Hallelujah

"Hallelujah" was not a product of spontaneous inspiration but of grueling, multi-year obsession. Leonard Cohen spent five years writing it, producing between 80 and 180 draft verses in his notebooks.

During one notorious session at the Royalton Hotel in New York, Cohen was reduced to sitting on the floor in his underwear, banging his head against the carpet, unable to reconcile the conflicts within the lyrics. He was attempting to fuse the "holy" with the "broken"—a reconciliation that lies at the heart of the grieving process.

When he presented the finished album, Various Positions, to CBS Records in 1984, the response was brutal. Label head Walter Yetnikoff told him: "Leonard, we know you are great, but don't know if you are any good." The label refused to release the album in the United States.

This history of rejection mirrors the Christian narrative of resurrection—the song that was dismissed by the "builders" of the music industry eventually became the cornerstone of modern mourning.

The "Hallelujah" heard at funerals today is rarely Cohen's original. It's a layering of interpretations that shifted the song from ironic detachment to sincere mourning.

John Cale (1991): The Velvet Underground co-founder requested the lyrics from Cohen and received 15 pages of faxed verses. Cale stripped away the 1980s synthesizers and established the spare, piano-based arrangement that sounds "church-like." Without Cale's restructuring, the song likely never becomes a hymn.

Jeff Buckley (1994): Buckley took Cale's arrangement and sanctified it. His ethereal falsetto removes the irony Cohen projected. His version sounds like a "hallelujah to the dying"—the fragility of his voice mirrors the fragility of life. It's the version that allows tears to fall.

The Shrek confusion: The version in the 2001 film is John Cale's, but due to licensing, the soundtrack CD features Rufus Wainwright. For funeral planning, this distinction matters: Cale's is rougher and more weary; Wainwright's is more polished and theatrical.

Cohen grounds the song in two Old Testament figures who were both divinely favored and ultimately undone by human frailty:

King David: The opening verse references the "secret chord that David played" and the moment he sees Bathsheba "bathing on the roof." David is the "baffled king"—a monarch who composes psalms yet is confused by beauty. In a funeral context, this humanizes the deceased: even "kings" are susceptible to error, and their flaws don't negate their capacity for praise.

Samson: "She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair"—Delilah stripping Samson of his strength (Judges 16). This imagery of being bound and broken speaks to the inevitability of physical decline. Death strips every person of their strength.

The "defeated" Hallelujah: Cohen described it as an affirmation stated from the position of one who has been conquered: "This world is full of things that cannot be reconciled. But there are moments when we can embrace the whole mess, and that's what I mean by 'Hallelujah.'"

Cohen playfully reveals the song's structure in the lyrics: "It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift."

The progression: In C major, this describes movement from F (IV) to G (V) to A minor (vi) back to F (IV). The move to the minor chord—the "minor fall"—creates a sense of sadness that subverts the listener's expectation of resolution. The "major lift" that follows offers a glimpse of hope.

This oscillation between major and minor creates a push-pull dynamic that mirrors the waves of grief—crushing sadness followed by memories of joy or spiritual hope.

The lullaby effect: Most funeral versions are performed in 6/8 or 12/8 time, creating a swaying, waltz-like rhythm. This compound meter mimics the rocking motion used to comfort a child or a grieving person. The tempo is slow, allowing the listener to dwell in the space between notes.

In 1997, at age 30, Jeff Buckley drowned in the Wolf River, a tributary of the Mississippi. His death was accidental and mysterious, cutting short a career of immense promise.

Buckley's version wasn't a massive hit during his lifetime. It was his death that propelled it into the spotlight. The tragedy imbued the recording with a ghostly quality—listeners hear a man singing about the "cold and broken Hallelujah" shortly before his own life was broken.

Critics often point to the audible sigh at the beginning of Buckley's recording as prophetic. When played at funerals, his version carries the weight of two tragedies: the death of the person being mourned, and the death of the singer himself.

"Hallelujah" bridges the sacred and secular, functioning in both religious and humanist spaces:

For the religious: The song is saturated with scriptural references. The chorus is the highest Hebrew praise: Hallelu-jah ("Praise Yah"). Even if the verses describe moral failure, praising God despite that failure fits Judeo-Christian theology of redemption.

For the secular: The lyrics explicitly state, "Maybe there's a God above," introducing agnosticism as valid. The "Hallelujah" becomes an affirmation of life's beauty rather than theistic praise. Atheists and humanists can use it without feeling hypocritical.

For mixed congregations: In an increasingly secularized society, "Hallelujah" provides ritual and sacredness that is inclusive rather than exclusive. It feels ancient due to its biblical references, yet modern due to its authorship. A mixed gathering of believers and non-believers can participate together.

The West Wing (2002): Jeff Buckley's version played during the assassination of Secret Service Agent Simon Donovan. C.J. Cregg breaking down in Times Square as the song swells is cited as one of television's most effective uses of music—linking "Hallelujah" to noble sacrifice and devastation.

COVID-19 Memorial (2021): Yolanda Adams performed it at the Lincoln Memorial to honor pandemic victims, solidifying "Hallelujah" as an anthem for collective national trauma.

Chester Bennington & Chris Cornell: Linkin Park's Bennington sang "Hallelujah" at Soundgarden's Cornell's funeral. Tragically, Bennington died by suicide shortly after. Cornell's daughter later sang it for Bennington. This recursive loop of mourning among rock icons deepened the song's funeral associations.

Choosing a version:

• Jeff Buckley: For raw emotional release, tragic or young deaths
• John Cale: For understated, traditional services
• Rufus Wainwright: For celebration of life, broad appeal
• k.d. lang: For formal, large-venue commemorations

Placement in service:

• Reflection/Tribute: Most effective during photo slideshows—its length (4-7 minutes) allows substantial contemplation
• Recessional: The "major lift" in the music provides emotional release as mourners leave

The "funeral edit": If performed live, omit sexually explicit verses ("But remember when I moved in you") and violent imagery. Keep: Verse 1 (David/Secret Chord), Verse 2 (Holy vs. Broken), and the final verse ("I'll stand before the Lord of Song").

The overuse debate: Some argue "Hallelujah" has become the "Stairway to Heaven" of funerals—overplayed. But for many, its ubiquity is a strength: a shared language of grief that everyone understands instantly.