Eu pagava o preço do bilhete só para ler este texto. (Obrigado ao Pedro Mexia.)
Tonight, in his suit and hat, he resembles a senior 1920s mobster, only with a guitar instead of a tommy gun.
When he and his similarly attired band open with the Italian-flavoured Dance Me to the End of Love, we could almost be at a mafia wedding. The hat is gracefully doffed to acknowledge applause.
Cohen's baritone has become deeper and more formidable over the years; the line in Tower of Song - "I was born with the gift of a golden voice" - prompts a wave of knowing laughter and applause. The golden voice now resembles a boulder rolling down a tunnel: something huge and elemental.
Older songs such as Suzanne lure him back to the upper limits of his range, but most of the material dates from after he discovered synthesizers and politics in the 80s.
The acrid, dystopian humour of The Future and First We Take Manhattan is as resonant now as it was 20 years ago, a reminder that the only people who dub Cohen depressing are those that don't get the jokes. He delivers plenty tonight, like a wry nightclub host.
"Please sit down," he says after one standing ovation. "It makes me nervous. I think you're going to leave."
(...) Seizing his magnificent Hallelujah back from Jeff Buckley, Rufus Wainwright and dozens more, he is possessed by the words, his eyes squeezed tight, his body trembling.
After three hours, the final encore is the aptly titled I Tried to Leave You. "Goodnight my darling/ I hope you're satisfied," Cohen rumbles with a wink. "Here's a man still working for your smile."
