During the first week of February 1972, Crystal saw him at his worst. He had a few weeks off between tour dates and spent those days at the piano, drink firmly in hand. One afternoon, another fight ensued and quickly escalated. As neighbors watched, an inebriated Warren threw the living room furniture out onto the front lawn before driving off drunk. Panic-stricken, Crystal sent their mutual friend, “Darkroom Dick” Edlund, to the Tropicana on a rescue mission. The concerned photographer rushed to the motel and found Warren passed out on the floor of his motel room. His skin was pale blue and his body cold to the touch. Terrified that his friend had fatally overdosed, Edlund put his ear to Warren’s chest. He was relieved to find a heartbeat and labored breathing. Slowly helping Warren to his feet, he walked him around the room for an hour, successfully resuscitating him.
It had been Warren’s closest call, but a dangerous precedent had been set. As many of Warren’s oldest friends already knew, the singer-songwriter’s lyrics about violence, depression, and living fast and dying young weren’t just words. As Crystal and Edlund had seen firsthand, Warren seemed to have a genuine death wish.
In an effort to keep his demons at bay, Warren spent as much of his time as possible at the piano. Although no record contract was in sight, he continued to pump out new material. Amid the personal chaos, he refused to lose sight of his goals for another solo album and the ambitious symphony that predated the recording of Wanted Dead or Alive.
Still signed as a house songwriter for David Geffen’s Elektra/Asylum label, he also wrote material with other performers in mind. One of Geffen’s most popular clients had taken an instant liking to Warren at their first encounter years before and would soon become his greatest advocate—Jackson Browne.
Warren and Browne had first met at the Laurel Canyon home of mutual acquaintance Barry Friedman, a former producer who went by the hipper name Frazier Mohawk. Friedman had once worked at the Troubadour and handled the public relations for the Beatles’ Hollywood Bowl concert in 1964. Semi-retired, he remained a known figure around the Southern California music scene and often threw “listening parties” for his friends within the industry. Warren had been introduced to Browne at one of those parties the previous year and the two were now linked through the Asylum label.
Like Warren, Browne had started his career as a songwriter. Following a tenure with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Browne had also played folk clubs around New York City’s Greenwich Village area, building up a reputation for writing poetic lyrics and gorgeous melodies. By the time he returned to California at the end of the 1960s, his songs had been covered by Joan Baez, the Eagles, and Linda Ronstadt. He had then been helped in making the leap to popular solo performer by his agent, David Geffen.
Young, handsome, and with a major solo album in the works, Browne was held in high esteem among his peers. He wanted that kind of success for Warren and encouraged him to keep writing and keep honing his skills.
When Warren’s hands were idle, Crystal would often come home to find him sleeping late and watching television, usually with a drink in his hand. It became a routine and the fights continued. Depressed, Warren chiseled away at the songs he hoped would populate his next album—whenever that might be.
He finally caught a small break when the Everly Brothers asked him to help out on their first album in four years, Stories We Could Tell. Warren and Wachtel joined an esteemed roster that included Graham Nash and Ry Cooder, bringing a revamped, country-rock vibe to the Everlys’ sound. In an attempt at mainstream crossover appeal, the sessions were composed of covers written by popular artists like Kris Kristofferson and Rod Stewart. When the resulting album was released in March, however, it was met with mixed reviews and underwhelming sales. Phil and Don were none too pleased with the dismal response from critics and fans, sparking strife among the siblings.
Warren was just glad for the work. The Everlys’ tour had come to an end in August and with it, his steady paycheck. In the months that followed, he wrote, drank, and worked odd jobs to make ends meet.
In June 1973, tour manager Don Wayne called to offer Warren a much-needed gig. Despite the lackluster sales of Stories We Could Tell, the Everly Brothers were booked for a series of shows in Las Vegas and wanted him to again act as music director.
