This week's album and accompanying "sermon" was inspired by an article in The New York Times this
week... as well as the fact that yesterday was Hallowe'en. While doing
subsequent research, I discovered that I misinterpreted what I'd read.
Last week, one of my favourite songwriters was honoured with a tribute
concert in Los Angeles. It was a four-and-a-half hour affair featuring
many artists performing the songs of the inimitable Warren Zevon. The
show was organized by Zevon's son Jordan, longtime collaborator Jorge
Calderón, and lifelong friend and fellow performer Jackson Browne.
Zevon, who died in 2003, is set to be honoured by the Rock and Roll Hall
of Fame with their musical influence award during their annual
induction ceremony next week. He is not, as I originally understood,
being inducted as a performer himself, which is, in my opinion, a gross
oversight that should have been rectified years ago. Still, I guess
this is better than nothing and better late than never.
I
first became aware of Warren Zevon through David Letterman. During his
late night tenures at both NBC and CBS, if bandleader Paul Shaffer was
away for some reason, Zevon would often fill in and would also
appear as a musical guest when he had something to promote. In his
career, he only had one commercial hit, 1978's "Werewolves of London"
from his album Excitable Boy. To this day, it's the only song of
his I've ever heard on the radio--and it's not even his best one. In a
career lasting nearly 35 years, he wrote songs that ran the gamut of
emotions and looked at much of life with a dark sense of humour and
sharp wit--things that don't typically produce "radio friendly" tunes.
As Jackson Browne said after the tribute concert, "Listening to all
these songs, it occurred to me that Warren never
pandered at all. He never dumbed down for
anybody or tried to write a hit. He just wrote and went on writing the
best songs he could until the moment he was gone. That was his singular
achievement."
Having
a somewhat dark (described by many as "inappropriate") sense of humour
my own self, I tend to appreciate it in others--I'm especially drawn to
it in popular culture. Even his song titles dripped with an attitude
that has been described as "sardonic" by more than one music journalist
over the years--songs like "I Was in the House When the House Burned
Down," "Disorder in the House," "Things To Do in Denver When You're
Dead," and "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner," which I've always felt
is perhaps rock's greatest ghost story. While he could also write a
tender love song with the best of them ("Mutineer" is perhaps my
favourite of these), I tend to primarily give him credit for writing the
greatest expression of desperation ever uttered--"Send lawyers, guns,
and money. The shit has hit the fan."
So
it's in honour of some long-overdue honours that he's finally receiving
(22 YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH), that I submit one of my favourite of his
albums. This was the second-to-last album released in his lifetime.
Released in 2002, he co-wrote most of the songs with writers who
typically wrote poetry and prose (some still do). Novelist Carl
Hiaasen, Irish poet Paul Muldoon, sportswriter Mitch Albom, and gonzo
journalist Hunter S. Thompson all received what is likely their first
songwriting credits, lending the album a literary flair that makes it
stand out in Zevon's discography. This week, please enjoy My Ride's Here.
I
would feel remiss if I didn't bring up the song "Hit Somebody! (The
Hockey Song)," co-written with Albom--likely my favourite cut on the
album. In what could be described as a full-circle moment, Paul Shaffer
and various members of what was then known as The CBS Orchestra play on
the track (in fact, drummer Anton Fig plays on the entire album) with a
lovely guest appearance by David Letterman himself that never ceases to
make me smile every time I hear it.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember to enjoy every sandwich.
Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!
The Reverend Will the Thrill
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