Warren Zevon died in his sleep yesterday. Here's the AP obit via Yahoo news.
I listened to Zevon's early albums constantly for a time. His songs fit my constant dark and occasional manic moods, and matched my sense of humor.
Here's what I wrote in an email to him just after listening through his last album, "The Wind," for the first time:
What can I say? Everyone has a story; here's mine.
I saw you on Letterman. I watched and taped the VH1 video. I've listened to "Wind."
I have loved your music, and you, since sometime in the '70s. I played tapes of those early albums incessantly. I sang "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" to myself when I needed a lift. I still do.
I saw you play at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz in 1990; I was in mid-divorce, and still tried to get my ex to come to the show with me. She didn't. Her loss. You sang "Werewolves of Watsonville"--where I live.
I let some people think that we named our son, now 17, after you: Warren Francis Sampson. It's nearly true (we needed a name that started with 'W' to keep up family tradition), and fun to share.
One of my twin daughters (3 years old) is named Ariel. The other is Miranda--from Shakespeare's "The Tempest," you know. [Note: Zevon's daughter, Ariel, had twins earlier this year.]
One of my twin sons (5 years old) died of pneumonia earlier this year. Death comes too early to some.
What can I say? Life, damn it, life. You'll be in my heart for a long, long while.
Thanks for the ride, man, many many thanks.
Warren Zevon's music will live with me for a long, long while.