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Download
 
ʺ
It
 
Doesn
ʹ
t
 
Matter
 
Which
 
You
 
Heard
ʺ
:
 
the
 
Curious
 
Cultural
 
Journey
 
of
 
Leonard
 
Cohen
ʹ
s
ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ 
Michael
 
Barthel
 
(Archived
 
from
 
www.clapclap.org/2007/04/hallelujah.html)
 
Let
 
me
 
take
 
you
 
 back
 
to
 
the
 
long
‐
ago
 
time
 
of
 
mid
‐
February,
 
2007.
 
Popular
 
emo
 
 band
 
Fall
 
Out
 
Boy
 
had
 
the
 
number
 
one
 
album
 
in
 
the
 
country
 
and,
 
 being
 
a
 
responsible
 
music
 
critic,
 
I
 
of
 
course
 
illegally
 
downloaded
 
it.
 
As
 
my
 
train
 
crossed
 
the
 
Manhattan
 
Bridge,
 
I
 
reached
 
track
 
five
 
on
 
the
 
album.
 
And
 
I
 
heard
 
this:
 
Fall
 
Out
 
Boy
‐ʺ
Hum
 
Hallelujah
ʺ
(clip)
 
What
 
they
ʹ
re
 
singing
 
there,
 
aside
 
from
 
what
 
I
 
 believe
 
professionals
 
call
ʺ
twaddle,
ʺ
is
 
the
 
chorus
 
of
 
a
 
Leonard
 
Cohen
 
song.
 
This
 
is
 
mildly
 
incredible.
 
Twenty
‐
five
 
years
 
ago,
 
a
 
character
 
on
 
the
 
TV
 
show
 
The
 
Young
 
Ones
 
named
 
Neal
‐‐
the
 
hippie
‐‐
said,
ʺ
I
ʹ
m
 
 beginning
 
to
 
feel
 
like
 
a
 
Leonard
 
Cohen
 
record,
 
cause
 
nobody
 
ever
 
listens
 
to
 
me.
ʺ
Today,
 
in
 
contrast,
 
one
 
particular
 
Leonard
 
Cohen
 
song
 
is
 
featured
 
prominently
 
in
 
no
 
less
 
than
 
three
 
separate
 
episodes
 
of
 
teen
 
uberdrama
 
The
 
OC,
 
and
 
can
 
 be
 
heard
 
in
 
at
 
least
 
twenty
‐
four
 
separate
 
movies
 
and
 
TV
 
episodes,
 
almost
 
always
 
as
 
the
 
soundtrack
 
to
 
a
 
montage
 
of
 
people
 
 being
 
sad.
 
What
 
I
 
hope
 
to
 
show
 
today
 
is
 
how,
 
exactly,
 
that
 
happened
 
to
 
a
 
song
 
called
ʺ
Hallelujah.
ʺ
What
ʹ
s
 
now
 
considered
 
the
 
definitive
 
version
 
of
 
this
 
song
 
is
 
 by
 
dreamy,
 
dead
 
troubadour
 
 Jeff
 
Buckley.
 
(Some
 
people
 
are
 
even
 
under
 
the
 
impression
 
that
 
Buckley
ʹ
s
 
cover
 
is
 
the
 
original
 
version.)
 
 Jeff
 
Buckley
‐ ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ
(clip)
 
It
ʹ
s
 
an
 
almost
 
unbearably
 
sad
 
song
 
in
 
this
 
incarnation—slow,
 
keening,
 
and
 
heartbroken.
 
But
 
originally
 
it
 
was
 
something
 
different.
 
Leonard
 
Cohen
‐ ʺ
Hallelujah
 
(original)
ʺ
(clip)
 
This
 
is
 
more
 
like
 
your
 
uncle
ʹ
s
 
 band
 
playing
 
in
 
a
 
warehouse,
 
assuming
 
your
 
uncle
 
was
 
weird
 
and
 
labored
 
under
 
the
 
impression
 
that
 
he
 
was
 
a
 
crooner.
 
It
 
passed
 
into
 
the
 
public
 
realm
 
almost
 
unnoticed,
 
and
 
remained
 
that
 
way
 
for
 
some
 
time;
 
in
 
the
 
major
 
Cohen
 
 biography,
 
published
 
in
 
1996,
 
there
ʹ
s
 
no
 
entry
 
for
 
the
 
song
 
in
 
the
 
index,
 
despite
 
the
 
fact
 
that
 
the
 
 book
ʹ
s
 
name
 
is
 
the
 
same
 
as
 
the
 
album
 
on
 
which
ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ
originally
 
appears.
 
