A NEWSLETTER FROM DAVID CORN |
A NEWSLETTER FROM DAVID CORN |
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Justice for Warren Zevon? |
By David Corn February 7, 2023 |
Warren Zevon in his West Hollywood apartment in 1989. Alan Greth/AP |
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A great miscarriage of justice began to be remedied last week.
Before I explain, I want to flashback to the last weeks of my senior year of high school. College decisions had been made. Classes didn’t matter. There wasn’t much learning transpiring. And on one hot, muggy day, my pal Steve and I cut school to hit the beach. We picked a small state park in Connecticut—maybe a 45-minute drive—that featured a narrow pebbly coast on the Long Island Sound. I brought a boom box and located a noncommercial rock station broadcasting from across the water. As the tiniest of waves barely lapped at the shore, we lay on the gritty sand, stared at the hazy sky, and pondered our futures.
There are only a few memories I have of hearing a musical artist for the first time. This was one of those moments. A song came on about Frank and Jesse James, the vicious Civil War raiders who became infamous bandits. I was mesmerized. Here was a melodic, piano-driven tune that conjured up the best Westerns. Yes, outlaws who had been part of a pro-Confederate guerrilla force accused of committing atrocities were perhaps being romanticized. But in those days, we were less sensitive about such matters. I was jazzed by the storytelling, the harmonies, and the historical allusions. (“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.”) I told Steve to cease talking so I could wait for the deejay to cite the title and performer. I made a mental note: Warren Zevon.
Within days, I had his first album, the self-titled Warren Zevon, and discovered its treasure of songs, which included “Frank and Jesse James.” Zevon could play a mean piano, and, damn, could he write. He composed numbers that were perfectly formed short stories or vignettes—or rockers (“Poor, Poor Pitiful Me” and “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead”). He came out of that smooth Southern California rock scene of the Eagles and Linda Ronstadt, who would cover four tunes from that first Zevon record. But he had an uneasy edge that gave his songs a twist. Charles Bukowski meets Jackson Browne. (Browne produced that debut Zevon album.) His narrators were down-and-out, strung out on heroin in Mexico (“Carmelita”), or coping with alcoholism while holed up in a sleazy Hollywood motel (“Desperados Under the Eaves”). This last song features an elegiac ending backed up by a chorus comprised of two Beach Boys, singer-songwriter J.D. Souther, and Browne. It is a gorgeous piece of music.
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This track demonstrated Zevon’s potential as a musician and composer—he had been drawn to classical music as a child and then became a writer of jingles and pop tunes—and he went on to record 13 albums over the next 27 years. You probably know his “Werewolves of London” from his second album, Excitable Boy (which also included “Lawyers, Guns, and Money”). For some, he has long been considered, due to “Werewolves,” a one-hit wonder. But Zevon produced scores of wonderful songs and influenced the titans of rock, including Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, and Neil Young.
That brings me back to the almost-remedied miscarriage. Last week, Zevon was finally awarded a spot on the nominations list for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame—20 years after he died of mesothelioma, and almost three decades after he first qualified for the ballot.
Zevon is no shoo-in. There are 14 nominees for five to seven inductions, and the competition is tough: Willie Nelson, Rage Against the Machine, Missy Elliott, Cyndi Lauper, A Tribe Called Quest, Sheryl Crow, and others. Though noncommercial acts have a hard time gaining entrance, when I checked a few days ago, Zevon was in the sixth position for the ballot voted on by fans. (You can vote here.)
Zevon had a career of many ups and downs. Consistent commercial success eluded him. That was partly his own fault. His personal life was often in turmoil. (His father had been a bookie who worked for LA mobster Mickey Cohen.) He contended with alcohol and substance abuse that led him into acts of rage and violence, including domestic abuse, and self-destruction. (His ex-wife Crystal Zevon published an excellent oral history about Zevon called I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead. He eventually overcame his addiction problems.) Record companies never figured out how to market him—and he wasn’t always helpful. Through it all, he turned out literary-minded songs that featured his acerbic wit, that highlighted antiheroes (mercenaries, con men, outcasts, and various malefactors), and that often were imbued with a rough tenderness. He also crafted a fair share of bittersweet love songs.
