999,839: Warren Zevon — Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner

Artistic movements are generally improved by the addition of an emotionally crippled, gun-crazy drunk, perhaps none more so than the docile and pussified California singer-songwriter scene of the 1970's. Sure, the MOR-AOR crowd had winos and junkies to spare, but no one more violently inclined than Jackson Browne. That changed when Warren Zevon broke through in '76; finally, the hippie peace freaks had someone who could write a radio-friendly piano ballad glorifying expertise in the use of a submachine gun.

Without question, "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" is one of the 5 or 6 finest American pop songs about ghost mercenaries in post-colonial Africa. It was written in the midst of Zevon's years-long globetrotting bender, after he took up residency as the piano man in a Spanish bar owned by former merc David Lindell. Lacking in any paramilitary experience that did not involve firing off his pistol around the home, Zevon relied on Lindell's seasoning to craft the tale of the Norwegian soldier who just got too damned good at shooting shit.

Though we are promised a headless Thompson gunner, we first meet Roland when he is fully equipped with a head, which he will keep for nearly half the length of the song. His life follows a fairly standard trajectory for a white mercenary; hailing from a docile and pussified Western European nation, the man must go abroad in search of a conflict which will test his combat mettle. Landing first in secessionist Biafra—no word on whether he contributes any meaningful firepower in that particular theatre—Roland finds his calling in The Congo Crisis:

Through '66 and 7, they fought the Congo war
With their fingers on their triggers, knee deep in gore
For days and nights they battled the Bantu to their knees
They killed to earn their living and to help out the Congolese

This is a little like saying he battled the Nova Scotians to help out the Canadians, but ok, you get the idea. Motherfucker is awesome at killing folks with his gun. He gets so good at it, the CIA wants to get rid of him, because that's what the CIA was always doing in Africa: assassinating white mercenaries who fought leftist guerrillas.

Whatever, there is a reason nobody put Warren Zevon in charge of making sense all the time. Roland's compatriot Van Owen betrays him, blowing his head off. This stuns Roland momentarily, but luckily his particular talents do not require the use of a head, and, with soaring organs and a male chorus, he gets his revenge on Van Owen. Then he just goes back to fighting other people's wars, sans noggin, eventually clashing with the Symbionese. If you wanted to know what happens after that, I guess you should have taken Warren Zevon's 400-level seminar in Modern African History while you still had the chance. I'm guessing the guy went on to dress up as Nathan Hale at tea party protests.