It
ʹ
s
 
a
 
weird
 
little
 
song
 
in
 
this
 
incarnation.
 
Check
 
out
 
this
 
sound.
 
It
ʹ
s
 
not
 
sad
‐‐
in
 
fact,
 
it
ʹ
s
 
kinda
 
funny.
 
The
 
entire
 
performance
 
is
 
so
 
hyperserious
 
that
 
it
ʹ
s
 
almost
 
satire.
 
Certainly
 
there
ʹ
s
 
a
 
healthy
 
dose
 
of
 
irony
 
here,
 
especially
 
in
 
the
 
sneeringly
 
wry
 
line
ʺ
 but
 
you
 
don
ʹ
t
 
really
 
care
 
for
 
music,
 
do
 
ya?
ʺ
Cohen
 
sings:
ʺ
There
ʹ
s
 
a
 
 blaze
 
of
 
light
 
in
 
every
 
word,
 
it
 
doesn
ʹ
t
 
matter
 
which
 
you
 
heard,
 
the
 
holy
 
or
 
the
 
 broken
 
Hallelujah,
ʺ
and
 
the
 
lyrics,
 
far
 
from
 
 being
 
unremittingly
 
dour,
 
explore
 
these
 
different
 
Hallelujahs—holy,
 
 broken,
 
profane,
 
transcendent.
 
On
 
Cohen
 
Live,
 
an
 
album
 
recorded
 
in
 
part
 
on
 
a
 
1988
 
tour,
 
Cohen
 
radically
 
revises
 
the
 
song.
 
The
 
tempo
 
slows
 
down
 
drastically:
 
Leonard
 
Cohen
‐ ʺ
Hallelujah
 
(live)
ʺ
(clip)
 
More
 
importantly,
 
Cohen
 
adds
 
three
 
new
 
verses.
 
Whereas
 
the
 
original
 
 begins
 
with
 
some
 
light
 
musician
 
humor,
 
the
 
new
 
first
 
verse
 
ends
 
with
 
the
 
line
ʺ
it
ʹ
s
 
a
 
cold
 
and
 
a
 
very
 
 broken
 
Hallelujah.
ʺ
Combined
 
with
 
the
 
slower
 
tempo,
 
the
 
overall
 
effect
 
is
 
considerably
 
sadder.
 
At
 
the
 
same
 
time,
 
Cohen
 
explores
 
even
 
more
 
Hallelujahs:
 
a
 
verse
 
containing
 
the
 
line
ʺ
I
 
remember
 
when
 
I
 
moved
 
in
 
you
ʺ
is
 
unambiguously
 
about
 
sex,
 
and
 
the
 
final
 
verse
‐‐
also
 
the
 
original
ʹ
s
 
final
 
verse,
 
and
 
the
 
only
 
verse
 
they
 
share
‐‐
is
 
defiant,
 
coming
 
as
 
close
 
to
 
shouting
 
as
 
Leonard
 
Cohen
 
can
 
while
 
declaring
ʺ
Even
 
though
 
it
 
all
 
went
 
wrong,
 
I
ʹ
ll
 
stand
 
right
 
here
 
 before
 
the
 
lord
 
of
 
song
 
with
 
nothing
 
on
 
my
 
tongue
 
 but
 
Hallelujah.
ʺ
 John
 
Cale
‐ ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ
(clip)
 
 John
 
Cale
ʹ
s
 
cover
 
of
ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ
for
 
the
 
1991
 
tribute
 
album
 
I
ʹ
m
 
Your
 
Fan
 
clearly
 
refers
 
to
 
this
 
live
 
version.
 
Since
 
Cale
ʹ
s
 
cover
 
dates
 
from
 
 before
 
the
 
release
 
of
 
Cohen
 
Live,
 
Cale
 
most
 
likely
 
saw
 
Cohen
 
perform
 
this
 
new
 
version
 
in
 
person,
 
on
 
the
 
1988
 
tour
 
from
 
which
 
that
 
recording
 
is
 
taken.
 