His songwriting attracted the best talent in the biz. Dylan, Young, Jerry Garcia, Chick Corea, George Clinton, Flea, Brian Setzer, and David Gilmour collaborated with him. The members of R.E.M.—Mike Mills, Bill Berry, Peter Buck, and Michael Stipe—cut two albums with him (one under the name Hindu Love Gods). David Letterman was a superfan. Zevon often appeared on his show and occasionally filled in for band leader Paul Shaffer. After Zevon was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer in 2002, Letterman asked how this news had changed his perspective on life and death. Zevon quipped that it was important “to enjoy every sandwich.” Before he died, Zevon managed to record his final album with contributions from Springsteen, Browne, Tom Petty, Don Henley, Dwight Yoakam, and other admirers. It’s a cliché but true: He was a songwriter’s songwriter.
Zevon finally reached the Hall of Fame ballot partly due to Billy Joel. For years, prominent musicians, notably Browne, had pressed the nominating committee to propose Zevon—to no avail. But the Piano Man took up the cause. As he explains: “If anyone deserves to be [included in the Hall of Fame], he does. He was a real original, and I don’t know if that’s appreciated enough. The first minute I saw him, I was knocked out. He was like the crazy brother I never had. He was fearless, and it stuck with me. I never thought he got the attention he deserved.”
Joel and Zevon make an odd couple. In fact, Zevon was the anti-Joel. (Or vice versa.) He was a mugger of sentimentality—with a few notable exceptions—while Joel has been its king. But credit Joel for recognizing the delights of Zevon’s dark quirkiness.
I know several musicians who worked with and befriended Zevon. They all have stories. I only met him once. It was in a club in Washington, DC, in the early 1990s. I had just been struck by a tragic (for me) breakup. In between the opening act and Zevon’s performance, I hit the head. As I was standing at the urinal, he entered and took the position next to me. Quite the bonding experience, the star-struck me thought. As we zipped up, I asked, “Can you play ‘Empty-Handed Heart’?” I was referring to a melancholy tune about a busted relationship from his third album on which Ronstadt sings a beautiful countermelody. He glared at me: “Man, I don’t take requests.” And he swaggered out of the bathroom. You can guess the punch line: He played the song.
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Zevon got into my head when I was a teenager, and he has stayed there ever since, all these years after his death, spurring me to think about lyrics, melodies, and songwriting. A week does not go by without me humming his “Don’t Let Us Get Sick,” which is something of a prayer regarding growing old and confronting life’s misfortunes. (I once got to sing it onstage with Jill Sobule, who was a friend of Zevon and who recorded a version of this composition.) I recently heard actor Tim Robbins play this tune with Browne, explaining that when he had been going through a difficult stretch, Browne had introduced him to this song and it helped.
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Zevon wrote about underdogs and misfits. His own struggles led to poignant examinations of the human condition and expressions of deep empathy within his music. As the late David Crosby once said of Zevon, “He was and remains one of my favorite songwriters. He saw things with a jaundiced eye that still got the humanity of things.” I’ve often wondered if Zevon is a tragic figure. He didn’t receive the recognition and commercial rewards his work warranted. His Wikipedia page notes he had to struggle through not one but two comebacks. He died at the age of 56 when he still was producing tremendous songs, including a touching farewell, “Keep Me in Your Heart.” Yet he left behind so much compelling music, and his art has touched and inspired so many. It’s tough to see that as tragic. Those accomplishments will stand, whether or not he’s allowed into the club.
