Zevon Song of the Week #17
haro...@yahoo.ca
Category: Mortality
My wife's uncle died this week. He was 84 years old, had remarried
after his first wife and the mother of his two children died several
years ago, and was enjoying a very comfortable retirement. In fact, he
was on the golf course when it happened, collapsing as if a switch had
been turned off. By most measures, not a bad way to go.
But go he did. And, 84 or not, it came as a surprise. Unless someone is
suffering from a terminal disease or is in otherwise obviously bad
shape, it pretty well always comes as a surprise. Most of us live our
lives expecting it all to go on indefinitely, for both ourselves and
others. Sure, we know intellectually that life spans are limited, but
we don't really like to think about it very much.
Warren thought about it. Years before receiving the terminal diagnosis
of mesothelioma, he produced the album Life'll Kill Ya, a masterful
piece of work that required a full five years after the relatively
tepid reception of 1995's Mutineer. He was more or less retired
during these years. He had participated in a 2-CD retrospective Rhino
box set, was not touring (anyone have any boots from '97 or
'98?-I don't), and only ended up with Artemis at all because of
the intervention of good friend and previous benefactor Jackson Browne.
The result was a disc that rock critic Luke Torn labeled the first of
the Zevon "mortality trilogy" (the other two are of course MRH and
The Wind).
Unlike MSFU, which is played mostly for laughs, LKY the song is a
serious look at what many of us fear most. It doesn't get more stark
than when Warren enumerates the various ways one can shuffle off this
mortal coil:
"Some get the awful, awful diseases
Some get the knife, some get the gun
Some get to die in their sleep
At the age of a hundred and one."
It's a fate that no man or woman can avoid: "The doctor is in and
he'll see you now, he don't care who you are." And there's no
bargaining or reprieve: "That's what I said, life'll kill ya,
then you'll be dead."
The phrase itself is a classic bit of sly Zevon wit. We like to think
of life as good and death as bad, but Warren notes that it's a
continuum. The mere act of being alive is a setup for dying. As the
Sinatra song says, you can't have one without the other.
Does the songwriter offer us any hope, any glimmer of support amidst
this dire prognosis? Nope. "Requiescat in pace, that's all she
wrote." Period, end of story.
It was left to David Letterman in 2002 to ask the dying Zevon what
lesson he had learned from the experience of being told it was almost
over. The answer could have come from a Zen master: "Enjoy every
sandwich." In other words, be here now. Live in the moment, as fully
as you can.
That's as good advice as we're ever going to get.
Cue the closing piano arpeggio, soft and repeating, then .... silence.
Categories to date
--------------------------
Addiction and Recovery: 1
Cover: 1
Family: 1
Geopolitical: 1
Law and Order: 1
Love-Gone-Wrong: 3
Mortality: 2
Satire: 2
Social Commentary: 4
Sports: 1
Valerie Brock
New Yorker about writers and composers who create in the face of death? I
was looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this.
One question I'll throw out: Does an artist feel constrained at the end of
his career to address his earlier work? To repeat it? To somehow demonstrate
that he's learned from it? I'll contend that in Warren's case the answer to
the first question is a resounding yes. He sees the thread of "Wind" in
various songs, he identifies death as a constant theme.
Talk amongst yourselves.
<haro...@yahoo.ca> wrote in message
news:1156072500.0...@i42g2000cwa.googlegroups.com...
Howard Roseman
8/7-14
> New Yorker about writers and composers who create in the face of death? I
> was looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this.
>
I read that Updike article hoping for a Zevon mention. He stuck with more
high-brow types, such as Nathaniel Hawthorne and Canada's Glenn Gould. So
I'm certainly not going to mention him in my little review. Quid pro quo.
But here's the link if anyone's interested:
http://www.newyorker.com/critics/atlarge/
> One question I'll throw out: Does an artist feel constrained at the end
of
> his career to address his earlier work? To repeat it? To somehow
demonstrate
> that he's learned from it? I'll contend that in Warren's case the answer
to
> the first question is a resounding yes. He sees the thread of "Wind" in
> various songs, he identifies death as a constant theme.
>
The death theme early on seemed less serious. I'll Sleep When I'm Dead is
not really a song about mortality. Beginning with LKY in 2000, Warren got
into it in a big way, they way many middle-aged people do. The Wind a couple
of years later was a chance for him to do what most artists never can,
document his own death process.
susan
> The death theme early on seemed less serious. I'll Sleep When I'm Dead is
> not really a song about mortality. Beginning with LKY in 2000, Warren got
> into it in a big way, they way many middle-aged people do. The Wind a couple
> of years later was a chance for him to do what most artists never can,
> document his own death process.
This discussion is very interesting to me-thank you, Howard and Vickie,
but I don't have a lot to add about LKY right now. :)
I did want to comment on your first sentence here tho, Howard. I'd
argue that WZ's mortality musings on his first couple LP's were
extremely serious, for the fact that they were filled with the real
death wish that accompanies most active alcoholics, day in and day out.
It wasn't hypothetical or an artistic sensability about something that
he was able to delve into before he was old enough to be somewhat
justified in its intrigue-it was his personal reality. Being a drunk
is a form of living death, and the real thing can start to look pretty
appealing after a few years.