It
ʹ
s
 
almost
 
as
 
radical
 
a
 
reworking
 
of
 
the
 
song
 
as
 
Cohen
ʹ
s
 
own.
 
 
Cale
 
preceded
 
the
 
three
 
new
 
verses
 
of
 
the
 
live
 
version
 
with
 
the
 
original
 
first
 
and
 
second
 
verses,
 
while
 
speeding
 
up
 
the
 
tempo
 
to
 
the
 
more
 
natural
 
andante
 
of
 
the
 
original
 
and
 
simplifying
 
the
 
arrangement
 
to
 
 just
 
voice
 
and
 
piano.
 
He
 
also
 
changes
 
the
 
last
 
of
 
the
 
three
 
new
 
verses
 
in
 
small
 
 but
 
important
 
ways.
 
Where
 
Cohen
 
says
ʺ
It
ʹ
s
 
not
 
a
 
complaint,
ʺ
Cale
 
says
ʺ
it
ʹ
s
 
not
 
a
 
cry.
ʺ
Cohen
ʹ
s
ʺ
It
ʹ
s
 
not
 
the
 
laughter
 
of
 
somebody
 
who
ʹ
s
 
seen
 
the
 
light
ʺ
 becomes
 
 just
ʺ
It
ʹ
s
 
not
 
somebody
 
who
ʹ
s
 
seen
 
the
 
light.
ʺ
And
 
finally,
ʺ
It
ʹ
s
 
a
 
very
 
lonely
 
Halellujah
ʺ
 becomes
ʺ
it
ʹ
s
 
a
 
 broken
 
Hallelujah.
ʺ
Where
 
Cohen
 
depicted
 
 bittersweet
 
regret,
 
Cale
 
has
 
utter
 
despair:
 
a
 
complaint
 
 becomes
 
a
 
cry,
 
laughter
 
is
 
gone,
 
a
 
shot
 
that
 
could
 
miss
 
 becomes
 
a
 
murderous
 
hit,
 
and
 
it
ʹ
s
 
not
 
 just
 
a
 
lonely
 
Hallelujah—it
ʹ
s
 
a
 
 broken
 
Hallelujah.
 
Moreover,
 
this
 
verse
 
now
 
ends
 
the
 
song,
 
taking
 
the
 
place
 
of
 
the
 
I
‐
will
‐
survive
 
statement
 
Cohen
 
used
 
to
 
end
 
his
 
versions.
 
And
 
so
 
when
 
 Jeff
 
Buckley
 
decided
 
to
 
cover
ʺ
Hallelujah,
ʺ
he
 
didn
ʹ
t
 
really
 
cover
 
Cohen,
 
he
 
covered
 
Cale;
 
the
 
form
 
and
 
lyrics
 
of
 
their
 
versions
 
match
 
almost
 
exactly,
 
while
 
none
 
of
 
the
 
three
 
previous
 
versions
 
(Cohen
 
studio,
 
Cohen
 
live,
 
Cale)
 
match
 
at
 
all.
 
Musically,
 
though,
 
he
 
slowed
 
the
 
tempo
 
 back
 
down
 
again,
 
and
 
let
 
it
 
float
 
in
 
a
 
way
 
that
 
Cale
ʹ
s
 
regular
 
piano
 
arpeggios
 
didn
ʹ
t.
 
 Jeff
 
Buckley
‐ ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ
(clip)
 
The
 
effect
 
was
 
to
 
flatten
 
the
 
song
 
emotionally,
 
to
 
take
 
out
 
all
 
the
 
different
 
Hallelujahs
 
Cohen
 
depicted
 
and
 
reduce
 
them
 
to
 
one:
 
the
 
cold
 
and
 
 broken,
 
which
 
appears
 
here
 
twice.
 
Even
 
the
ʺ
you
 
don
ʹ
t
 
really
 
care
 
for
 
music
ʺ
dig
 
sounds
 
more
 
wronged
 
than
 
cutting,
 
and
 
the
 
sex
 
is
 
now
 
the
 
ecstasy
 
of
 
the
 
 brooding
 
artiste,
 
an
 
image
 
Cohen
 
always
 
seemed
 
careful
 
to
 
subvert.
 
This
 
simplification
 
resulted
 
in
 
a
 
torrent
 
of
 
covers.
 
