With “I Was There When…,” veteran music journalist Doug Collette reflects on his experiences in the glory days of live rock music. With each column, he takes us back to a specific concert he attended way back when, spotlighting bands like The Who, Pink Floyd, and The Allman Brothers Band, among many others.
The late Warren Zevon played more than a few solo shows during the course of his career, almost exclusively so during its latter stages, when unjustifiably middling sales of gems like Mr. Bad Example could not financially subsidize taking a band on the road. Yet on this mid-winter night in the Green Mountains, years before the venue (the Flynn Center for the Performing Arts) renovated itself and its name, the brilliant songwriter presented himself as a scintillating performer. Totally bereft of any self-consciousness inhabiting the stage by himself, Zevon exhibited the abandon of a man freed from some debilitating weight which might’ve well been the case as and, far more he was coming to terms with his personal demons at this time, too.
His colorful personality the source of a definite theatrical flair, Zevon was enough of a showman to know that famous tunes such as “Excitable Boy,” otherwise regarded as novelty by novices, would be the highlights of any set he played. But he was also courageous enough to include material from more recent records such as The Envoy (like “The Overdraft”) as well as homage to a kindred spirit in the form of “Before They Make Me Run,” a cover of Keith Richards’ contribution to the Rolling Stones’ Some Girls.
Warren Zevon released two official live recordings during his career, one of which, 1993’s Learning to Flinch, is a solo show. Had there been a release of this Vermont show, there might well have been one edition comprised solely of his spoken word interludes, uproariously funny as they were, equally fondly tongue-in-cheek and characteristically acerbic, by way of introducing and commenting on the songs he played. An entertaining raconteur doesn’t necessarily proceed directly from the artful command of the English language that makes for fine songwriting, but Zevon made it sound not only natural but a logical extension of his personality.
No verbal observations, however, could compare to the technical expertise Zevon unveiled at the grand piano when an elongated piece of playing, its classical intensity and intricacy no doubt dating to Warren’s childhood acquaintance Igor Stravinsky, morphed with a frenzy into “Werewolves of London.” His acoustic guitar playing had a comparable, if slightly lesser, dramatic impact, but throughout this single set, there was never a sense the music was lacking the accompaniment it deserved. Rather a man whose fictional personae were often larger than life ascended to that lofty plateau and brought a rapt but lively full house with him.
Full concert from 1982:
