I’m not sure how I missed this piece, from five years ago, about supremely complicated story of Warren Zevon – a deeply flawed person who wrote some of the best music ever about deeply flawed people.
It’s a sprawling article that covers a lot of turf – too many
In an old Late Show episode from the ’90s, when Zevon was guesting as bandleader, David Letterman asks Zevon to play “Desperados Under the Eaves,” which he had never performed on the show. Zevon demurs, suggesting that he needs an orchestra backing him to do the song justice. Maybe he just didn’t want to play his big hymn about L.A. on the opposite coast from that “beautiful, sensual morgue.” Either way, Dave never was able to convince Warren to play it for him.
The best song can’t ever be your favorite song, because the best song belongs to everybody, whereas a favorite song belongs only to you. Goldsmith goes with “The French Inhaler,” a telling choice for a songwriter — it boasts a parallel narrative that references Zevon’s bitter break-up with the first love of his life and mother to Jordan, Marilyn “Tule” Livingston, and the controversy over Norman Mailer’s 1973 biography of Marilyn Monroe. It’s the sort of song — sophisticated without making a big deal about it — that professionals wish they had written.
Favorite but not “best”? Probably a three way battle between “Poor Poor Pitiful Me”, “Lawyers, Guns and Money” and “A Certain Girl”.
The rebooting of Zevon’s reputation – from untouchable to secular saint, in the two decades since he died – fills a lot of the article, and it’s fascinating, and a little bit of a blast down memory lane to the days when he was one of the most alcoholic-y alcoholics around:
One of the most haunting passages from I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead concerns “Reconsider Me,” Zevon’s most poignant love song. (Given how much Zevon labored over his lyrics, the use of “reconsider” seems especially crucial.) Crystal Zevon recounts how Warren showed up at her place at some point in the mid-’80s, before he got sober, to play her the song. In spite of everything, they were thinking about giving their marriage another go.
Their daughter, Ariel, was excited to show her daddy her report card and a drawing she made for him. But when he walked in, he ignored Ariel, instead fixating on Crystal as he played her his beautiful love song. The little girl looked on, quietly devastated.
It’s an illuminating and fascinating read if you’re a fan. And I am.
“Lawyers, Guns & Money” is my favorite of Zevon’s songs, but still enjoy the nonsensical “Werewolves of London”.
The fact that Jesse the Body was so enamored with Zevon takes a little of the shine off him for meme, but yeah, who can hear “he’ll rip your lungs out Jim!” and not be impressed.
He was brilliant. He was also a bad dude, if his wife’s biography is accurate. But you have to admire a verse like this:
What goes on in Detox Mansion
Outside the rubber room
We get therapy and lectures
We play golf in the afternoon
I saw that, too, the other day. Zevon was a very complex dude, gifted with immense talent – and an even greater urge for self-destruction. “The Wind” is a beautiful album, but also an account of how he tried to come to grips with his legacy – especially the relationships wasted – while also in a somewhat calculated way, trying to leave some money behind for those he hurt. It was as if he discovered the Bucket List after a life of pursuing the “F-it List”. A keen observer and writer, he had no choice but to turn his eye on himself.
That’s the duality of the man; you couldn’t help but be attracted to the skills, and simultaneously horrified at the countless abuses. Several years ago I compiled a Warren Zevon playlist – and was surprised at how many of his songs were on my like list. My “favorite” changes based on my mood; which is appropriate for WZ. I recently sent “Keep Me in Your Heart” to my brother, though, who has had a stroke and is now in a nursing home, pretty much isolated from friends and family he had already distanced himself from earlier. I think we all face a personal reckoning long before the ultimate Reckoning; Zevon shows us just how unsparing that can be.
“There’s a train leaving nightly called ‘When All is Said and Done.'”
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His shit was fucked up.
“Little old lady go mutilated late last night, werewolves of London again!”
“You can still see his headless body stalking through the night, in the muzzle flash of Roland’s Thompson gun”
Well, I lay my head on the railroad track
Waiting on the Double E
But the train don’t run by here no more
Poor, poor pitiful me