I'm thinking of retiring now
from all my dirty deals
See you in the next life,
wake me up for my meals
-Warren Zevon

By Eliot Wilder / The other night I watched as David Letterman, a long-time booster of Warren Zevon, dedicated his entire show to the ailing but stoic singer/songwriter. When Letterman asked Zevon how his life has changed since being diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, Zevon, his wit - amazingly - never drier, said it'd made him appreciate eating a sandwich that much more.

Zevon began earning his lunch money in the sunshiny climes of Southern California, first as a songwriter and handyman for the likes of the Everly Brothers, Nino Tempo and the Turtles, and then as a solo artist among LA's mellow mafia of the '70s. What stood Zevon apart from cohorts such as the Eagles, J.D. Souther and Linda Ronstadt, who brought Zevon to a wider audience with her interpretation of "Hasten Down the Wind," were his caustic and bent commentaries on the human condition. While Jackson Browne was drowning in his fountains of sorrow, Zevon was regaling us with sordid stories of "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" and "Werewolves of London," a song that sported the immortal line about a furry beast drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's, his hair perfect.

Zevon's oeuvre is dotted with such able turns of phrase. The titles alone speak volumes: "Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School," "Splendid Isolation," "My Shit's Fucked Up," "Monkey Wash Donkey Rinse" and "I Was in the House When the House Burned Down" - all of which have a lot to do with life's absurdities, what Kafka calls "the impossibility of crows."

This is a man who, with his patently unpretty voice, railed at whatever might be up in the sky, but with his feet and, often, his hands in the dirt. This is a man with the guts to follow his own muse rather than chase after the fame that came with his best-known album, "Excitable Boy." This is a man who survived drink, drugs and demons and lived to tell the tales. Tales of the tough ("Boom Boom Mancini"), tales of the tender ("Reconsider Me") and tales of the troubled ("Sentimental Hygiene").

My personal favorite Zevon song is "Mutineer," which I believe best sums up his outsider sensibilities on what is arguably his most soul-rendingly gorgeous melody. "I was born to rock the boat / Some may sink but we will float / Grab your coat - let's get out of here / You're my witness / I'm your mutineer." He performed it on Letterman's "Late Show," and he sang his heart out - even though it was clear he was having trouble getting it past his lungs.

Which, if anything, illustrates the man's bravery in the grim face of oblivion. He's one of the few who walks it like he talks it, not shrinking from the perils of life or the limits of mortality. At the time of this writing, Zevon is working on completing what will probably be his final recording. One can only imagine what keen and cruel observations he'll be coming up with as he documents his final chapter.

"Life'll kill ya," Zevon has sung. That is indeed our common, inevitable fate. But as Zevon has shown us with his work and the way he's lived - as messy as it has been - one can face it with humor, passion and, as he demonstrated on "Letterman," dignity. I hope that as Zevon teeters on the precipice that he does not suffer long. And that once he does finish his final sandwich that he'll be out there somewhere, still crowing.

From Amplifier magazine