By
Chris Ingalls
A Quiet
Normal Life: The Best of Warren Zevon (1986) *
I’ll
Sleep When I’m Dead: An Anthology (1996) *****
Genius:
The Best of Warren Zevon (2002) ****
Reconsider
Me: The Love Songs (2006) **1/2
Let me say right off the bat that I’m not necessarily a fan
of greatest hits or compilation albums per se; I realize that they serve a
variety of purposes, the most nefarious of them being that of the “cash cow”
variety – a label wants to make a pile of money off one of their artists,
perhaps even a recently deceased one, and mines said artist’s discography with
readily repackaged tracks. But there are also well-intentioned compilations
that help a newly minted fan make his or her way around the artist’s catalog,
allowing them to become familiar with the artist’s work and perhaps help them
navigate future individual purchases.
I’m an album guy – growing up in the ‘70s with three older
siblings (and their record collections), I loved and still love the idea of the
individual album as a comprehensive statement. Compilations jumble those
intentions. But I’m also realistic – not everyone has the time or budget to go
through everyone’s discographies, album by album. Hence, compilations. You can
always count on a friend and fellow music nut to burn you a disc (or send you a
file via Dropbox) to get you started. But why not be a slightly more scrupulous
fan and allow some of your hard-earned money to make its way to the artist’s
bank account (or estate)?
Warren Zevon was a unique and tremendously talented
singer/songwriter/musician and if you’re just beginning to discover his ample
talents, I’m jealous – there’s tons of good stuff to plow through, and there’s
nothing like hearing it all for the first time. There’s also a few compilations
that are designed to get new fans started. Some are great, some not so much.
Allow me to separate the wheat from the chaff.
A Quiet
Normal Life is best
avoided, for a number of reasons. First of all, in only covers what basically
amounts to Phase One of Zevon’s career, or as I like to call it, the Boozy
Years. Sure, Zevon made a handful of fantastic albums between 1976 and 1982
(not including his 1969 debut album, Wanted
Dead or Alive, also known as The One Nobody Bought). And I’m not by any
means urging you to ignore these songs because he was high as a kite when he
made them. It’s just too small of a sampling of Zevon’s greatness. The four
albums represented here (Warren Zevon,
Excitable Boy, Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School, The Envoy) are all
wonderful, but after The Envoy’s
disappointing sales, Zevon’s alcohol and drug use hit dangerous peaks,
resulting in eventual sobriety (1986) and a fantastic comeback album (1987’s Sentimental Hygiene), which led to a
string of terrific albums until his untimely passing in 2003. It’s entirely
possible that A Quiet Normal Life was
compiled and released for the primary purpose of keeping Zevon financially afloat
while he plotted his comeback, and for that, it serves a noble purpose. But if
you’re a fan, you need to dig deeper. It’s like buying a Stanley Kubrick boxed
set that ends with Lolita. There’s a
lot more to see.
Also, remember that in 1986, there were still bugs to work
out regarding the sound quality of the compact disc. If you’re like me and were
buying CDs during the first few years of their commercial availability, you
know that they sound fairly crummy, and A
Quiet Normal Life is no exception. Here’s a thought: if you see A Quiet Normal Life on vinyl, snag it.
It’s probably better than its digital counterpart (and perhaps worth more,
too).
“But I don’t care about sonic fidelity or Zevon’s clean and
sober years,” you protest. Well OK, strange person. It’s your money. Let’s pick
apart the song list. Predictably, things kick off with what’s inarguably
Zevon’s best-known song (and his only pop Top 40 hit, peaking at 21 in 1978),
“Werewolves of London.” There’s also well-known rock radio favorites like
“Excitable Boy,” “Lawyers, Guns and Money” and “Roland the Headless Thompson
Gunner,” as well as some deeper cuts like “Mohammed’s Radio” and “Johnny
Strikes Up the Band.” Additionally, the highly underrated album The Envoy gets plenty of love, including
the title track, the blistering (and hilarious) “Ain’t That Pretty At All” and
the sunny power-pop of “Looking for the Next Best Thing.” I could think of
worse ways to drop a few bucks, but you should really save your money. Trust
me.
Ten years after A Quiet
Normal Life, a healthier Zevon had four more studio albums under his belt:
there was the jubilant, guest-star stuffed 1987 masterpiece Sentimental Hygiene (with R.E.M.’s Bill
Berry, Peter Buck and Mike Mills constituting the core band), the odd but often
brilliant cyberpunk-influenced Transverse
City (1989), the sturdy combination of rockers and ballads that made up Mr. Bad Example (1991) and the
one-man-band, home-studio-recorded Mutineer
(1995). Eight solid albums total. Time for a boxed set!
