…Steam Baths with Father ($50). Cindy called from Alta Dena Police Station. Now she’s a ward of the court…T-Bone and Stephanie came over about 11.
Jan. 24, 1975
…My 28th birthday. Cake and underwear (piano long since given and ungraciously received).
CRYSTAL ZEVON: One day, I arrived at school to pick Jordan up and was told his grandmother had come for him that morning. After a series of frantic phone calls, we learned that Mary had put him on a plane and he was already with his mother in New York. That night Warren got very drunk, we fought, and he took off for the Troubadour, where he tried to muscle his way onto the stage. He had no memory of the events that followed, but apparently he was escorted out the door by the bouncer. He got in the car and was stopped and arrested half a block from the club.
Feb. 12, 1975
Crystal noticed I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring—tears and over-reacting from me…finished the last couple fingers of vodka, started in on the liqueur collection, then began on a ½ gallon of Kamchatka. Made love, then took off for the Troubador—recollections very hazy now. Pulled over at 2:15 a.m. on the way home, hopelessly drunk, taken to the station. Crystal says I was giving shit to the officers when I called her, which further indicates how wasted I must have been. She told me Jorge Calderon kindly crawled out of bed to take her to pick up the car around 4:00…she called my father, who contacted a bail bondsman…what an awful night it must have been for her, while I crashed in jail…
CRYSTAL ZEVON: He called me from jail, ranting about how I had to get him out NOW because he’d been framed and it was a plot to keep him from writing songs about brutality in the American judicial system, and on and on…I was afraid if he kept talking, he’d get himself into real trouble, so I called Jorge Calderon, who was a friend of mine. My car had been impounded and I had no way to pick Warren up. I also called Warren’s dad, who said I should leave him in jail where he belonged, but in the end he posted bail.
JORGE CALDERON: I knew Crystal from the Wachtel brothers’ scene, and the first time I met Warren, she called me in the middle of the night and said, “My boyfriend’s in jail. Can you give me a ride?” It was three or four in the morning, and I said, “Jail?” Crystal said, “He’s in the drunk tank.”
By then it was morning, and we got him and went back to the apartment, but it was locked and nobody had the keys, so we’re going to have to break in. That’s when I said my famous line: “I’m Puerto Rican. I can break into anybody’s house.” Warren looked at me and, like, wow. He gave me kind of an endearing look that said, “Yeah, I like this guy…his sick sense of humor.” After that, we became close friends really fast.
Feb. 13, 1975
…Woke up with a crashing headache on the concrete floor of a cell, San Vicente station—and just missed breakfast (which I wanted, no matter how awful)…checked out by a mannerly jailor, Crystal was waiting for me…Once home, I brought my boot heel down on the Martin case, smashing the top of the guitar. Went to bed and slept for a few hours…utter despair. Crystal came home from work with comfort, love and no reproaches and held me in her arms while I cried. We decided to make this a turning point, sell all and move on—by a strange twist of fate, Mary had put Jordan on a plane for N.Y….
Then John Tanner [keyboard player] called asking me to take his steak joint gig with the Johnny Mathis type—$40 windfall. Renewed Darvon for hang over—drove to Pacoima. The gig was a great farce—amateurish singer in a panic—I had trouble deciphering John’s charts, didn’t know half the tunes, had trouble with the rhythm machine, etc. However, I was reasonably showman like with the audience, sang a few things myself—got a bit of a rise with “Hasten Down the Wind” and “Poor, Poor Pitiful Me” (also did Eagle’s latest and Elton John)…free vodka martinis from one customer and Crystal and I split the comp dinner…went home happy but vowed to never stoop to singing “Tie a Yellow Ribbon.” Ran the gamut today from the miseries to an optimistic outlook on the future and a return to my own—our own—songs, style and dreams.
CRYSTAL ZEVON: That night, we decided to throw our fates to the wind. With Jordan in New York with his mother, the deal with John Rhys going sour, and Warren diminished to playing in a country club for dollar bills in a brandy snifter, we concluded that things weren’t working out in L.A. We resolved to get rid of our worldly belongings and obligations and flee the country in search of a new start.