Ryan Adams, who some have wondered if he has a drinking problem-put it
this way in a couple of his songs:
And I hold you close in the back of my mind
And raise my glass 'cause either way I'm dead
Neither of you really help me to sleep anymore
One breaks my body and the other breaks my soul
(La Cienega Just Smiled)
I've been thinking some of suicide.
But there's bars out here for miles.
(Dear Chicago)
I think WZ's amazement at being given a second shot at life gave him a
unique and wonderful vantage on your run of the mill middle age
mortality meditation.
Imagery around the Wind is just incredible, when I think about it, look
for it in his songs, in nature, in Biblical references-he was so wise
to return to it in the end........more later maybe............
susan
susan
> This discussion is very interesting to me-thank you, Howard and Vickie,
er-Valerie! :o)
susan
CRS, CO
Valerie Brock
Even the love songs have a certain perspective about them that sets them in
a larger picture, as if he was already seeing his whole life span, and
isolating the experiences. I think that many love-gone-wrong songs tend to
be snapshots, or short stories, but Warren's seemed like chapters in the
novel of his life.
DUTE's a pretty serious song,as is Carmelita, as is BTLDP.
Peter Huish
> The death theme early on seemed less serious. I'll Sleep When I'm Dead is
> not really a song about mortality.
These earlier songs were what you could term lifestyle songs where he
almost celebrates how he lives and makes no apologies for a take no
prisoners approach.
> Beginning with LKY in 2000, Warren got into it in a big way, they way many middle-aged people do.
The wisdom of age or the opportunity to reflect on that earlier
lifestyle has changed his perspective some. The writer is now giving
advice and illustrating it as he goes ...
Howard Roseman
> argue that WZ's mortality musings on his first couple LP's were
> extremely serious, for the fact that they were filled with the real
> death wish that accompanies most active alcoholics, day in and day out.
> It wasn't hypothetical or an artistic sensability about something that
> he was able to delve into before he was old enough to be somewhat
> justified in its intrigue-it was his personal reality. Being a drunk
> is a form of living death, and the real thing can start to look pretty
> appealing after a few years.
>
In my usual left-brained manner, I'm going with what's on the surface. LKY
and MSFU are obviously songs about mortality. Carmelita and DUTE and ISWID
and BTLDTP seem to me to be more about the pain and difficulty of living.
The notion of alcoholism as a form of death wish is an interesting one. Like
most of you here, I've seen my share of alcoholics (one, really, is more
than enough). I have never thought these people wanted to die. Rather, they
had severe problems coping with day-to-day stressors and used booze (or
drugs or whatever) as a shield and an escape.
If Warren really had a death wish, he would not have made it to 40 years
old. It was his will to live that helped him battle his addictions, although
he struggled with them until the end. In that famous Rolling Stone article,
he said he knew that drinking oneself to death was a coward's way out, and
he did not want to die a coward.
Instead, with no intention of doing so, he died a hero, in that he provided
an example of courage and humour for others to follow when dealing with a
similar situation that he was forced to face.
Joanne Corsano
>
>Category: Mortality
I'm responding to the last song of the week, a bit late, but here
goes. "Life'll Kill Ya" is one of my favorite Zevon songs from one of
my favorite Zevon albums. The song eerily foretold what would later
become Warren's attitude toward his terminal disease, a wry acceptance
grounded in the established Zevon sense of humor.
He starts the song with notes on the piano that manage to be both
plaintive and jaunty at the same time. The first stanza has a whole
lot of nonsense lyrics, illustrating what life is like before it
"kills ya." Everything from invalid haircuts to spider kingdoms --
making as much sense as life does (which is often none at all) --
before it "kills ya." Warren's voice has a somewhat sly sound, making
me believe that he was having fun singing the lyrics. But then the
chorus comes in: "Life'll kill ya" -- about the most grim message you
can have in a song.
A Zevon lyric trademark is the technique he often used of zigzagging
without pause from the sublime to the ridiculous (or vice versa). The
same songwriter who has "brucellosis" and "jizz" in the same lyric
jumps without pause from the intellectual Latin phrase "requiescat in
pace" (rest in peace) to the American low-brow slang "that's all she
wrote." No matter who you are, and how you express yourself, your
fate is the same as everyone else's.
Zevon's self-deprecating humor strikes in the next bit, where he again
utilizes the sublime-to-ridiculous technique -- from the president of
the United States (in theory, anyway, the top of the pyramid) to the
lowliest rock 'n' roll star. Some of us on this newsgroup might argue
that it's the other way 'round -- from the greatest rock 'n' roll star
to the lowliest president of the United States -- but the point
remains the same.
The bridge is outstanding -- maybe you'll go to heaven and see Uncle
Al and Uncle Lou, etc. The notes on the piano ascend during this
section, musically illustrating the going to heaven bit. And then the
song ends very suddenly, too, just like a life will do.
When this album was new this song made me smile, and it still does,
because even though I miss Warren very much, I am grateful for his
acceptance of his fate, which has somehow made it easier to accept his
absence now that he is gone.
Joanne
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Howard Roseman
> Al and Uncle Lou, etc.
I had an Uncle Lou. He's long gone, but he was a pretty good guitar player.
I know Warren chose the name Lou because it rhymes with "true" (for
reincarnation), but it makes the song just a bit more meaningful for me
anyway.
Lucy Pfeffa
No, WZ actually had an Uncle Al and an Uncle Lou. There was an Uncle
Murray, too, as I recall.
-- Lucy