In the melancholy wisdom of his lyrics, this lost singer-songwriter has very few rivals.
Articles by: Kasper Nijsen
So, have all your passionate violins play a tune for a Tennessee kid …
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the age of waning religious zeal and disco experimentation, the epoch of brilliant outtakes like “Blind Willie McTell” and lackluster releases like Down in the Groove.
Though the late Warren Zevon didn’t record a whole lot of covers, when he did they always revealed his excellent taste: from Prince’s “Raspberry Beret” to Steve Winwood’s “Back in the High Life Again” and Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.”
Whatever god dreamed up Jackson C. Frank’s fate must have been in a pretty morbid mood.
“The jukebox in the café don’t play nothing that I know: Hell, I guess I’ll save my quarter to hear that steam-boat whistle blow”: Sammy Walker’s voice still sounds strong on Blue Ridge Mountain Skyline.
Some careers follow a beaten path to fame and fortune, but for others the road is rough and rocky, winding its way past brief success and disappointment. This has certainly been the case for Sammy Walker
As the world is gearing up for the annual shopping and eating spree that we call Christmas, a remarkable album is set to be reissued: the moody debut of David Ackles, first issued by Elektra Records in 1968.
It was the first time his wife saw him cry. When Phil Ochs heard the news of John F. Kennedy’s assassination, he was inconsolable: “I think I’m going to die tonight, Alice,” he told his wife. “I’m going to die.”
It would be an injustice if we remember Warren Zevon merely for his 1978 novelty hit single “Werewolves of London.”