Following
 
Buckley
ʹ
s
 
version
 
in
 
1994,
 
we
 
see
 
a
 
slow
 
 but
 
steady
 
increase,
 
until
 
it
 
 becomes
 
a
 
veritable
 
tsunami
 
around
 
the
 
turn
 
of
 
the
 
century.
 
If
 
Buckley
 
was
 
covering
 
Cale,
 
there
ʹ
s
 
little
 
doubt
 
that
 
almost
 
all
 
of
 
these
 
people
 
were
 
covering
 
Buckley.
 
And
 
no
 
one
 
was
 
really
 
covering
 
Cohen
 
anymore.
 
It
 
took
 
a
 
while
 
longer,
 
 but
 
Buckley
ʹ
s
 
reductio
 
ad
 
despairium
 
also
 
inspired
 
musical
 
directors
 
to
 
include
 
the
 
songs
 
in
 
their
 
filmed
 
entertainments.
 
Here
ʹ
s
 
a
 
list
 
of
 
all
 
the
 
usages.
 
 
If
 
we
 
overlay
 
a
 
graph
 
showing
 
the
 
usages
 
 by
 
year
 
onto
 
the
 
graph
 
of
 
covers
 
 by
 
year,
 
we
 
see
 
that,
 
while
 
it
 
took
 
a
 
while
 
for
 
TV
 
and
 
movies
 
to
 
catch
 
up,
 
they
 
undoubtedly
 
did.
 
The
 
first
 
significant
 
use
 
of
 
the
 
song
 
in
 
a
 
soundtrack
 
was,
 
somewhat
 
logically,
 
Cale
ʹ
s
 
version
 
in
 
Basquiat
 
(1996),
 
followed
 
 by,
 
totally
 
illogically,
 
Cale
 
again
 
in
 
Shrek
 
(2001).
 
While
 
it
 
seems
 
clear
 
that
 
the
 
gradual
 
revision
 
of
 
the
 
song
 
is
 
what
 
made
 
it
 
appealing
 
as
 
a
 
soundtrack
 
device,
 
it
ʹ
s
 
also
 
possible
 
that
 
when
 
directors
 
saw
 
that
 
the
 
song
 
was
 
so
 
potent,
 
it
 
could
 
impart
 
gravitas
 
on
 
a
 
cartoon
 
Ogre
 
voiced
 
 by
 
Mike
 
Myers,
 
it
 
could
 
make
 
even
 
the
 
shallowest
 
character
 
seem
 
tragic.
 
After
 
these
 
two
 
uses
 
of
 
Cale
 
in
 
movies,
 
the
 
song,
 
almost
 
always
 
Buckley
ʹ
s
 
version,
 
 begins
 
to
 
pop
 
up
 
on
 
television
 
shows.
 
The
 
West
 
Wing
 
is
 
the
 
only
 
usage
 
in
 
2002,
 
 but
 
in
 
2003
 
it
 
was
 
everywhere.
 ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ
appeared
 
in
 
the
 
fourth
 
episode
 
of
 
Zach
 
Braff
ʹ
s
 
medical
 
dramedy
 
Scrubs,
 
and
 
twice
 
in
 
the
 
first
 
season
 
of
 
teen
 
drama
 
The
 
OC,
 
including
 
an
 
extremely
 
prominent
 
use
 
in
 
the
 
finale.
 
This
 
established
 
it,
 
and
 
it
 
popped
 
up
 
regularly
 
in
 
every
 
subsequent
 
year,
 
in
 
numerous
 
different
 
versions,
 
as
 
artists
 
like
 
K.D.
 
Lang
 
and
 
Rufus
 
Wainwright
 
recorded
 
their
 
own
 
covers.
 
(Wainwright
ʹ
s
 
is
 
nearly
 
indistinguishable
 
from
 
Cale
ʹ
s,
 
suggesting
 
that
 
perhaps
 
Cale
 
had
 
 begun
 
to
 
refuse
 
usage
 
requests
 
and
 
Wainwright
 
was
 
 brought
 
in
 
as
 
a
 
ringer.)
 
Why
 
was
 
it
 
used
 
so
 
frequently?
 
