Monday, February 23, 2009

Why I Hate Leonard Cohen and the CBC

It is no secret that I like radios and often sleep with a pair of headphones.

While I have never taken the time (it would be too embarrassing) to count how many radios I have, they must number in the dozens, ranging from hand built crystal sets, a '27 Rogers batterlyless, a Revox bruiser and my latest acquisition a Wi Fi set.

Who else can you name who owns three Tivolis? But I digress.

One of the great things you can do with radios is listen to them.

However, the quality of programming that we have from our national broadcaster is becoming increasingly repulsive.

Case in point: the CBC just spent 30 minutes waxing in an almost orgiastic state about how great the Leonard Cohen's last concert in New York City was. I nearly threw up on my desk.

Why do I continue to listen to the CBC? Well, for one thing there are no commercials which for me counts for a lot. And for another, like the gambler that continued to play craps at a rigged game even though he knew it was rigged because it was the only game in town, I still listen to the CBC, because, well, it is our public broadcaster and used to be good.

Today, however, I might as well just hit my head with a two by four with a rusty nail hanging on it for all the pleasure I derive from it.


  1. The CBC's going down for sure, but what's wrong with dear Leonard C?

  2. I can't really put my finger on it.
    I think I went off him when I read his novel Beautiful Losers. There was just something so revolting and cutsy about the last scene when they make the angels in the snow.

  3. Ode to Lennie Cohen, almost deceased.

    There’s money owin’
    And my age it is showin’
    My legs are a’bowin
    Metabolism’s slowing
    Piles are a growin’
    But there’s no way of knowin’
    From the façade
    That I’m showin’
    I’ll feather my nest
    As I make you depressed
    It’s a matter of taste
    No time to waste
    I’m past wild-oat sewin’
    And money is owin’
    It’s a downright crime
    But now is the time
    To get you all goin’
    With my meaningful rhyme
    From ol’ Lenny Cohen

    I got this young chick
    She’s sexy but thick
    She ignores my bald spot
    And thinks I’m real hot

    There’s money owin’
    And my age it is showin’
    But there’s no time to waste
    To wheel out ol’ Lenny Cohen

    No voice, little talent and taste
    But there’s no time to waste
    There’s money I’m needin’
    So my heart is still bleedin’
    And my bullshit you’re needin’

    Sometimes life can poo ya’
    But along comes Hallelujah
    And Jeff Buckley might have died
    And it could be suicide
    I’m sorry and all
    But what a windfall.
    So I’ll come back and do ya
    And sing hallelujah

    As I said young men can
    Predecease ya’, kid
    And your accountant he’ll fleece ya’
    Well my accountant did
    So when it turns to manure
    Just sing hallelujah
    And let ol’ Lennie do ya

    So I’m still a goin’
    It’s me, ol’ Lennie Cohen
    Cos this girl is expensive
    So it’s time to be pensive
    When the money is owin’
    Time to wheel out ol’ Lennie Cohen

    With poetic gifts I’m cursed
    I’ll dance with you till the love runs out
    Or perhaps till the money runs out
    Whichever comes first
    And I’ll give you doggerel rhymes
    So full of doubt
    That you’ll be so impressed
    I guarantee you’ll be depressed
    And the times can’t be rougher
    But I’ll go out and suffer
    And without being pedantic
    I’ll get all romantic and woo ya’
    We’ll sing hallelujah
    And it aint no great crime
    To flog a maudlin old rhyme
    And it fills up the coffers
    And I’m still getting offers
    To come back and screw ya’
    And sing Hallelujah.

  4. Dear Humbert, I like your bio. Stumbled on here accidentally... never been able to get into Leonard Cohen and I really really tried and wanted to like him...

  5. Yup. I agree!
    (From my lyrics site)
    © 2008 By Gunther Trout

    Now I’ve heard there was a putrid wind

    That makes you smile a secret grin

    But you don’t really care for nose hairs, do you?

    It hums like this

    The stench the whiff

    The minor whiz, the major sniff

    My ol-fact-or-y’s sensing I can smell ya

    I can smell ya, I can smell ya

    I can smell ya, I can smell-e-e-ell ya...

    Her wind was strong much more than a poof

    You saw her eat the ultimate proof

    The beans and beer, the methane overthrew you

    She tied you to a kitchen chair

    She broke her wind without a care

    And from your lips she drew the “I can smell ya”

    I can smell ya, I can smell ya

    I can smell ya, I can smell ya

    There was a time you'd not let it go

    The ping the pong the stinky flow

    But now you sneak them out in silence do you?

    I remember when they moved in you

    Your rancid bowels were moving too

    And every breath I took was I can smell ya

    I can smell ya, I can smell ya

    I can smell ya, I can smell ya…

    You know I sniffed your rotting rank

    You thought it was a funny prank

    And as I wretched, your colon put it to you

    There’s a blaze a spark in every fart

    You did it like a skillful art

    The holy crap! The breaking I-Can-Smell-Ya

    I can smell ya, I can smell ya

    I can smell ya, I can smell ya…

    I did my best to hold my breath

    I couldn’t breathe, I had to wretch

    You snuck one in, I won’t be fooled by you

    And even though

    It reeked so wrong

    I’ll stand before your special song

    With nothing on my nose

    But I can small ya…


Comments more than welcome!