Warren Zevon 2: Warren Zevon

After several years working with the Everly Brothers, together and apart, as their musical director, Warren Zevon found his way to L.A. where he hooked up with the usual cast of characters who played on albums on the Asylum label. Jackson Browne produced his eponymous debut for the label, and this is really where Warren Zevon as we came to know him began.

It’s all there from the first track—his piano and distinctive croon, Waddy Wachtel peeling off leads, David Lindley on whatever string instrument he pleased, and lyrics worthy of a hard-boiled crime novel. Following a stately piano intro, “Frank And Jesse James” seems too clichéd a choice of subject matter in 1976, but it sets a bar low enough for him to vault over, and soon. “Mama Couldn’t Be Persuaded” very much has the signature Asylum sound, and a catchy chorus. “Backs Turned Looking Down The Path” sticks out, mostly because it’s so obviously based around an acoustic guitar rather than a piano, and the wistful lyrics have us thinking this was an older song that was sitting around. It seems very much a detour leading into “Hasten Down The Wind”, a heartbreaking portrayal of the end of a relationship without being cloying. (It’s also just one of four songs here that would be covered by Linda Ronstadt, and this one even gave her an album title.) Any sentimentality is smacked away by the raucous “Poor Poor Pitiful Me”, which is loaded with terrific couplets, not all of which Linda would use. Glenn Frey and Don Henley provide trademark harmonies on “The French Inhaler”, which they probably wish they wrote. With the swelling strings, it could pass for an Eagles track, though they would never write a lyric like “Your face looked like something death brought with him in his suitcase.”

Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks harmonize on “Mohammed’s Radio”, a truly bizarre lyric with wonderful imagery that encapsulates the city of Los Angeles, or so we’re told. With frequent collaborator Jorge Calderon interjecting just below the level of discernability, “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead” is the first of many statements of purpose, though we probably shouldn’t take it seriously. By the same token, if the junk den scene so vividly described in “Carmelita” is from personal experience, it’s a wonder he made it this far. The dirty delivery in “Join Me In L.A.” is hardly enticing, and the gang female backing vocals are just plain too much. While it does accurately portray what’s wrong with the city, it’s one we like to skip. Much better is the closer, on all fronts. A vivid portrait of alcoholic waste, “Desperadoes Under The Eaves” is the first use of a word that will recur in several song titles, and boasts a wonderful segment where the main musical arrives out of a description of a humming air conditioner. Clearly, this guy was smart.

Again, there’s nothing on Warren Zevon that compels us to visit Southern California, but we sure like listening to him describe the world around him. And he really was just getting started. (The album was expanded in the 21st century with a bonus disc including demos, alternate takes, and one song from a live radio broadcast, providing a little more insight into the album’s creation and discarded arrangements.)

Warren Zevon Warren Zevon (1976)—3
2008 Collector’s Edition: same as 1976, plus 15 extra tracks