Linda Ronstadt always felt an intrinsic part of traditional pop and country, but her guiding principle was far less categorical than those two silos. Instead, she knew music was more nuanced and guided by people and feelings rather than anything you could describe in a handful of simple sentences. For this reason, Ronstadt’s music defies easy categorisation, but much of this trajectory is owed to early rock originators.

Growing up surrounded by the sounds of Buddy Holly and Little Richard no doubt exposed a young Ronstadt to the beauty of musical innovation and liberal creativity, but most of the time she was keyed into tone and how certain melodies and sounds evoke specific feelings or memories. In her early years, her gravitation towards heartfelt crooning led her to Billie Holiday, who showed her how a personal convergence with music could open doors to unexplored arenas.

As a young girl, Ronstadt was turned onto Holiday’s talent and prowess by her father, who would often bring records home for her to listen to. Holiday and Frank Sinatra set a blueprint for her, providing a valuable lesson in the beginnings and evolution of pop music and how intimacy was a fine thing in vocalisation. As she reflected: “[Holiday] made music so intimate. She and Frank Sinatra are the two biggest influences on popular singing in the 20th century. I tried to do what they did.”

However, as far as beautiful songwriters and immense intimacy go, no one holds a candle to Warren Zevon in Ronstadt’s eyes. Among other things, Ronstadt became endeared to Zevon for the many reasons countless others did. Not only did he approach songwriting with more bravery than many others, but he also embodied the true principles of grace and knew the power of infusing dark wit with accessible and polished-sounding music.

Interestingly, Ronstadt played a major role in pushing Zevon’s music into the mainstream in the early years by performing renditions of his songs. Though slow on the uptake, his career suddenly took off, and his connections infiltrated his debut album, with collaborations from the likes of Stevie Nicks, Lindsey Buckingham, John McVie, Eagles, Carl Wilson, and, of course, Ronstadt.

“We were always so connected,” Ronstadt later told Dig of her relationship with Zevon. “I knew him by reputation because he was at the Troubadour club a lot. He wrote such beautiful songs.” Although a recluse in many ways, Ronstadt felt connected to Zevon’s words, understanding as much about who he was as a person as she could ever need. However, one of her regrets was never recording more of his songs—if she had the opportunity to go back in time, she would have recorded ‘Accidentally Like A Martyr’.

Although at the time, she had already recorded his songs ‘Carmelita’ and ‘Poor Poor Pitiful Me’, his music resonated like no other, and she found herself wishing she had visited one of his other songs. “There are some songs of his I really wish I had recorded, especially ‘Accidentally Like A Martyr’,” she admitted. “I feel like it was a missed opportunity, but I was a bit overwhelmed by doing it at the time.”

It’s easy to understand why Ronstadt felt so attached to Zevon and the song—it encompasses the emotionally overwhelming quality she often looks for in other songs and fellow songwriters. It also featured on Bob Dylan’s setlist during the same time Zevon was dying of cancer, making it an unforgettable tribute to love and loss and resonating deeply long after Zevon’s passing.

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