Remembering Warren

Two years ago today, September 7 2003, Warren Zevon died after a year-long battle with lung cancer (mesothelioma, to be exact). First known for his 1978 novelty song "Werewolves of London" and for being the author of the Linda Ronstadt hit of that same year, "Poor Poor Pitiful Me," Zevon found his name in the headlines again as he fought the illness that had spread to his liver by the time it was discovered as he recorded his final album, The Wind. He died less than two weeks after the album's release. The album netted him two posthumous Grammys, one for the track "Disorder in the House" (which featured Bruce Springsteen) and one for "Best Contemporary Folk Album."

There is so much more to the life of Warren Zevon than his death and that goofy song from 1978. His original aim was to be a classical composer. Warren's idol was Igor Stravinsky, a man he befriended in his teenage years. He was an exceptionally literate and well-read man, counting among his friends the late writers Hunter S. Thompson and Ross Macdonald. Carl Hiaasen titled a novel Skinny Dip at Zevon's suggestion. His songs popped up in movies (from "She Quit Me" in Midnight Cowboy to the title song for the film Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead). He conquered the bottle after it almost conquered him (he once told David Letterman that his alcohol intake at one point was "a couple of quarts of vodka a day"). He fathered two children who are also entertainers (daughter Ariel is an actor; son Jordan just released his first EP of music).

But it all comes back to the music. The song that grabbed me and refused to let me go was "Accidentally Like a Martyr," a song about Warren's estrangement from then-wife Crystal. In a musical sense, that song changed my life. It knocked me on my butt the way only two other songs ("The Last Resort" from Hotel California and John Hiatt's title song to Crossing Muddy Waters) have in the 30 years that I've been listening to rock and roll. I bought Excitable Boy, then his Asylum debut album, Warren Zevon, and never looked back.

Warren could be incredibly funny while dealing with serious aspects of his life ("Gorilla You're a Desperado," "Detox Mansion"). His observations were frequently droll ("They say this place is evil but that ain't why I stay" he sang in "Join Me in L.A."). He gained the nickname "the Sam Peckinpah of rock and roll" because of his occasional violent subject matter (most of side one of Excitable Boy, The Envoy's "Charlie's Medicine," or "Jeannie Needs a Shooter" from Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School). However, one of the most underappreciated facts about Zevon was that he could write fabulous heartbreak and love songs. "They say love conquers all," he sang in "Searching for a Heart." "You can't start it like a car, you can't stop it with a gun." "Reconsider Me" should've been a top ten hit. In short, there was simply no limit to Warren's range of topics. Additionally, he addressed them with brutal honesty and sardonic wit (as the sadly prophetic ninth song on Life'll Kill Ya -- the G-rated version of the title being "My Stuff's Messed Up" -- shows). Even when facing death, Warren covered Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door"' while singing, "Open up, open up, open up for me" over the chorus.

Warren's last recording was the song "Keep Me in Your Heart." His health had deteriorated to the point where the song had to be recorded in segments at his home. "Shadows are falling and I'm running out of breath," he admitted. He then told his girlfriend and his fans, "If I leave you, it doesn't mean I love you any less. Keep me in your heart for awhile."

Warren Zevon will always have a place in my heart.