(This is a writeup of the second time I saw Zevon in concert.)
(Why am I writing about this show instead of the first time I saw Zevon? That’s just how the inspiration struck. I do plan to write about his Austin show one day)
Brenda and I had been married for barely four months. On November 30th, 1996, our date night was to see Warren Zevon in concert at Sneaker’s, a night club near Naco-Perrin Road on the north east side of San Antonio. Chris Whitley was the opening act. I’d been a Zevon fan for about a decade by then, and had seen him in 1990 at the Backroom in Austin (that’s a story by itself.) I’d also seen Whitley open for Tom Petty at the Erwin Center, so I expected a great show.
My plans would be adjusted though. Brenda’s brother Mike, then the President of the San Antonio Blues Society, was playing a gig that same night at Wings, a club near the airport. Mike was also a member of the Earfood Orchestra, led by Jim Beal and his wife Neesie, but this night, Mike was running the show.
Hey, when you’re married, you learn to adjust. Hopefully, you learn quickly. Besides, I always enjoyed hearing Mike play, so it wasn’t exactly a problem.
We ran a little late to start the evening, but got to catch about half an hour of Mike’s playing. Brenda’s sister, Debbie, was also there, and Brenda and Debbie each ended up announcing door prizes to the crowd. (I didn’t win anything.)
From there, we went to Sneaker’s. We missed Whitley’s set, but got there in time to see Zevon. Zevon had been a professional musician since the mid-60’s, performing on his own, writing songs and commercial jingles, and eventually fighting through alcohol to establish a steady recording career. Zevon was playing solo that night, going back and forth between guitars and a keyboard. My research suggests this was the only time he ever performed in San Antonio. He played the usual required songs, including “Werewolves of London” and “Lawyers, Guns and Money.”* “Mohammed’s Radio” turned into a spontaneous, unlikely, and heartwarming singalong.
Zevon played “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” with a special introduction. Linda Ronstadt had a top 40 hit with her version of the song in 1977, but Zevon made special mention of the then-recent version by Terri Clark. “Terri Clark just released her version of this song, and I say… thank you!” Clark admitted she was actually inspired by Ronstadt’s version, but either way, Zevon received songwriting royalties, so he was cool with everything.
Zevon also introduced a song called “Figurine.” Zevon was playing solo, but was using then-new sampling technology as a Cool Toy. After the second verse, he recorded a two-measure background riff, set his equipment to play that riff on repeat, then played a guitar solo, essentially accompanying himself. This was pretty mind blowing stuff at the time. (Zevon and his occasional song-writing partner Jorge Calderon reworked the song and recorded it as “Porcelain Monkey” for Zevon’s Life’ll Kill Ya album.)
The most remarkable moment, however, was Zevon playing “My Way.” Yes, THAT “My Way,” the one with Paul Anka lyrics and versions sung by Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley. From a cynical man like Zevon, I never saw that coming.
Whitley did join Zevon for an encore, but unfortunately, we missed Whitley’s strong songwriting and stellar open-tuning guitar playing.
Sadly, within ten years, the building housing Wings was destroyed, Sneakers was closed, and Zevon and Whitley had both died of lung cancer.
There are reasons you go through the trouble to enjoy evenings like this.
There is some good news. Brenda and I just celebrated our 24th anniversary. Mike’s doing great, too, and is still with the Earfood Orchestra.
And why was Mike playing with his own band instead of Earfood? Earfood’s co-leader, Jim Beal, was still a music reporter for the San Antonio Express-News in 1996, and he was working for his primary employer that night. He was reviewing the Warren Zevon concert at Sneaker’s.
*Zevon didn’t use the Oxford comma on the title of “Lawyers, Guns and Money.”
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