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Tom Waits |
| Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards |
| Anti | 2006 | Album |
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The tramp king musical maven of them all has put out a tuneful trifecta, a huge Tin Pan Alley cup filled to overflowing with thirty new recordings and twenty-six previously released oddities and delights. His revamping of the Ramones' “The Return Of Jackie and Judy” is nothing short of a revelation, displaying the songster's ability to reinterpret even the most basic of three chord punk anthems and call it his own. On the subject of covers, I never thought “Sea of Love” would be handled with the kind of gritty, sweet sentiment Waits is known for without sacrificing the smooth, vulnerable delivery of John Phillip Baptiste's '59 hit, which he nails with a well-aligned sense of restraint and respect for the original.
Of course, what separates Waits miles from predictable pop peddlers is his own voice coupled with the curious arrangements and oddball lyrical content of his songs. Show any composition teacher the sheet music to half of the ballads on this release, teeming with eerie minor chords and awkwardly timed refrains, and watch him run back in tears to the commercial ease of a Beatles tune or go all the way back to Bach for the basic melodies Waits will never use. In addition, most labels would cringe at the notion of a double album, let alone a triple disc concept release without a hit single in sight. Even “Little Drop Of Poison,” with its catchy tango fused beat and the warning that the rat always knows when he's in with weasels will never in my lifetime crack the top 100 or get a single play for a quarter at a diner in Tuscaloosa. “Bottom Of The World,” the wordiest hard luck ballad in the bunch, extolling the vagabond virtues of such charters as Satchel Puddin', Black Jack Ruby and Nimrod Cane could be the most accessible song you'll hear, far from the rattling, preacher-styled, extended narrative of “King Kong” or the off-kilter instrumental called “Redrum.”
Fortunately for us all, Waits, at almost every turn, defies convention with his own take on what songs can be, full of situations you might not want to run into outside of your home listening experience. Would you really want to come across an altar boy lying in the street/bound up in leather and chains or cross paths with a python that swallowed a Doberman whole? Taken in context with the proper dose of irony, the imagery alone make the tracks worth a listen or two.
Waits has an obvious love for the natural rhythms of language and a unabashedly nostalgic bent for the days when trains, hound dogs and neighborhood legends connected our storied interpretations of the great American landscape. He reminds us that the most intriguing personalities can be found at the nearest barstool or butcher shop this side of your comfort zone, beyond the blandness and sterility of nine to five water cooler talk. So what if he's a white dude singing the blues that cut his teeth on beatnik literature and Sinatra B sides? As an artist, he's evolved from his beginnings twisting oft used clichés over smoky, booze infused jazz riffs to a much admired singular creator fully in control of his career and whatever musical ride he invites us to board.
“Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards,” was three-years-in-the-making; a grab bag of tunes that has a startling level of fluidity despite its bulk. If you're new to Waits, this album could overwhelm you with the sheer sum of its parts and take a good bulk of your holiday season to fully understand. If you're already part of the cult, this is the best damn audio elixir you could ever hope to drink in beneath the tree. |
| Sean Lambert |
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