From: Kelley Lynch <kelley.lynch.2010@gmail.com>
Date: Wed, 17 Oct 2012 19:20:43 -0500
Subject: Mark Lepage
To: markjlepage@yahoo.com, Dennis <Dennis@riordan-horgan.com>, *IRS.commissioner@irs.gov, Washington Field <washington.field@ic.fbi.gov>, "Kelly.Sopko" <Kelly.Sopko@tigta.treas.gov>, ASKDOJ <ASKDOJ@usdoj.gov>, "Doug.Davis" <Doug.Davis@ftb.ca.gov>, rbyucaipa <rbyucaipa@yahoo.com>, Robert MacMillan <robert.macmillan@gmail.com>, moseszzz <moseszzz@mztv.com>, a <anderson.cooper@cnn.com>, wennermedia <wennermedia@gmail.com>, "Hoffman, Rand" <rand.hoffman@umusic.com>, woodwardb <woodwardb@washpost.com>, "harriet.ryan" <harriet.ryan@latimes.com>, "hailey.branson" <hailey.branson@latimes.com>, "glenn.greenwald" <glenn.greenwald@guardiannews.com>, lrohter <lrohter@nytimes.com>
Cc: Steven Machat <smachat@gmail.com>
Mark LePage,
I am advising you to cease and desist slandering me. There is nothing
deranged about me. It is preposterous that a Canadian National
Treasure cannot live in Canada due to the fact that he apparently has
a lifelong history of residence and tax problems. I reported Cohen's
criminal tax fraud to the IRS Commissioner's Staff, Cohen heard I was
going to the IRS and began his deranged fictional narrative. After
offering me 50% community property, and attempting to have me lie
about innocent advisers he hired (although that would NOT include
Richard Westin, Neal Greenberg, or Ken Cleveland, from my
perspective), Cohen became desperate. He and Kory tried desperately
to back me into a deal. After I went to the IRS, Cohen filed a
retaliatory lawsuit against me. He has also made an appearance in
Phil Spector's murder trial and I just trapped Cohen in his lies about
Phil Spector. After testifying against me (I instructed my lawyers to
nail him in his perjury - as my top priority), Cohen (being the
arrogant and conceited liar that I know well) changed the story Phil
Spector's prosecutor used in their motions and probably presented to
the Grand Jury: Phil Spector has now held an automatic to Cohen's
head. The prosecutors version includes a semi-automatic to the chest.
Leonard Cohen cannot stop lying. Phil Spector bilked Leonard Cohen
out of nothing. Leonard Cohen has now stolen from me (millions),
Steven Machat, and Phil Spector. He sold Phil Spector's master tapes
to Sony. If you have any questions about that, please contact Steven
Machat directly. Steven and his father negotiated the Spector/Cohen
deal and Phil Spector wrote the music.
As for taxes and pussies. I have copied in the IRS Commissioner's
Staff. Leonard Cohen's tax fraud is egregious and it is becoming
increasingly unconscionable. As of the fall of 2004, the penalties
and interest on three of his fraud entities came to approximately $30
million. He also may have defrauded the U.S. government earlier -
when he had a green card and appeared (from what I could tell) to pay
non-resident taxes and hid worldwide royalties in off-shore accounts.
I intend to sue Sylvie Simmons over her book and the fact that she has
clearly slandered me without contacting me. She contacted everyone
else in his life so she her actions are pre-meditated. Perhaps she
wanted to offer her "pussy" to Leonard Cohen. Who knows, may he would
think it was the "perfect offering."
I am advising you to cease and desist and am also asking you to
correct your article. These are the facts. I am filing an appeal
against this madman and intend to sue him. I also fully expect the
IRS to prosecute this thief and fraud to the fullest extent of the
law. They will NOT be making a deal on any matter that concerns me in
any way, shape, or form.
For the record - I have never seen so many uneducated, lame,
talentless journalists (like yourself) in my life. It must be nice to
be an awe-inspired groupie with no critical thinking ability.
Kelley Lynch
P.S. This will be posted to my riverdeepbook.blogspot.com blog. If
you're interested in more facts, read Ann Diamond's draft article.