One of Warren’s weaknesses was his inability to confront people. What he would do when some kind of confrontation was inevitable was to create some sort of a scene. He would deliver his lines like an actor performing a part, then move on and hope he never saw the other characters in the drama again. Sometimes he would actually write his lines out and rehearse them, which was the case when the time came to cut loose from John Rhys.
After all was said and done, Rhys never even knew why Warren was firing him, but the scene played out as Warren scripted it. John thought we were meeting to talk about contracts. Instead Warren brought his Samoan drug dealer along “in case the situation called for something more than words.”
JOHN RHYS: We had a meeting at Rafts, a restaurant next to Martoni’s. I walk in and Warren and Crystal and some big Samoan guy sat on one side of a booth that was meant for two people. Warren had brought “the big Samoan boyfriend” who was going to “come and break my back,” and this guy just sat there and glared at me. Warren did all the talking. Crystal said nothing. Warren’s in the middle and going, “That’s it. You’re out.”
The next months were focused on leaving Los Angeles. All energies were focused on saving enough money for one-way tickets to anywhere—the only requirement was that it be at least an ocean away.
Feb. 16, 1975
…[Garage sale—selling everything] The shoppers arrive…I expected to wake up on the floor like Ricky Ricardo, with the bed sold out from under me…. Went to Phil’s bountiful spaghetti dinner…Got into a wild, hollering harangue with Phil about the merits of the Rolling Stones—we both enjoyed it immensely…Came home. A little later, Phil called with an invitation to us to stay in their guest house until we save enough to leave…C & I were very moved.
Feb. 23, 1975
…C. observed very kindly (& correctly) that I was drinking a bit too much this weekend. Started writing a new melody on the piano.
Feb. 27, 1975
…C. hungry, uptight when I arrive home. I’m aware of the financial inequities: mostly C’s things sold—mostly my debts…don’t know what to do (so drinking, of course, tho not much in the house…) Midnight call from a long distance girlfriend awakens C…I throw coffee cup against refrigerator, C. wild…
March 3, 1975
…Took C. to work…Phil received the news that his “When Will I Be Loved” is Linda Ronstadt’s new single, & he (& me, therefore) may have another date somewhere before March’s end…Nervous about court tomorrow…
Mar. 4, 1975 8:30 Div. 1 Bev. Hills
A righteous judge but things look a little scary, and during a recess C. runs down the Public Defender who takes me aside and reviews my charge: Miraculously, there’s no record of my prior offense—I don’t know why, but I do thank God. The report showed that I’d been driving terribly before they stopped me—blood count 1.22—very high (1.1 is legally drunk). He briefly relates my sob story, and the judge very kindly & wisely remarks to me on the human folly of letting one’s troubles lead one into worse messes—“It’s not abnormal…but pitiable…& stupid…” words to that effect, which I shall take to heart. $250 fine, $100 suspended ($40 in extra costs), summary probation (no slip-ups permitted) & drunk driver’s class—all in all, a most lenient sentence. I was humbled…
Mar. 5, 1975
“You don’t have to firebomb Dresden to prove you can fly a plane.”
CRYSTAL ZEVON: We spent a couple months living rent-free in Phil Everly’s guesthouse, saving money for the grand excursion elsewhere. It was a nice time for us; they treated us like family, and Phil was always coming up with something funny
to do.
He and Patricia didn’t have a washing machine yet and they usually sent their laundry out, but since Warren and I were going to the Laundromat, Phil decided it would be fun if we all went. So, he got champagne and a gigantic bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and we had a picnic while we watched the washers sudsing our clothes. Of course, we shared the goodies with everyone there and it was pretty funny.
March 18, 1975
…Drinking Driver’s class…some, like me, stricken with blank-eyed boredom; a few dummies debating with the instructress to hear their own eloquence—we watched a movie of a man slicing up brains—a young girl’s and an old alcoholic’s. He sliced them up like loaves of bread and sure enough, the inside of the man’s head was uglier. Finished reading “Breakfast of Champions” which was pleasant.
March 20, 1975
…Phillip took me to a Tanya Tucker session of Snuff Garrett’s—another cover of “When Will I Be Loved.” At Phil’s (firm?) suggestion, they put my piano on, slapping a form on me in 10 seconds, so there’s a session compliments of Philip. He harmonized with Tanya T. (who at least said she liked my part), very nice. Home to Crystal, champagne and chicken.
