AKA
08-25-2003, 11:35 PM
There's still time to appreciate Warren Zevon while he's among us: Keep him in your heart
By Joel Selvin
San Francisco Chronicle
"Keep Me in Your Heart": Hourlong documentary on the making of Warren Zevon's final album, "The Wind." 10 p.m. Sunday, August 24 on VH1. .
In dying, Warren Zevon has found the fame that eluded him his entire career.
Since announcing in August 2002 that he had contracted terminal lung cancer, the brilliant but largely overlooked songwriter has been the subject of a gushing stream of encomiums and accolades.
He spent an evening as the sole guest on the David Letterman show and has been treated to lengthy profiles in Rolling Stone, the New York Times and People magazine. On Tuesday, he will release "The Wind," his last album, a masterpiece written and recorded since his diagnosis. On Sunday, "Keep Me in Your Heart, a remarkable, unblinking hourlong documentary filmed during the making of the album, will air commercial-free on VH1.
"Since the news of my imminent demise," he wrote in his diary, "I have been getting more attention than ever."
His record label has received thousands of e-mails and letters. His famous friends flocked to the studio to help him on his final sessions. After 14 albums and more than 30 years in the music business, Zevon has finally been discovered. There is no end to the ironies in the situation.
"Death has been a pervasive theme in everything he's ever done," manager Brigette Barr told VH1.
"I've always been interested in writing about death," Zevon, 55, said in the documentary. "Hemingway said all good stories always end in death."
Death in this society happens behind closed doors. Rarely is it announced with press releases, celebrated in song and commemorated in a documentary that shows Zevon fighting for breath, visiting the doctor, gobbling pills, unable to function under the influence of pain medication. He shows little fear, but repeatedly expresses his gratitude for life's gifts. Approaching death, Zevon may have found a great subject, but his message is to love life.
"Enjoy every sandwich," he memorably told Letterman.
In the documentary, writer Carl Hiaasen, a longtime Zevon buddy, holds up to the camera a backstage pass from a Zevon performance, showing a skull smoking a cigarette. Zevon's 1998 anthology was titled "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead." His lyrics have been riddled with references to death and illness since his 1978 breakthrough, "Excitable Boy," the album that contained his one real hit, "Werewolves of London," recorded with Fleetwood Mac's rhythm section.
Perhaps because Jackson Browne produced Zevon's only Top 10 album, Zevon has been unfairly lumped in with the Los Angeles school of sleek pop-rock that thrived during the '70s -- Browne, Linda Ronstadt (who made a hit out of Zevon's "Poor Poor Pitiful Me"), the Eagles and all that. But Zevon was always a dark, literate writer whose fascination with black humor and the sordid underbelly of the pop world relegated him to cult status. Outside of "Werewolves" -- which "Keep Me in Your Heart" narrator (and former Zevon next- door neighbor) Billy Bob Thornton said was Zevon "howling at the moon" -- Zevon was not safe for mass consumption. His 2000 album, "Life'll Kill Ya," for instance, contained a prescient, utterly unbroadcastable song with an unprintable title about a visit to a doctor where the physician tells him in plain language that his health is not good. Two years later, a doctor told him exactly that.
But irony has been Zevon's chief stock-in-trade since he burst on the scene ranting about lawyers, guns and money and Roland the headless Thompson gunner. And just because it's his death, Zevon isn't shrinking from his usual bad jokes and acerbic remarks.
"The rest of my short life has gone by while we waited for you to ask me that question," he tells a studio engineer in the documentary. Guitarist David Lindley, who played on much of the record, said that during the sessions, Zevon referred to himself as Cancer Boy -- as in "Cancer Boy's a little tired tonight."
In the TV film he practically revels in the ironies. The film shows Zevon and humorist Dave Barry walking out of a restaurant, Barry encouraging Zevon to get a tattoo, reasoning that he's already on morphine so he won't feel a thing.
"Tattoos," Barry says, "are something people usually spend the rest of their lives regretting." Zevon cracks up.