She also happens to see right through the fraud. We happen to know
him. So does Steven Machat and he advised me that he intends to sue
both Cohen and his rotten lying lawyer, Robert Kory, who is also
trapped in perjury now.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/57415959/Ann-Diamond-Article-Corrected-by-KL-Leonard-Cohen-Criminal-Cover-Up
I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen by Sylvie Simmons
By Mark Lepage, Special to THE GAZETTE October 17, 2012 5:15 PM
Comment 0 •Story•Photos ( 1 )
Leonard Cohen performs at Place des Arts in 2008. His return to the
road came about for pragmatic reasons — the loss of his fortune — but
was met with global success.Photograph by: MARCOS TOWNSEND , MONTREAL
GAZETTE
I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen
By Sylvie Simmons
McClelland & Stewart
576 pages, $35
“Not I, but the poet discovered the unconscious,” Sigmund Freud is
quoted as saying. Who, then, discovers the poet? In Sylvie Simmons’s
biography of Leonard Cohen, it will be you.
The central surprise in the 500-plus pages of I’m Your Man: The Life
of Leonard Cohen is that for all the artistic and hedonistic glamour,
the bottomless psychic suffering, the mystic mystery, Leonard Cohen
emerges as surprisingly knowable. The Leonard Koan is cracked. But in
perfect irony, through most of the book and the life, Life is not
entirely knowable to Cohen himself.
Happiness, equilibrium, marriage, a regular mailing address — these
things elude, or are eluded by, Montreal’s titanically honoured poet
laureate of rock, who was interviewed extensively by Simmons for this
book.
There are ample surprise revelations, oddities: who knew Cohen was a
frat joiner at McGill, that he wrote failed TV scripts, almost hosted
a CBC show? He was an early Mac adopter and a Jerry Springer watcher
(!) later in life. Jammed with Jimi, almost “double dated” with Iggy
Pop. Fun to know, but the least of it.
The career arc, from meteoric young poet to legend, is officially
enshrined in every corner of Canadian cultural honour and across the
globe. But credit Simmons and her rigorous research for scouring the
details of six decades of struggle and triumph in the Tower of Song.
I’m Your Man doggedly reminds us that the tower was on fire.
Poetry, Music, Women, Spirit — those might be the headers if you
pulled the life and the book apart into nastily confined sections.
Instead, we can start with the guy, raised in conservative
upper-middle-class Jewish Westmount, adored by mother Masha (a coddled
Jewish son — who knew?), lost his father at 9, went to Westmount High,
strolled the pre-dawn streets of Montreal as a teen, refining his
emerging artistic sensibility and chick radar. Simmons bracingly
confirms he was “not anti-establishment by any means,” in the words of
Arnold Steinberg, his college pal and now chancellor of McGill
University. No, Cohen sought and expected inclusion into the elite
poet caste, and with Let Us Compare Mythologies (1956, McGill Poetry
Series) would have it, entering into a lifelong elder/scion admiration
society with Irving Layton.
And what a cheeky poet. When hanging out at Columbia in New York —
there was no studying — Cohen proposed and succeeded in writing a term
paper on … Let Us Compare Mythologies. So he had the rock attitude
down. Though poetry was “the passport of all ideas,” he had deduced
“the only economic alternative was … teaching or university or getting
a job in a bank … but I always played the guitar and sang.”
He would flee to Hydra, an isolated Greek island populated by
characters from a bad spy novel, where “everyone was in everyone
else’s bed.” He would meet and win a jilted Oslo beauty named Marianne
and buy a primitively perfect house with a $1,500 inheritance. Those
were the days. And Marianne — might be a song in that. He would return
to New York.
It was the ’60s, when “there’s music on Clinton Street all through the
evening.” Cohen plunges in, writing Suzanne, meeting Judy Collins (who
covers it) and experiencing performance — by dying onstage at the
Village Theatre in 1967, slinking off when his voice and guitar fail
him. It will be a major theme: the perceived failures, the
self-castigation, the persistence.
Now, many will want to zoom forward to a chapter titled Taxes,
Children, Lost Pussy, but hold off. The middle of the book is a
catalogue of the many highs and psychic lows of a music career that
now has the burnish of the icon, but was forever at risk. Yes, his
first real song would become a standard and Hallelujah is a modern
psalm. He will be revered by a younger generation — Nick Cave, Pixies,
REM, Bono, the latter heralding him as “our Shelley, our Byron.” But
at the time of the 1967 debut, Songs of Leonard Cohen, critics
dismissed “a sad man cashing in on self-pity” whose albums should come
“with razor blades.”
Still, the highs are high in two senses. On his 1970 European tour, he
and his band ride horses onto a French festival stage, and Cohen is
known as Captain Mandrax for the drug he gobbles. He drinks like a
rock star and smokes like a Frenchman, jetting from Hydra to New York
to Montreal to L.A. to Oslo to Paris and back while the records tank
in Canada and the U.S. and he becomes a god in Europe. It’s the glam
life you’ve yearned for as you light your Gauloise from the Chianti
candle. It only gets better when crazy Phil Spector embraces Cohen and
presses a gun to his neck, saying “I love you, Leonard.” And bilks him
of half the songwriting for Death of a Ladies’ Man, crediting the
album to “Spector & Cohen.”