March 22, 1975
…Awakened to the news that Linda Ronstadt may be doing “Hasten Down the Wind.” C. had called Roy, who knows her bass player…she likes it, apparently…Roy & I wrote “Mindless Boogie.” Got upset with each other (I stayed that way, like I do).
PETER ASHER, half of Peter and Gordon, producer and manager: I don’t remember if it was Linda [Ronstadt] or Jackson [Browne] who first told me about Warren Zevon, but the two of them individually raved about how great he was…One of Linda’s immense skills was finding songs and songwriters, and I remember her playing me “Hasten Down the Wind” first, and I loved it.
March 24, 1975
…C & I babysat while Phil and Patricia went to a party on the Queen Mary—Paul McCartney’s.
March 29, 1975
…visited my father at the baths. He gave me $50—asked me if I was writing down what I owed him…
April 3, 1975
…Boredom begins to overcome gratitude. They say Dylan Thomas used to swipe shirts from his hosts & Debussy anything in his favorite shade of spring green…Later, getting odder, Phil & Patricia with a couple, us, fixing turkey (which he may not realize we half paid for)…Phil finds me at his vodka, C. embarrassed, probably…
April 5, 1975
…Rain, rain…Gulped remaining cheap rum in the midst of morning arguments—got so upset I jabbed myself with a pencil, Mishima-style…Did write a mad song, “Following My Prick”…Father asked me to help him write a letter to his probation officer & judge. I wept with joy at being able to do something for him—that he’d ask.
April 7, 1975
…working on “Looking Down the Path.” Phil dropped in, suggested I make it more “Commercial” but I scarcely think anybody knows what that is and I like the song better my way.
April 10, 1975
…Phil’s agent by today, trying not to be rude to him. Broke into uncontrollable giggles listening to a tape he brought by…he has a possible production for Phil who said, “Tell them we’re out of Pop, we’re down to Jug Band, Boogie & Good Morning, Judge…And they can only do it in G.” Me: “These songs are hurting so bad we’re afraid to move ’em.”
April 14, 1975
…Meeting with Billy Jack Enterprise’s record co: horsy businesswoman & a giggly Glamour Mag. Type blonde, the singer. Hope we get this deal.
ROY MARINELL: We did some promotional thing for the Billy Jack movie playing in a mall. Phil Everly got us the gig. Waddy, Warren, Gene, and I did a set with a couple of Warren’s songs, a couple of Waddy’s songs, and a couple of my songs.
April 26, 1975
…Up bleary-eyed at 8:15, we met at Geno’s, rode to Topanga Shopping Center; first show. Small crowd of shoppers & kids, little stage in indoor mall. Played fine, but unreally softly. Met Kenny Edwards (learned Linda R. undecided, hasn’t cut “Hasten” so I don’t hold much hope)…Rode to Torrance, fortifying ourselves with Heinekens, corned beef sandwiches & Waddy’s super weed. Popped a couple of Valiums & chewed them up (to Waddy’s marvel—Waddy: “What do they taste like?” Me: “Hoped for calm.”) Torrance Shopping Center huge & teeming like a skyless future city. Lots of people here & excited for Billy Jack; Waddy sang “Most Likely You Go Your Way, etc.” & “Tumbling Dice.” Place did have a pub with Heinekens on tap, so drank plenty. $600 check. Took Crystal to El Coyote (she won a bet, she’d seen a queen-sized bed stage she knew we’d play on).
CRYSTAL ZEVON: We visited travel agents and read the travel section in the L.A. Times until we had saved enough money for two one-way tickets to Madrid, which turned out to be the cheapest ticket to anywhere in Europe. My parents were nervous about Franco’s Spain, but it just sounded romantic to us. After we paid for the plane tickets, we had $480 left, and it never occurred to us that it could cost more than $480 to start a new life.
May 28, 1975—Denver to Madrid
…Up, bkfst., shower, a little Valium for nerves…David Marks paged us at the Denver airport to wish us bon voyage…sat next to a Costa Rican lady of great charm (& large diamonds) who helped us with our Spanish “Salud, pesetas y amor y tiempo para gastarlos.” She taught us. Fine person. Flight ok, mediocre 4 Musketeers movie.