The timing couldn’t have been better, as Warren and Crystal had separated yet again. With Warren’s drinking and volatile behavior set loose by the lack of work, Crystal had accepted a job at her father’s insurance agency and moved to Aspen with both foster children. Alone, Warren moved into a cheap bachelor pad. Wayne’s offer promised a paycheck and change of scenery, both of which seemed enticing. He leapt at the opportunity.
But if stability was what Warren had been seeking, performing with Phil and Don Everly during this period in their careers proved less than ideal. The hostility between the brothers had since mounted to legendary heights, igniting media speculation that their future as a duo was in jeopardy. While their shows continued to go on as planned, they nearly came to blows on numerous occasions.
During one rehearsal session at the old Sahara hotel showroom, the two got into a shouting match so intense, it soon spilled over toward co-headliner Nancy Sinatra. Due to her legendary father, the thirty-three-year-old was regarded as industry royalty. She was shocked as the country-rock siblings hurled insults at each other—then at her—before storming offstage to their separate dressing rooms. Sinatra was grateful that her father had not been there to witness her treatment at the hands of the former matinee idols. Following those tumultuous Las Vegas shows, Don and Phil officially called it quits.
At their own farewell concert only a few weeks later, the Everly Brothers finally imploded on themselves. Beginning July 14, the duo was booked for a three-night engagement at Knott’s Berry Farm. The shows had been billed as the Everlys’ swan song and welcomed a star-studded turnout. Warren had even persuaded Crystal to return from Aspen for the event. Once the evening’s painful drama got underway, however, many in attendance wished they’d stayed home.
Much to Phil’s dismay, Don had downed several margaritas prior to taking the stage. By the time the band started up, he was already visibly tipsy and forgetting words to his own classic hits. It wasn’t long before Phil lost his patience, causing the two to mince words in front of the audience. The fight escalated, Phil finally smashing his Gibson guitar on the ground. The brothers swore they’d never again share the stage. True to their word, the two didn’t speak again until their father’s funeral over a decade later.
While the audience was aghast at the spectacle, Warren had been witness to the brothers’ slow disintegration for over two years. Ultimately, he would remain friends with both—but for the time being, the golden goose had been slain. With the exception of Elektra/Asylum’s intermittent songwriting assignments, working for the Everly Brothers had been Warren’s bread and butter ever since Wanted Dead or Alive had tanked.
If he was ever going to get a record contract again, it had to happen soon.
To the chagrin of her parents, Crystal returned to Los Angeles—and to Warren.
Much like his father before him, Warren had managed to completely alienate the family of the girl he loved. Clifford and Barbara Brelsford remained unimpressed with the strange young man who drank a lot and often sent their daughter into an emotional tizzy. Nor could they comprehend how she expected to provide a sense of normalcy for her foster children, especially with someone as seemingly irresponsible as Warren dictating the major decisions. They were vocal in their concerns. But, like his father, Warren had managed to bewitch the object of his affection. Crystal made endless excuses for his behavior, a task that only became more difficult as his career frustrations—and drinking—continued to mount.
The couple rented a small house in Sherman Oaks and Warren converted a backyard shed into a music studio. He attempted to buckle down, punching a mental clock each morning and anchoring himself in the makeshift workspace to focus on new material. Beginning only weeks af
ter the move, however, Crystal would commonly return home from her job at a nearby insurance office to find Warren already drunk. Again, the fights continued.
The regular arguments reached a breaking point one afternoon when Crystal discovered that Warren had been hiding liquor bottles in young Bart’s outdoor playhouse. Enraged by the accusation, Warren drunkenly dragged Bart out to Crystal’s sedan and drove off. He immediately smashed into a number of parked cars, barely making it to the end of the block where he crashed into a neighbor’s house.
