Some people are made of stone, it seems, able to watch the most emotional scene unfold without so much as a goosebump forming on their armour-skin. These are the people that look at the photograph of the Chinese student standing defiantly in front of the tank and manage nothing more than an accusatory "idiot." They're the ones that sit through the ending of Old Yeller and ask their friends "why's everybody sniffling?" I wonder if these people were able to make it through Warren Zevon's performance of "Mutineer" on the October 30th David Letterman show without feeling something. I can't imagine such a person.
Zevon was the only guest on that particular evening. Letterman, a longtime fan, friend and supporter of Zevon's music, cleared the schedule to make room for an interview and three songs. The interview was as humorous as one can be when the interviewee is discussing his imminent doom. Warren Zevon has lung cancer and very little time left to live. He explained it in his typical offhand style, saying this is what comes from not going to the doctor for twenty years, adding "that little phobia didn't pay off."
Hipper people than me were onto Zevon from the git-go, but I have to confess I heard one of his songs before I heard him perform. Linda Ronstadt's version of Zevon's "Poor Poor Pitiful Me" was one of the only songs I really loved by her in the 70s. It wasn't until I made one of my regular pilgrimages to a used record store in the University District (University of Washington), a great little shop called Cellophane Square, that I found Excitable Boy
in the 25-cent bin. It had one bad scratch over "Midnight In The Switching Yard," so it
couldn't be sold at regular price. My habit was to raid the quarter bins. Five for a dollar.
I'd barely make it back to my car, struggling under the weight of huge stacks of records, then spend the next few weeks listening to every one of them, separating out the crap (90 percent) from the cream (10 percent). I'll never forget the first time I put the tone arm down on
that Zevon record and became an instant devotee. That night I drove to a record store and purchased his debut album and a brand new, clean copy of Excitable Boy. I played them endlessly, played them for friends, learned every guitar chop, and waited anxiously for the next album.
Two years went by. As it turns out, Zevon spent them drunk. In 1980, a new album did come out, one that disappointed me on first listen but grew better each time I played it. Bad Luck Streak In Dancing School, in hindsight, is a solid album filled with the kinds of characters and imagery that make Zevon unique. Nobody else, perhaps with the exception of
Harry Nilsson, could have made a song about a Zoo Gorilla, snatching away his glasses and trading lives, work. The brilliance of Zevon is right there in "Gorilla, You're A Desperado."
Such a simple song. Cute and silly on the surface, but underneath it all is regret for screwing up a relationship and an observation that a gorilla dressed like him couldn't do much worse (or better, for that matter). The acidic side of Warren Zevon was displayed clearly on "Play It All Night Long," a pounding tune that was anything but a love letter to the south. Never one to avoid controversy, Zevon said what was on his mind, painting a dark picture of country life.
"Daddy's doin' sister Sally
Grandma's dyin' of cancer now
The cattle all have burcelosis
We'll get through somehow
Sweet home Alabama
Play that dead band's song
Turn those speakers up full blast
Play it all night long"
Zevon waited until AFTER the plane crash to comment on Skynyrd, while Neil Young suffered the slings and arrows and, as we all know, those southern men don't need him around anyhow.
In the years that followed, Zevon put out consistently entertaining and honest material. He could be startlingly honest even when he was being a clown. In "It Ain't That Pretty At All,"
he told us he was going to get a good running start and hurl himself against the wall. Why?
"Because I'd rather feel bad than not feel anything at all."
Damn straight.
Sometimes he took on very specific subject matter. "Boom Boom Mancini" is about the former lightweight boxing champion of the same name. This was a fighter who captured the hearts and imaginations of many by winning the title his father had come oh so close to winning before being drafted and pulled into World War II. Injuries sustained during the infamous Battle Of The Bulge ended pop's career, and here was Boom Boom doin' it for dad. After he won the title
and had a few defenses, a tragedy occurred when a Korean fighter died from injuries suffered in a bout with Mancini (after first nearly beating him). The fighter's name was supposed to be Duk Koo Kim, but a mystery erupted days later involving the identity of the man in the casket.
Mancini was briefly vilified for doing nothing more than fighting valiantly back from the brink of defeat, and fight fan Warren Zevon was there with "Boom Boom Mancini,"
and this segment:
"When they asked him who was responsible
For the death of Duk Koo Kim
He said, "Someone should have stopped the fight
And told me it was him."
They made hypocrite judgments after the fact
But the name of the game is be hit and hit back"
Zevon comments on politics of the shadiest nature, the dangers of drug addiction, mercenaries, and love, not so much unrequited as damaged beyond repair. With 1989's Transverse City he even came up with a science fiction concept album. In recent years, Zevon's work has changed only in that it is about the aging process, still viewed and described as only he can. On the ironically titled 2000 album, Life'll Kill Ya, he sang of a trip to the doctor to find out why everything seemed wrong, only to receive a simple, off-the-cuff diagnosis in "My Shit's Fucked Up." More ironic still is the haunting ballad that closes the album. "Don't Let Us Get Sick" is an actual prayer to God for a dignified, easy end. Did he know something was up that far back?
He still looked healthy in publicity shots for his latest album, which came out early in the year and was also ironically titled. My Ride's Here features a cover shot of Zevon looking back at the camera from inside a car, clearly going away. So strange now.
The man who brought us the headless Thompson gunner bent on revenge, the werewolf partying in London, the exhausted man nearly screwed to death by a girl with moves "sort of like a Waring Blender," and the luckless loser, handcuffed and dragged behind a clownmobile in a circus tent, is not quite done. There are likely to be a few more colorful characters for our amusement and wonder. As Warren Zevon is not the type to lay down and wait to die, he's heeding the prognosis, which says he may only have weeks to live, and working as fast as he can on one final album. He doesn't intend to be morbid. In fact, he recently stated that he had "some mischief in mind." What that means is anybody's guess, but I'll lay odds it'll involve irony. Zevon can't resist irony, and let's face it, few artists have used irony as brilliantly.
Watching him struggle for enough lung power to hit the high notes of "Mutineer" on the Letterman show is what got me. I lost it right there. My wife lost it, as well. We're both long-time fans, but I can't help believing that even the many people who only know Warren Zevon as "that guy who did 'Werewolves Of London'" shed tears that night. There was something very poignant about this great artist, performing in what seemed like obvious discomfort, and knowing it may be the last time, putting his heart and soul into every note. He finished the evening with "Roland, The Headless Thompson Gunner," a masterpiece of twisted humor with no high notes to fight for, and he seemed at ease. For the length of that song, it was easy to forget the situation and just enjoy Warren Zevon. How did he do that? When the inevitable happens, I'll remember a lot of good times associated with his music, with concerts I attended, interviews and articles I read, but I think the thing I may remember most is "Roland" from October 30th, 2002. That was a class act. Then again, I don't know what that mysterious "mischief" is that he has planned, so it may be too early to say what will be most remembered. With Warren Zevon, it could be anything.