May 29, 1975—Madrid
…Hostal Buelta, room closet-breadth but sky high ceiling & geometrical, blue bedspreads (love arched way into shower & WC right outside door) C. napped while I took a long overwhelming walk mostly down Calle de Primo de General someone, drank a little Chivas…C. up…Walked past Prado (closed for Corpus Christi Day) and into Retire Park, eyes wet for joy, apartment full of junk sold so unimportant—the leaves made beautiful patterns over lapping against the sky and we held both hands…dinner at Estoril, fine for us: our place here, walked around a little, back in the room, took a few pictures and sketched C. Also made love. Finished “Backs Turned.”
CRYSTAL ZEVON: That first night in Madrid, Warren stayed up all night and finished writing a song that he’d been working on since our decision to leave the States. It had been through numerous incarnations, but the one he worked out that night is the version that stuck.
“Backs Turned, Looking Down the Path” never received much acclaim either from the critics or fans, but over the years, Warren would say, “When I’m dead, wait and see if they don’t figure out that was the best song I ever wrote.”
CRYSTAL ZEVON: We shared our arrival date in Madrid with President Ford, who was there to meet with Franco. Warren considered this coincidence fortuitous, until one night when we looked up from the menu we were struggling to decipher to see grainy images of Ford and Franco on a small black-and-white TV saluting the American flag to the tune of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
As the Spanish Military Band played, we suddenly realized that all eyes were on us. We feared our “luck” might have changed. “Oh, shit,” Warren moaned. “What are we supposed to do? Are we ugly Americans and they want us to ignore our flag and love Franco? Or, do they think Ford will save them from a brutal dictator and we are unpatriotic if we don’t stand and salute?”
Warren was becoming frantic, and after the countless warnings from my parents about the brutality of Franco’s regime, I wasn’t too comfortable myself. Finally, just before the end of the anthem, Warren grabbed my hand, and we stood and weakly saluted. The restaurant cheered, and the owner bought us a glass of Spanish wine, and there was a restaurant-wide toast. Warren was ecstatic. He knew then and there that we were in the right place at the right time. Spain was where we were meant to be, and life would be good.
June 3, 1975—Train to Sitges
…Spanish executives boarded in the suburbs of Barcelona…one older gent and one young argued with each other about where we should stay…young fellow suggested Sitges…instantly realized we were truly in Dali-Gaudi country, a different Spain & more to our liking.
/> CRYSTAL ZEVON: When we finally arrived in Sitges, we looked at each other and we knew, “This is the place.” We stumbled off the train lugging Warren’s battered Martin guitar, his Sony cassette recorder, our treasured Swiss Army knife, four hits of LSD smuggled into Spain between the pages of our diaries, and a few items of clothing. We ended up in a family-run hostel, the Mariangle.
We met some Canadians at a tapas bar who told us there was an Irish pub called the Dubliner run by an American soldier of fortune named Lindy and his German wife, Lisa. Supposedly, they made great American breakfasts and cheap family-style dinners. When we got to the Dubliner the next morning, Lindy offered Warren a beer with his breakfast. Lisa took me to the back room and I played with their son, Wolfgang, while she served bacon and eggs. Warren was in heaven.
June 9, 1975—Sitges
…Played for Lindy in the kitchen—“Bobby McGee,” “American Tune”—hired. Performed in the bar tonight (dodging the local police informer, winner of an Erich von Stroheim look-alike contest). New friends John & Dora turned us on to a wild-mannered hash dealer, just in from Morocco, we scored, got totally ruined. John became semi-comatose & contrary, impossible to maneuver him home—left him on the dealer’s floor, had to sleep (C & I dressed and crowded into a single bed) with Dreary Dora, who was afraid of the Booger Man…
CRYSTAL ZEVON: About an hour after he got hired, Warren and Lindy were using Warren’s Sony, a broom handle, and electrician’s tape to create a microphone stand and a sound system, while ideas for a new song about “Roland, the Headless Thompson Gunner” began percolating. Lindy told Warren stories about running guns and starting revolutions in Biafra…
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