The term “genius” gets thrown around a lot in the world of music criticism. Sometimes it’s unwarranted. And sometimes, geniuses flail about in the artistic wilderness, unheard by the masses who haven’t yet caught on. Warren Zevon knew the term well, having been called it by critics over the years. He turned the word on its head in the song “Genius”, showing that anybody can be deemed brilliant if they have a particular skill, even if it’s an especially harmful one.
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The “Genius” Sings
Even before he truly had to face it, Warren Zevon developed an obsession with death. And not in a curious way, a la George Harrison and his quest to discover “The Art Of Dying”. Zevon wanted nothing to do with it, to the point that he avoided doctors for fear they might discover something bad.
Of course, that would actually happen to Zevon when it was found that he had an aggressive form of cancer. His album My Ride’s Here, released in 2002, preceded that diagnosis by a few months. Even so, the LP confronts the topic of death on several different songs.
On the surface, “Genius”, written with musician Larry Klein, separates from the album’s main theme somewhat. Zevon uses the title to refer to the efficiency and ruthlessness with which an ex has left him in the dust. Meanwhile, the swirling music provided by a string quartet offers a strange beauty to offset such biting lyrics.
But there’s also a bit of reflection that shows up throughout the song. In addition to surveying the detritus of this failed relationship, Zevon also references missteps that he’s made throughout his life and career. It can’t have been a coincidence that the title is also a word that was attached to him at different times. That label must have seemed bitterly ironic when his career was flailing in between his late 70s breakthrough and his late-period resurgence.
Examining the Lyrics of “Genius”
Zevon frames “Genius” as a castigation of an ex-lover and her heartless methods of dispensing with her prey. “Did you light the candles? Did you put on Kind Of Blue”? he asks of her seduction techniques on her new man. “Did you use that Ivy League voodoo on him, too?” The narrator sounds like he pities the new guy for the trouble he’s about to endure.
Zevon then segues to make some observations about his vocation. “There’s a face in every window / Of the Songwriter’s Neighborhood,” he explains. He suggests that it takes mercenary behavior to escape from that neighborhood to the big time. “The poet who lived next door when you were young and poor,” he sings. “Grew up to be a backstabbing entrepreneur.”
After comparing Albert Einstein to Charlie Sheen, as only Zevon could, he returns to dressing down his ex. He implies that she chose monetary rewards over love. “You latched on to him and I became / A minor inconvenience.” That’s when he levels her with the ultimate backhanded compliment. “You broke my heart into smithereens,” he sneers. “And that took genius.”
In the final verse, Zevon once again expresses his disgust at the girl and her new “barber” boyfriend: “Guess what, I never liked the way he cut your hair.” He also gives up his chase: “But there’s nothing I can do or say I haven’t done or said.”
He uses the final moments of the lyrics to allude to the reckless behavior that painted him with a certain brush and clouded the picture of his songwriting brilliance. “If I could only get my record clean/I’d be a genius,” he sighs. Most people who study his body of work would tell you that Warren Zevon deserved the “Genius” label more than most. High-wire songs like this give you the reason why.
Photo by Clayton Call/Redferns
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