6OGs Special: Brian Takes a Drink as Zevon Enters the Hall

Hey folks. OG Brian here. Once again, we are breaking from our usual format. I needed to post my thoughts in response to some recent news about one of my very favorite artists, Warren Zevon. I would have posted this sooner but, you know, life gets in the way – day job, kids, fostered puppies (don’t ask). At a later date, we will return to our regularly scheduled “3 Albums” programming. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy what I wrote below, and check out this… uh… let’s just say comprehensive Spotify playlist. And as the man himself said, remember to enjoy every sandwich.

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Warren Zevon is being inducted in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Sorry, I need to say it again, because it took too damn long to get him here (or maybe, just maybe, it took just the exact right amount of time to get him here) – Warren Zevon is being inducted in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

The announcement came on Sunday, April 27. He wasn’t elected off the ballot. That honor belonged to Cyndi Lauper, The White Stripes, Chubby Checker, OutKast, Bad Company, Soundgarden, and Joe Cocker. Zevon and hip hop group Salt-N-Pepa are being inducted via a decision by the Rock Hall board in the Musical Influence category.

(Also, three musicians are being inducted by the Rock Hall board via the Musical Excellence Award – producer Thom Bell, pianist/Rolling Stones sideman Nicky Hopkins, and bassist Carole Kaye of The Wrecking Crew. Warner Bros. Records exec Larry Waronker is also being inducted.)

Does it matter that Zevon finally made it through the rock hall’s version of the Veterans’ Committee? Honestly, no. Zevon’s children – Jordan and Ariel – have recently made it clear in separate publications that their father wanted this, that he wanted to be recognized along with his peers. All alone on the road to perfection. At the inspection booth they tried to discourage me. You can believe what you want, that’ll never change it. You’ll have to come around eventually.

As a fan, I’ll put it another way. Recently I visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. Walking among the plaques, I found Gil Hodges, player with the 1955 World Series champion Brooklyn Dodgers and manager for the 1969 World Series champion New York Mets. Did I think to myself, “yeah, but he made it via the Veterans’ Committee (actually, by that time, the Golden Days Committee)”? Absolutely not. I thought, “that’s right, Gil fucking Hodges, Hall of Famer.” Even if it took until 2022, 50 years after he died of a heart attack. I’ve been searching high and low for you. Trying to track you down. Certain individuals have finally come around.

That said, there’s something almost poetic about the fact that, like Buddy the Goon in “Hit Somebody! (The Hockey Song),” it took an eternity for Zevon to score that goal and see the flashing red light. He died of mesothelioma in 2003 after completing his final album, The Wind. He won his first two Grammys posthumously, one for The Wind, and another for the song “Disorder in the House,” a duet with his friend Bruce Springsteen. He didn’t even appear on the rock hall ballot until 2023, finishing with the third most fan votes yet failing to be inducted. The hurt gets worse and the heart gets harder.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I saw Zevon live. Somewhere between 5 and 10. Sometimes solo at the piano and acoustic guitar (tours represented by his excellent live album Learning to Flinch) and other times with a full band. Many of those solo shows took place during the four-year gap between Mr. Bad Example (a 1991 album that’s a kindred spirit to Zevon’s ‘70s output but was lost amid the grunge explosion that was kicked off three weeks before with the release of Nevermind) and the 1995 odd return-but-not-fully-formed Mutineer (though the beautiful title track became a classic and has been covered by Bob Dylan numerous times). Even then, as much as we loved the man for his songs, his clever lyrics, his ability to fit words and phrases like brucellosis or chemin de fer into rock songs, we knew that he wasn’t touring solo for artistic expression or to experiment with his craft. It was because he couldn’t afford a backing band. They tell us, “these are the good times.” But they don’t live around here.

We know about the bad stuff. The drinking, the excess, the hard living. The abusive behavior toward his ex-wife, Crystal, and his two children. We told ourselves it was the ‘70s, even though we knew that was no excuse. We told ourselves it was rock & roll, and even though we know Zevon is far from the only ‘70s rocker with these stories, we know that’s a bullshit excuse too. We used his later sobriety and reconciliations with his children as justification. He was never a bad guy, just a guy with demons. But we knew the damage had been done, both to his personal and professional lives. Those other problematic rockers, some of whom played on Zevon’s albums? They had decades of hits. But, to most people, Zevon was just the “Werewolves of London” guy, no better than Bobby “Boris” Pickett. I’m Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt. I like to have a good time and I don’t care who gets hurt.

