WEREWOLVES OF LONDON by WARREN ZEVON. Story by Vin Maskell.

School-crossing, Melbourne, 2019.

Big orange ‘lollipop’ stop sign. Hi-vis uniform. White wide-brimmed hat. Whistle at the ready.

Traffic coming and going. Cars and trucks. Not a main road but busy enough. Children coming. Parents going.

I’m waiting for kids and I’m waiting for cars. And I’m waiting for the ‘bell music’, the 8.50am music that tells the children to stop playing games, and line-up outside their classrooms. Tells the teachers to down that strong coffee, stop gossiping, and head for the classroom.

Who, or what, will be coming from the school speakers this morning? Pop? Disco? Rock? Classical?

Decades ago, at St Patrick’s Primary it seemed to be old-fashioned, old-time marching music, broadcast via a record player in the school office. Stern Sister Aiden’s choice. “This’ll keep those kids in line,” she would say to herself, before placing the needle on the vinyl. “This’ll wipe the smiles from their faces. Those damn excitable boys.”

And we were expected to march into class. One-two-three. One-two-three. We marched, in a fashion. Some of the younger nuns were as bored as the kids. But they didn’t fancy their chances of getting The Rolling Stones or The Beatles past Sister Aiden.

Some mornings at the crossing I hear slow classical music. To calm down the children? To settle them? (Hasn’t such music been used in public places – railway stations, for example – to deter troublemakers?)

Sometimes I hear themes from movies: Toy Story, Frozen, Moana. Star Wars. Once I heard the theme from The Good, The Bad, The Ugly.

Often, it’s Abba, or Foreigner, or Toto. Madonna. Principal’s playlist, at a guess.

But one morning, and one morning only, I hear an unmistakable, unforgettable piano riff. I’m across the road from the school, so I’m depending on the breeze to carry the tune over the sound of the traffic.

I’m hoping there are no latecomers, no stragglers, because I want to hear as much of this song as I can.

The chorus, though, catches me off-guard. That’s not just Zevon singing. Or back-up singers. No, that’s a whole choir. A children’s choir. I guess there must be more than one version of such a popular song.

But what do I do now if a student, running late, arrives? The shrill pierce of my whistle would be an assault on the song.

Do I escort the latecomer and then stay on the crossing until the song ends, thereby testing the patience of the drivers?

Or, even if there are no latecomers, do I stop the traffic anyway, to catch as much of the song as possible?

*******

I first heard a live performance of the song about 40 years ago. Rick E. Vengeance, a Canadian folksinger with rose-coloured glasses, was playing in Geelong. It was one of the last songs of the night, a fine night that went so long that Vengeance missed the last train back to Melbourne. In the broader sense of the phrase, ‘folk music’ is music for the people. And Werewolves Of London is certainly that.

Warren Zevon toured Australia at least once. I’ve tried to convince myself that I was at one of his Melbourne gigs. The 1993 ‘live’ album Learning To Flinch includes recordings from that tour. I can imagine I was there as much as I like but it’s still a fake memory. It’s still only wishful thinking. I wasn’t there.

In October 2019 Henry Wagons, a larger-than-life Melbourne singer, performed a tribute show called Accidentally Like A Martyr. Terrific gig. Faithful to the songs but not mere cover versions. Funny, energetic, full-on. No holding back. Lawyers, Guns & Money, Excitable Boy, Desperado Under The Eaves, I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, Keep Me In Your Heart…

As the unmistakable, unforgettable piano riff started I thought not just of Lee Ho Fook’s big dish of beef chow mein, not just of Lon Chaney Jnr walking with the Queen but of the late folkie Rick E Vengeance, the late, great Warren Zevon, my fake memory from 1992, and the morning I stood at the school-crossing hoping there would be no latecomers waiting for my whistle.

See also: Veracruz story by AW Collins.

…I loved Lawyers, Guns And Money, would howl appropriately during Werewolves Of London. I was mourning the loss of my ‘once beloved’ and Accidentally Like A Martyr could have been written about me. When Tenderness On The Block played I was undone, but for my money the best song on the whole album was Veracruz….

And also: Henry Wagons and his show Accidentally Like A Martyr. Review and photos.

…a high-spirited rock ’n’ roll show, one that at times exposes Zevon’s darker side but Henry Wagons never let’s that get in the way of a laugh and good time…

Vincent Maskell

Vin is founding editor of Stereo Stories and director/MC of Stereo Stories In Concert.