The death of Leonard Cohen.

The great man died on Thursday and my bohemian elder sister was a big fan. When I was still at primary school, she lived with about eight other people who wore beads and kaftans in a big shabby flat in Belsize Park. And that’s where I first heard Leonard Cohen. I was intrigued by the simplicity of this album’s title and the fact that he just looked like an accountant from Stanmore. This song stopped me in my tracks. I’d love to say that I then became devoted to the haunting majesty of his work, but I didn’t. I turned back to the more raucous joys of The Faces, Marc Bolan and Slade. Though listening to Suzanne again, I still think it’s sublime. It still sounds as though it’s coming from beyond the grave. And now, of course, it is.