Warren Zevon

Warren Zevon openly defied the "muy sensitive" stereotype of the L.A. singer/songwriter. Literate, satiric, violence-obsessed, funny as hell, piano-pounding, equally capable of deranged rock-outs and beautifully sustained melodies: You'd never guess that Warren Zevon, his first Asylum album (his true debut was the enjoyable apprentice work Wanted Dead or Alive, released six years earlier), was produced by Jackson Browne! "Desperadoes Under the Eaves" brilliantly skewers the self-deluded "Life in the Fast Lane" pose. "Today I'm angry at the sun," sneered Zevon's protagonist -- before a fully orchestrated, Randy Newman–esque finale cleared the air. Zevon's terse, dynamic readings of "Carmelita," "Poor Poor Pitiful Me," and "Mohammed's Radio" put Linda Ronstadt's cover versions in their proper perspective.

Excitable Boy established Zevon as a commercial comer; his deadpan, finger-on-the-trigger delivery drove home the sardonic hooks on "Werewolves of London" and the title track. "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" and "Lawyers, Guns, and Money" defined his probing geopolitical mode. Although Excitable Boy remains Zevon's biggest chart success and best-known work, its middling second half renders Warren Zevon his overall best.

Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School landed a flat followup blow, especially after such a stunning one-two punch. The ever-mercurial Zevon sounded overextended. No rest, however: Stand in the Fire is a galvanizing live album. Rather than appear with the expected slew of studio pros, Zevon led a band of nobodies through a riveting set of fiery uptempo material that lost none of the original nuance. The Envoy is where he stepped back from the edge. At first, the move feels tentative, but the loved-and-learned message of "Looking for the Next Best Thing" -- and its melody -- really sink in over time. Reassuringly, the title track asserts Zevon's (over)active imagination, while "Ain't That Pretty at All" flaunts his remaining wild hair.

After a quiet spell, Zevon came out sober and swinging on Sentimental Hygiene. "Detox Mansion" and "Trouble Waiting to Happen" look at both sides of the rehab process with a pitiless, unsentimental eye. Musically supported by three quarters of R.E.M., Zevon turned his perceptive gaze to the boxing ring ("Boom Boom Mancini") and Springsteen-Mellen-camp territory ("The Factory") with tuneful results. Even the most loyal Zevon followers got thrown for a loop by Transverse City. It's a sci-fi concept album, of all things. With a head filled with ideas lifted from "cyber-punk" paperbacks and an imposing synthesizer arsenal, Zevon set out to do for art rock what he had done for the singer/songwriter movement -- kick it in the ass. By and large, he succeeded by matching his new complex, multilayered sound with observant lyrics that considered the "Turbulence" in Russia as well as the local action ("Down in the Mall"). Over-all, Transverse City is an unmitigated downer -- its mood is summed up by a heart-opening closer called "Nobody's in Love This Year." But given some time, Zevon's bleak projection of the future will definitely grow on you. Mr. Bad Example took a giant leap backward. Vitriolic spurts such as "Finishing Touches" sound like answers to a long-unanswered, nagging question: "Hey, Warren, couldn't you do another one like that excitable werewolves number, you know, the one that goes woo-woo-woo, like that?" For the first time, Zevon came across as cynical and nasty; the note of hope lurking behind those cathartic rants of old was now long gone. Only the country-tinged "Heartache Spoken Here" hints at the emotional depth that was once Zevon's signature as a singer and songwriter.

Seemingly short on inspiration, Zevon released the live Learning to Flinch, featuring lethargic acoustic performances. Despite the beautiful title track, Mutineer is the most forgettable album of Zevon's career. Tracks such as "Seminole Bingo" and "Piano Fighter" are inferior takes on familiar territory for Zevon.

It would be five years and a new century before Zevon returned, but Life'll Kill Ya is perhaps his best album since the '70s. Lost causes, despair, and the macabre had always inspired Zevon, and here he'd found the perfect subject: the intractability of mortality. On the title track, "My Shit's Fucked Up," "Fistful of Rain," and "Don't Let Us Get Sick," Zevon gave death a come-hither look with brutal black humor. Dying relationships are also aplenty here; "For My Next Trick I Need a Volunteer" and "I'll Slow You Down" are two of Zevon's strongest weepers. The show stealer, though, is a heartrending cover of Steve Winwood's "Back in the High Life," which offers the song's optimistic lyric of restoration with the desperation and hopelessness of a deathbed fantasy. There is a sophistication in the design of Life'll Kill Ya, pulling it all together with almost literary construction.

For My Ride's Here, Zevon actually collaborated on songs with a bunch of literary writers such as gonzo journalist Hunter Thompson and poet Paul Muldoon. Maybe that is why, though it is as death-haunted as its predecessor, My Ride's Here lacks the relentless focus of Life'll Kill Ya.

In 2002, it was announced that Zevon had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. After the diagnosis, Zevon went to work on finishing a final studio album. Although the Grammy arrived posthumously, Zevon lived just long enough to appreciate the irony that The Wind got more attention (including a documentary of its creation) than perhaps any other disc in his career because of the news of his imminent death. Clearly ailing, Zevon is helped on The Wind by numerous cameos from celebrity friends such as Bruce Springsteen, Jackson Browne, Dwight Yoakam, and Tom Petty. Obvious references to his illness include the cover of "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" and the tear-inducing goodbye prayer "Keep Me in Your Heart." Other tracks focus on familiar Zevon themes like fading outlaws ("Dirty Life and Times") and sabotaged romance ("She's Too Good for Me"). In all, The Wind contains typical Zevon songs from a singer who for decades wrote -- with a wink -- about a world where things were bad and the worst was just about to happen, and so he was ready to face facts when it did. The Wind is a fitting coda to a remarkable legacy.

Of the greatest-hits sets available, the two-disc I'll Sleep When I'm Dead is the preferable choice. Focusing too much on novelty numbers at the expense of essentials such as "Mohammed's Radio" and "Accidentally Like a Martyr," Genius: The Best of Warren Zevon is a -- just -- adequate single-disc introduction to the many facets of this brilliant, twisted, and moving artist. (RICHARD ABOWITZ)

From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide