#47
Reviewed by Bobby Bognar
February 15 1980
Warren Zevon
Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School
Genre: Lazy
Allen’s Rating: 4 out of 5
Bobby’s Rating: 1.25 out of 5
Allen’s Highlight:
A Certain Girl
I’m supposed to love Warren Zevon. I don’t know if YOU are supposed to love Warren Zevon, but if you are a songwriter or musician, there’s a pantheon of artists I don’t care for, to whom you are obligated to pay homage: Lou Reed, Frank Zappa, Patti Smith, and, for better or for worse, Warren Zevon.
Firing up BLSIDS, I was concerned. Would I like it, as I am supposed to? Would I hate it? Would it bore me? Would I lose my songwriter’s club ID card and membership for not waxing poetic about Mr. Zevon’s genius?
The album leads off with the title track, and from the first verse, this is a goddamned Warren Zevon song. There’s just no “not recognizing” his vocal style. It is repetitive lyrically, and redundant musically, and just simply not my style. The more Warren says “I swear to god I’ll change,” the less I believe him.
As track one began to fade, I looked at the time stamp, expecting it to be in the range of five minutes and 30 seconds long, which is unforgiveable. But nope, the song comes in at exactly three minutes, which is both interesting to me (in that it confirms Einstein’s theory of relativity) and a warning sign to me that while this Listening Post exercise may only take an hour or two, it will absolutely feel like much longer.
“A Certain Girl” is track 2, and is definitely a throwback to 60’s-style garage rock. Simple and straightforward, with a catchy chorus, (“What’s her name? I can’t tell ‘ya”), but by the sixth or seventh time W.Z. sings it, I’m WAY done with it. Three minutes and 8 seconds of song that could have been cut to two minutes flat. This strikes me as the first draft of a decent tune that the band decided to jam on for a couple of hours before recording it, but then decided to never work on it again.
Whew! Have I only been listening to this album for 6 minutes? Or have I lost a day or two?
“Jungle Work” is a description of wartime (“We parachute in, we parachute out” made me wonder exactly how one “parachutes out.”), suggesting that the heroes of the song “send death to the huts.” While listening, I realize that that my songwriter’s ID card is in serious jeopardy. I’m going to need to hear some clearer, shorter, less repetitive songs to redeem this album…stat.
At exactly that moment, “Empty Handed Heart” opens with a thoughtful piano intro. It is pleasant to listen to, but I’m wondering if I’m working too hard to find something I like on this album. This sounds like a song from a mega-church service. Change the lyrics from “Made love in the morning while the church bells rang,” to “Praised Him up in heaven to make church bells ring,” and this could be the big closer for Benny Hinn’s 11am Sunday revival.
At under thirty seconds, classical instrumental “Interlude #1” is a welcome break, but holds as much weight as the interstitial skits on Kanye’s albums, although with Yeezy, at least you know something interesting is coming next, right?
Not so with Zevon, whose next track starts with the poetic stanza, “Grandpa pissed his pants again, he don’t give a damn.” Well, goddammit, I’m starting to not give a damn, either. This song references Vietnam, incest, rednecks, alcoholism, death, and, well, pissing in pants. It took me a while to realize that “Play It All Night Long” is a condescending look at fans of “Freebird.” I’m just not a fan of punching down, and this song won’t stop doing that.
“Jeannie Needs a Shooter,” co-written by Bruce Springsteen, is painfully middle-of-the road, but it was the first time I thought to myself, “Hmm…I wouldn’t turn this one off quite as quickly as I would the previous songs.” That said, I never need to hear it again.
“Interlude #2” doubles the fun of the earlier instrumental, literally, by coming in at over a minute. This one sounds even more unfinished than the first.
Track 9 is “Bill Lee,” and, shockingly, this spare piano ballad (with unnecessary -and sloppy! –harmonica playing) is interesting enough in its first minute that I listen to it a second time. Twice is enough, though…forever. This song is only 90 seconds long, but it, too, is far too long.
Have you ever wondered what lazy songwriting sounds like? Not terrible songwriting. Not offensive songwriting. I can tell you that “Gorilla, You’re a Desperado” fits that bill for me. There’s exactly one lyric that had the germ of a clever idea, and then Mr. Zevon decided to stop working on it. I’ll let you listen to the song yourself, to see if you can find it.
Noted producer and songwriter T-Bone Burnett gets a co-writer credit on “Bed of Coals,” and I am so grateful that he decided to class up this album with some proper lyrics, melody, and arrangement. At over five minutes, this is the longest song on the album, but, paradoxically, is the only song worth listening to. Minus the Meatloaf-style female backing vocals (credited to Linda Ronstadt, who deserves better vocal arrangements), the production on this tune holds up the best of any on the album. I may actually come back to “Bed of Coals” and cover it myself.
There’s nothing wild about the closer, “Wild Age,” although the production of this tune definitely will be comfort food to those who only know W.Z. for “Lawyers, Guns, and Money,” or “Excitable Boy.” The final song sounds like the worst of Jackson Brown, but maybe the best of the artist.
So take away my credentials, songwriter police. I know it’s MY fault, not his, but I just can’t place a laurel wreath on the head of Warren Zevon.
https://open.spotify.com/album/3sWJWHRCi07Hbk35H046ST?si=7t9oif2cQnCDSZhd-e7oUA
