Dig some beauty by hunting down Tom's first 3 albums.
Tom’s 20th album, Bad As Me, has hit the shelves and debuts to strong sales and rave reviews. I can’t tell you how totally righteous it feels to see one of my artistic heroes inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, followed by the biggest commercial score of his long, and productive career.
From first album, Tom reveals an old soul whose tunes bare account of loss, dark humor and exquisite melancholy. When you crave a journey somewhere off the beaten track, Tom Waits will guide you past bus stations, tattoo parlors, cold nights, porno clubs, seedy dives, love forlorn, arsonists and hookers.
For my peeps who know their letters, Tom draws strong comparison with Raymond Carver. A literary cousin in both tone and tale, Carver’s narratives explored alcoholism, domestic violence, and loss of the American Dream through short story masterpieces such as Where I’m Calling from.
If you do not know my singer/songwriter spirit guide, go back in time and score Tom’s first 3 albums: Nighthawks At The Diner, Closing Time, and Heart of Saturday Night. The last contains many San Diego references, imagery inspired by the landscape of Tom’s youth in National City. Groove on Tom’s distinctive blend of storytelling, and poetic lyricism, laced with smoky influences of jazz, blues, vaudeville, and haunting industrial cacophony. Your cache will rise among musical homies who will suspect you have contracted a case of personal insight, presenting with symptoms of terminal coolness!
Tom’s artistic Holy Trinity should be played in the wee hours when loneliness and silent urges reach true poignancy. Enhance this gritty, pensive atmosphere with a fat double bourbon over crushed ice, and a brunette over easy.
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Thank you, Avant Music News for honorable mention of my piece on Tom Waits’ new CD, “Bad As Me.” Tom remains my artistic hero as living proof that a poetic/literary sensibility and driving commitment to original musical expression will take you a long way in this industry. Chillax, Brah! I never said talent had a damn thing to do with success in the music industry. As Exhibit A, take a look at M&M.
I wanted to puke that night in 2003 when Marshall scored an Academy Award nod for Best Song with “Lose Yourself.” The good news is that we’re both White and entirely devoid of musical talent, so I’ve got a shot at greatness. Yo, peep this, bitches: “I rhymey rhyme rhyme all da timey time time, word!” My hot fresh rhymes drop serious knowledge that my hizome bizoys can be down with.
Yo, sit down and don’t even toss out your barf bags. I ain’t through with you just yet. I give to you Exhibit B, in which Lionel Richie pollutes the airwaves with “Say You, Say Me.” As punishment for his crimes against humanity, Richie was sentenced to an Oscar in 1985 for his song which appeared in White Nights. Richie has all the musical artistic nutrition of a Jujy Fruit. It’s sad, really.
Please ask your children to leave the room before reciting the chorus out loud. Victims of L.R.E., or the Lionel Richie Effect, have been known to puncture their ear drums with a rusty 16 penny nail to escape Richie’s auditory atrocity.
Yikes! I could write this crap, but my personal dignity is one of the last things I have left these days, and I won’t compromise it.
Say you, say me; say it for always
That’s the way it should be
Say you, say me; say it together
Naturally
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