Warren Zevon was a cynic's cynic. He was the kind of guy who could make a terminal illness sound like a punchline and a mid-life crisis sound like a grand opera. But in 1978, he did something nobody expected. He released a song about a monster getting a haircut at a place called Lee Ho Fook's. Werewolves of London shouldn't have been a hit. It’s a three-chord romp with a "yip-howl" chorus that feels more like a barroom dare than a serious piece of songwriting. Yet, here we are decades later, and you can’t walk into a dive bar on a Tuesday night without hearing that iconic piano riff.
It’s catchy. It’s weird. It’s actually pretty dark if you pay attention to the lyrics.
Most people know the chorus. They know the "A-hoo!" but they don't really know the man behind it or the sheer chaos that went into recording it. Zevon wasn't trying to write a radio staple. He was trying to write a novelty song to amuse his friends, specifically Phil Everly of the Everly Brothers. That's the irony of Zevon’s career: the guy who wrote some of the most heart-wrenching, intellectually dense music of the 70s is primarily remembered for a song about a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand.
The Night Werewolves of London Was Born
The origin story is basically a series of "you had to be there" moments. Phil Everly saw the 1935 film Werewolf of London on television and jokingly suggested to Zevon that he should use the title for a song. Zevon, never one to pass up a weird idea, took him seriously. He sat down with LeRoy Marinell and Waddy Wachtel and hammered out the lyrics in about fifteen minutes.
That’s it. Fifteen minutes for a song that would define his legacy.
They were just messing around. Wachtel, who would go on to be a legendary session guitarist, recalls the session as being lighthearted. They weren't aiming for the Top 40. They were aiming for a laugh. But when you get Jackson Browne involved as a producer, things tend to get a bit more meticulous, even if the subject matter involves a creature "ripping out some lady's lungs" in Tottenham Court Road.
The recording process was a nightmare, though. You wouldn't think a song this simple would take long. Wrong. They spent weeks trying to get the right "feel." At one point, they had a version with a different rhythm section, but it lacked the specific, driving energy the track needed. It wasn't until Mick Fleetwood and John McVie—yes, the heart of Fleetwood Mac—stepped into the studio that the song finally clicked.
McVie’s bass and Fleetwood’s drumming provided a heavy, almost militaristic foundation that grounded Zevon’s manic piano playing. It turned a silly joke into a formidable piece of rock and roll.
Behind the Lyrics: More Than Just a Monster Movie
If you look closely at the words, Zevon isn't just talking about a movie monster. He’s satirizing the "pretty boy" culture of the 1970s.
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"I saw a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic's / And his hair was perfect."
That line is a classic Zevon jab. He’s mocking the vanity of the era. The werewolf isn't just a beast; he’s a dandy. He’s visiting the tailor. He’s getting his hair done. He’s a "gentleman" monster. It’s a clever juxtaposition that most listeners overlook because they’re too busy howling along.
Zevon always had a fascination with the macabre and the mundane living side-by-side. In Werewolves of London, the supernatural is treated with a shrug. A werewolf in a restaurant? Just another Saturday night in London. This dry, noir-inspired wit is what separates Zevon from his peers like James Taylor or Jackson Browne. While they were busy being earnest, Zevon was busy being a smart-aleck.
Then there’s the Lon Chaney reference. "I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen / Doing the Werewolves of London." It’s a nod to the history of horror cinema, but also a weirdly surreal image that feels like something out of a Hunter S. Thompson fever dream. Zevon loved these kinds of collisions—high culture meeting low-brow horror.
The Piano Riff That Won't Die
We have to talk about that piano. It’s the same three chords—G, C, and D—over and over again. It’s technically a plagiarism of itself, or rather, it’s so simple it feels like it’s existed since the dawn of time. Kid Rock famously sampled it (and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s "Sweet Home Alabama," which uses a similar progression) for his hit "All Summer Long."
A lot of Zevon fans hate that. Honestly, it’s easy to see why. Taking a song with such sharp lyrical wit and turning it into a summer anthem about "smoking funny things" feels like a bit of a downgrade. But it speaks to the durability of that riff. It’s a foundational element of American rock.
Zevon’s piano style was aggressive. He didn't just play the keys; he attacked them. He was classically trained, which gave him a technical edge, but he had the soul of a garage rocker. On Werewolves of London, you can hear that tension. The playing is precise but it feels like it’s about to fly off the rails at any second.
Why Zevon Hated Being the Werewolf Guy
Imagine you’ve written "Desperados Under the Eaves"—a song so beautiful it makes grown men weep—and everyone wants to talk to you about the "A-hoo" song.
