I’m not the biggest Tom Waits fan alive, but I think this is his most diverse, dark, and experimental album yet. His work with Primus on “Big In Japan”, made a fast move to my iPod upon first listening, so that oughta tell you something. The grim, echoing, old-school radio howl of Lowside of the Road seems to drive you along like the Boatman on the River Styx. “Hold On” is a more Raindogs-esque Waits, with his vocals clearer, at least recording wise, and a tone reminiscent of “Time”, a track I can’t even type about without getting misty-eyed. “Get Behind The Mule” is a track where you can really feel the influence of his wife/collaborator Kathleen Brennan, and I mean that in the best possible way. “House Where Nobody Lives” is the first Waits-only composition on the album, and it’s tragic feel seems to tug at your heart in the most beautiful way his sandpaper voice can. “Cold Water” seems like an old song sung while working the railroad, and that is, again, meant in the best possible way. “Pony” is another one of my favorite kind of Waits track, his agonizing wails over sparse instrumentation.
After the halfway point, the bizarre, terrifying “What’s He Building?” (which I dare you to listen to with the lights off), “Black Market Baby” takes a more musical swing at scaring the shit out of me. The first part of the album is wok songs and laments, the second half is eery, spooking dark growls. “Eyeball Kid” is even creepier, and seems like the music Tim Burton makes love to, you know? Seriously, the hair is raising up on my arm right now. “Picture In A Frame” is a tender piano ballad, which is a welcome break from the fear I was racked with before. Of course, that soon dissipates to terror when “Chocolate Jesus” comes in. Tom Waits might be the scariest man I’ve ever listened to. Were it not for Waits’ voice, “Georgia Lee” could be on the Anthology of American Folk Music. “Fillipino Box Spring Hog” is another one that went straight to the iPod. Now, after such an odd, experimental track, only Waits would have the balls to write a gorgeous ballad and place it write after. The piano arrangement on this song is just marvelous, and proves just how talented a mainstream composer he is. The album closes on “Come On Up To The House”, a gospel-esque wail that perfectly closes an album that, I’m pretty sure is my favorite of his.
So, if you’re going to listen to one Tom Waits album, this’d be it. Well, and look up “Time”. Still love that track best of all.
-Mike
So, tomorrow is #298: Master Of Reality by Black Sabbath.
Opening with sounds which remind one of Bitches Brew and going into a song which sounds like a Strokes track, Pearl Jam starts off their third album immediately showing how it isn’t a god damn thing like the last two, which, is both a blessing and a shame. The more Motorhead-esque feel is nice, but the first two tracks lack the real grunge magic that was present on Ten. Ok, and track three sounds like a slow Motorhead. “Tremor Christ” finally takes us somewhere a little more unique, though it kinda sounds like Eddie went from trying to be Lemmy to trying to be a heavier Tom Waits. “Nothingman” is, thank god, a really good track. After four average tracks, Vedder bares his soul on this one, and the track’s sound, though not written by him, seems to foreshadow Vedder’s great solo achievement, the soundtrack to Into The Wild. “Whipping” comes in after that with a Hives vibe, but finally Eddie’s back to being Eddie. This is the evolution you hoped to see Pearl Jam go to. A real grunge-punk fusion. Hell, this track could come out today and work. Honestly, if you had cut three of the first four tracks you could really start this album off right. Hell, “Pry, To” is a minute long, but it’s still unique, and adds to the feel of the album, and isn’t trying to emulate anybody, god bless it. “Curduroy” is more complex than Ten era PJ, but still has that feel. It’s almost as if as the album progresses they’re finding their sound. I gotta be honest, I’m actually liking this album, other than the beginning. “Bugs” has been described as Tom Waits-esque, but I’m sure Nick Young, a die-hard Waits fan, will agree this track has nothing on Mr. Waits. The reviewer who said some of the experimental tracks don’t work was most assuredly referring to this one. Also, it makes me think of Shutter Island. I don’t know why, but now I wish Shutter Island would just come out already. “Satan’s Bed” sounds sorta like a good song, but kinda empty. It sounds like the demo to a really good Pearl Jam song, you know? Like, something’s missing.