Featurettes
 
on
 
the
 
DVD
 
sets
 
of
 
Scrubs
 
and
 
The
 
OC
 
talk
 
about
 
the
 
music
 
used
 
on
 
these
 
shows,
 
and
 
the
 
OC
ʹ
s
 
creator,
 
 Josh
 
Schwartz,
 
says
 
that
ʺ
the
 
music
 
was
 
going
 
to
 
 be
 
expressing
 
the
 
characters
ʹ
inner
 
lives.
ʺ
Why
 
did
 
they
 
pick
 
the
 
music
 
they
 
did?
 
Schwartz
 
says
 
that,
 
for
 
the
 
first
 
five
 
or
 
six
 
episodes,
ʺ
it
 
was
 
everything
 
that
 
was
 
on
 
my
 
iPod
ʺ‐‐
echoing
ʺ
Hallelujah
ʹ
s
 
appeal
 
as
 
a
 
personal
 
discovery,
 
a
 
secret
 
hidden
 
in
 
plain
 
sight.
 
Interestingly,
 
though,
 
they
 
at
 
no
 
point
 
in
 
the
 
featurette
 
mention
 
the
 
song
 ʺ
Hallelujah,
ʺ
despite
 
using
 
it
 
twice
 
in
 
the
 
season
 
they
ʹ
re
 
ostensibly
 
discussing,
 
and
 
once
 
in
 
the
 
third
 
episode,
 
which
 
is
 
when
 
Schwartz
 
himself
 
was
 
soundtracking
 
the
 
show.
 
Are
 
they
 
embarrassed
 
about
 
it?
 
They
 
shouldn
ʹ
t
 
 be.
 
To
 
say
 
that
 
using
ʺ
Hallelujah
ʺ
to
 
express
 
sadness
 
is
 
unoriginal
 
is
 
like
 
saying
 
a
 
picture
 
hanger
 
using
 
a
 
level
 
is
 
unoriginal:
 
the
 
point
 
is
 
not
 
novelty,
 
 but
 
functionality.
 
The
 
damn
 
thing
 
 just
 
works
 
so
 
well,
 
you
ʹ
d
 
 be
 
a
 
fool
 
not
 
to
 
use
 
it.
 
The
 
usage
 
was
 
so
 
pervasive
 
that,
 
 based
 
on
 
the
 
numerous
 
OC
 
Mix
 
CDs
 
that
 
were
 
released,
 
it
 
seemed
 
to
 
inspire
 
musicians
 
to
 
create
 
their
 
own
 
soundalike
 
songs,
 
and
 
to
 
 boost
 
those
 
artists
 
who
 
had
 
already
 
 been
 
working
 
that
 
sound.
 
(This
 
was
 
the
ʺ
indie
 
rock
 
 boom
ʺ
that
 
the
 
OC
 
supposedly
 
instigated,
 
 bringing
 
sensitive
‐
crooner
 
 bands
 
like
 
Death
 
Cab
 
For
 
Cutie
 
to
 
fame
 
and
 
fortune.)
 
The
 
most
 
prominent
 
example
 
is
 
Imogen
 
Heap,
 
someone
 
who
 
I,
 
at
 
least,
 
had
 
not
 
heard
 
of
 
since
 
a
 
cassingle
 
was
 
mailed
 
to
 
me
 
in
 
1998.
 
But
 
Heap
ʹ
s
 
song
ʺ
Hide
 
and
 
Seek
ʺ
soundtracked
 
the
 
final
 
moments
 
of
 
the
 
OC
ʹ
s
 
second
 
season,
 
the
 
slot
 
occupied
 
a
 
year
 
 before
 
 by
 
a
 
full
 
rendition
 
of
 
Buckey
ʹ
s
ʺ
Hallelujah.
ʺ
This
 
pairing
 
was
 
so
 
successful
 
that,
 
for
 
the
 
finale
 
of
 
season
 
three,
 
the
 
final
 
moments
 
were
 
accompanied,
 
once
 
again,
 
 by
 
Heap,
 
this
 
time
 
covering
‐‐
and,
 
to
 
 be
 
clear,
 
I
 
am
 
not
 
shitting
 
you
‐‐ʺ
Hallelujah.
ʺ
This
 
is
 
the
 
point
 
where
 
the
 
OC
 
consumes
 
itself
 
whole,
 
and
 
it
 
is
 
a
 
sickeningly
 
gorgeous
 
thing
 
to
 
watch.
 
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