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...and it was not yet time for London werewolves, nor had the time come to tell about the occupation of Veracruz or the epic of the Norwegian mercenary named Roland (for that, one had to wait for the space of an album), but you will still have a chance to hear stories - putting on the table, on any given day, one of the most beautiful albums that the human singer-songwriter vein has ever conceived. A debut that is not a debut in terms of history and discography (yeah, there's the 1970 record: "Wanted: Dead Or Alive"), but it certainly is for those who began to discover with this album a Soul that has no equal in Rock.
Poetic, ironic, grotesque, surreal, a keen observer of an America that he had learned to know on the road, in fact - a homeland-less wanderer from Illinois, who had Russian blood in his veins and had chosen Los Angeles as his home after wandering from coast to coast in pursuit of a career that, on the threshold of thirty, seemed he would never embark upon. Almost a prelude to the recognitions he would have LATER - never enough, never commensurate with those authentic universes of varied and multifaceted humanity that his records could tell. HOW he narrated them, with his uniquely brilliant pen and that sincere and deep voice, is what still moves me in that way only memorable films (those that mark a life and become part of it) can generate.
No wonder Warren was one of the greatest directors I have ever known. Like Randy Newman (coincidentally, another transplanted Los Angeleno...) he had the rare gift of translating every fragment of life that could touch his sensitivity into cinematic impressions. Without anything artificial or calculated: it was something that belonged to him and that naturally flowed into each of his creations, whether portraying historical or purely imaginary characters, or attempting to give substance to that shapeless and fickle mass that is the sphere of feelings. But unlike the Randy of those years (or, if you prefer, the Tom Waits of "Small Change" getting drunk at the piano with Louis Armstrong), his favored language was not jazz, nor ragtime or that gentle orchestration reminiscent of early 20th-century America; He spoke the unmistakable straightforwardness of ROCK'N'ROLL and the roots of electric America, the sounds that his generation had listened to on the radio as teenagers - and which he now elaborated in the ways and forms most familiar to that unrepeatable '70s California, which - after the fading of the '60s utopia - found itself moved and recognized in the notes and words of Jackson Browne's "Late For The Sky".
It was indeed his friend Jackson who took care of the production (but he sings and plays too) of an album that is Legend from the very first notes - at least, that's how I recognize it when I listen to it again, such is the familiarity these sounds evoke. And these stories, naturally - everything begins on the small Missouri farm where two kids (not just any two... but Frank and Jesse James) started riding and handling guns, and there learned to kill as outlaws ("outlaws on the losing side": has there ever been a more beautiful definition?); and from the old West, exploring a broader and broader spectrum of emotions: the rosy hopes fading into the disillusionment of "Hasten Down The Wind," with a steel guitar creating a lump in the throat by the Great David Lindley; the perverse and "dark" side of "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me," moving from an attempted suicide ("I had already laid my head on the tracks and was waiting for the train, but the railroad was abandoned" - !!!) into the unsafe and ambiguous alleys of sadomasochism ("I met a girl who asked me to beat her, but I'd rather not talk about it..."); the jabs directed at Marilyn Dillow, his long-time partner, in "The French Inhaler" ("drugs, wine, and every night to bed with a different guy, but tell me... can life be like that?") - with choruses by none other than two gentlemen named Don Henley and Glenn Frey; the irresistible funk/r’n’b of "Join Me In L.A.," worthy of the best Little Feat and, fittingly, sung with that Muse of Lowell George who was Bonnie Raitt at the time; and the epic, majestic "Desperados Under The Eaves" for the closing titles.
But this last paragraph, and perhaps someone already expected it, is dedicated to those two tracks without which this album would not be equally great. One is "Carmelita," and its lyrics and its sweet melody with Mexican accents proved unforgettable from the first listen, over a drug drama to which many (I love to remember Linda Ronstadt and the immense Willy DeVille) paid tribute. The other is "Mohammed's Radio": in those nights spent listening to music on the radio ("I heard somebody singin' SWEET AND SOULFUL") reflects the very essence of Zevonian Art - music FULL of soul and feeling. And in unison with our man's voice, someone might have been surprised to recognize the splendid voice of Stevie Nicks.
