Six or seven years ago and I wouldn't have known Warren Zevon as much more than the guy who wrote the novelty track 'Werewolves of London.' And, to be honest, I can't remember exactly what track or moment it was that got me to listen to Zevon more—this, arguably, gives me something in common with Zevon, as he also had a notoriously fickle relationship with alcohol and probably had a few days, weeks, months, or years that aren't much more than pockmarked blurs in an uncertain sequence. I digress, Zevon did ultimately manage to get sober, which is an accomplishment.
Zevon's got a helluva catalogue (remember The Lost World, the Jeff Goldblum driven Jurassic Park sequel? Roland and Van Owen are both used as character names; and I mean, the CIA being assholes isn't exactly surprising, that's what they do, look at Patrice Lumumba or any of the other decisions made by the Dulles brothers [of Dulles International Airport fame] that directly led to many of our current global geopoliical conflicts) and it's a shame that so often he's remembered just for that song and maybe a few others. If nothing else, you have to respect the man for insisting when his ex-wife write a biography of him, it be warts-and-all—and he certainly had his warts, so many they threaten to overwhelm his better half (if one is so generous as to say good comprised half—he himself might have a whimsical, morbid thought or two on the matter). It has an almost visceral sting to read about him playing 'Reconsider Me' trying to make amends with his ex-wife—while cold-shouldering their daughter.
One of the enjoyable, interesting choices about the book is to put much of it in the voices of the people who encountered and knew Zevon; despite him not receiving his commercial due in life, he was very influential among artists, so we get great snippets from people like Bruce Springsteen, Jackson Browne, Billy Bob Thornton, I believe even Stevie Nicks, Stephen King, and Amy Tan have contributory remarks (Zevon wrote 'Mohammed's Radio,' apparently, on the same Aspen trip when Stevie Nicks wrote 'Landslide'—the only thing missing to complete the image of wintertime rock degeneracy in Aspen is Hunter S. Thompson driving down from Owl Farm; though it's worth noting Zevon and Thompson later collaborated on the song 'You're A Whole Different Person When You're Scared' from the My Ride's Here album).
On this note, I was a little bummed not to see anything from Lindsey Buckingham of Fleetwood Mac in here. I was hoping there might be some remarks on his interactions with Zevon or how the two got along, but that's an oddball thing because I'm a fan of both. There is a fun note that Buckingham was discouraged from leaving the Everly Brothers to join Fleetwood Mac, because why give up a steady paycheck?
I'd say Buckingham made the right call on that one.
Zevon's intelligence and wit also shines through—and the man was clever (for a shorter version, just his final Late Night show with Letterman, here)—the man was a genius, he even wrote a track with just that title that's apparently quite technically complex (and includes his lovely, typical blend of dark, enigmatic humor: "I've got a bitter pot of je ne sais quos/Guess what, I'm stirring it with a monkey's paw...") Another example is his use of the word 'brucellosis' in 'Play It All Night Long,' which I've seen referred to as just his way of kinda wink-and-nodding that most people couldn't cram such an un-poetic word into a song.
Doctor Sleep, one of Stephen King's countless books, is the sequel to his famous The Shining and some readers may remember the movie with Ewan McGregor that came out a few years ago. The book itself is dedicated to Zevon, who King used to play in the Rock Bottom Remainders with (which helps to explain my earlier reference to him and Amy Tan, for anyone wondering why I left those two threads unexplained). "Howl at the moon," or something along those lines is the dedication—a reference to how Zevon enjoyed stepping back on vocals for 'Werewolves of London.'
Kinda like how he got sick of playing piano and once demanded cash to play it on his own track.
He liked to play guitar, but often not allowed to because, ah, what's the term? He was too much an 'Excitable Boy'.
I'll Sleep When I'm Dead might not be a chart-topper itself, but worth a read if you're curious about Zevon, while being unmissable if you're a fan.
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—As an aside, I also find his live album's title endlessly fascinating: Stand in the Fire. From my uncle dying in a fire to liking Fawkes the phoenix to Fleetwood Mac's use of fire (Green: green; Welch: green; Kirwan: white; Buckingham/Nicks: blue) to my own story conceptions (corrosive vs. cleansing fire), I guess you could say I have a strange fascination with metaphorical fire—the real thing I avoid.
—There are some very affectionate stories Crystal Zevon shares about her time with Zevon. One, which shows both his volatile and gentle sides, is the incident where, blackout drunk, he went on a rampage and ripped a bannister off a rail (I believe it was); Jackson Browne, yes that one, being the good guy he is, got Crystal and Zevon's daughter to safety, then returned and helped Warren turn his blackout drunk into 'Tenderness on the Block.'
Or, at the end of his life, after he and Crystal met their newborn granddaughter, he took her aside and told her they'd "made it, Old Girl," referencing a song he would play for her when they were young and living overseas, during the time he was hearing the stories from his mercenary pal that'd later turn into 'Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner.' To my knowledge, the track's not recorded anywhere, so a slice of life exclusive to the era, and the times when they would dream and talk about growing old together.
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