The Desperado Under the Eave: A Tribute to Warren Zevon: 1947-2003

By Erik Pepple
210 west Pop Culture Editor [send email]

A few years ago in the midst of one of the innumerable alcohol-fueled discussions of mid-college life, a friend of mine posed the question: When was the moment you realized you had good taste in music?

It’s a good question, especially among a group of people who either worked in college radio or could claim to have dropped entire paychecks on imports from the likes of Pavement. More than that, it’s the kind of query designed to trigger a debate of aesthetic superiority, which are some of the best debates you can have when you are drunk and stink of a college radio booth.

Most of the answers were obvious, seeing as we were the generation that came of age when Nirvana broke and 120 Minutes was still in heavy rotation, there were answers like: Kurt Cobain, Eddie Vedder, Frank Black, Michael Stipe, Fugazi, and so on. Good answers all, but mine was always Warren Zevon. And while I never got the chance to offer him up -- we became distracted by an infomercial -- Zevon was/is my Lennon and McCartney, my first Fugazi show; he’s the guy who showed me pop and rock and roll could be smart, witty, morbid, literary and cynical while done with grace. He was ample proof that music could mean something, even if it just wanted you to tap your feet.

Despite a record collection dotted with Elvis Costello, Lyle Lovett, Peter Gabriel, Nirvana and minor childhood fascinations with the Beach Boys and the Beatles, it took a performance of “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner,” by Zevon on Late Night with David Letterman to tie together all the loose ends.

After hearing the scabrous epic about mercenaries, I immediately picked up Learning to Flinch, Zevon’s astonishing live record from 1993. From this point on it became a resolute need to get all of his records. And whether or not it was the fact that his writing brought to mind Hunter Thompson or was consumed with death (two fascinations of mine in junior high), it pointed me to the direction of a foremost satirist. Zevon was a chronicler of the ugly, the brokenhearted, the disillusioned and the miserable and he did it without an air of self-pity or angst; he was a reporter and this is what he saw. To me, it was my stepping-stone to punk rock (sounds weird, I know). It was music about a general unease with society and not knowing where to go or what to do; and the fact it was dressed up in anger and slashing cynicism made it all the more intriguing.

It is clear that Zevon, much of the time, was writing about what he knew -- the drugs, loveless sex, dying -- and that personal touch made it all the more wrenching. But the fundamental beauty of his best songs (“The Indifference of Heaven,” “Mr. Bad Example,” “Splendid Isolation,” “Desperadoes Under the Eaves,” “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead,” “Don’t Let us Get Sick”) is the heart that beats beneath the carapace of sarcasm and sardonic wit, it’s the sneer that really wants to smile, but won’t until it can do it on its own terms. It’s Zevon’s greatest gift; his way with words was such that for any amount of anger or measure of regret, he could package it in a way where the soul shone through.

While Zevon’s name will be known to most for his mid-70’s novelty smash, “Werewolves of London,” his work will always retain the patina of neglected genius to those who loved his music.

Zevon once told a reporter: “if you’re lucky people like something you do early on and something you do just before you drop dead. That’s as many pats on the back you should expect.” Like much of his work, this utterance is oddly prophetic; the man who attained stardom for a song about werewolves, recently saw the general public warm to his final record, The Wind (it debuted in Billboard’s top 20, heretofore unheard of for a Zevon disc). As one of the finest, most articulate songwriters of his generation, Zevon has gotten his pats on the back from the press, and on a personal level he served as my doorway to everything from Elvis Costello to Guided by Voices, and for that he will always be remembered.

ESSENTIAL ZEVON

Warren Zevon: His sophomore record, is one of his best. A slickly produced document of mid- to late-1970’s Los Angeles. Songs about outlaws, pimps, drunks, desperadoes and whores form the backbone of much of Zevon’s work and Jackson Browne’s production is so clean you could snort coke off of it (which probably occurred during these sessions). It’s the cynicism-coated bitter pill of a musician who worked as a session man for the Everly Brothers and songwriter for the Turtles and now had a chance to show the world what he could do. It’s a sardonic work of heartfelt genius .
Choice cuts: “Hasten Down the Wind,” “Poor Poor Pitiful Me,” “Mohammed’s Radio,” “Desperadoes Under the Eaves”

Excitable Boy: The first record to thrust Zevon into the spotlight thanks to the hit single “Werewolves of London.” There’s some pop radio filler here, but on the whole this is a delightfully morbid piece of pop songwriting.
Choice cuts: “Excitable Boy,” “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner,” “Accidentally like a Martyr,” “Lawyers, Guns and Money”

Sentimental Hygiene: With members of R.E.M. backing him up, Hygiene is Zevon’s first album of material after a stint in rehab. His years of rock star excess result in one of the strongest records of his career. Continuing his stories of boxers, con men, duplicitous dames and alcohol, this is a ragged masterwork. Featuring guest appearances by Bob Dylan, Neil Young and George Clinton.
Choice Cuts: “Detox Mansion,” “Boom Boom Mancini,” “Leave my Monkey Alone.”

Learning to Flinch: Along with Rhino Records’ best-of compilation, this is the best bet for anyone who wants an intro to Zevon’s work. This is one of the best live albums in the history of rock and roll. Jagged and angry and ultimately hopeful, this showcases his songs in the best possible light-stripped down and delivered with furious virtuosity.
Choice cuts: “Splendid Isolation,” “Mr. Bad Example,” “Worrier King,” “The Vast Indifference of Heaven,” “Searching for a Heart”

Life’ll Kill Ya: Zevon’s prophetically titled 2000 release. This is a raw, bluesy workout that boasts surreal tunes about Elvis Presley, a worldly, heartbreaking version of Steve Winwood’s late 80’s hit, “Back in the High Life Again” and the dark humored dirge of depression, “My Shit’s Fucked Up.” A late career masterpiece.
Choice cuts: “I Was in the House When the House Burned Down,” “Life’ll Kill Ya,” “Back in the High Life Again,” “My Shit’s Fucked Up,” “Don’t Let Us Get Sick.”