I thought I was in a safe place. A place where I could express my ideas without fear of judgment or, for that matter, retribution. But I was catastrophically mistaken. In an instant, I went from bathing in the convivial glow of a night out to being branded a social misfit and full-on freak. This callous act of demonisation cannot be left to stand unchallenged. That’s because I fundamentally dispute that I’m an oddball, weirdo or crank simply because I know who Warren Zevon is.
There’s context. It’s not as though I was wandering aimlessly through the streets challenging hapless strangers to name their favourite Zevon tune. That’d be madness. Rather, we were in the one place where people should – by rights – be Warren Zevon aficionados if not paid-up members of his fan club. We were in a piano bar.
As is the case with piano bars, there was a guy up front tickling the ivories and warbling away. He was performing piano standards like ‘Wannabe’ by The Spice Girls and, seemingly, everything that Ed Sheeran had seen fit to sneeze into existence. At a certain point, he turned to the audience and asked for requests. Names rained down. It was obvious that the lady in front of us really, really liked The Spice Girls. The names ‘Harry’ and ‘Styles’ were yelled with considerable force. The piano guy looked a bit stumped and an awkward silence descended on the room. It was then that I bravely stepped forward, saying, ‘Anything by Warren Zevon’.
Heads turned. People did not snigger so much as they openly guffawed. It’s as though I’d yelled out something completely insane like, ‘I am the walrus, I am the eggman!’ or ‘play Paranoid Android’. Some of the other patrons were pointing and jeering. The piano player – the person whose job it was to make a comfortable and pleasant environment – was scrunching up cocktail napkins and throwing them at my head.
I’d thought I was being helpful. When a guy playing piano in a piano bar asked for suggestions, I named one of the greatest singer songwriters of the piano playing variety that had ever lived. Warren ought to be an obvious choice, a go-to crowd-pleasing staple. Or, at least, a crowd-pleasing staple for those patrons who are aware that not all music was created by Ed Sheeran. If he’d been a Spice Girl, things would have been different (and, to be honest; Sporty, Scary, Posh and Warren has a ring to it). But no-one had heard of Warren Zevon at all.
I wasn’t about to let it rest. Although Warren was responsible for a great number of truly exceptional songs, the closest thing he ever had to hit (at least under his own name) was a tune called ‘Werewolves of London’. You’d be tempted to call it a novelty song save that it’s too bizarre and the rhythm section consists of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie of Fleetwood Mac, so it’s chock-full of serious muso chops. In a last ditch attempt to bring people to their senses, I sang the chorus, which involves howling like a werewolf. It’s fair to say that throwing my head and wailing like a mythical creature did not jog anyone’s memory, although it did inspire a number of people to run for the exit.
I know what you’re thinking – it’s another example of the generation gap. But I was too young to enjoy Warren when it happened. I discovered him later because I am curious. I cannot fathom those that dismiss anything that occurred before they were born with a wave of the hand. The Beatles broke up before I came to be, but I still know who they were. However, this wasn’t age shaming, because the piano player was either older than me or had led a very difficult life.
As the piano player launched into a full-throated rendition of Meat Loaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love (Other Than Show Restraint)” and I began to feel physically ill, I resumed my seat. Clearly, there would be no Warren Zevon tonight.
I liked Warren. There ought to be a place for the weird and the subversive. Just not in this particular piano bar in 2024 where, it seems, The Spice Girls, Ed Sheeran and Meat Loaf reign supreme. Perhaps it’s understandable – Warren may have been a piano player, but he wasn’t a lounge act and he was responsible for outrageous songs like ‘Lawyers, Guns and Money’, ‘Excitable Boy’ and ‘Mr. Bad Example’. As piano-playing singers go, he swam upstream.
At the invitation of the security staff, I left the piano bar. It was raining and I could still hear the piano player as he lurched towards the finish line of the Meat Loaf song as it reached the twelfth minute. I was happy to leave it behind. As I stumbled past the restaurant in the street below, I glanced over and saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand. His hair was perfect. I can only assume he was going to get a big bowl of beef chow mein. Warren would have approved.