I’m filling the dishwasher after another nondescript day, and I’m listening to the classic rock radio station on the kitchen’s radio station. A comforting flow of innocuous memories, music once vibrant now freeze-dried and repurposed to make Boomers feel Safe and Content in their lives.
Then, “Werewolves of London.”
Warren.
You know, I’m not a philosophical guy. Sometimes, I’m downright pedantic. But at this moment, I get mad.
Warren Zevon was an independent thinker, his own man. Right or wrong, drug-induced or not, he had a Voice. And a Point. A point reflected in many many albums and songs. Songs like “Desperado Under the Eaves.” Or “Don’t Let Us Get Sick. Or ”Hasten Down the Wind.” Songs that didn’t appeal to top-40 play lists or simplistic tastes or joe-six-pack workers who aspired to nothing and therefore achieved nothing.
These were songs… they meant something. They were worth something. They mattered.
These songs, the ones that reflected the artist’s work far more than the one major hit that he had, the classic rock station did not play. These… and other songs, songs that are hopeful or dark or visionary or all of the above, they dare not play… because these songs may not comfort. They may not help sell the local car dealer’s wares or keep the ratings in line with the predetermined demographics that the marketing department had set in plastic stone.
These songs, they simply could not be played. They were not “Roxanne” by the Police. They were not “Hotel California” by The Eagles.
They could cause a reaction other than comfort. They could provoke Emotion… They could provoke. A tear may be shed at the vision the songwriter made.
This simply isn’t done.
So I miss Warren. I miss Warren, and I miss Bill Hicks, and Harry Nilsson, and George Carlin… I miss all those creative mad men who spoke truth to power and did it not to sell records but did it because they had a voice and a calling and a need to do so.
And I miss that the channel that such independent voices have is no longer public, and is instead sequestered away on the Internet, no longer open to the 21st Century Era of Corporate Communication. It’s pigeon-holed.
Perhaps this is nostalgia speaking… Maybe it’s a reaction to the Clear Channelization of radio, a medium I once held dear… Or maybe, I just miss the voice of Warren Zevon, and I am angry that the only sliver of that voice that so many will ever hear is “Werewolves of London.”
Warren gave us more than that. It’s always more.
Seek it out.
Enjoy every sandwich.