Warren Zevon was always up and down to me. Sometimes, I greatly enjoyed and admired his work, but other times, I was left scratching my head. Most acts do that for me, but it seemed like it was more frequently a response to Zevon’s solo stuff. (It’s probably just me, innit?) “Werewolves of London” (1978) stands out as a strong exception. I love its funkiness, especially that simple, melodic piano, and ended up singing it to my cats last night (although my version was, of course, “Werecats of Ashland”, as they’re cats, and I live in Ashland, Oregon).
They were dubious.