“Better Man” is one of the best tracks on the album. See, what makes tracks like this and “Nothingman” great is that it comes from somewhere personal. The other day in my Advanced filmmaking class we asked my professor what we should write about, and he said “Write something true. That’s the only way to ensure you make something great is to write something true”. The same goes for music. Plus, for you youngins too small to remember, though the media would like to portray the sounds of R.E.M., Nirvana and Ten-age PJ as what 90’s radio sounded like, this was the true sound of the majority of 90’s radio. Though “Jeremy” and “Smells Like Teen Spirit” are THE “Songs of the 90s”, this is what most of the songs from the 90’s sounded like. “Aye Davanita” is a fu little experiment. A bit of a throwaway, but it’s at least not emulating Waits or Motorhead. It’s its own original suckage, which is better than rip-off suckage.
“Immortality” is believed by many to be about the suicide of Kurt Cobain, and though Vedder denies it, it’s hard to believe him. This track is basically a direct lament of the loss of a love-hate partner in the musical world. Hell, Wikipedia points it our best. When Vedder described “Immortality”, he said:
The album ends with “Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me”, the longest and most experimental track on the album. It kinda reminds me of the track “Suicide Underground”, which is the last track on The Virgin Suicides soundtrack, except the music on “Suicide Underground” is more enjoyable.
So, the album’s inconsistent, but good. Sure the experiments sometimes fail, but maybe all the experiments were their as a safety net for emotionally naked songs like “Better Man”, “Immortality”, and “Nothingman”. If those songs failed, Vedder could just write them off as failed experiments. As the late David Foster Wallace always lamented, it’s very difficult to be sincere in the modern world. Wallace’s sincerity safety net was through self-consciousness in his writing voice, and hiding behind post-modernism, while Vedder hid behind experimental suck fests like “Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me” and “Bugs”. Thankfully, the three true tracks were well received, which gave Vedder the freedom to be himself, which I’m still thankful for. So, while it’s not the greatest, the album is worth a listen.
-Mike
See you guys tomorrow for the start of a new month, with #233: Bookends by Simon & Garfunkel. Now I’m off to say goodbye to my best friend. He ships out at noon today. I’ll miss you, buddy.
There’s something morbidly eccentric about Tom Waits circa 1985’s “Rain Dogs” that’s sort of hard for me to pin down. I’m going to just come out and say this right now- I’m in love with this guy. My eyes lit up every time he appeared as the devil on the screen in TerryGilliam’s“The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus.”. Since I first heard his idiosyncratic gravely voice at the impressionable age of seventeen, I’ve sought out every movie he’s been in short of Robert Altman’s “Short Cuts,” and attained every single album of his worth having (that is to say all of them). I’ll be the first to admit it- I’m a little bit obsessed. However, I view this as more of a virtue than a vice since I’m supposedly the guy who wants to make a movie out of this man’s life. All the same, I’m going to try to look at Waits’ “Rain Dogs” as objectively as possible. This is going to be difficult, seeing as I’m just as likely to romanticize the abyss as Waits is, but I’ll try. One of the key attributes that sets “Rain Dogs” apart from its predecessors, namely “Swordfishtrombones,” is the addition of guitarist Marc Ribot. His voodoo-crazed, mentally disturbed riffs on “ Singapore ,”“Clap Hands,” and “Jockey Full of Bourbon” sound like they’re being plucked by the fingers of Satan himself. It was only a matter of time before Tom Waits played the part of the devil, but he never did forget the lonely heart of a Saturday Night. He sort of melted gorgeous sentimentality and whiskey-splashed boisterousness into one musical outlet, which he’s been perfecting ever since.
-Nick --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mike Natale:
Listen to that bouncing growl on “Singapore”. This is some demented Danny Elfman wet dream, and I gotta admit, I’m scared shitless. I’ve lived in New York all my life, and have never once seen the New York Waits is trying to show me on Rain Dogs. This is a dark, scary, seedy New York. I feel like “Clap Hands” is the kind of song Julie Taymor dreams of choreographing. I can feel the fog on my face, and even as I’m typing this, I keep looking over my shoulder.
I have to be honest with you, my dear readers, I don’t normally type my reviews WHILE listening to the album, but I need to keep my mind somewhat occupied, because so far, this album fucking terrifies me. “Cemetery Polka”? First off, it reminds me of “Mark It Up” from Repo! A Genetic Opera, a movie which, if you enjoy this album is highly worth your viewership. But listen to that organ, that growling, grumbling voice, the drumming, It sounds like the most horrifying circus you’ll ever stumble into.
