Las Vegas Sun

March 28, 2024

He shall be Zevon

First published on Aug. 5, 1995.

Warren Zevon will be along shortly, but first a story.

It's a spring morning in 1986. In a small bungalow facing a rutted dirt alley in Henderson, a young man, not yet a SUN feature writer but already widely considered "somewhat disturbing," gets out of bed.

Eyes crusty, hair in a tangle, he herds his puppy and kitten into the tiny living room. Fumbling Warren Zevon's "Stand in the Fire" into the cassette deck, he makes them listen to the revved-up live version of the Zevon classic "Excitable Boy."

Well, he went down to dinner in his Sunday best.

Excitable boy, they all said.

And he rubbed a pot roast all over his chest.

Excitable boy, they all said.

He repeats the routine daily until eventually the animals trot expectantly to the stereo each morning.

Satisfied, the young man turns his attention to his pregnant wife. Despite her misgivings, he places the headphones over her swollen stomach and plays "Excitable Boy" for the unsuspecting fetus.

Well, he took in a 4 a.m. show at the Clark.

Excitable boy, they all said.

And he bit the usherette's leg in the dark.

Excitable boy, they all said.

The unborn child seems to dig it, even the verse about the guy digging up a dead girl's bones. So every morning ...

It's a true story, and Warren Zevon zeems bemused by it. "That could be going a little far," he says, chuckling, although it's just the sort of odd behavior that -- if you added a gun, some mercenaries, desperate circumstances, maybe a vicious dog and a deadpan delivery -- might be the kernel of a Warren Zevon song.

WHO IS THIS ZEVON PERSON? ... AND WHAT'S WITH THESE HEADLESS GUNNERS

For you head-scratchers trying to get a fix on Zevon, here are four words that may help: "Ra-hoo! Werewolves of London."

That's him, all right. Well, that was him 10 albums ago.

The hit "Werewolves of London" has been his signature song since it appeared on his second album, "Excitable Boy." In many ways it typifies his approach: funny, droll, with an edge of mayhem. "You better stay away from him, he'll rip your lungs out," Zevon sings, adding, "I'd like to meet his tailor."

That kind of songwriting endeared Zevon to critics -- who considered his self-titled debut album one of the '70s' best -- if not to mass numbers of record buyers. Songs such as "Lawyers, Guns and Money," "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" and "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" staked out Zevon territory: a gonzo-absurdist milieu of outlaws, soldiers of fortune and, yes, desperado gorillas in conflict with the world.

EASING ON DOWN THE ROAD ... SOMETHING IRISH HAPPENS

Zevon will perform in Las Vegas Saturday as part of a hectic tour that has him barnstorming time zones, "quantum leaps," he calls them, Boulder to Portland to Santa Cruz in as many days. By bus.

But the schedule hasn't left have him whirlwinded. In fact, contrary to the many rockers who complain to MTV News about the deprivations of the road, Zevon says he likes it.

"Doing this is more fun than any hobby I can think of," he says during an interview from Santa Cruz, Calif. "Getting paid to travel instead of paying to travel..."

Not everyone agrees. The musicians on "Mutineer," his latest album, for instance. Some are repeat performers from his previous albums, good friends, fine fellows...

... but they ain't going on tour. Zevon's homeboys are homebodies. Fortunately for this tour, something happened: Something Happened, a rocking Irish band that agreed to open his shows and then back him during his set.

"Musically, it's working great," Zevon says. The band has put its own spin on his distinctive tunes, even, reviewers have noted, adding a Celtic lilt to some. Which is cool with Zevon. They're just pop songs, after all. "As many ways as you can do them, I think that's good," he says.

HOME IS WHERE THE MULTI-TRACK RECORDING UNIT IS ... AN UNLUCKY CLOWN ... A PREVIEW OF THE '96 TICKET

Thanks to modern technology, Zevon recorded "Mutineer," his 12th album, entirely in his Los Angeles apartment.

That self-contained approach allowed him to record at his own pace, take it easy, perhaps lay down some tracks in the comfort of his underwear.

"If that," he says dryly.

"It enabled me to sing differently," he adds. "I enjoyed singing without any pressure -- or advice. That's refreshing."

His relaxed vocals are apparent on "Mutineer," which is recognizably a Warren Zevon disc. There are no concessions to fashion here, nothing that sounds made in Seattle, just the guitar- and piano-driven rock he's favored from the start, and another cast of distinctive Zevon people.

They include a junk-bond king on the lam ("Seminole Bingo"), a paranoid survivalist with a vicious dog ("Rottweiler Blues"), a 7-Eleven stickup man pondering eternity ("The Indifference of Heaven") and someone described as a "Piano Fighter." Also, something bad happens to a clown.

This is the album he always wanted to make, he said when it was released, and he couldn't imagine doing it any other way.

Until now. "I'm good at being convinced that the way I'm doing things now is the only way," he says. "But it's working so well with this band that maybe recording with them is just the ticket for '96."

THE SHOCKING TRUTH ABOUT LYRICS ... SPOOKING THE BONEFISH

However hard his songs may rock, Zevon's deft lyrics account for most of his cult-like following. So it's surprising to hear that he hates writing them and considers them "bad poetry."

This from the man who penned the immortal line (from his song "The French Inhaler"), "Your face looked like something Death brought with him in his suitcase"?

"I'd rather be playing lead guitar all day," he confesses. "I regard lyric writing as a necessary evil to allow me to do that at least some of the time."

But he acknowledges that people don't always enjoy the things they do best. "So maybe slaving over bad poetry may be my real area of ... whatever."

He also knows that if you hate writing lyrics, seek professional help.

In the case of "Seminole Bingo" and "Rottweiler Blues," Zevon called on Florida novelist Carl Hiaasen, whose hopped-up best-sellers about Florida netherworld characters frequently resemble fleshed-out Zevon songs.

The two fish together frequently off the Florida coast. During a recent trip, Zevon came across the phrase "Seminole Bingo" and thought it sounded like a song title. He asked Hiaasen to supply the song.

"He'd fax me lyrics and I'd Fed Ex him tapes," Zevon says. "I'd call and tell him we need four more words in this line or that we need a bridge. And he'd fax 'em a few minutes later." The result opens "Mutineer."

Their creative partnership does have its limits. "We have an agreement: We don't talk about songwriting on the boat," Zevon says. "Our conversations are pretty much limited to him yelling at me about spooking the bonefish."

Hmmm, "spooking the bonefish" ... sounds rather like a song title itself. Maybe it's time to get Hiaasen back on the line, conjure up a desperate midnight boat run, a deal gone south, some bad craziness. Lawyers! Guns! Money! Ra-hooo!

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