"And your face looked like something death brought with him in his suitcase."
For reasons too silly to go into, I've been given a set of top-end earphones that are roughly five times more expensive than any previous pair I've had. And they are fantastic, bringing things out in old favourites I've never heard before.
That's put me on a full-scale nostalgia fest, pulling out things I haven't listened to in years, as well as things I still listen to everyday. The obvious stuff benefits - obviously. So The Blue Nile (especially Hats), chamber music of all types, and almost anything acoustic sounds a lot better. Until yesterday, though, I hadn't bothered to listen to any live albums: after all, dodgy recordings in obscure venues aren't likely to offer much of a source to work with, are they?
But wandering around yesterday at lunchtime, my iTunes Favourites playlist served me up with the live version of "The French Inhaler" from Warren Zevon's superbly titled "Learning To Flinch". And it was marvellous, all over again. I mean, it helps that this album was recorded on his final tour, when his voice was already beginning to suffer and every word was imbued with mortality, but the 'phones brought out so much that I hadn't realised was there. Obviously I listened to the rest of the album, and although some tracks have a bit too much looped synth for my liking, it's still an incredibly strong set.
It's pretty much a greatest hits, and all pre-1993 (God, was it that long ago I saw him?) so nothing from his last two brilliant albums. But it has everything you'd like from a sardonic singer-songwriter, finally straight and sober and mining a back-catalogue of gems. I'd like to have some chat from him, and if there had been a poll for what locally themed cover to have, I may have chosen "Sic A Parcel O' Rogues" over "The Yellow Rose of Texas". And I wouldn't have minded hearing him recite "Timor mortis conturbat me" again.
They did keep the most glorious moment I've heard from a balladeer claiming his heritage, though, when he finishes the introduction to one of his songs about soldiers, mercenaries, boxers, stops playing, looks us in the eye, and says "I sing of arms and the man."
You could have heard a pin drop in the theatre.