By Patrick F. Cannon

The late Canadian songwriter Leonard Cohen was a truly awful singer. I have long admired many of his songs as interpreted by others, but until recently had not actually heard him perform them.

            A little history. My car still has a CD player, and I rotate disks from my collection to provide a suitable soundtrack to my travels. The last time I did this, I came across a CD of Cohen singing his own works. It was a surprise discovery, since I frankly didn’t know I had it. My late wife Jeanette might have bought it, or it could have been a gift. “What’s this?,” I thought, and duly added it to the pile.

            After the fourth song – I think it was “Bird on a Wire” – I had had enough and rejected the disk. I had long thought that Bob Dylan was the least talented singer among the songwriters; but compared to Cohen, he’s a veritable Pavarotti. As it happens, I also own, and often play, a CD of Cohen songs sung by real singers. Called “Tower of Song,” it includes renditions by such as Elton John, Bono, Billy Joel, Trisha Yearwood, Sting and Willie Nelson (whose classic version of “Bird on a Wire” is a highlight). Not included, but also notable interpreters of Cohen’s songs, are Judy Collins and Joan Baez.

            Of course, not all songwriters are terrible singers. Depending on your taste, one could list John Denver, Neil Diamond (whose songs are now featured in a Broadway “Jukebox” musical), Joni Mitchell, Paul Simon, Prince, Elton John, Stevie Wonder,  the late Harry Chapin, Taylor Swift, and of course the Beatles as a group. Folk singers are a special breed. Although you can’t imagine them belting out an Irving Berlin classic, Woody Guthrie, and Pete Segar sound about right with their own stuff.

            I started wondering about great songwriters of the past. We’ll never know if Franz Shubert or Steven Foster ever sang their own songs. Irving Berlin had a decent tenor voice, but he left it to the greats to interpret his work. I came across Cole Porter singing “Anything Goes.” Not bad. He had been a member of the famous Yale University acapella group, the Wiffenpoofs. If they sang at all, greats like Gershwin, Kern, and Rogers must have limited their efforts to the shower.

            I’ve been known to belt out a song or two in the shower, or when no one’s around. Of course, one always sounds like Bing Crosby to oneself. I don’t ever recall my mother singing. My sister – who was 10 years older than my brother and I – often sang the hit songs of the day for us. My recollection is positive. But my father and brother – both Pete’s – conspired to give music a bad name. Although their actual speaking voices were pleasant enough, neither could sing on key. Of course, they loved to serenade me.

            We lived in Chicago’s South Shore neighborhood, at 67^th and Merrill Avenue. As it happened, our school, St. Phillip Neri, was at 72^nd and Merrill, and my father’s office at 75^th and – you guessed it – Merrill. So, most mornings, my father drove us to school. Those five blocks could be pure torture, as the Pete’s sang along with the radio. One song I remember vividly was “Little White Lies,” a 1948 hit for Dick Haymes. Poor Dick (and me) never had a chance.

Copyright 2024, Patrick F. Cannon