Doctors told him he had three months to live when he first heard the news a year ago. He sent out a press release saying he hoped to live long enough to see the next James Bond movie. In the documentary, he worries about finishing the album. He has problems completing "Disorder in the House," although he is clearly buoyed by Bruce Springsteen helping him out on the track. From Christmas to April, work was suspended, the album uncompleted. Zevon finally mustered the strength to finish the remaining songs, recording only at home, before retiring to his ultimate fade. The film takes its title from one of those final songs, the last one on the album, a poignant benediction that will serve as Zevon's epitaph, whether he likes it or not.
"When I got the diagnosis, I picked up the guitar and wrote this song," he told the filmmakers. "On reflection, it might be a little of a woe-is-me song."
Zevon is the son of a Russian immigrant who rose to become the right-hand man to Hollywood mobster Mickey Cohen ("Uncle Mickey" to young Zevon, not a relationship he likes to discuss). He studied classical piano for years, but by the time he was a teenager, he was playing guitar and selling songs. He had one on the B-side of "Happy Together" by the Turtles, and he himself recorded as half of the folk-rock duo Lyme and Cybelle. He worked as bandleader for the Everly Brothers, long after that duo's hits had stopped coming, and helped Phil Everly pull together a couple of solo albums in the early '70s. In 1976, Ronstadt made his "Hasten Down the Wind" the title song to her album, and Browne produced Zevon's solo debut for Asylum Records. In 1978, his "Excitable Boy" was a million-selling hit. In 1980, he stopped drinking.
"He was wild," Hiaasen told VH1. "He has already survived more than most mortal men."
The documentary includes footage of Zevon being carried offstage -- not being helped offstage, but being hoisted on several people's shoulders and carried off.
He had not made a record in five years when he released "Sentimental Hygiene" in 1987, backed by three members of R.E.M. (they also recorded together as the Hindu Love Gods). But Zevon would not experience any mainstream attention again until news of his impending death. He continued to record, writing sharp, passionate songs, richly detailed three-minute novellas.
He could headline nightclubs across the country and toured occasionally. That's where he was, in fact, when he heard the news.
But if his terminal illness has stirred in him the means to produce this great album -- and he does admit that inspiration had never before come so quickly to him -- he does not greet his fate happily.
"I'd be an idiot" to be happy about dying, he told VH1. "But I feel lucky or blessed to be around so long, and I still love every day."
E-mail Joel Selvin at jselvin@sfchronicle.com.
By Joel Selvin
San Francisco Chronicle
"Keep Me in Your Heart": Hourlong documentary on the making of Warren Zevon's final album, "The Wind." 10 p.m. Sunday, August 24 on VH1. .
In dying, Warren Zevon has found the fame that eluded him his entire career.
Since announcing in August 2002 that he had contracted terminal lung cancer, the brilliant but largely overlooked songwriter has been the subject of a gushing stream of encomiums and accolades.
He spent an evening as the sole guest on the David Letterman show and has been treated to lengthy profiles in Rolling Stone, the New York Times and People magazine. On Tuesday, he will release "The Wind," his last album, a masterpiece written and recorded since his diagnosis. On Sunday, "Keep Me in Your Heart, a remarkable, unblinking hourlong documentary filmed during the making of the album, will air commercial-free on VH1.
"Since the news of my imminent demise," he wrote in his diary, "I have been getting more attention than ever."
His record label has received thousands of e-mails and letters. His famous friends flocked to the studio to help him on his final sessions. After 14 albums and more than 30 years in the music business, Zevon has finally been discovered. There is no end to the ironies in the situation.
"Death has been a pervasive theme in everything he's ever done," manager Brigette Barr told VH1.
"I've always been interested in writing about death," Zevon, 55, said in the documentary. "Hemingway said all good stories always end in death."
Death in this society happens behind closed doors. Rarely is it announced with press releases, celebrated in song and commemorated in a documentary that shows Zevon fighting for breath, visiting the doctor, gobbling pills, unable to function under the influence of pain medication. He shows little fear, but repeatedly expresses his gratitude for life's gifts. Approaching death, Zevon may have found a great subject, but his message is to love life.
"Enjoy every sandwich," he memorably told Letterman.
In the documentary, writer Carl Hiaasen, a longtime Zevon buddy, holds up to the camera a backstage pass from a Zevon performance, showing a skull smoking a cigarette. Zevon's 1998 anthology was titled "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead." His lyrics have been riddled with references to death and illness since his 1978 breakthrough, "Excitable Boy," the album that contained his one real hit, "Werewolves of London," recorded with Fleetwood Mac's rhythm section.
