The Future
Released in 1992 when Cohen was 58 years old. Argued by some critics to be the best of all Cohen’s music recordings, it is more outward looking than other albums. With songs that were born out of a period of great social upheaval – the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Tianenmen Square Uprising, riots generated by the Rodney King issue – The Future is one of Cohen’s most distinct albums. Although never explicitly political Cohen steps away from his usual themes to pointedly address the chaos he saw during this time.
The birds they sang
At the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell
On what has passed away
Or what is yet to be
Ah the wars
They will be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
Bought and sold
And bought again
The dove is never free
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
We asked for signs
The signs were sent:
The birth betrayed
The marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
Of every government —
Signs for all to see
I can’t run no more
With that lawless crowd
While the killers in high places
Say their prayers out loud.
But they’ve summoned,
They’ve summoned up
a thundercloud
And they’re going to hear from me.
You can add up the parts
But you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march,
There is no drum
Every heart, every heart
To love will come
But like a refugee
Anthem
That [“Anthem”] is the background of the whole record [The Future]. If you had to come up with a philosophical ground, that is it. Ring the bells that still can ring. It’s no excuse – the dismal situation and the future – there’s no excuse for an abdication of your own personal responsibilities towards your self and your job and your love. Ring the bells that still can ring. They are few and far between. You can find ’em. Forget your perfect offering. That is the hang-up. That you’re going to work this thing out…This situation does not admit of solution, of perfection. This is not the place where you make things perfect. Neither your marriage nor your work nor anything. Nor your love of G-d nor your love of family or country. The thing is imperfect, and, worse: There is a crack in everything that you can put together — physical objects, mental objects, constructions of any kind. But, that’s where the light gets in; and, that’s where the resurrection is; and, that’s where the return — that’s where the repentance is. It is with the confrontation with the brokenness of the thing.
Along with the songs “The Future” and “Democracy”, “Anthem” forms the thematic backbone of Cohen’s album The Future. It is an album that invites us to consider not only our response to major events taking place in the world at large, but to contemplate the deeper question: If this is the situation now, then where are we headed? The Future was born out of the social and political upheavals of the late 80’s and early 90’s, and they were numerous and significant, a time which certainly had people asking themselves these questions, a condition similar in some respects to the world we live in today – every generation faces its own critical issues – yet regardless of the gravity of the concerns the same questions keep being asked. And people have different ways of answering. Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem” outlines an individual response.
The song “Anthem” has a long history of production. It was begun sometime in the early 80’s when Cohen had retreated from the recording and touring life and battled with what he called a “spiritual-psychic crisis”. When he emerged from this struggle in 1983, he published Book of Mercy and had prepared songs for his upcoming album Various Positions including “Dance Me to the End of Love”, “If It Be Your Will” and the powerful “Hallelujah”. “Anthem” was born out of the same time and personal concerns. In fact, Cohen had recorded the song for Various Positions, but was not satisfied with the result and it was cut from the final version of the album. Four years later he prepared another version for his next album I’m Your Man and it, too, fell short of Cohen’s standards as he told Paul Zollo in 1992:
“Anthem” took a decade to write. And I’ve recorded it three times. More. I had a version prepared for my last album [I’m Your Man] with strings and voices and overdubs. The whole thing completely finished. I listened to it. There was something wrong with the lyric, there was something wrong with the tune, there was something wrong with the tempo. There was a lie somewhere in there. There was a disclosure that I was refusing to make. There was a solemnity that I hadn’t achieved. There was something wrong with the damned thing. All I knew is that I couldn’t sing it. You could hear it in the vocal, that the guy was putting you on.
According to Cohen it was his then partner Rebecca de Mornay who convinced him to record the version we now have for the album The Future. For ten years “Anthem” went through the hammer and anvil of Cohen’s writing process and what emerged was an inspiring portrayal of the dynamics of the heart – ultimately emerging as the enduring hit of the album.
The landscape of the opening lyric is the dawn of a new day. In the morning’s birdsong the listener hears a prompt to “start again” with a revitalising of the spirit we all need to negotiate the day ahead. Set this approach firmly in mind and neither allow issues of the past, beyond your means to amend, to burden you nor concerns for what the future may or may not hold deter you. From another perspective this is preparing the heart to face the demands of a new day with confidence and steadiness. In Christian terms, with which Cohen was deeply acquainted, it is an echo of the spiritual principle of resurrection at work in the heart, the seat of spirituality. This is one of Cohen’s numerous songs where the theological structure lies mostly beneath the surface of the lyric. It is not necessary to go that deep to understand the song, but for some it is a meaningful reassurance that the spiritual foundation is there.
The next verse carries this sentiment forward and moves on from personal considerations to public interactions. The opening lines, “Ah, the wars / They will be fought again” can be understood in the formal sense of war where battles rage, but there are also the small personal ‘wars’ fought each day wherever we find contrariness, or injustice. When you expand the connotation of ‘war’ to incorporate this sense, it engages the common experience in all of us. These conflicts and disagreements are a part of life – they will always be there. And at the other end of the spectrum, “The holy dove / She will be caught again”, the engagement of the heart in a variety of attractions not the least of which is romantic. (The only other place where the image of the ‘holy dove’ appears is in Cohen’s revised version of “Hallelujah”: “I remember when I moved in you / And the holy dove was moving too / And every breath we drew was hallelujah”.) They are tests and distractions of the heart. The chances and changes of the world can’t be allowed to interfere to the point where those concerns come to dominate the heart.