Got anything to say about this item—or anything else? Email me at ourland@motherjones.com. |
Remembering the Myanmar Coup |
It’s been two years since the Myanmar military overthrew a democratically elected government and began a reign of terror. When the coup occurred in February 2021, it received media attention around the world, and the regime’s atrocities—which included the widespread killing and torturing of civilians and pro-democracy protesters—were covered by news outlets. But as with much else in the world, over time the horror in Myanmar faded from the headlines in Western nations, particularly after Vladimir Putin launched his illegal and genocidal war against Ukraine. After spending months writing about the coup—and breaking news about the horrors in Myanmar—I, too, was drawn toward other matters. It does feel as if we have largely forgotten the ongoing repression in Myanmar and the struggle for democracy there and have abandoned its people.
A few days ago, Nicholas Koumjian, the head of the Independent Investigative Mechanism for Myanmar, a UN outfit that collects and analyzes information about war crimes and human rights abuses there, released a statement marking the anniversary of the coup:
Today marks exactly two years since the Myanmar military sent tanks into the streets in an effort to remove the elected government. Over this time, we have seen a dramatic increase in the number of serious international crimes systematically committed across the country. We have collected credible evidence documenting the commission of an array of war crimes and crimes against humanity, including murder, rape, torture, unlawful imprisonment, and deportation or forcible transfer. We are analyzing this evidence and preparing case files to hold perpetrators of these crimes responsible so that they will one day face justice.
There is strong evidence that thousands of people have been unlawfully imprisoned, and that they have been subject to torture and other forms of physical and mental abuse, as well as rape and other forms of sexual violence. These incidents are widespread and systematic, suggesting that they are not isolated events but rather the implementation of an organizational policy. Koumjian noted that civilian targets have been subject to “indiscriminate attacks.” He added:
Through our analysis of interview statements, documentation, videos, photographs, geospatial imagery, and social media material, we are finding evidence showing who is responsible for these crimes. Our investigations are constrained by the lack of cooperation by the Myanmar military authorities who are in a position to provide highly relevant and essential information. Multiple requests to them for information and access to the country have so far gone unanswered. Nevertheless, we have collected substantial, credible and direct information from numerous sources, including survivors, eyewitnesses and defectors who have provided crucial information about the crimes and the individuals responsible. We are inspired by the Myanmar people’s courage in sharing information with us, and we have systems in place to keep their evidence and testimonies confidential and secure.
Koumjian’s comments are a reminder that the brutal war continues in Myanmar, as poorly equipped rebels and militias endeavor to fight back against a well-armed military dictatorship without the benefit of any overt international support. He ended his statement on a note of cautious optimism:
Perpetrators should be aware that serious international crimes have no statute of limitations. This means that there is no time limit for perpetrators to be prosecuted. The road to justice may be long, but the Mechanism is preserving and analyzing the evidence now so that it will be immediately available for use by relevant judicial authorities in the future. The cycle of impunity will end, and there will one day be accountability and justice for these heinous crimes.
Meanwhile, the war crimes continue, as this recent and rare CNN report shows: |
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The Watch, Read, and Listen List |
The Last of Us. I know that not everyone is into zombie-tainment. I’ve enjoyed some zombie movies— World War Z and Zombieland (with a zombie Bill Murray!)—but I found it far too stressful to watch The Walking Dead and its scores of spinoffs. I did decide to give HBO’s big new show, The Last of Us, a shot. It’s based on a video game in which a fungal infection—which does exist in our world—jumps into humans and turns them into cannibalistic zombies. Apparently, this fungus does not bother us humans presently, but if it found a way to live within a body that runs at 98.6 degrees (which is now too warm an environment for it), then we’re doomed, for there is no remedy. No vaccine. Nothing. In this HBO series, the fungi apocalypse happened in 2003 and now, in 2023, the folks who have survived in the United States are living under a military dictatorship in rubble-ridden, barely functioning cities supposedly protected from the “infected” out there—while an underground force called the Fireflies mount a rebellion against the tyrannical government.