I could bore you further, but I have run out of adjectives.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Frank and Jesse James (04:37)
Written By Warren Zevon
published by Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music BMI, 1973
On a small Missouri farm
Back when the west was young
Two boys learned to rope and ride
And be handy with a gun
War broke out between the states
And they joined up with Quantrill
And it was over in Clay county
That Frank and Jesse finally learned to kill
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Keep on riding, riding, riding
'Til you clear your names
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the rivers and the range
Keep on riding, riding, riding Frank and Jesse James
After Appomattox they were on the loosing side
So no amnesty was granted
And as outlaws they did ride
They rode against the railroads,
And they rode against the banks
And they rode against the governor
Never did they ask for a word of thanks
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Keep on riding, riding, riding
'Til you clear your names
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the prairies and the plains
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Robert Ford, a gunman
Did exchange for his parole
Took the life of James the outlaw
Which he snuck up on and stole
No one knows just where they came to be misunderstood
But the poor Missouri farmers knew
Frank and Jesse do the best they could
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Keep on riding, riding, riding
'Til you clear your names
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the rivers and the range
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
04 Hasten Down the Wind (03:00)
(Warren Zevon)
She tells him she thinks she needs to be free
He tells her he doesn't understand
She takes his hand
She tells him nothing's working out the way they planned
She's so many women
He can't find the one who was his friend
So he's hanging on to half her heart
He can't have the restless part
So he tells her to hasten down the wind
Then he agrees he thinks she needs to be free
Then she says she'd rather be with him
But it's just a whim
By which she hopes to keep him on the limb
She's so many women
He can't find the one who was his friend
So he's hanging on to half her heart
He can't have the restless part
So he tells her to hasten down the wind
05 Poor Poor Pitiful Me (03:08)
I'd lay my head on the railroad tracks
And wait for the Double "E"
But the railroad don't run no more
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me
Well, I met a girl in West Hollywood
I ain't naming names
She really worked me over good
She was just like Jesse James
She really worked me over good
She was a credit to her gender
She put me through some changes, Lord
Sort of like a Waring blender
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me
Well, I met a girl at the Rainbow bar
She asked me if I'd beat her
She took me back to the Hyatt House
I don't want to talk about it
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me
(Well, I met a girl from the Vieux Carre`
Down in Yokahama
She picked me up and she throwed me down
I said, "Please don't hurt me, Mama")
06 The French Inhaler (03:47)
Written by Warren Zevon 1973 Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp./Darkroom Music BMI
How're you going to make your way in the world
When you weren't cut out for working
When your fingers are slender and frail
How're you going to get around
In this sleazy bedroom town
If you don't put yourself up for sale
Where will you go with your scarves and your miracles
Who's gonna know who you are
Drugs and wine and flattering light
You must try it again till you get it right
Maybe you'll end up with someone different every night
All these people with no home to go home to
They'd all like to spend the night with you
Maybe I would, too
But tell me
How're you going to make your way in the world, woman
When you weren't cut out for working
And you just can't concentrate
And you always show up late
You said you were an actress
Yes, I believe you are
I thought you'd be a star
So I drank up all the money,
Yes, I drank up all the money,
With these phonies in this Hollywood bar,
These friends of mine in this Hollywood bar
Loneliness and frustration
We both came down with an acute case
And when the lights came up at two
I caught a glimpse of you
And your face looked like something
Death brought with him in his suitcase
Your pretty face
It looked so wasted
Another pretty face
Devastated
The French Inhaler
He stamped and mailed her
"So long, Norman"
She said, "So long, Norman"
07 Mohammed's Radio (03:43)
written by Warren Zevon 1976 Zevon Music BMI
Everybody's restless and they've got no place to go
Someone's always trying to tell them
Something they already know
So their anger and resentment flow
But don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long
Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio
You know, the Sheriff's got his problems too
He will surely take them out on you
In walked the village idiot and his face was all aglow
He's been up all night listening to Mohammed's Radio
Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long
Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio
Everybody's desperate trying to make ends meet
Work all day, still can't pay the price of gasoline and meat
Alas, their lives are incomplete
Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio
You've been up all night listening for his drum
Hoping that the righteous might just might just might just come
I heard the General whisper to his aide-de-camp
"Be watchful for Mohammed's lamp"
Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long Mohammed's Radio
08 I'll Sleep When I'm Dead (02:59)
written by Warren Zevon 1976 Zevon Music BMI
(note from Zevonfan1--I greatly prefer the alternate reading of "And I DON'T intend to use it on myself")
So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I'm drinking heartbreak motor oil and Bombay gin
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Straight from the bottle, twisted again
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Well, I take this medicine as prescribed
I'll sleep when I'm dead
It don't matter if I get a little tired
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I've got a .38 special up on the shelf
I'll sleep when I'm dead
If I start acting stupid
I'll shoot myself
I'll sleep when I'm dead
So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
09 Carmelita (03:35)
I hear Mariachi static on my radio
And the tubes they glow in the dark
BUT YOU'RE THERE in Ensenada
And I'm STUCK here in Echo Park
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town
Well, I'm sittin' here playing solitaire
With my pearl-handled deck
The county won't give me no more methadone
And they cut off your welfare check
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town
Well, I pawned my Smith-Corona
And I went to meet my man
He hangs out down on Alvarado Street
By the Pioneer chicken stand
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10 Join Me in L.A. (03:19)
written by Warren Zevonc. 1973, Warner Tamerlane/Darkroom Music. BMI
Well, they say this place is evil
That ain't why I stay
'Cause I found something
That will never be nothing
And I found it in L. A.
It was midnight in Topanga
I heard the DJ say
There's a full moon rising
Join me in L. A.
wake up . . . wake up
I was at the Tropicana
On a dark and sultry day
Had to call someone long distance
I said "Join me in L. A."
Join me in L. A.
11 Desperados Under the Eaves (04:47)
Written By Warren Zevon
published by Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music BMI, 1976
I was sitting in the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel
I was staring in my empty coffee cup
I was thinking that the gypsy wasn't lyin'
All the salty margaritas in Los Angeles
I'm gonna drink 'em up
And if California slides into the ocean
Like the mystics and statistics say it will
I predict this motel will be standing until I pay my bill
Don't the sun look angry through the trees
Don't the trees look like crucified thieves
Don't you feel like Desperados under the eaves
Heaven help the one who leaves
Still waking up in the mornings with shaking hands
And I'm trying to find a girl who understands me
But except in dreams you're never really free
Don't the sun look angry at me
I was sitting in the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel
I was listening to the air conditioner hum
It went mmmmmm..
........................... Look away..........................................
(Look away down Gower Avenue, Look away....)
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