It is in the chorus that Cohen outlines the responsibility of the individual. As he explains in the opening quotation:
Ring the bells that still can ring. It’s no excuse – the dismal situation and the future – there’s no excuse for an abdication of your own personal responsibilities towards your self and your job and your love. Ring the bells that still can ring. They are few and far between. You can find ’em.
Find the things that are fundamentally significant to you. Take comfort in them and protect them. You will not perfect any of those ‘ringing bells’, so don’t vex yourself by trying. Everything, whether mental constructions like ideas, concepts or theories or physical objects are not permanent, perfect or everlasting. They all have faults – ‘cracks’ – that make them alterable. Our ability to continually develop and improve our understanding whether in fields like science, medicine, architecture, for example, is based on this principle. Old theories or practices are superseded by new understandings. Theories and practices of governance, social organization and economics go through similar advancements and so on. It is our personal responsibility to re-evaluate and be willing to move forward when the outcome calls for it: “There is a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in”. For those following the underlying theology of the song, this process is an application of Cohen’s view of resurrection. The light getting in indicates a new start, an opportunity to push beyond previously held understandings. In the following verse Cohen picks up a thread of the reasoning made here and develops it further.
The next two verses build on each other. Of the signs that were sent the emphasis falls on the “widowhood of every government” – in the context of this song, the separation of the role of the heart from the practice of governance – a “sign for all to see”. And, on cue, Cohen brings this thought down to a personal level in the lines that follow: “I can’t run no more / With that lawless crowd / While the killers in high places / Say their prayers out loud”. For him the heart has been offended by the actions of the “killers in high places” who cover up their crimes and present a public image of counterfeit virtue. The response of the offended heart is to separate itself from any association with the offenders and the outcome is a change in behaviour. There is a crack in the appearance of those in “high places” and the resulting light coming in is: “I can’t run no more / With that lawless crowd”. Whatever triggers the wakening of hearts, the process can reach a critical mass and cause a people to rise up against their leadership, “They’ve summoned up a thundercloud / And they’re going to hear from me”. Remember the social and political upheavals of his time that Cohen was drawing on: the popular uprising that led to the fall of the Berlin Wall, the rise of the Solidarity Movement that led to the collapse of the communist regime in Poland and, much closer to home for Cohen, the complete breakdown of civil order in the devastating riots that spread across the USA from Los Angeles in the wake of the Rodney King fiasco. It is well within the scope of all of us to see the resemblance to numerous situations playing out in our current time.
On the spiritual foundation level of the song Cohen has explained how the light getting in from a crack leads to a resurrection of sorts in the heart. That in turn leads to a heartfelt change in behaviour – it is the spiritual principle of repentance at work and although our connection to formal religion and scripture, biblical or otherwise, may be remote, or even non existent, Cohen had his own understanding of these spiritual laws and processes and saw them as a valuable part of knowing ourselves. Whether the lyrics of “Anthem” are read at the surface level or the deeper level, either way they ring true in the heart. In the closing verse Cohen moves from the specific conditions of the previous verses to the broader view of the role of the heart.
The sense of the opening lines of the final verse is that there is something beyond our immediate experience that plays a significant role in our lives: “You can add up the parts / You won’t have the sum / You can strike up the march / there is no drum”. There is another element, another motivating force animating the heart that needs to be active. As Cohen has elaborated in a variety of ways in many of his other songs that force is what he calls love and he means love in its broadest sense: the power of attraction. It is not simply the attraction that forms the basis of romance, although that is one aspect of it. It is also the irresistible pull of ideas that in turn induces their development. It is the attraction to art in all its forms that generates creativity and appreciation. It is the fascination with mathematics and physics and chemistry that deepens our understanding of the physical world we call home. It is the attraction to anything we identify as precious enough to allow us to transcend the suffering required to bring a goal to reality. It is, perhaps, these lines from “The Future” that best capture it: “I’ve seen the nations rise and fall / I’ve heard their stories, heard them all / But love’s the only engine of survival”. This is not, however, a view that we share collectively. There are other views – political, social, cultural, psychological or otherwise – that compete for our acceptance. Cohen addresses this too in lines among the most insightful and powerful he has written: “Every heart, every heart / To love will come / But like a refugee”. There is an abundance of hope and promise in this song but Cohen sees it as a struggle that will have us trying all manner of strategies before retreating to this point of view. We may not come to this easily, quickly or willingly, but we will arrive . . . “like a refugee”.
The companion songs “Democracy” and “The Future” carry promise and uncompromising warnings. Anthem stands apart from these in the sense that it embodies a personal response to whatever conditions we find ourselves in jointly or otherwise. It is an anthem for the healthy, vibrant country of the human heart. If the number of covers that can be found online for a song is any indication of its popularity, then “Anthem” is the hit of the album. Solo amateur renditions from the bedroom, serious efforts of proficient singers and guitarists, choirs, professional onstage performances, wedding reception karaoke recordings and a surprisingly captivating version sung in a car with ukulele accompaniment are a testament to the enduring and heartfelt response people have to this song. Leonard Cohen would be quite pleased.
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