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Zevon had a complicated relationship with his biggest hit. In his later years, he seemed to accept it as the thing that paid the bills, but there was always a sense that he felt boxed in by it. He was a songwriter's songwriter. Bob Dylan loved him. Bruce Springsteen admired him. But to the general public, he was the guy who wrote the werewolf song.
It’s a common curse for artists who have one massive, quirky hit. It overshadows the "real" work. But without that hit, would we still be talking about Warren Zevon today? Probably not in the same way. Werewolves of London was the gateway drug. It brought people into his world of "Excitable Boys" and "Lawyers, Guns and Money."
He once described the song as "a dumb piece of rock and roll." He wasn't entirely wrong, but it’s the best kind of dumb. It’s smart-dumb.
The Cultural Impact and the "Lee Ho Fook" Legacy
People actually go looking for the places mentioned in the song. Lee Ho Fook’s was a real restaurant in Chinatown, London. It’s closed now, but for years, fans would flock there just to say they’d been where the werewolf got his chow mein.
The song has appeared in countless movies and TV shows, most notably The Color of Money, where Tom Cruise does a somewhat polarizing dance/lip-sync routine to it. That moment alone probably cemented the song’s place in the 80s cultural lexicon, even though it was released in 1978.
There’s something about the track that feels timeless. It doesn't sound "70s" in the way a lot of disco or soft rock does. The production is clean, the performances are tight, and the attitude is universal. Everyone knows a guy who thinks his hair is perfect even when he’s acting like a beast.
Technical Brilliance in Simplicity
Let's break down the actual recording for a second. Waddy Wachtel’s guitar solo is a masterclass in "less is more." He isn't shredding. He’s playing the melody, adding some grit, and getting out of the way.
The drums are the secret weapon. Mick Fleetwood’s snare hits like a cannon. If you listen to the isolated tracks, you can hear how much space there is in the arrangement. There’s no clutter. Every instrument has its own pocket. This is why the song sounds so good on the radio even today; it wasn't over-produced.
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Jackson Browne’s role as producer shouldn't be underestimated here. He was the one who pushed Zevon to keep going when the sessions got frustrated. He knew there was something special in the simplicity of the track.
How to Appreciate the Song Today
If you’ve only ever heard the radio edit while stuck in traffic, you’re missing half the fun. You need to listen to it on a decent pair of headphones to hear the nuances in Zevon’s vocal delivery. He’s snarling. He’s laughing. He’s completely committed to the bit.
- Listen for the "yip": There’s a specific vocal tic Zevon does during the "A-hoo" that is incredibly hard to replicate.
- Pay attention to the bass: John McVie is doing a lot of heavy lifting that often gets buried by the piano.
- Check out the live versions: Zevon would often change the lyrics during live performances to include whatever city he was in or to poke fun at celebrities of the day.
The song is a reminder that rock and roll doesn't always have to be serious to be great. It can be cynical, silly, and technically brilliant all at once.
Understanding the Zevon Catalog
If Werewolves of London is your only touchpoint for Warren Zevon, you’re essentially judging a novelist by one joke they told at a party. To get the full picture, you have to dive into his self-titled 1976 album and Excitable Boy.
You'll find songs about mercenaries in Africa ("Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner"), the dark side of Los Angeles ("Desperados Under the Eaves"), and even a song about a literal "Excitable Boy" who does some truly horrific things. Zevon was obsessed with the darker impulses of the human psyche. The werewolf was just the most literal manifestation of that.
Even in his final days, after being diagnosed with terminal mesothelioma, Zevon kept his wit. He famously told David Letterman that his advice for life was to "enjoy every sandwich." That’s the same guy who wrote about a monster eating beef chow mein.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Musicians
If you want to truly dive into the world of this song and its creator, here is how to do it right:
- Analyze the 1-4-5 Progression: If you're a musician, study how Zevon uses a standard G-C-D progression but gives it a unique "swing" through his piano technique. It’s all in the rhythmic displacement.
- Explore the "California Noir" Genre: Zevon is the king of this. Listen to his contemporaries like Randy Newman to see how they used humor and satire to dissect American life in the 70s.
- Visit the "Virtual" Sites: While Lee Ho Fook’s is gone, you can still find the locations in London’s West End. It makes for a great "Zevon-themed" walking tour if you’re ever in the UK.
- Watch "Keep Me in Your Heart": This is the documentary about Zevon’s final days. It provides the necessary context to understand why a "silly" song like Werewolves was actually part of a much larger, more complex artistic vision.
The legacy of the song isn't just about the "A-hoo." It’s about the fact that a fiercely independent, darkly funny, and incredibly talented artist managed to sneak a weird masterpiece into the mainstream. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the best things happen when you aren't trying too hard.
The next time you hear that piano intro, don't just howl. Think about the fifteen minutes in 1977 when a few friends got together to make each other laugh and accidentally created a piece of music history.