The episode earned Warren his first arrest for drunk driving, along with three sobering days in jail. When he was released, Warren discovered that Crystal had taken the kids to stay with a friend. She vowed not to return unless he agreed to attend an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Warren complied, but like many early attempts at sobriety, the meeting did little to change his behavior. Nonetheless, Crystal kept to her word and returned, this time only with Cindy. Bart had been traumatized by the drunk-driving incident and asked to live with another foster family.
Warren, Crystal, and Cindy moved into an apartment in Hollywood. Without the luxury of a personal workroom, Warren was relegated to working on a portable electric piano in the corner of the living room, the noise of which upset their neighbors. He remained steadfast in his hopes of putting together enough material for a new demo tape, but quickly tired of their latest living arrangements. Temporarily, he left Crystal to stay with friend, Danny McFarland, up in the Berkeley Hills. He again believed a change of scenery would be good for both his writing and sobriety.
For a few weeks, Warren played small clubs and coffeehouses throughout the area. In need of extra money, he assisted McFarland in his part-time piano-moving business. During one delivery, Warren did his best homage to Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces, hopping out of the truck’s front cab and playing the piano stored in back all the way across town to the drop-off point.
He had more in common with Nicholson’s cinematic character than he let on. Like the film’s angst-ridden, emotionally frustrated protagonist, Warren was also a classically trained pianist, hiding from his personal turmoil by immersing himself in the world of the American blue-collar working man. An avid movie buff, Warren surely knew the image he conjured, climbing into the back of McFarland’s truck and performing for the other drivers along the highway. But, unlike the fictional blue-collar virtuoso, Warren’s problems were very real.
Determined not to run away from them forever, he soon returned to Los Angeles and immediately proposed to Crystal. Despite her better instincts and the wishes of her parents, she tearfully agreed. The couple dropped acid together and drove across the desert to Las Vegas. Warren, dapper in an ascot, crafted a wedding ring from the washer from the bathroom sink and presented it to his bride. They were wed at a twenty-four-hour chapel on May 25, 1974.
The newlyweds returned home to find a pleasant surprise awaiting them.
Following the catastrophic public demise of the Everly Brothers nearly a year before, both Don and Phil were each making attempts for solo careers. Over a congratulatory dinner, Don asked Warren to act as bandleader on his first tour without brother Phil. As a wedding present, Crystal was invited to join them all on the road. Following a string of incidents of Cindy running away, and the unstable home life, she had been forced to forfeit custody of Cindy to the state, and the excitement of accompanying her new husband on the road promised to soften that emotional blow. The Zevons now had complete freedom in crafting their future together, beginning with the Don Everly tour and, following that, shifting major focus to getting Warren back on top.
Warren planned to use Don’s band as session players for some new demos that he could shop around. When the tour quickly went bust due to poor attendance, Warren was, at least, able to walk away with a new band and a few bucks in his pocket to bring them into the studio.
Through Crystal’s new job, she arranged for him to perform at a musical think tank called the Alternative Chorus Songwriters’ Showcase. The offbeat venue was the brainchild of her employers, John Braheny and Len Chandler, former folk performers who operated as the showcase’s curators. There, the two auditioned fresh musical talent and hosted the most promising artists for industry professionals. With the wealth of material that Warren had been working on for the past few years, he was a shoe-in.
Warren was meticulous in assembling his roster for the showcase. Ever since the Everly Brothers’ 1970 tour, his old buddy Waddy Wachtel had become a hot commodity around town. Having just completed a major gig as Carole King’s lead guitarist, he was available to come on board. Warren also solicited Everly Brothers compatriot Gene Gunnels on drums, and close friend LeRoy Marinell to play bass. The team rehearsed for a number of weeks, recording homemade demos that Warren would later use to shape changes to the songs. Later classics like “The French Inhaler” and “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” became more refined.