I’ll Sleep
When I’m Dead is only two discs, so calling it a “box” may be
pushing it. But there’s such an enormous variety of tracks that it feels like
much more than that. In addition to the usual songs everybody knows, there’s a
ton of rare stuff, live stuff, and stuff that never made it onto a proper Zevon
album. The live stuff is phenomenal – two tracks from his incendiary 1980 live
album Stand in the Fire (like The Envoy, not available digitally until 2007) and two more from
the excellent 1993 live acoustic solo album Learning
to Flinch. The rare stuff includes “Frozen Notes” (an outtake from Excitable Boy) plus a ton of TV and film
soundtrack songs, both good (“Roll With the Punches,” from the Tales From the Crypt TV show) and sort
of bland and dated (“Real or Not” from William Shatner’s short-lived TekWars
project). As an added bonus, you get one track from the semi-obscure Hindu Love Gods album, the 1990 release
that chronicled Zevon, Berry, Buck and Mills jamming on cover songs during the Sentimental Hygiene sessions: their
rough, fun cover of Prince’s “Raspberry Beret” is a pure delight. Like the
aforementioned live albums, however, Hindu
Love Gods really needs to be heard in its entirety. See how lousy I am with
compilations?
I’ll
Sleep When I’m Dead also contains a booklet with extensive notes by
Zevon on every single track. A must for liner note geeks like me. If you want
to get the best possible bang for your buck while exploring Zevon’s 1976-1996
timeframe, you can’t go wrong here.
In the years following I’ll
Sleep When I’m Dead, Zevon released two more strong albums: the lean,
black-humor-and-death obsessed Life’ll
Kill Ya (2000) and the broader yet similarly-themed My Ride’s Here (2002). But in the summer of 2002, Zevon received
the devastating news that he was suffering from mesothelioma, a terminal form
of lung cancer. Obviously, everything changed. Determined to write and record
one more album with what little time he had left, his record company in the
meantime released another compilation, Genius:
The Best of Warren Zevon.
At first glance, Genius
seems like the ultimate cash grab – squeezing record sales out of a dying
artist’s catalog – but I like to think that intentions were better than that.
Zevon’s diagnosis gave him more press than he’d enjoyed in decades, so why not
assist curious new fans with a helpful best-of collection?
Pound for pound, Genius
is pretty terrific. In fact, if you don’t care much for the rarities, the live
tracks or the soundtrack odds and ends, this is the one to get. Twenty-two
tracks – all killer, no filler. Every studio album going back to 1976 is
represented (and yes, they threw in “Raspberry Beret” as well).
The one problem with Genius
is that it precedes what would be Zevon’s final album, The Wind, released on August 26, 2003 (a mere 12 days before his
passing – he also lived to see the birth of his twin grandsons earlier that
summer, and – as he explained with his usual dry wit, “the next James Bond
movie”). While I have to honestly say that The
Wind is not one of my favorite Zevon albums, it is a touching, eloquent and
often beautiful rumination on death and loss. While there’s plenty of
Zevon-esque rockers (“Disorder in the House”- his barn-burning collaboration
with longtime friend Bruce Springsteen – and the mid-tempo stomper “Numb as a
Statue,” among others), much of the album includes deeply personal ballads like
“El Amor De Mi Vida,” “Please Stay” and the gorgeous cover of Dylan’s “Knockin’
on Heaven’s Door.” Zevon’s calling card was his black humor, but I dare you to
listen to the album’s closer, “Keep Me In Your Heart,” without bawling like a
baby.
Perhaps predictably, the only posthumous Zevon compilation
so far –Reconsider Me: The Love Songs
– is heavy on tracks from The Wind.
Not just because it’s the only post-Wind
compilation; that final album was probably heavier on love songs than any other
album of his (and understandably so). Still, it’s an uneven collection with a
few glaring omissions (if we’re talking about love songs, where’s “Hasten Down
the Wind” or “Tenderness on the Block?”). The collection is well-intentioned,
but if you want songs from The Wind,
just get The Wind.
If you want to bypass the collections and are looking for a
good Zevon “starter pack,” you can’t go wrong with Excitable Boy, Sentimental Hygiene and Life’ll Kill Ya – three sterling examples of Zevon’s ample talents
covering three separate stages of his career. And don’t pass up on those live
albums. Zevon was a legendary onstage performer (and occasional song
re-arranger). These two very different sets go a long way in proving this. And
why don’t you pick up that Hindu Love Gods album, too? You really have no excuse
to not hear Warren jamming on cover songs with three-quarters of R.E.M. It’s a
great time.
Warren Zevon was a greatly admired, critically acclaimed
artist, but also a highly misunderstood one – he gained fame and recognition in
the mid-‘70s alongside tamer contemporaries such as the Eagles and Fleetwood
Mac, and as a result he’s often lumped in with that crowd. It’s a shame,
because his music is far more rich, eclectic and dangerous – imagine hiding
Jackson Browne away in a Hollywood bungalow for a year and forcing him to read
Norman Mailer and watch Martin Scorsese films and you’ve got the general idea
of what you’re working with. Such a singular talent demands to be heard. I
implore you to hear it; however you can.