Warren Zevon
I'd like to start out this essay by writing briefly about music. Music is a very important part of my life. Unfortunately, I can't play it, but I listen to it in its many varied forms nearly constantly. My favorite form of music is metal. More importantly, however, I am a fan of nearly anything that is good and is not created by a computer--not much that would actually be considered "pop," mind you, but blues, classical, and just plain rock-n-roll music does find its way into my CD player. Furthermore, I appreciate the artists--the artists who have talent, play their own instruments, write their own music, etc. As a side note, those readers who do not believe death metal growls require any real talent, try doing it once or listen to Opeth and tell me the singing coming from Mikael Åkerfeldt's golden throat doesn't require any talent. And don't even get me started on metal's song structures, chord and tempo changes, etc. Anyway, like I was saying, I appreciate the artists. Their commercial success (or lack thereof) is of absolutely no concern to me and may even have an inverse effect on me (the less success, the more I appreciate them). This, I think, keeps the music about the music and not about the pocketbook. Underground metal bands do not make money.
That said, I will now move on to the true subject of this essay. Warren Zevon. I will start by saying I know virtually nothing about Warren Zevon. Certainly I know who he is (or rather, was), and I know a couple of his songs, but I know very little beyond that. I do, however, know the general story behind his final album, "The Wind," and that is what prompted this essay. This album really affected me. It is the first (and, to this point, only) Warren Zevon album I own, although I now have a very strong feeling that it will not be my last. I just received it today, and I must admit that I probably wouldn't have known enough to order it had it not been for the publicity surrounding Warren Zevon's death. But order it I did, and I got to hear it today. Wow. I mean...wow. There's no other better way to put it.
I cried. Simple as that. The first spin. I cried. Even before I got to the last song ("Keep Me in Your Heart"). I tried to listen for a second spin but I couldn't. I had to turn it off. The album, combined with his death and the limited knowledge I possess of that, was just too much. I don't know if the album without his death would have had the same effect, but then again I don't know if this album could have been made without his rapidly impending death, if that makes any sense. And this was all without me having followed the man's career. Never has an album so immediately and so forcefully or directly impacted me as "The Wind." Certainly in my life there have been various songs and passages that have made (or do make) me cry or at least tear up. Just a few examples are: "The Star-Spangled Banner," Anathema's "One Last Goodbye," and Mourning Beloveth's "My Sullen Sulcus" from 6:57-8:47 (for those in the know) where the guitar actually sounds like it's crying, and probably one of the most beautifully sad doom metal passages I have ever heard. But never have I experienced this effect so dramatically as with "The Wind."
Nowhere on the album is there a tone of "woe is me." There's no asking for pity. There's no "I feel sad for myself." There's no "feel sorry for me." There's no whining. There's no self-absorbed rock star. There is, however, still a sense of humor on the album. Even in death, he shows a sense of humor. I can appreciate this attitude. Histrionics rarely help.
I have already decided that Warren Zevon is one of those rare people for whom the world was better off for having known, and I wish that I had "discovered" him earlier. What "The Wind" is is basically an album created as a man, an artist, stares at Death. One of this artist's final goals is to finish his last piece of art to selflessly entertain me. That, to me, is just the coolest damn thing ever, the most "artistic" thing, the most "artist doing his work for the sake of creating" thing that someone could do. To create until the very end. The artist refusing to let Death overtake him until he says his work is done and he's ready to go. To defy doctors and all expectations. To show the artist is stronger than medicine. To not let even Death get in the way of creating art. All this with grace, dignity, and composure. I can only hope to die in such a staunch manner. And the fact that all of this (or any artistic work that has the same effect) makes me pick up my pen, despite the late hour, makes me appreciate it even more.
History tends to look favorably upon an artist's last work, and this album will be no exception. I see "The Wind" as Warren Zevon's final words, words that are being sung, not from the deathbed, but from the very grave. In these final words, without being preachy, is a lesson. It is a lesson I hope to heed when it's time for me to make my exit--to look Death so squarely, so unwaveringly, so gracefully, so unflinchingly in the eye.
Originally written:
December 2, 2003; December 6, 2003
Put online:
December 28, 2003
Discussion:
N/A
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