At the showcase, the group’s six-song set was a smash. It immediately caught the eye of audience member John Rhys, a British-born producer who had moved to the United States as a child and grew up with a love of music. Beginning his own career as a session guitarist, Rhys had quickly climbed the levels of engineering and went on to produce artists Jerry Reed, Tommy Roe, and Joe South for a multitude of record labels. An entrepreneurial freelancer, he now scoured Los Angeles for new and a unique talent that he could produce. Warren—with his old-timey swagger, film noir lyrics, and Aaron Copland–esque lyricism—was nothing if not a unique talent.
Rhys was determined to get Warren recorded again, this time at a major label. He sold half of his own publishing company to raise the $30,000 needed to stake his new protégé’s demo tapes. Rhys presented Warren with a handshake agreement that should a major record company offer a contract, Rhys could produce the final product. They had a deal, and the demos were booked for the cheap overnight hours at a local studio.
Elated at the opportunity, Warren immediately rounded up troops for the recordings. He retained his Everly Brothers lineup, with the exception of Gene Gunnels, who was swapped for Hollywood Central’s house drummer Eddie Ponder. Between Wachtel’s recent session friends and Rhys’s own networking in the music industry, a host of all-star cameo appearances made up the final demo tracks. T Bone Burnett, Lindsey Buckingham, Barry Cowsill, David Lindley, and Stevie Nicks all swung down to the studio to drink, party, and lend a hand. Both Phil and Don Everly showed support, although their cameos were recorded separately. Jackson Browne, who had slowly become one of Warren’s closest music companions and advocates, also visited the session. Enthusiastic at the new tunes that he heard, he became as adamant as ever in helping Warren land a solid contract.
Between 1973 and 1975, Warren had only been able to get into the studio a handful of times. He had aided in Phil Everly’s string of solo albums for RCA: Star Spangled Springer, There’s Nothing Too Good for My Baby (known in the US as Phil’s Diner and featuring “It’s True,” which Warren co-wrote), and Mystic Line.
But these demo recordings were very different. With Rhys staking the recordings, Warren didn’t have to borrow money from Crystal’s parents or from his own father. The new demos proved to be Warren’s first real return to the studio as the lead artist and true star in nearly six years. And despite the frustrations, disappointments, and substance abuse, the now twenty-seven-year-old Warren had spent the years following Wanted Dead or Alive penning dynamite songs—and everyone who heard them knew it.
Immediately following the demo recording sessions, Warren, Crystal, and the band went off to finish the final leg of Don Everly’s solo club tour. Warren left the demo tracks with Rhys. As 1975 ended, both men were determined to get the rough album into the hands of industry guru Clive Davis, who was slowly transforming Bell Records into his own flagship label, Arista.
Warren and Crystal remained optimistic that a record contract was only weeks away.
Although success finally seemed to be on the horizon, Warren’s darker habits were not easil
y curbed. When stagnant and frustrated, his depression often got the best of him and led directly to the bottle. When times were good, however, he would often consume just as much vodka or just as many margaritas—only this time in the name of fun. Moods shift and sour very quickly with an alcoholic, and Crystal knew enough to stay out of Warren’s way when he was on a bender.
Just prior to the holiday season, Tule had announced that she was moving to New York to give her acting aspirations one more shot. She left Jordan, now five years old, in Warren and Crystal’s care. Only a month and a half later, Tule’s mother, Mary, secretly picked the boy up from school and jettisoned him to New York to be with his mother. Deceived, Warren went off the deep end. He made his way to the Troubadour, but was quickly ejected by the bouncers. The evening ended with his second drunk-driving arrest.
Although William Zevon begrudgingly paid his son’s bail, Warren had gotten the family car impounded and Crystal needed a ride to the San Vicente station house. With no other option, she called up an old friend she knew from her time with Wachtel and Twice Nicely, a local musician named Jorge Calderón. Originally from Puerto Rico, Calderón was a singer-songwriter who had toured with Buckingham Nicks as a percussionist. When Crystal called him up for help with Warren, Calderón’s sense of loyalty won out. He not only picked Warren up from jail, but aided the couple in breaking back into their own place, as no one had brought their house keys.
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