The Ladies' Man

It is well established on board the robust Newt that Bob Dylan, though a lyricist and songwriter of the highest calibre, can teach us nothing about anything. Leonard Cohen is such another:

The river is swollen up with rusty cans,
And the trees are burning in your promised land -

Admiration flows freely from Dogtooth's quill for the man who brought us such folk gems as 'So Long, Marianne' & 'Suzanne', and such driving electroid flake-Socialist anthems as 'First We Take Manhatten' and 'Jazz Police'. Cohen - with his crumbling features and preternatural growl - is also an irresistible walking advertisement for the beneficial effects of tobacco. Start smoking: not only will you be a massive hit with the broads, but your voice will drop an octave every five years until you die (Dogtooth squirms with pleasure at the prospect of realising his ultimate fantasy: to communicate with tanks, and level cathedrals with a single boom). One is reminded, incidentally, of the Canadian insistence that the Quebecois smoke in church. Well Cohen doesn't attend church; no doubt he farts audibly in the Synagogue, though.