Our Lady of Perpetual Hell

When I was looking over my list of music that soured milk in Southwestern Ontario last week, I came upon my three-day binge set by Warren Zevon: [eponymous], Excitable Boy, Mr. Bad Example, Mutineer, My Ride’s Here, Learning to Flinch and his last album, The Wind.

Listening to that last cd on the way to work, I blubbed at the thought that there would never be any more new songs from Warren Zevon.

I became a Zevon fan back in ‘78 when Excitable Boy was released. He was my Perfect Man: articulate and sardonic, self-deprecating, darkly funny, and clever as hell. Plus, he wore glasses–I have always liked a man in glasses–and played the piano. And that voice… ye gods, that voice. So deeply masculine, the low notes he effortlessly hit could make my heart vibrate. One of the things that’s hard about listening to “The Wind” is to hear how reedy that voice got at times, toward the end. Lung cancer will do that, I reckon.

Although he smoked for 30 years, the form of cancer he had was mesothelioma–caused by exposure to asbestos. Apparently, his son’s theory is that Warren may have been exposed to it as a child, playing in the attic of his dad’s carpet store.

What caused it, though, doesn’t really matter at this point. He died on September 7, 2003. I heard about it while I was driving to work the next morning. The hosts of Radio From Hell talked about him and then, as I pulled into the parking lot at work, they had the balls to actually play one of his songs–even though (oh my!) it wouldn’t appeal to the station’s target demographic and that would piss off their bosses. I sat and cried in my car as I listened to “Lawyers, Guns and Money” (which, really, was not a song Warren would’ve ever thought anybody would cry over, I’m sure).

VH1 aired a documentary about the making of “The Wind” shortly after he died. I watched it and it was very good, but have not been able to bring myself to watch it again since.

I saw him play the old Diamond club in Toronto in the late 80s. I think I went by myself to that show, although I couldn’t say for sure… (My memory of that period is murky… ol’ Warren and I had a few bad habits in common, don’tcha know… ahem) He was touring Sentimental Hygiene–a strong, poppy album that I useta play at work at Records On Wheels all the time. I stood at the edge of the stage, transfixed and thrilled throughout the show. He had that kinda power.

Nobody writes lyrics like Warren did. I mean, who else would use words like “pauperized” or “whereupon” in rock and roll–let alone both in the same song. How could I not love a guy who could do that? You could find moments of lyrical genius on any of his albums–he had the English language wrapped around his little finger…

The mailman brought me the Rolling Stone
Trouble waiting to happen
It said I was living at home alone
Trouble waiting to happen
I read things I didn’t know I’d done
It sounded like alot of fun
I guess I’ve been bad or something
Trouble waiting to happen

They just don’t write ‘em like that anymore. I’ve got my vinyl and I’ve got my tapes and I’ve got my cds. But I’ll still miss the man.