Perhaps because Jackson Browne produced Zevon's only Top 10 album, Zevon has been unfairly lumped in with the Los Angeles school of sleek pop-rock that thrived during the '70s -- Browne, Linda Ronstadt (who made a hit out of Zevon's "Poor Poor Pitiful Me"), the Eagles and all that. But Zevon was always a dark, literate writer whose fascination with black humor and the sordid underbelly of the pop world relegated him to cult status. Outside of "Werewolves" -- which "Keep Me in Your Heart" narrator (and former Zevon next- door neighbor) Billy Bob Thornton said was Zevon "howling at the moon" -- Zevon was not safe for mass consumption. His 2000 album, "Life'll Kill Ya," for instance, contained a prescient, utterly unbroadcastable song with an unprintable title about a visit to a doctor where the physician tells him in plain language that his health is not good. Two years later, a doctor told him exactly that.
But irony has been Zevon's chief stock-in-trade since he burst on the scene ranting about lawyers, guns and money and Roland the headless Thompson gunner. And just because it's his death, Zevon isn't shrinking from his usual bad jokes and acerbic remarks.
"The rest of my short life has gone by while we waited for you to ask me that question," he tells a studio engineer in the documentary. Guitarist David Lindley, who played on much of the record, said that during the sessions, Zevon referred to himself as Cancer Boy -- as in "Cancer Boy's a little tired tonight."
In the TV film he practically revels in the ironies. The film shows Zevon and humorist Dave Barry walking out of a restaurant, Barry encouraging Zevon to get a tattoo, reasoning that he's already on morphine so he won't feel a thing.
"Tattoos," Barry says, "are something people usually spend the rest of their lives regretting." Zevon cracks up.
Doctors told him he had three months to live when he first heard the news a year ago. He sent out a press release saying he hoped to live long enough to see the next James Bond movie. In the documentary, he worries about finishing the album. He has problems completing "Disorder in the House," although he is clearly buoyed by Bruce Springsteen helping him out on the track. From Christmas to April, work was suspended, the album uncompleted. Zevon finally mustered the strength to finish the remaining songs, recording only at home, before retiring to his ultimate fade. The film takes its title from one of those final songs, the last one on the album, a poignant benediction that will serve as Zevon's epitaph, whether he likes it or not.
"When I got the diagnosis, I picked up the guitar and wrote this song," he told the filmmakers. "On reflection, it might be a little of a woe-is-me song."
Zevon is the son of a Russian immigrant who rose to become the right-hand man to Hollywood mobster Mickey Cohen ("Uncle Mickey" to young Zevon, not a relationship he likes to discuss). He studied classical piano for years, but by the time he was a teenager, he was playing guitar and selling songs. He had one on the B-side of "Happy Together" by the Turtles, and he himself recorded as half of the folk-rock duo Lyme and Cybelle. He worked as bandleader for the Everly Brothers, long after that duo's hits had stopped coming, and helped Phil Everly pull together a couple of solo albums in the early '70s. In 1976, Ronstadt made his "Hasten Down the Wind" the title song to her album, and Browne produced Zevon's solo debut for Asylum Records. In 1978, his "Excitable Boy" was a million-selling hit. In 1980, he stopped drinking.
"He was wild," Hiaasen told VH1. "He has already survived more than most mortal men."
The documentary includes footage of Zevon being carried offstage -- not being helped offstage, but being hoisted on several people's shoulders and carried off.
He had not made a record in five years when he released "Sentimental Hygiene" in 1987, backed by three members of R.E.M. (they also recorded together as the Hindu Love Gods). But Zevon would not experience any mainstream attention again until news of his impending death. He continued to record, writing sharp, passionate songs, richly detailed three-minute novellas.
He could headline nightclubs across the country and toured occasionally. That's where he was, in fact, when he heard the news.
But if his terminal illness has stirred in him the means to produce this great album -- and he does admit that inspiration had never before come so quickly to him -- he does not greet his fate happily.
"I'd be an idiot" to be happy about dying, he told VH1. "But I feel lucky or blessed to be around so long, and I still love every day."
E-mail Joel Selvin at jselvin@sfchronicle.com.