Warren Zevon’s songs, like the man himself, alternated between sincere and heavily ironic, sometimes within the same song. Heck, within the same verse. My response to Warren Zevon: Preludes, a 2007 New West release, does the same thing.
Ironic summary: Four years after Zevon’s death from cancer, all of his official releases, even his decidedly unpolished 1970 debut, have been give the remastered, repackaged, re-released treatment, so now it’s time to trot out the “lost” demos, the unreleased obscurities and the late-career radio interview where he talks about his writing, his songs and his artistic philosophy.
Sincere summary: While cleaning out his dad’s storage locker, Jordan Zevon found a treasure trove of tapes, which contained dozens of demos of some of Warren’s best-known songs as well as some obscure numbers he had never officially recorded and released. They’re paired on this two-CD deluxe package with a lengthy interview by L. A. deejay Jody Denberg in which he discusses the songs on his critically acclaimed 1999 release Life’ll Kill Ya as well as his approach to song-writing and other aspects of his storied career.
My actual reaction: Somewhere in between, of course.
I truly enjoyed the interview disc, titled “Primate discourse: Warren Zevon Talks.” It’s broken up by full tracks from Life’ll Kill Ya: “I Was in the House When the House Burned Down” and “Back in the High Life” and a live solo acoustic “Don’t Let Us Get Sick.” In the interview he discusses the first two songs and other tracks from the album, especially the origins of his sad, funny, slightly cynical take on the last years of Elvis Presley, “Porcelain Monkey.”
Zevon has a lovely speaking voice, and his responses to the interviewer’s questions are never less than thoughtful and reasoned. Asked about whether he prefers to play solo or with band, he replies: “For the past few years, I’ve essentially been, like, a heavy metal folk singer. I play by myself. For economic reasons, because I’m anti-social, and because it’s not as loud.”
And asked about his career, which was perceived as erratic by some: “I used to say that I was just a folk singer, but because I’d had a hit record I was sort of perceived of as a down-and-out ’70s superstar or something as opposed to a very successful folk singer, which is how I always see myself.”
The best of the tracks on the song disc are mostly those that were never released, particularly the hobo’s lament “Stop Rainin’ Lord”; “The Rosarita Beach Cafe,” set in a typical Zevon location, a greasy spoon in a sleazy border town; “Studebaker,” in which he bemoans the state of his life and his ride; and especially the opening track, “Empty Hearted Town.” It has some archetypal Zevon lines, including “Cigarettes make the sun come up, whiskey makes the sun go down, in between you do a lot of standin’ around.”
A ditty from the ’60s, “I Used to Ride So High” sounds like he was thinking of The Turtles when he wrote it — they did record one song of his. “Tule’s Blues” is a love song to the mother of his son Jordan, this one a piano demo for his 1970 debut album that sank like a stone when originally released.
The rest are mostly demos of better known songs, some with Zevon solo, accompanying himself on guitar or piano, and some with bands of various sizes and makeups. The best is the last track, “Desperados Under the Eaves,” a very good demo with a stripped-down band. Other than that one, for the most part they serve to illuminate how much better a performer he was, and in some cases how much better the songs had become, by the time these pieces were laid down in the studio for official releases.
The CDs are nicely packaged with a 40-page booklet with photos, brief essays by friends and fellow musicians, and liner notes by Jordan. He says the tapes had no information with them regarding recording dates or personnel, so there’s not a lot of info to impart.
There are obviously more in the vaults, but these are probably the best of the bunch. Die-hard fans who long for more from Zevon, one of the best and most interesting American songwriters of the past 50 years, will definitely want this one. Whether it’s a cynical attempt to milk those fans or a sincere homage, each will have to decide for him- or herself.
(New West, 2007)
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