/|\(;,;)/|\ There's an ocean of music, and I'm swimming as hard as I can. I use this blog to post music & commentary; I hope you find something here that does it for you. Peace!
“Hell Broke Luce” by Tom Waits
[Editor’s Note: This is something I posted last October, when Bad As Me first came out. Unfortunately the link is broken so I had to upload this track myself. It’s worth it, though, because in hindsight “Hell Broke Luce” is the most surprising track on this album. It’s what proves that Tom Waits is still restless, still searching, still trying on different hats to find another that fits.]
It’s motherfucking Tom Waits. Need I say more? This is from his new album, Bad As Me. I bought this record as soon as it was released Tuesday morning, but I’ve been insanely busy and I wanted to give it the attention it deserves so I left it sitting by the turntable—until now. Don’t bother me, damnit! I’ve been waiting for this record for almost a year…
Doc Shoe Geek Moment #28346: Oh, hell yeah, the gang’s all here! His son Casey Waits is on the drums again, and once again Mr. Waits is working with Les Claypool, Keith Richards, and Marc Ribot.
Doc Shoe Geek Moment #28347: The simplicity of this record is what gets me. Short songs that get right to the point. Apparently that was his wife & collaborator Kathleen Brennan’s idea. Her suggestion for the style of this record was, “Get in, get out. No fucking around.”
Doc Shoe Geek Moment #28348: That moment at the end where he breaks into “Auld Lang Syne”? Fucking perfect.
“Chicago” by Tom Waits
Tom Waits’ greatest weapon is silence. He’s been recording consistently great albums for forty years, and for some reason he’s never really embarrassed himself the way other artists have: Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Lou Reed, David Bowie, Iggy Pop and the Rolling Stones are all great artists, but they’ve also released material so godawful they should have torn it up and thrown it in someone else’s garbage can. Yet Tom Waits has never done that, because he knows when to be silent.
You can’t force the Muse. Sometimes you just don’t get that many good ideas. And while Dylan might try to force it and record some crap like Street-Legal, Waits simply waits. He waits until he’s good and ready to record a masterpiece like Bone Machine. His new album? It’s amazing, but unless you count Orphans it’s his first real album in seven years. He waited seven years. Most artists would be afraid of losing their audience. Not Tom. He’d rather leave you hungry. He’d rather make you wait for a masterpiece than waste your time with a half-baked artistic failure. And I respect that.
Today was my last trip to the record store for what may be a long time.
My girlfriend and I are leaving San Francisco and moving to Illinois, where I’m originally from. I love the Bay Area—how could anyone not love this place?—but we’re broke. We’ve got jobs waiting for us in Illinois, but here, we’re barely making ends meet.
I intend to move back here when I can afford to, but in the meantime, I’m going to miss this place. I’ll especially miss the record stores here, and the venues. It’ll be hard saying goodbye to Thee Parkside.
So I went down to Green Apple Books—at the corner of 6th and Clement, if you’ve never been there—and exchanged a bunch of old books and CD’s I don’t want anymore for store credit, and went on what might be my last record-buying binge for some time.
If it weren’t for the Buzzcocks CD playing on my stereo, I’d probably be crying right now.
