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...e non era ancora tempo di lupi mannari londinesi, né era venuto il momento di raccontare l'occupazione di Veracruz o l'epopea del mercenario norvegese di nome Roland (per quello si doveva aspettare lo spazio di un album), ma di storie avrete comunque modo di sentirne - mettendo sul piatto, un giorno qualsiasi, uno dei più bei dischi che la vena cantautorale umana abbia saputo concepire. Un debutto che non è un debutto per la storia e la discografia (già, c'è il disco del 1970: "Wanted: Dead Or Alive"), ma lo è a tutti gli effetti per chi con questo album ha cominciato a scoprire un'Anima che nel Rock non ha eguali.
Poetico, ironico, grottesco, surreale, osservatore finissimo di un'America che aveva imparato a conoscere sulla strada, di fatto - un senza-patria venuto dall'Illinois, che nelle vene aveva sangue russo e che aveva scelto Los Angeles come sua casa dopo aver girovagato da costa a costa all'inseguimento di una carriera che, alla soglia dei trent'anni ormai, pareva non dovesse mai intraprendere. Quasi un preludio dei riconoscimenti che avrebbe avuto POI - mai abbastanza, mai commisurati a quegli universi autentici, di varia e multiforme umanità, che i suoi dischi sapevano raccontare. COME Lui li raccontava, con la brillantezza unica della sua penna e quel timbro sincero e profondo, è ciò che ancora genera in me quella commozione che solo i film memorabili (quelli che segnano una vita e ne diventano parte) sanno generare.
Non a caso, Warren è stato uno dei più grandi registi che abbia mai conosciuto. Come Randy Newman (guarda caso, un altro losangeleno "traslocato"...) aveva il dono rarissimo di tradurre in impressioni cinematografiche ogni frammento di vita che riuscisse a colpire la sua sensibilità. Senza alcunché di artificioso o studiato: era qualcosa che gli apparteneva e che spontaneamente rifluiva in ogni sua creazione, sia che ritraesse personaggi storici o di pura immaginazione, sia che provasse a dare sostanza a quel nugolo informe e volubile che è la sfera dei sentimenti. Ma a differenza del Randy di quegli anni (o, se si preferisce, del Tom Waits di "Small Change" che si ubriacava al piano con Louis Armstrong), il suo linguaggio prediletto non era il jazz, né ragtime o quella soffusa orchestralità che richiamava l'America d'inizio secolo; Lui parlava la schiettezza inconfondibile del ROCK'N'ROLL e delle radici dell'America elettrica, dei suoni che quelli della sua generazione avevano ascoltato alla radio da adolescenti - e che ora elaborava nei modi e nelle forme più familiari a quella irripetibile California-anni'70, che - sfumata l'utopia sessantiana - si era emozionata e riconosciuta nelle note e nelle parole del Jackson Browne di "Late For The Sky".
E fu proprio l'amico Jackson ad occuparsi della produzione (ma canta e suona anche) di un album che è Leggenda fin dalle prime note - o almeno, tale lo riconosco riascoltandolo, tanta è la familiarità suscitata da questi suoni. E da queste storie, naturalmente - tutto comincia nella piccola fattoria del Missouri dove due ragazzini (già, non due qualunque... ma Frank e Jesse James) iniziarono a cavalcare e a maneggiare un fucile, e di lì impararono a uccidere da fuorilegge ("outlaws on the losing side": si è mai trovata una definizione più bella?); e dal vecchio West, su e giù ad esplorare uno spettro più che mai ampio di emozioni: le rosee speranze che svaniscono nella disillusione di "Hasten Down The Wind", con una steel guitar da nodo in gola del Sommo David Lindley; il lato perverso e "oscuro" di "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me", che da un mancato suicidio ("avevo già messo la testa sulle rotaie e aspettavo il treno, ma la ferrovia era in disuso" - !!!) si infila nei vicoli malsicuri e ambigui del sadomasochismo ("ho incontrato una ragazza che mi ha chiesto di picchiarla, ma preferirei non parlare della cosa..."); le frecciate all'indirizzo di Marilyn Dillow, a lungo sua compagna di vita, in "The French Inhaler"("droga, vino, e tutte le sere a letto con uno diverso, ma dimmi... si può vivere così?") - ai cori, nientemeno che che due signori di nome Don Henley e Glenn Frey; il funk/r'n'b irresistibile di "Join Me In L.A.", degno dei migliori Little Feat e, manco a farlo apposta, cantato con quella Musa di Lowell George che ai tempi era Bonnie Raitt; e l'epica, maestosa "Desperados Under The Eaves" per i titoli di coda.
