Warren Sleeps...

[Elspode]

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead - copyright Warren Zevon 1976

So much to do, there's plenty on the farm - I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm - I'll sleep when I'm dead

I'm drinking heartbreak motor oil and Bombay gin - I'll sleep when I'm dead
Straight from the bottle, twisted again - I'll sleep when I'm dead

Well, I take this medicine as prescribed - I'll sleep when I'm dead
It don't matter if I get a little tired - I'll sleep when I'm dead

I've got a .38 special up on the shelf - I'll sleep when I'm dead
If I start acting stupid I'll shoot myself - I'll sleep when I'm dead

So much to do, there's plenty on the farm - I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm - I'll sleep when I'm dead


To say that Warren Zevon was the master of the dark musical truths that lie hidden in the depths of man's soul would be a vast understatement. Looking back over his life and career, it is difficult to know whether the darkness drove the creativity, or vice versa. Whatever the case, there is no arguing that the man rocked hard, rocked serious, and rocked intelligently. His lyrics were clever, smart, shocking, surprising, tender, expressive, but never, never boring. His music was based on a classical training in piano that screamed at the teenaged Zevon to be applied to rock and roll. Never have the two apparently dissimilar genres been more skillfully and respectfully blended.

Warren Zevon died yesterday at the age of 56, the victim of an aggressive and incurable lung cancer. Seldom has anyone died better or with a clearer purpose for the last year of their lives. Shortly after receiving his diagnosis, Zevon went on the David Letterman show as Dave's only guest. Warren spoke freely and humorously about his condition ("It may have been a miscalculation on my part to have not seen a doctor for twenty years"), and performed three songs in inimitable Zevon style, fading and shagged towards the end of the night. I was privileged to have seen Warren perform live twice during the 1980's. I have never seen anyone put so much into a performance. The man literally was exhausted at the end of the shows, to the extent of, on one occasion, having been mostly carried out the side door of a Westport venue by a large bearded roadie as I walked by on the way to my car. I nearly collided with them, and my companion grabbed Warren's limp hand and pumped it furiously as he thanked him (in all stoned earnestness) for the outstanding performance. It was a *moment*.

Given a couple of months to live, Warren defied his death sentence and held on to mend fences, enjoy family, see the birth of his grandchildren...and release a final album, a recording which was not begun until he knew he was going to die. I'm not sure that any artist has ever worked with the determination and generosity that Warren did in creating "The Wind" as his health failed. Most people's reaction to being told they were a goner would be to fight it, to deny it, and to then try to take in as much of the world as possible before succumbing. Warren called on old friends (Bruce Springsteen, Don Henley, Timothy B. Schimdt, Ry Cooder, David Lindley, Tom Petty, and other major players) and went into the studio, on a mission to write and record as much material as possible before meeting the Reaper face to face. A recent VH-1 special documented most of Warren's last year on this plane, and the result was both inspiring and disturbing. Frail, tired, drawn, his voice breaking and weak, Warren is shown recording the vocal to a final number while sitting on his living room couch...he was too ill to go to the studio, so the studio was brought to him. It was a gut-wrenching, tear-jerking piece of video, and if you can listen to the resulting song ("Keep Me in Your Heart") without misting up, then you aren't human.

Although I had unknowingly heard a few Zevon songs performed by other artists, I wasn't actually aware of him until I heard the song "There's a Certain Girl" (from the album "Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School") on the radio in the very late 70's. The song was infectious, a classic call-and-response number that got your feet moving and your throat humming. Also contained on the album is my favorite Zevon tune of all time, "Play It All Night Long", a song which prompted David Letterman to comment "I'm no linguist, but I believe Warren Zevon is the only man in the history of human communication to use the word brucellosis in a song."

As time has gone by, I've acquired quite a few Zevon recordings, and each is imbued with his unique sensibility and self-examinations. There are so many of his songs that I dearly love, it would be pointless to name them all; indeed, it is nearly pointless to further eulogize someone who has spent his entire career eulogizing himself. Therefore, let us close this tribute by letting Warren simply speak for himself:

Excerpted from "Life'll Kill Ya" by Warren Zevon Copyright 2000

"From the President of the United States
To the lowliest rock and roll star
The doctor is in and he'll see you now
He don't care who you are
Some get the awful, awful diseases
Some get the knife, some get the gun
Some get to die in their sleep
At the age of a hundred and one

Life'll kill ya
That's what I said
Life'll kill ya
Then you'll be dead
Life'll find ya
Wherever you go
Requiescat in pace
That's all she wrote"

Sleep tight Warren...

[99 44/100% pure]

* sigh *

I was probably 7 when I first heard "Werewolves of London". My dad had it on a mix tape that we would listen to on the way up to see my grandmother and great-grandmother in West Virginia. There were a number of songs on there that Jen and I would sing along to, like Steve Earle's "Guitar Town". But nothing got us howling like Warren Zevon. "Ah-ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh, Werewolves of London! Ah-ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!"

I had a lot of responsibility throughout my childhood and never really learned what it was like to be a normal kid. I had to grow up too fast. But when I think of that song, it helps me remember sitting there in the back seat of Dad's truck, singing and howling about Lon Chaney Jr. walkin' with the queen - unh! - doin' the Werewolves of London.

So it's not much, but thank you, Warren, for letting me remember what it's like to be a kid. I'll always appreciate your music in general and that song in particular. Thanks.

[arz]

Was Warren's hair perfect?

[xoxoxoBruce]

Damn Spode, I want you to write my eulogy.
I'm sure Mr Zevon would approve.

[Elspode]

Thanks, Bruce. It is a small thing that I find myself doing as I get older. So much of my world view has been informed by great artists in many fields, and I simply feel the need to share a little bit of that with my friends when someone who was important to me crosses over.