We’ve all heard it. That four-note climb. The "fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift." It’s arguably the most famous lyrical description of music theory in the history of pop culture. But there is a massive difference between humming along to a song at a wedding and actually understanding the man who agonized over it for years. That’s where I Heard There Was a Secret Chord: A Biography of Leonard Cohen by Michiko Kakutani comes in.
It’s not just another dry recount of dates.
People think they know Cohen. They see the fedora, the gravelly voice of his later years, and the monk-like patience. But the reality was a lot messier, more intellectual, and deeply rooted in a specific kind of Canadian-Jewish cultural anxiety that most biographies gloss over. Kakutani, the former chief book critic for The New York Times, isn’t exactly a stranger to high-stakes analysis. She approaches Cohen not as a celebrity, but as a literary figure who happened to pick up a guitar.
Why this specific book matters right now
Music biographies are often trash. Let’s be real. They are usually ghost-written PR fluff or salacious "tell-alls" that focus on who was sleeping with whom in Chelsea Hotel. This book is different. It’s an intellectual history.
If you are looking for I Heard There Was a Secret Chord book, you are likely looking for the 2024 release that tries to bridge the gap between Cohen the poet and Cohen the "Godfather of Gloom." Kakutani argues that Cohen’s work wasn't about sadness at all. It was about reconciliation. He was trying to balance the sacred and the profane, which is a fancy way of saying he wanted to find God in a hotel room and find holiness in a heartbreak.
The title, obviously pulled from the opening lines of "Hallelujah," acts as a metaphor for Cohen's entire life. He spent decades looking for a specific kind of spiritual resonance. Sometimes he found it in Zen Buddhism at Mount Baldy; other times, he found it in the arms of Marianne Ihlen on the Greek island of Hydra.
The Hydra years and the shift to song
In the 1960s, Cohen wasn't a singer. He was a novelist. A "serious" writer.
He lived on Hydra with no electricity, using a manual typewriter to bang out Beautiful Losers. It’s a wild, psychedelic, difficult book. Most people who love "Suzanne" have never actually finished it. Honestly, it’s a tough read. But Kakutani explains how the failure of his novels—at least commercially—pushed him toward the music scene in New York.
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He was older than the hippies. When he showed up in the West Village, he was already in his 30s, wearing suits while everyone else was wearing tie-dye. That displacement is a huge theme in the book. He didn’t fit in, and that’s why his music sounds so timeless. It wasn't "of the era" because he was never really part of the era.
The "Hallelujah" obsession
You can't talk about a book with this title without talking about the song.
Did you know Cohen wrote around 80 drafts of "Hallelujah"? He was literally banging his head against the floor of a hotel room in his underwear, crying because he couldn't get the verses right.
The book dives into the fascinating trajectory of that song:
- The Original Version: It was actually quite cynical and strange, released on the album Various Positions (1984).
- The Rejection: Columbia Records’ chief Walter Yetnikoff famously told Cohen, "Leonard, we know you're great, but we don't know if you're any good." They refused to release the album in the U.S.
- The John Cale Pivot: Cale (of Velvet Underground fame) asked Cohen for the lyrics. Cohen sent him fifteen pages. Cale narrowed it down to the "cheeky" version that focused more on the relationship and less on the religious iconography.
- The Jeff Buckley Effect: This is what made it a myth. Buckley heard Cale’s version and turned it into an ethereal, haunting masterpiece.
Kakutani uses this timeline to show Cohen's persistence. He didn't have "the secret chord" immediately. He had to bleed for it.
The Monk and the Manager
One of the more heartbreaking sections of I Heard There Was a Secret Chord deals with the later years. Cohen retreated to the Mount Baldy Zen Center. He was ordained as a monk. He spent years scrubbing floors and cooking for his Roshi (teacher), Kyozan Joshu Sasaki.
While he was finding peace, his long-time manager, Kelley Lynch, was allegedly draining his retirement fund.
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It’s a brutal irony.
He came down from the mountain to find he was broke. But this is where the "human" element of the biography really shines. Instead of becoming bitter, Cohen went back on the road. This resulted in the "Grand Tour" years, which many fans (myself included) consider his peak performance era. He was in his 70s and 80s, skipping onto the stage, tipped his hat, and singing with more gravitas than anyone half his age.
Addressing the "Gloomy" Misconception
If you think Leonard Cohen is depressing, you’re missing the joke.
Kakutani points out the dry, Jewish humor that permeates his work. "I was born with the gift of a golden voice," he sings in "Tower of Song," with a voice that sounds like a cigarette being crushed in gravel. He knew he wasn't a traditional singer. He leaned into the absurdity of it.
The book emphasizes his "manual for living." Cohen wasn't telling us that the world is dark; he was telling us that the world is broken and that’s okay. As his famous line goes, "There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." This isn't just a Pinterest quote; it’s a theological stance.
How this book compares to 'I'm Your Man'
Many fans point to Sylvie Simmons' I'm Your Man as the definitive Cohen biography. It’s excellent. It’s thorough.
However, I Heard There Was a Secret Chord offers a more "critic’s eye" view. Kakutani is less interested in the day-to-day logistics and more interested in the ideas. She looks at how Cohen’s Jewish heritage interacted with his Buddhist practice. She looks at how his poetry influenced the lyrics of You Want It Darker.
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If Simmons wrote the "what," Kakutani wrote the "why."
Practical takeaway for readers
If you're going to pick up this book, don't just read it in a vacuum.
- Listen to the "Live in London" album. It captures the energy of his comeback and the sheer warmth he felt for his audience.
- Read "Book of Longing." It’s a collection of his poetry and sketches from his time as a monk. It provides the visual context for the struggles Kakutani describes.
- Check out the 1965 documentary "Ladies and Gentlemen... Mr. Leonard Cohen." It shows him before the fame, a young poet in Montreal, full of wit and a bit of arrogance.
Actionable Insights for the Cohen Fan
Reading a biography is one thing; understanding the "secret chord" is another. If you want to dive deeper into the world of Leonard Cohen after finishing the book, here is how to engage with the material:
Analyze the "Liturgy" of his lyrics.
Look for the biblical references in his later work. In the song "You Want It Darker," he uses the Hebrew word Hineni (Here I am), the response Abraham gave to God. The book explains the weight of this word—it’s a total surrender.
Understand the "Working Man" ethos.
Cohen didn't believe in "inspiration." He believed in work. He once said that if he knew where the good songs came from, he’d go there more often. The takeaway for any creative person reading his biography is simple: sit at the desk. Every day. Even if it hurts.
Explore the Montreal Roots.
Cohen is inseparable from Montreal. Visit the murals on Boulevard Saint-Laurent if you're ever in the city. The book highlights how the "Canadian-ness" of his upbringing—the politeness mixed with the cold—shaped his delivery.
Leonard Cohen’s life was a long, slow climb toward a grace he wasn't sure he deserved. Whether you’re a lifelong devotee or just someone who likes the Shrek soundtrack version of his most famous song, this book offers a necessary look at the man behind the myth. He wasn't a saint. He was a guy in a suit who never stopped looking for the chord that pleased the Lord.
To fully appreciate the narrative, pair your reading with a chronological listening of his discography, starting with Songs of Leonard Cohen and ending with the posthumous Thanks for the Dance. Seeing the evolution from the folk-singer to the "Prophet of the Apocalypse" makes Kakutani's insights hit much harder.