(This is a writeup of the first time I saw Zevon in concert.)
The Backroom in Austin… was a dive.
It occurs to me that some of you may not know what I mean by “dive” so I offer this definition: “a shabby or sleazy bar or similar establishment.”
Mike Orr and I did not know this when we went to see Warren Zevon perform at the Backroom in 1990. I don’t believe it occurred to us to wonder. I wouldn’t be the first “dive” either of us had been to, we were healthy and courteous enough to take care of ourselves, and we weren’t worried about trouble. I wanted to see Warren Zevon perform. Mike trusted my musical tastes enough to come with me. (Playing the opening chords of “Werewolves of London” on piano reminded him of the song and gave him a frame of reference.) So we went.
My selling point on seeing Zevon was his great songs. I suggested he was only okay as a musician or singer but wrote fantastic songs that people like Linda Ronstadt recorded to make huge hits. He commanded such respect that in 1976, on the first album he’d recorded in seven years, he had guest appearances by members of the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac, plus a Beach Boy and an Everly Brother. Just for starters.
Then we arrived at the Backroom and found out… we were going to a show at a dive. There was a bar, and the lighting was minimal. There appeared to be some interesting characters there. It didn’t occur to me to wonder how many people at the bar were there for the show. I don’t remember if Mike was particularly concerned; he was probably interested but keeping an eye out for the nearest exit.
We got there early enough once we got through the bar area to the namesake Backroom that we could pull up some chairs and sit right in front of the stage. It turned out only about eight of us fans actually got chairs; the rest of the audience stood.
Zevon played solo that night, going back and forth between guitar and keyboard. It turned out he was, in fact, a pretty good musician. Zevon was a notorious partier and drinker for many years, but he’d sobered up in the mid 1980s, rendering my evaluation of his musicianship out of date. This was excellent development; sometimes, I’m glad to be wrong. Among many things I enjoyed about the show was his rendition of “Boom Boom Mancini”, where I learned a new way to play an E power chord.
A foreshadowing of trouble came when Zevon introduced his song “Carmelita”, mentioning that it had been recorded by Dwight Yoakum and Flaco Jimenez. Someone seated behind me shouted “WHO ARE THEY?”
Zevon, moving his head off mic so that only the heckler and those of us nearby him could hear, replied, “who are YOU?”
This wasn’t Zevon’s first dive, either.
I didn’t give the Heckler a second thought until intermission, or what LOOKED like an intermission. Zevon closed out “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner” by angling a chair so that it held down one of the foot pedals of the organ on stage. He exited stage left while a single note played interminably on the speakers. Although I saw this as peculiar, I figured this was just part of the show while he took a break.
Come to find out, just because I hadn’t heard any more from the Heckler didn’t mean Zevon hadn’t. After several minutes (of that one note), I looked to my left and I saw the Heckler, a slender young man nursing a drink, speaking with a very large man. A man with a mullet and a beard. A man with biceps thicker than the Heckler’s neck. A man with a chest so massive it looked like he could pick up the corner of a truck while someone else changed a tire.
He could only have been the Bouncer. Every dive needs a Bouncer.
The Bouncer was a consummate professional. Unfortunately, the Heckler was a few too many sheets to the wind to appreciate professionalism and courtesy, or the fact that the Bouncer would make very short work of him if a physical confrontation broke out.
The only quotes I heard from the Bouncer were:
“Look, it’s not me, it’s him. You’re gone.”
And… “don’t give me any $#!^, I’m not in the #&$&!%$ mood!”
Eventually, the Heckler left under his own power.
Zevon resumed the show and finished in excellent form, without further incident.
Mike and I left… after the show was completed.
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