Cohen wurde 1934 in Montreal in eine wohlhabende jüdische Familie geboren, der früh gestorbene Vater war Kaufmann, der Großvater der aus Russland immigrierten Mutter war Rabbiner, der Großvater väterlicherseits lange Präsident der Montrealer Shaar-Hashomayim-Synagoge. In Cohens jüdischer Herkunft erkennt Battegay ein zentrales, nie abwesendes Moment seines Werks, das er im Buch einprägsam herausarbeitet. Dabei ist Cohens Jüdischsein kein affirmativer, sondern ein ständig befragter, von Zweifeln durchdrungener, immer wieder in Selbstironie bis hin zum Sarkasmus gebrochener Glaube, dem er zeit seines Lebens treu geblieben ist.

Hinzu kommt seine Auseinandersetzung mit dem Christentum, vor allem in der Person von Jesus. Schon im Song „Suzanne“ begegnen wir Jesus, veröffentlicht 1967 auf seinem ersten Album „Songs of Leonard Cohen“: „And you want to travel with him, and you want to travel blind / And then you think maybe you’ll trust him / For he’s touched your perfect body with his mind“. Oder nehmen wir den christlichen Gott fünf Jahre später in „Joan of Arc“, einer mystischen Vermählung der Jeanne d’Arc mit dem Feuer ihres Scheiterhaufens. Die Flamme, das Licht als göttliches Signum, ist ein lodernder Kern von Cohens Lyrics.

Der Literatur- und Kulturwissenschaftler Battegay, Jahrgang 1978, wählt einen akademischen, dabei keineswegs kühlen Weg, sich Cohens Stimme zu nähern. Er sondiert zunächst unterschiedliche Facetten des Phänomens: die „Stimme als Inspiration“ (hierher gehört das Zitat aus „Tower of Song“ von 1988: „I was born like this, I had no choice / I was born with the gift of a golden voice“), die „Stimme als Erinnerung“, weil ein Song eine Zeitmaschine sei, durch die wir die Vergangenheit immer wieder erinnern und neu erleben können, schließlich noch „Stimme und Gemeinschaft“ – inklusive der „utopischen Kraft“, die Cohens Stimme zu vermitteln versuche.

Battegay follows lucid interpretations of individual songs, combining elements of close reading with materialistic analyzes in the spirit of advanced cultural theory. On the other hand, he avoids any hermeneutical contortions; instead, like Cohen himself, he repeatedly refers to the Bible. The analysis of “Story of Isaac” is impressive: “The voice orders Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Abraham is already swinging the knife when an angel appears and holds the father back. In Leonard Cohen’s early song ‘Story of Isaac’, from his second album ‘Songs from a Room’ (1969), it is not the angel but the son who raises his voice and protests. He is protesting not just this specific patriarch, but all sorts of authorities who want to sacrifice their children for a higher purpose.”

In short, the listener comes to the realization “that one can raise one’s own ‘voice’ in order to resist an order and change reality and society. This is the basis of all political art, in this case in the form of the protest song.” So this is the birth of the protest song from the spirit of Genesis 22 – with the “Binding of Isaac”, one of the “basic narratives of the monotheistic religions” , as a foil. This is also a legacy of Cohen.

In his verses, Cohen, despite all his spirituality, constantly plays with self-reference, especially when it comes to sex (not to be confused with sexuality). The love of God and the love of women come together, autofictionally and mostly broken by melancholy or irony. This happens from the beginning of his career as a singer (previously also as a writer), then also in the indestructible “Hallelujah,” which appeared on the 1984 album “Various Positions.” Cohen’s self-chosen role as a “ladies’ man” contributed not least to his impact, especially on stage, and not coincidentally was often accompanied by female voices. Battegay describes him as the “shaman of pop music”.

At the same time, there is no need to weigh in with the assessment that Cohen has become more and more of a “prophet”, at the latest with the album “The Future” from 1992. And, mind you, not “because he could predict the future, but because he has an alternative perspective on history. This counter-narrative is based on the marginalized Jewish perspective, on the experience and tradition it invents, as well as Jewish mysticism. This perspective is carried by Cohen’s voice, which is both colored by a dark cynicism and speaks of hope.” Battegay does not see a “horizon of redemption” in this, but rather the “context of late modernity and its perception of crisis.”

This sound of the prophet, in possession of his poetic force, fragility and humility, informs Cohen’s latest studio album, October 2016, You Want It Darker. He seems to be negotiating directly with his God until the end: “If you are the dealer / I’m out of the game / If you are the healer / I’m broken and lame / If thine is the glory / Then mine must be the shame / You want it darker / We kill the flame”. The “Hallelujah” and the flames of Joan of Arc return, where once “the blaze of light in every word” blazed, where the union took place in fire, now stands: “I’m ready, my Lord.” The male choir of the The synagogue in his Canadian birthplace accompanies this. On November 7, 2016, Leonard Cohen died in Los Angeles.

Caspar Battegay is a devoted fan and knows how to channel this passion in his book. In doing so, he provides a prime example of what inspired reading supported by cultural studies can achieve. Anyone who has had the privilege of experiencing Leonard Cohen live several times over the course of three decades (like the author of this review) will never forget the voice of the “Godfather of Song” in all its expressions and incantation rituals, nor the direct charisma of his appearance.

Caspar Battegay: „Leonard Cohens Stimme“. Verlag Klaus Wagenbach, Berlin 2024. 160 pages, illustrations, hardcover, €22.