Zevon always had friends. He was tight with Jackson Browne, Glenn Frey, Don Henley, Lindsey Buckingham, and others in the ‘70s L.A. scene. His sardonic sense of humor attracted writers like Hunter S. Thompson, Carl Hiaasen and Mitch Albom (the latter two of whom co-wrote songs with Zevon), and Zevon became the music director for the literary cover band The Rockbottom Remainders, along with writers Dave Barry, Stephen King and Amy Tan. Peter Buck, Mike Mills, and Bill Berry of R.E.M. were the core backup band for his first comeback album, Sentimental Hygiene, and their beer-soaked jam session after the album was finished became the unauthorized-but-adored Hindu Love Gods release. Even during the times when the general public was largely gone, the musicians and the writers and the artists were still there. But I’m dying to tell my story for all my friends to read. It’s tough to be somebody. It’s hard to keep from fallin’ apart.

And, of course, he had Letterman. He always had Letterman. And Paul and the band. That was our reassurance. That was how we, the Zevon fans, knew that we were cool and we were in on the joke and everyone else just didn’t get it. Because Letterman was cool, not high school jock cool, but clever-cool, as in the smart-ass kid who grew up to be funnier and smarter than the high school jock. Letterman was there for Zevon from the low points of the ‘80s up through his third comeback until his final appearance. I was born to rock the boat. Some may sink but we will float.

Yes, that appearance. October 30, 2002, exactly two years before the birth of my twin boys. The entire show devoted to Dave’s pal Warren. As Zevon walked out, the Late Show Band fittingly played “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead.” Zevon joked about terminal cancer, saying he “might have made a tactical error in not going to a physician for 20 years.” He called Letterman the best friend his music ever had. He told us to enjoy every sandwich. He played “Mutineer.” He played “Genius.” He played “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner” at Dave’s request. Zevon’s voice was weaker and he was more subdued, but he was still there. He shook Dave’s hand. Dave was a pro, even if the evening eventually ended in tears back in Zevon’s dressing room. Who’ll lay me out and ease my worried mind while I’m winding down my dirty life and times?

Zevon had a complicated personal life. He also had a complicated career in music. Some of his songs were populated by scoundrels, ne’er-do-wells, grifters, and killers. Others were heartfelt tales of lost love, often culled from his own experiences, and very often his own fault. In fact his entire career up through and including his journey to Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction could have been a Warren Zevon song. Why did it take this long? Was it really just the Jann Wenner beef? Was it poor record sales? Did the mystics and statistics conspire to keep him out?

For legitimacy, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame needed Warren Zevon. And it sounds like the Zevon family needed this for Warren’s legacy. I’m glad that the people who knew him are pleased by this. But me personally? How do I feel, as just a fan with a Substack? The honest answer is: conflicted. I didn’t really need my fandom validated by this organization and, after taking so comically long to induct him, I stopped wanting it. Before, Zevon’s outsider status almost elevated him. He was the guy too cool to get in. The guy who would cause normal people – those who don’t obsessively follow this stuff – to react in shock when they learned he wasn’t already in. His exclusion just added to the mythos, and fans like me bought into it, taking it personally. You don’t want us? Fine, we quit. I’m putting tin foil up on the windows. I’m lying down in the dark to dream.

But when the show is broadcast I know that I will watch. And someone appropriate (maybe Letterman?) will speak about him, and someone else appropriate (maybe Jordan and Ariel?) will accept the honor on his behalf. And then a group of musicians will play his songs (along with “Seven Nation Army” and “Ms. Jackson” and “Push It” and “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and many others) and I know that I will be thrilled. Because it doesn’t matter how he got there. Warren fucking Zevon, Hall of Famer. If I leave you, it doesn’t mean I love you any less. Keep me in your heart for a while. (Brian)