The main action is straightforward. Joel, a middled-aged tough guy who lost his daughter when the world went to shit and who now is a freelance smuggler in what remains of Boston (and, of course, a cynic with a heart of gold), gets stuck with Ellie, a 14-year-old who seems to be invulnerable to the infection. Thus, this often-annoying teen offers a ray of hope that could lead to a cure. Joel, admirably played by Pedro Pascal, just has to get her to the Fireflies-affiliated doctors. That means a road trip across the country through fungi-zombieland. Thrills and chills ensue.
If you’re craving this sort of zombie-apocalypse fare, you’ve hit the vein. The series is smart and well-crafted, no surprise given its co-creator is Craig Mazin, who produced the magnificent HBO series Chernobyl. But if you’d prefer not to undermine your culinary love of mushrooms, I would still recommend the third episode of the series. It is a magnificent piece of art.
This chapter starts with Joel and Ellie trekking through the scarred countryside, as they head toward allies who live nearby, Bill and Frank. Then comes a flashback story-within-a-story about the two men. In 2003, Bill is a prepper (“survivalist,” he says) who is living by himself in a cute house with a white picket fence in a picturesque small town in Massachusetts. He has a mega-arsenal of weaponry in his basement and supplies to last decades. When the fungi hits the fan, government troops round up the residents of this burg—not to save them but to eliminate them before they can become infected. Paranoid Bill knows not to trust the feds. He hides in his secret bunker, and once the troops and his doomed neighbors depart, he turns his home and the surrounding blocks into a self-sufficient fortress, with an electrified fence and ingenious booby traps to prevent intrusion from infecteds or raiders. He makes gourmet meals and dines alone. Until one day, when Frank, a refugee from the Baltimore quarantine zone who is trying to make it to Boston, falls into one of the camouflaged pits Bill has dug at the perimeter. Bill tries to send Frank packing. Frank begs for food. Bill allows him into his home—and his life.
The two men fall for each other, and viewers are then treated to this imaginative love story that shows how Bill and Frank’s relationship grew and persisted—through assorted trials and tribulations—over two decades. It is one of the best hours of television. There are almost no zombies in it. This digression is a moving exploration of love and survival in the worst of times, which for Bill and Frank became the best of times. Nick Offerman (Bill) and Murray Bartlett (Frank) each put in stunning performances. I won’t say much more about this episode for fear of spoiling it. Just watch it. If you’re not keen on zombie stuff, skip to the 18:00 minute mark, and start from there. You will thank me. And if after that, you don’t want to watch humans battling mushroom-headed zombies, no one is going to make you.
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Read Recent Issues of Our Land |
February 4, 2023: How we got the Santos story and what comes next; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Rob Portman); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.
January 31, 2023: The bull of John Durham; George Santos: it never stops; nominating Navalny; Judith Owen’s brassy Come On & Get It; and more. January 28, 2023: Remembering Victor Navasky, the unflappable ringmaster of the Nation; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Julie Kelly); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.
January 24, 2023: Tucker Carlson, Glenn Greenwald, the JFK assassination, Watergate, and the MAGA perversion of history; the right-wing disinformation machine and Hunter Biden; David Crosby, RIP; and more.
January 21, 2023: Is it getting harder to enjoy action thrillers?; Santos and a big-money con; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Donald Trump Jr.); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more. January 18, 2023: Trump Derangement Syndrome on the right; nominating Navalny; the weirdness and ghostliness of Tar; and more. January 14, 2023: Why Ron DeSantis shouldn’t—or won’t—run for president; the many faces of the George Santos scandal; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Ryan Zinke); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.
January 10, 2023: Our split-screen America; Wakanda Forever and Babylon (thumbs down) and The Fabelmans and Armageddon Time (thumbs up); and more. January 7, 2023: The other GOP civil war; Dumbass Comment of the Week (Glenn Greenwald); the Mailbag; MoxieCam™; and more.
January 4, 2023: The House GOP and a year of hope or horror; a noirish novel of the East Village in the 1990s; Brian Ray and the “coolest” song of 2022; and more. |
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Got suggestions, comments, complaints, tips related to any of the above, or anything else? Email me at ourland@motherjones.com. |
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