We Are Proud Of Our Choices

On not meeting Leonard Cohen (December 2008)

I am standing in the lobby of Brussels’ Royal Windsor Hotel when the lift-doors swish open and out walks Leonard Cohen. As he stands but three metres from me, quietly dapper in his tweed cap and hockey jacket, I fight an internal battle with myself – fan vs. over-polite Englishman – over whether to risk disturbing him by telling him how much I enjoyed his live show earlier this summer.

Why the caution? Well, fame used to be the unfortunate by-product of being successful or good at something, not an end in itself. No matter how much you love what they do artists deserve a bit of peace when they’re not working. Occasionally being recognized for or complimented on your work is of course nice and unproblematic. But if it happens day-in and day-out it must get waring surely?

Moreover, we are advised never to meet our heroes, for they will only disappoint us. We will see that they have feet of clay, or bad skin, or halitosis and no manners. In actual fact we are more likely to end up disappointed in ourselves. When one of my all-time pop heroes visited the club I was resident at in London, I was so nervous I hid in the dressing room until he left. Wus. Three years later I was introduced to him at an EMI Christmas party, my cowardice overpowered by champagne. He was a little haughty and my nervousness returned three-fold. I babbled incoherently, annoying him and embarrassing myself. Good work, Pearson.

Even if the person in question is lovely, you can still bugger things up. I was sitting in a pub with Tracey Thorn when a random bloke came up to her to say hello. He then made the fatal error of trying to start a conversation. Desperate for something – anything – to say he blurted out “you know if you think about it, you’re responsible for Dido aren’t you?” At which point, the usually very polite bedsit-disco queen swore in dismay and he ran for the door. Three words: Curb Your Enthusiasm.

To hell with it, I think. Leonard is by all accounts a gracious and charming man. I will offer a brief sentence of thanks and be on my way. I turn from the reception desk, heart in mouth, only to see Mr Cohen disappear out of the door, off to what I hope is a quiet, unmolested lunch.

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 18th, 2008 at 9:36 am. It is filed under groove columns. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.