Zevon day. Draw blood.
Zevon day. Draw blood.
Eliminate all the foreigners right off. No offense to ’em. Not their fault, but they ain’t From Here.
Leave off those scruffy beatniks from the Bay. Everybody called ’em hippies, but everybody’s wrong so damn often. And that mean Jew who wasn’t from Manhattan, and that other mean Jew who also wasn’t from New York City. That jazzy lady from the Laurel Canyon.
I’ll take Warren from Hollywood. Self-destructive, self-mythologizing, and vain. Minor chord on a sunny afternoon, shooting up the billboards on the Strip. At war with the record company and the Corvette dealership. Arguing with the other hairy men about who was Hunter’s favorite. Setting his morphine on the table next to the salt and pepper. Name-dropping and neighbor-fucking. Closing the album with a song about a gorilla, who was the only desperado Warren ever wrote about that got away with it in the end. Warren wrote songs where people got what they deserved; Warren wrote a lot of songs about himself.
You take 4th Street. Zuma Beach, paved parking lots, corners with $26 in your hand. Gimme the Pioneer Chicken Stand and a salty margarita. Gimme the Envoy, the Mutineer, the Worrier King. Gimme Mr. Bad Example. Gimme the Excitable Boy.
His hair, you see…well, you know about his hair.
I’m gonna get stupid-high and listen to Warren Zevon all day, and you can throw yourself off the Hollywood Sign if you disagree. What a glamorous way to go, Peg.
If you wanna keep thinking of the James Gang as “folk heroes,” never look up what they did before they were bank robbers.
FUN FACT: Warren was kind of a dick about this collaboration. R.E.M. (they’re the backing band here) were just fans of the Excitable Boy, and they recorded the entire (better than it has a right to be) album in one night. Wasn’t even supposed to be released, but when it was and the first single, Raspberry Beret, did some business, Warren starting bugging the Georgians to do a full tour to the point where they stopped answering his phone calls.
FUNNER FACT: Despite their public persona of “Giant Pussies,” the members of R.E.M. were full-bore, speed-shooting, shit-starting, vomiting-on-stewardesses Rock Stars.
Gonna get me a Cadillac car. With velour seats and a full-size spare tire. Have a old friend of mine do the test drive, make sure it runs nice and smooth. Gonna hide a .38 under the front seat and point that giant hood West and drive all the way across America until I run out of highway. I ain’t young, but I can still Go West.
And drink and dance with one hand free.
I am beat, and well-poisoned. We’ll talk tomorrow. Until then, love each other.
Well, I went to the doctor
I said, “I’m feeling kind of rough”
“Let me break it to you, son:
Your shit’s fucked up.”
It’s fun! You’re gonna be excited. Gosh, I sure am. Watch this space.