Ma quest'ultimo paragrafo, e forse qualcuno se l'aspettava già, lo dedico a quei due pezzi senza cui questo disco non sarebbe ugualmente grande. Uno è "Carmelita", e quel testo e quella dolcissima melodia dagli accenti messicani che si rivelò indimenticabile fin dal primo ascolto, sopra un dramma di droga a cui tanti (amo ricordare Linda Ronstadt e l'immenso Willy DeVille) avrebbero pagato tributo. L'altro è "Mohammed's Radio": in quelle notti spese ad ascoltare musica alla radio ("I heard somebody singin' SWEET AND SOULFUL") si riflette l'essenza stessa dell'Arte zevoniana - musica PIENA di anima e sentimento. E all'unisono con la voce del Nostro, qualcuno si sarà forse sorpreso nel riconoscere quella, splendida, di Stevie Nicks.
Potrei annoiarvi ancora, ma sono finiti gli aggettivi.
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 Frank and Jesse James (04:37)
Written By Warren Zevon
published by Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music BMI, 1973
On a small Missouri farm
Back when the west was young
Two boys learned to rope and ride
And be handy with a gun
War broke out between the states
And they joined up with Quantrill
And it was over in Clay county
That Frank and Jesse finally learned to kill
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Keep on riding, riding, riding
'Til you clear your names
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the rivers and the range
Keep on riding, riding, riding Frank and Jesse James
After Appomattox they were on the loosing side
So no amnesty was granted
And as outlaws they did ride
They rode against the railroads,
And they rode against the banks
And they rode against the governor
Never did they ask for a word of thanks
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Keep on riding, riding, riding
'Til you clear your names
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the prairies and the plains
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Robert Ford, a gunman
Did exchange for his parole
Took the life of James the outlaw
Which he snuck up on and stole
No one knows just where they came to be misunderstood
But the poor Missouri farmers knew
Frank and Jesse do the best they could
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
Keep on riding, riding, riding
'Til you clear your names
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the rivers and the range
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James
04 Hasten Down the Wind (03:00)
(Warren Zevon)
She tells him she thinks she needs to be free
He tells her he doesn't understand
She takes his hand
She tells him nothing's working out the way they planned
She's so many women
He can't find the one who was his friend
So he's hanging on to half her heart
He can't have the restless part
So he tells her to hasten down the wind
Then he agrees he thinks she needs to be free
Then she says she'd rather be with him
But it's just a whim
By which she hopes to keep him on the limb
She's so many women
He can't find the one who was his friend
So he's hanging on to half her heart
He can't have the restless part
So he tells her to hasten down the wind
05 Poor Poor Pitiful Me (03:08)
I'd lay my head on the railroad tracks
And wait for the Double "E"
But the railroad don't run no more
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me
Well, I met a girl in West Hollywood
I ain't naming names
She really worked me over good
She was just like Jesse James
She really worked me over good
She was a credit to her gender
She put me through some changes, Lord
Sort of like a Waring blender
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me
Well, I met a girl at the Rainbow bar
She asked me if I'd beat her
She took me back to the Hyatt House
I don't want to talk about it
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me
(Well, I met a girl from the Vieux Carre`
Down in Yokahama
She picked me up and she throwed me down
I said, "Please don't hurt me, Mama")
06 The French Inhaler (03:47)
Written by Warren Zevon 1973 Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp./Darkroom Music BMI
How're you going to make your way in the world
When you weren't cut out for working
When your fingers are slender and frail
How're you going to get around
In this sleazy bedroom town
If you don't put yourself up for sale
Where will you go with your scarves and your miracles
Who's gonna know who you are
Drugs and wine and flattering light
You must try it again till you get it right
Maybe you'll end up with someone different every night
All these people with no home to go home to
They'd all like to spend the night with you
Maybe I would, too
But tell me
How're you going to make your way in the world, woman
When you weren't cut out for working
And you just can't concentrate