NOTE: Leonard Cohen just testified that Phil Spector held an automatic
to his head. The prosecutors in the Phil Spector trial have noted, in their
motions (and probably in the statements of Cohen's they presented to the
Grand Jury) that it was a semi-automatic and it was pointed at Cohen's
chest. There are at least three versions of this story and Cohen is a
profoundly disturbed man, pathological liar, and thief. He cannot stop
lying, stealing, or defrauding the U.S. government - and that includes via
the refund that I am now challenging. Phil Spector did NOT bilk Leonard
Cohen of half the songwriting. Phil Spector wrote the music. Leonard
Cohen stole Phil Spector's master tapes and, according to Steven Machat, sold
them to Sony.
Amid this colourful bio, Simmons provides us with something absent
from most rock biographies: musical analysis. You (or I) might
disagree with some of her readings, but Simmons has spent the time
with the records. She has spent time with the people who made them —
who adored Leonard, or did not. She gathers and cross-references a
library of in-studio detail for every single record — personnel,
arguments, Cohen’s ceaseless rewriting, the penniless backing band
they found in a dive for his debut, the library of lost songs. “I’m
cold as a new razor blade,” he says, but burns candles during every
vocal. Rather than cold, there is a deep warmth.
Cohen is indeed COLD AS A NEW RAZOR BLADE.
There are vivid portraits from Simmons here of lost hedonistic Edens —
Hydra, ’60s New York, the Chelsea Hotel. Portraits of the women are no
less vivid: a couple of Suzannes, a Marianne, Joni Mitchell, Janis
Joplin, later Rebecca De Mornay. The women — they are in the titles.
Suzanne you likely know: it was Suzanne Verdal, wife of sculptor
Armand Vaillancourt. He titled Sisters of Mercy for two female
hitchhikers he invited into his Edmonton hotel room and watched over
as they slept. And by the late stages of the story, Cohen has gone
from Ladies’ Man to Man for the Ladies, eventually partnering
musically with Sharon Robinson and Anjani Thomas in ways he perhaps
could never do romantically. He will end up wanting to “be
reincarnated as my daughter’s dog.”
Well, spirituality comes in many guises, and Simmons spends a
significant page count on it. Cohen was lured by Scientology before
pursuing Zen Buddhism and master Joshu Sasaki Roshi. And here, the
disparate elements coalesce into one character who ties up the wine,
women, song and soul: the Seeker. As Simmons catalogues, he had good
reason to seek the light.
The threnody line running through the book and story is: Darkness
Visible, a lifelong struggle with depression. There is family history.
Beautiful, volatile Masha will spend time in the infamous Allan
Memorial Institute. Cohen will live in the greys and blacks for most
of his life, despite the loves, the success. He is the depressive who
rescues a worldwide cult of suicidals.
Depression — to some extent, you can see his point. Why not? How many
artists of his stature had a U.S. label bluntly refuse to release an
album (Various Positions)? Dylan said, “Somebody’ll put out Leonard’s
record here. They have to.” (So, the record industry has always been
that dumb.) Depression — even a triumph, the hit I’m Your Man was made
“under the usual dismal and morbid conditions”: Suzanne Elrod was
suing him for child support. And how many septuagenarians who have
poured a soul’s worth into their lifelong Book of Song find themselves
betrayed by a trusted financial handler — the apparently deranged
Kelley Lynch — and defrauded of an eight-figure sum? Just the one. In
2008, Cohen is forced out onto the road again.
It could be a sad story. Instead, enlightenment arises. Cohen breaks
with Roshi, bows to guru Ramesh Balsekar in India and eventually finds
the veil of a life’s gloom disintegrating. Meanwhile, a younger
generation —Nick Cave, Pixies, REM, Bono — heralds him as “our
Shelley, our Byron.” The tour is a global smash.
“There is a crack in everything / that’s how the light gets in.” The
perfect lines on imperfection. On the shortest possible list of
greatest writers this country has produced, in three disciplines —
poetry, prose, pop — Leonard Cohen can be known here, to an extent.
Because Simmons’s comprehensive, insightful book ultimately reminds us
that the answers to the koan are less important than the
irreconcilable mystery itself.
markjlepage@yahoo.com
© Copyright (c) The Montreal Gazette
Read more: http://www.montrealgazette.com/entertainment/movie-guide/Redgraves+Family+Epic+Donald+Spoto/7404940/story.html#ixzz29b9F6L8t