Hallelujah

In Shawn Mendes' cover of Hallelujah, the soul-searching depth of Leonard Cohen’s lyrics takes on new layers as it intersects with Shawn’s personal struggles and rediscovery of music. This version, especially after his hiatus, resonates as a moment of vulnerability and resilience. When Cohen writes, 'Heard there was a secret chord / David played, and it pleased the Lord,' he taps into the longing for an elusive, divine harmony. This chord represents a form of perfection, something mystical that could bridge human imperfection with the divine. Yet, Cohen immediately contrasts this with 'But you don’t really care for music, do ya?' emphasizing how easily this connection can be dismissed or lost. Shawn’s rendition reflects this tension—he, too, is searching for that 'secret chord' that reconnects him with music and himself.

The second verse dives deeper into the complexities of love, faith, and betrayal. The line 'Faith was strong, but you needed proof' speaks to the struggle of holding onto beliefs, only to find them challenged by human vulnerability. Cohen’s reference to King David, who falls from grace after succumbing to desire, becomes a metaphor for Shawn’s own battles with self-worth and purpose. His choice to sing this song, particularly after feeling he had lost his ability to connect with his voice and instruments, makes this moment intensely personal. Like David, he emerges from this period humbled, but willing to face himself.

'She broke your throne and she cut your hair' encapsulates the painful process of surrendering control, something Shawn alludes to in his journey to accept the imperfections in his voice and performance. There’s an image here of vulnerability stripped down, a 'Hallelujah' that’s both sacred and broken. This duality—of reverence interwoven with brokenness—mirrors Shawn’s own path to healing, where he learned to sing without striving for perfection, simply allowing himself to feel.

The line 'All I’ve ever learnt from love / Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya' brings a cynical twist, acknowledging that love can wound as much as it heals. But for Shawn, this sentiment also carries hope; his experience with love, music, and spirituality isn’t about achieving an ideal but about accepting the contradictions within it all. It’s not about some 'pilgrim who claims to have seen the light,' but about embracing each flawed 'Hallelujah.'

As he closes with the words 'It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah,' there is a profound sense of vulnerability and acceptance. This acknowledgment of both pain and beauty reflects a resilience that embraces imperfection. Shawn’s final Hallelujah becomes a testament to moving forward—not as someone with all the answers, but as someone willing to hold space for both the light and the shadows within.