And you always show up late
You said you were an actress
Yes, I believe you are
I thought you'd be a star
So I drank up all the money,
Yes, I drank up all the money,
With these phonies in this Hollywood bar,
These friends of mine in this Hollywood bar
Loneliness and frustration
We both came down with an acute case
And when the lights came up at two
I caught a glimpse of you
And your face looked like something
Death brought with him in his suitcase
Your pretty face
It looked so wasted
Another pretty face
Devastated
The French Inhaler
He stamped and mailed her
"So long, Norman"
She said, "So long, Norman"
07 Mohammed's Radio (03:43)
written by Warren Zevon 1976 Zevon Music BMI
Everybody's restless and they've got no place to go
Someone's always trying to tell them
Something they already know
So their anger and resentment flow
But don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long
Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio
You know, the Sheriff's got his problems too
He will surely take them out on you
In walked the village idiot and his face was all aglow
He's been up all night listening to Mohammed's Radio
Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long
Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio
Everybody's desperate trying to make ends meet
Work all day, still can't pay the price of gasoline and meat
Alas, their lives are incomplete
Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio
You've been up all night listening for his drum
Hoping that the righteous might just might just might just come
I heard the General whisper to his aide-de-camp
"Be watchful for Mohammed's lamp"
Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long Mohammed's Radio
08 I'll Sleep When I'm Dead (02:59)
written by Warren Zevon 1976 Zevon Music BMI
(note from Zevonfan1--I greatly prefer the alternate reading of "And I DON'T intend to use it on myself")
So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I'm drinking heartbreak motor oil and Bombay gin
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Straight from the bottle, twisted again
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Well, I take this medicine as prescribed
I'll sleep when I'm dead
It don't matter if I get a little tired
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I've got a .38 special up on the shelf
I'll sleep when I'm dead
If I start acting stupid
I'll shoot myself
I'll sleep when I'm dead
So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
09 Carmelita (03:35)
I hear Mariachi static on my radio
And the tubes they glow in the dark
BUT YOU'RE THERE in Ensenada
And I'm STUCK here in Echo Park
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town
Well, I'm sittin' here playing solitaire
With my pearl-handled deck
The county won't give me no more methadone
And they cut off your welfare check
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town
Well, I pawned my Smith-Corona
And I went to meet my man
He hangs out down on Alvarado Street
By the Pioneer chicken stand
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town
Carmelita hold me tighter
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10 Join Me in L.A. (03:19)
written by Warren Zevonc. 1973, Warner Tamerlane/Darkroom Music. BMI
Well, they say this place is evil
That ain't why I stay
'Cause I found something
That will never be nothing
And I found it in L. A.
It was midnight in Topanga
I heard the DJ say
There's a full moon rising
Join me in L. A.
wake up . . . wake up
I was at the Tropicana
On a dark and sultry day
Had to call someone long distance
I said "Join me in L. A."
Join me in L. A.
11 Desperados Under the Eaves (04:47)
Written By Warren Zevon
published by Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music BMI, 1976
I was sitting in the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel
I was staring in my empty coffee cup
I was thinking that the gypsy wasn't lyin'
All the salty margaritas in Los Angeles
I'm gonna drink 'em up
And if California slides into the ocean
Like the mystics and statistics say it will
I predict this motel will be standing until I pay my bill
Don't the sun look angry through the trees
Don't the trees look like crucified thieves
Don't you feel like Desperados under the eaves
Heaven help the one who leaves
Still waking up in the mornings with shaking hands
And I'm trying to find a girl who understands me
But except in dreams you're never really free
Don't the sun look angry at me
I was sitting in the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel
I was listening to the air conditioner hum
It went mmmmmm..
........................... Look away..........................................
(Look away down Gower Avenue, Look away....)
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