We really don’t give ol’ Warren Zevon enough credit. Or, we didn’t. He’s dead now, so his need of credit is limited to non-existent. Unless the Greeks were correct and all we get is this life and the point is to rack up as much fame as possible before we go out thereby insuring some sort of eternal life, yea even deification. So maybe we can deify Warren Zevon if we get really serious about it.
Except that we don’t deify folks anymore, but we do sanctify folks. Make them saints, that is. Or they are saints and we just put a name on it? I don’t know then ins and outs of the process. The point is that we could have a St. Warren if we really worked on that, but I’m not sure he merits THAT much credit. Surely, however, he deserves to be remembered for a lot more than “Werewolves of London.”
Now “Werewolves of London” is a fine song, but it is a mere sliver of what Warren Zevon put out there. It’s not even the spookiest of his songs. I’d probably give “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner” that accolade. There’s also a lot more soul in Warren’s songs. Including today’s selection, which happens to complement “Desperadoes Waiting on a Train” which I posted yesterday over on Facebook.
The point of both songs, it seems to me, is that we often envision ourselves out there, riding in lonely stoic pride across the plains. “Out riding fences, for so long now” as the Eagles have it. Truth is, we get washed up under the eves, the sun beating down in steady accusation. Waiting for deliverance, or maybe just a little bit of cover.