“Jockey Full Of Bourbon” is a little less Tim Burton-y. It sounds like what I’d imagine phone-sex with Michael Bublé is like, if Michael had just huffed paint. This is the first song, too, that feels like a full song, rather than just snippets. What makes this album brilliant already is that it feels like you’re just dropping in on small portions of the New York Conversations that Lou Reed sang about on Transformer. Indeed, the question Reed raises on that song, “Who has touched and who has dabbled, here in the city of shows?” seems to be answered by this album.
Perfect example, “Tango Till They're Sore”, a song so potently slurred you can smell the whiskey through your stereo. This track is basically what you hear if you go to an open-mic night at a crappy downtown bar. And I’m loving every second of it. Yet, it’s the track “Big Black Mariah” that rocks me to my core. The vocals aren’t unfortunate so much as Muddy Waters-esque perfection, the drums hammer with a thunderous rock force, and the guitar…the guitar enthralled me. And here’s some real-time action for you. I just looked up the guitarist for this track. Keith mother-fucking Richards. From the Rolling Stones. Yeah, now I get it. Now I know why I love it so much. Keith makes everything awesome.
“Diamonds & Gold” returns to that creepy vibe we had before, but a little less dark, and now more…drippy. Can drippy be an adjective for this album? I think it can (Dude, what is with my writing voice lately. I’m becoming the Andy Rooney of album reviews). “Hang Your Head Down” opens with a guitar that reminds me of the Velvet Underground, and to be honest, that’s what the song itself feels like. It sounds like a rejected VU track, and to be honest, this is the first track so far on the album where I’ve found Waits’ grizzled voice off-putting. It doesn’t seem to work on this track like it does on the others. It’s a terrific song, indeed the most commercial so far, but not for Waits. I’m sure as shit gonna cover it, though. Can’t let gems like them slip past you. “Time”, conversely, is the best song for Waits’ voice so far. Now, I know this song, but simply from the Tori Amos cover, and I’m discovering this version in the best way anyone can. I’m being moved.
By the end of “Time”, I was crying. I felt I should inform you. Very few songs can bring me to tears, (only “Love, Reign O’er Me” by The Who, “I Know It’s Over” by The Smiths but as performed by Jeff Buckley, and “Whispering” from Spring Awakening) but “Time” did it. Waits seemed to pour every once of his humanity into that track, and that’s the most any artist can do.
Then we go back to the staggered, staccato instrumentals on the title track. After something as unique an experience as “Time”, it’s hard to decipher this track from the others on the album. I like the feeling of it, and it’s unique when compared to other albums, but similar to the other track. I much preferred the following track, “Midtown”. Though only a minute long, it maintained the feeling of the album, while being individual and unique. The same can be said for the basically spoken word “9th & Hennepin”, which sounds like a speech by Brando’sStanley Kowalski set to late Miles Davis compositions. For the record, the hairs on my arms are raising up during this. I may piss myself.
“Gun Street Girl” reminds me of Bright Eyes’Lifted album, and if someone wants to leave a comment explaining why, feel free to, because I can not for the life of me figure out why. It’s not one of my favorite tracks, but it’s still an enjoyable listening experience. After another blah track entitled “Union Square” comes the country twanged “Blind Love”. Here’s another pretty special track, which sounds like Waits covering Willie Nelson, and shows that Waits’ voice always has a place in country music, should he choose to take it.
“Walking Spanish” was a fun little track to precede “Downtown Train”, the real hit off the album, which, to be honest, is Rod Stewart’s song. Tom Waits tried on this one, hell, it is his song, but Rod Stewart truly claimed this one. It’s just not right for Tom. A terrific song, but not for Tom. Seriously, here’s the Rod version. You see my point.
“Bride of Rain Dog” is by far the scariest fucking track on the album. I seriously feel like I’m gonna be murdered right now.
So, then we end with “Anywhere I Lay My Head”, which some of you know was the title track for Scarlett Johansson’scover album of Tom Waits, which was…well…we’re here to talk about Tom Waits. This is a pretty powerful track, and a good way to close the album, especially with that New Orleans horn break at the end. But I have to be honest, even after this whole eclectically brilliant album, it is still “Time” that lingers in the air above me, moving me even now to places my soul would rather hide from.
