance in London. This time we had circle seats directly opposite the stage not a few short yards from where I sat 40 years ago.

If you had tried to convince me back then when I was just 18 years old that I would repeat the experience 40 years on I would, of course, have found it amusing and extremely unlikely. If I had done the math and realised that in 2008 Cohen would be 74 years old then the suggestion would be just plain absurd. But he is – and I did.

It was a truly stunning performance. The lady in my life has written a more interesting appraisal over at her site - the Depp Effect – so I wont repeat that here.

But I did want to say that knowing Cohen’s past struggles with depression, it was good to see a man who looked truly happy, his humour and mischievousness shining through, perhaps at peace with himself and as enchanted with the evening and the music as we were.

It will surely be his last tour of Europe – at least I suspect so. So… so long Leonard – thanks for enriching my life from time to time over the last 40 years. Oh yes – and thanks for singing ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’ – one of my own favourites.

The longest running radio ‘music’ programme in the world is broadcast weekly here in Britain courtesy of the BBC and is entitled ‘Desert Island Discs‘. It was first broadcast on the 29th January 1942 and is still going strong. In that time it has had just 4 presenters which is really quite remarkable. Each week a famous or worthy person sits in the studio having selected the 8 pieces of music they would like to have with them should they ever find themselves stranded on a desert island. This is really just an excuse to have a little biographical chat with the presenter.

I have to assume that in 1942 it was expected that the castaway would be in possession of a wind up ‘gramophone’ and was restricted, of course, to old 78rpm recordings with just about 4 minutes a side. Today, the guests have to pretend that they wont want to have their Bose stereo or iPod with their huge collection of recordings. They still just get the 8.

I do not listen to this program – even though sometimes the guests can be most interesting – but I caught the end of it the other day when I turned on the radio in the car and realised I had forgotten part of the package. On top of your 8 musical choices you are also allowed one book and one luxury item (and no – the luxury item can not be a cruise ship). As to the books, you are not allowed to choose either the Bible or the works of Shakespeare because, apparently, these are already magically there on the island waiting for you to arrive.

Now speaking personally I have to admit that Shakespeare was quite good at what he did, the Bible does have the odd interesting bit and they both have the advantage of being extremely lengthy. I also realise that some people read one for entertainment and the other for, er, whatever it is they read it for. But in both cases, I am not one of them. I am not even sure if the abundance of paper these two books would give me would be at all helpful with the possible exception of a long line of paper hats to help keep the sun out of my eyes while I read and re-read the third book.

The third book, as the only one to read, becomes a seriously difficult choice. I don’t know about anyone else but I think I’d want something uplifting. After the trauma of being marooned I wouldn’t want anything too literary or scholarly either – I would go for escapism. I’m seriously tempted to opt for an omnibus edition of ‘Biggles’ to be honest.

The one ‘luxury’ object is an even more difficult choice to make. Well – not difficult if it could be Keira Knightley but I suspect that wouldn’t be allowed and anyway, Keira probably wouldn’t agree to it. I think I have to be very sensible about this one and choose wisely so I am going to opt for my William Henry penknife. I think I’ll ask about Keira first though… just in case.

What I don’t understand about all of this is why it is referred to as a ‘Desert Island’. It might not be quite so catchy but should it not be ‘Deserted Island’? And if I have my Omnibus edition of ‘Biggles’ and Keira, will I actually want to be rescued?

I am not frightened of dying,
any time will do, i dont mind.
Why should I be frightened of dying?
There’s no reason for it, you’ve gotta go sometime.
I never said I was frightened of dying.

Richard Wright: The Great Gig In The Sky

Another fallen hero. Another fellow-traveller lost who helped provide the soundtrack to my life. Another chapter comes to an end.

He shall be missed.

I am currently on vacation which partly explains the lack of anything new for a few days – the other reason being that it has virtually been non-stop ‘doing stuff’.

So yesterday evening, I did two things that I genuinely never thought I would do and quite honestly never thought I would want to do. The first was go to a ’show’ at Caesar’s Palace on the Las Vegas strip. The second was go to see Elton John.

My generation associates Caesar’s Palace with Frank Sinatra through to people like Tom Jones. It’s not the place an aging 60’s hippie ends up – all nicely turned out on on best behaviour. But, well, things change! Including Caesar’s of course.

As to Elton John – I have, over the years, liked some of the songs but have never really taken to Reg himself. But I have to say, at 61 and while looking like he is suffering from a bit of a back problem and a huge chunk of old-age spread, he can still put on a show and the voice seems as strong as ever.

It was, however, a little eerie looking around the audience – a mix of young and old and, er… very old! Although, of course, if they became fans in their 20’s they’ve shown a lot of dedication. But like me, they might have enjoyed it more had the volume been turned down a tad.

It has always seemed to me quite natural for each successive generation to have a lasting fondness for its youth culture. After all, at the time it was all important and shaped who we eventually became. The icons of our own youth stay with us through life and whilst our tastes will inevitably change and adapt we cannot help but compare the next wave of teenagers with our own experience. Surely we have all started a sentence with ‘when I was young…’ much to the horror of our children!

Going even further back than the birth of rock and roll, one of the defining characteristics of youth culture is the music. So as my parents would have been listening to a young and cocky Frank Sinatra, my own older brothers to Elvis Presley and me to the Beatles, Pink Floyd, The Who and Jimi Hendrix – each generation after mine had it’s musical touchstone. This does not imply that I didn’t go on to enjoy the Jam or the Stranglers in the 80’s or Blur in the 90’s – just that my musical roots were older.

And I, like, I am sure, many people, will often find myself humming some tune – usually without realising I am doing it – that is a piece of that history. On a quick outing to a local shop today I pulled into the car park and discovered, as I came to a stop, that I was singing to myself ‘Strange Brew’ – the Cream song from around 1968.

And as I got out of the car, a boy-racer in his shiny but ten year old Peugeot pulled into the slot beside me and all I could hear was ‘Bom, Bom, Bom, Bom….’. Well it’s more like a thud really emanating from those bloody great big speakers they like to stick in the back. He was listening to rap.

And the thought crossed my mind… ‘when you’re old and grey, what is it you are going to be humming to yourself?’ Bom, Bom, Bom, Bom, Bom Bom, Bom, Bom…