Published on Feb 2, 2005
Two years ago I used this space to verbally bludgeon
an album that my friend Dave had
given me for Christmas. In addition to being a good sport and a
great friend, Dave is nothing if not persistent. Thus, another
Yule, another attempt to expand my musical horizons. One of the
many things Dave and I have in common is an appreciation for good
writing in whatever form we discover it. In the music world, that
train of thought carries you straight to the catalogue of the late,
great Warren Zevon.
Zevon died last year of lung cancer, another creative voice
silenced too young. What he left behind is a career’s worth of
witty, insightful, all-too-human songs, full of sharply imagined
characters, clever twists and eccentric asides. The very diversity
of his ideas and purity of his vision kept him on the fringes of
the mainstream for his entire career, yet he was justly revered by
an entire generation of fellow songwriters
Rarely has an artist’s body of work been more suited for this
sort of disc, a 14-song set of covers lovingly assembled by his
family, friends and admirers. And rarely have I heard one that’s
more successful in both capturing and honoring the (free) spirit of
the original artist.
The disc almost has to start off with an Eagle — Zevon was,
after all, one of the acts most identified with the late ’70s LA
rock scene — and Don Henley steps up to the plate like the pro he
is to deliver “Searching For A Heart.” (Although frankly, that’s
only half a compliment, since Henley has in his later years become
such a predictably bland singer of ballads, a surprising turn for a
guy who’s always fostered a bit of a rebel image.)
Another LA pal comes along soon, as Jackson Browne absolutely
nails “Poor Poor Pitiful Me,” one of Zevon’s more well-known if
potentially misunderstood tunes. I get the feeling most of the
public doesn’t realize it’s a bitingly satirical piece skewering
the perpetual victims we all know (and try to avoid) in our lives.
Regardless, Browne gets the self-oblivious tone just right, with
Bonnie Raitt contributing some tasty slide and warm harmonies.
My favorite parts of this album, though, were the surprises it
had in store. I like the Wallflowers — hell, I respect any
second-generation rock star who doesn’t make a fool of him or
herself at it — but Jakob Dylan and company’s cover of “Lawyers,
Guns & Money” is a revelation, full of an intensity and bravado
that they’ve only intermittently brought to their own material.
When Jakob audibles “Warren get me out of this” mid-song, it gives
me chills. A major highlight.
Another highlight comes from a most unlikely source. Let’s face
it, it would take balls for anybody but Zevon to try to sing
“Werewolves Of London” — it’s kinda like pulling “Freebird” on a
Lynyrd Skynyrd tribute album. But an actor? A big-name,
nothing-to-win-and-everything-to-lose A-list Hollywood star? I was
ready to cringe my way through, and ended up singing along to the
fearless, totally committed performance that Adam Sandler delivers
on “Werewolves.” Counting
Spanglish, that makes two startlingly good out-of-left-field
performances for ol’ Happy Gilmore in ’04. Nice work if you can get
it.
Other notables include Pete Yorn’s retro-rocking version of
“Splendid Isolation” (a song anyone who’s ever been a loner can
relate to); Bruce Springsteen’s respectful take on the
dizzyingly-well-rhymed “My Ride’s Here”; Steve Earle’s reliably
gritty “Reconsider Me”; and the Pixies’ grinding reimagination of
the aptly-titled “Ain’t That Pretty At All.”
The most moving moments of the album, though come from those who
were closest to Zevon himself in life. Halfway through, Zevon’s son
Jordan (who co-produced this album) pulls a neglected nugget out of
his dad’s songbook and offers an absolutely spot-on performance of
the hard-luck road song “Studebaker.” And Jorge Calderon, Jordan’s
co-producer here and Warren’s collaborator in recent years,
finishes the album off with a gentle, stately take on one of the
most moving songs from Zevon’s farewell album
The Wind, “Keep Me In Your Heart.”
Are there any real misfires on this disc? Well, let’s just say
in the category of Hollywood stars slumming on disc, Billy Bob
Thornton comes in a get-out-the-telescope distant second to the
aforementioned Mr. Sandler. (If I wanted to listen to Bob Dylan
with laryngitis…) As for the actual contribution here from
Dylan the elder, while it’s a nice gesture to have the dean of
living American songwriters represented here, after 30 years of
listening I still can’t stand this amazing writer’s mumbly rasp of
a voice.
My advice regarding
Enjoy Every Sandwich is to be ready to hit skip a couple of
times, but not to let that stop you from picking up this very
worthy tribute to one of the great ones. Rest easy, Warren.