In all, I have to say Rain Dogs is a phenomenal album, even if some of the tracks have been performed better by other artists. This is highly worth the listen, and I defy you to not feel the heartache in “Time”. I fucking defy you.
It opens with a bluesy gut-punch, with Waits sounding more like Dr. John than the Tom Waits I’d grown to know, the beginning track as jarring as that opening sentence. “New Coat Of Paint” has a bluesy, jazz hall feel, and I had hope that the whole album would continue like this. Unfortunately, only one other track did, “Depot, Depot”. The rest seem to possess a different quality. The seem reminiscent of something, but I just can’t for the life of me place what it is. (This is a joke, as you will be able to tell later.)
It starts on San Deigo Serenade. I thought at first, Ray Charles, but there was something deeper. I realized soon that Waits didn’t have his trademark growl. Rather, he had Bruce Springsteen’s trademark gravely ballad warble. Semi-Suite and Shiver Me Timbers both have that same feel as San Diego Serenade. If you happen to like Bruce Springsteen’s style of balladeering, then this is the album for you. Though you might just wanna look up some Springsteen instead.
Eventually, a break from the pseudo-boss comes in the form of Diamonds On My Windshield (Looking for). Diamonds On My Windshield has a fun bass-line, but the beat-poet vibe gets dull after the first 30 seconds. The title track is once again a Springsteen ballad if Bruce ever decided to become a lounge singer, which is the feeling I keep getting during this album.
Finally, Please Call Me Baby is a track that’s not a Springsteen ballad nor a Dr. John jam. Of course, the violins turn it into what sounds like a demo tape Sinatra got and said “Good song. I can sing it better.” It sounds like Waits went “I really like ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’. I think I should write my own version.” They aren’t identical, but it’s just like you can’t listen to The Weary Kind in Crazy Heart without thinking in the back of your mind “Yeah, look, it’s a good song, but I saw The Wrestler too.”
The only track I find truly unique is the finale, “The Ghosts Of Saturday Night (After Hours at Napoleone's Pizza House)”, which is a truly bluesy, grumbly track which is more like the Tom Waits I came into this album expecting. Sure, it has that spoken word style, but unlike Diamonds On My Windshield, there’s no beat-poet backing to beat you over the head.
Look, I really like Tom Waits. Hell, I follow the man on Twitter for fuck’s sake, and while I appreciate Tom trying to make The Heart Of Saturday Night into his answer to In the Wee Small Hours by Frank Sinatra (if you don’t think so, just compare the album covers).But I can’t help feeling like a majority of this album sounds like Jungleland, but with all the build-up leading to nothing. Each track I keep praying for that guitar chord that comes in 1:49 into Bruce’s brilliant finale track from Born To Run.
So, look, I liked The Heart Of Saturday Night. It was a fun album, and I’ll probably listen to it again, but it’s not his best. At most, it’s a weak Springsteen album. At least, a throw-away collection of songs Sinatra rejected. I’m glad Waits is on the 500 list, and I will stand by Raindogs, and hell, I probably woulda been cool with this on there, if Rolling Stone hadn’t completely ignored a man who is, in my opinion, the greatest living songwriter.
While Waits above album sounds like many different things, I can’t think of a damn thing that sounds quite like any track on The Songs Of Leonard Cohen. Cohen’s ‘68 debut lacks the drum-machine, synthesized choir sounds of Various Positions, which contains Cohen’s best known song Hallelujah, it is this album that I feel is Cohen’s magnum-opus. Unlike later releases, where Cohen’s voice was strong and commanding, or today, where his voice is weak from age, from the opening track Suzanne, Cohen’s voice is soft and controlled. But it isn’t out of shyness or weakness, no. Throughout the album, his reserved manner makes you lean in, feeling like every song is some secret Cohen’s sharing solely with you. Cohen unlocks a magic in “folk” music Dylan always tried to avoid, and Paul Simon only grazed. Every track on Songs Of Leonard Cohen stands on its own as a masterpiece, and if my opinion means anything, which I’m assuming it does since you’re reading this, if you listen to one album today, I won’t mind if you pick The Songs Of Leonard Cohen over The Heart Of Saturday Night. I always will.
Listened to: MP3
