I apologize for the delay between
my last review and this one, but this one was a mammoth album; 56 tracks over
three discs. Given its size, it faired
surprisingly well.
Disc 445 is… Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers and
Bastards
Year of Release: 2006
What’s up with the Cover? Tom Waits, surrounded by his favourite things; old
junk and interesting characters.
How I Came To Know It: Sheila and I are both big Tom Waits fans, so we
bought this when it came out. I think
this might’ve been a present in her stocking, or for her birthday or something.
How It Stacks Up: We have 19 Tom Waits albums, which is most of
them. It’s hard to rank Tom Waits, since
his style changes up so much over the years, but for “Orphans” I’ll go with bottom
half of the roster, but still respectable at 13th best.
Rating: 3 stars.
In a
recent interview Tom Waits gave promoting his 2011 album, “Bad As Me” I recall
the interviewer suggesting this was Waits’ first album of new material in seven
years. Tom politely disagreed, and I
expect he was referring to “Orphans:
Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards.” “Orphans” is a three disc set full of
songs that over the years Tom has written but for a variety of reasons never
made it onto other records. Not new
material to Tom maybe, but new to the world, and very welcome when I first
heard it.
Like “Lost Dogs” did for Pearl Jam, “Orphans” reminded me of just how great a
singer/songwriter Waits is (although much of the latter praise must go to his
wife and long-time collaborator Kathleen Brennan, who is as much responsible
for Waits’ enduring brilliance as he is).
First of
all, I love the names of these three albums, and Tom has selected where the
songs appear with apparent care. Disc
One is “Brawlers” and leans heavily to a collection of lowlifes and their accompanying
low lives.
“Low Down” is a rock n’ roll masterpiece
about a rough-edged girl told through the eyes of a man who appreciates every
sharp edge of her, especially her “red
leather skirt way above her knees.” I’ve
appreciate the same girl – or one like her – in my own life. Tom remains the master of the turn of phrase,
edging out even masters like Dylan and Cohen at his ability to spout phrases
that sound like they’ve been lifted right out of the twenties and
thirties. My favourite lines from “Low Down”:
“She's a cheap motel with a burned
out sign
She'll take care of you definitely every time
She got a stolen check book and legs up to
there
Singing into a hairbrush, right in front of
the mirror
Oh yeah, my baby's lowdown.”
Other
standouts are “2:19”, a catchy
sing-a-long ditty about a man losing his girl, who is leaving on a train with a
departure time matching the song’s title.
This song also demonstrates Waits’ brilliance with production
decisions. It is a basic riff, dressed
up with a rogue’s gallery of sounds including two complementary funky electric
guitar riffs, some kind of bongos in the background and a little jazz
trumpet. It should be a hot mess, but
Waits blends it all seamlessly.
I also
enjoy “Fish in the Jailhouse” a song
about an inmate named, “Peoria Johnson” bragging that he can escape any jail by
fashioning a skeleton key out of a fish bone.
His exultant tone that tonight’s dinner will, in fact, feature fish is
so full of light-hearted bravado that you find yourself believing it is going
to happen just listening.
Not so
good on this album is “Road to Peace”
a seven minute plus preachy song about the Middle East. It isn’t a very good song lyrically or
musically and it goes on way too long.
Waits doesn’t usually go so directly into political commentary and he doesn’t
wear it well. This song is a good
reminder that if you decide to have 56 songs on one release, you are very likely
going to get some misses.
Disc Two
is “Bawlers,” which is generally more introspective and morose – good songs to
have a cry to, while thinking about the hard blows life can deliver.
My
favourite off this album is probably “Long
Way Home” that strongly reminded me of Johnny Cash, reimagined in Tom Waits’
raspy ne’er-do-well style. It’s a song
about a man who loves his woman hard, but always seems to be threatening the relationship
with self-destructive behavior. As
apology songs go, this and Steve Earle’s “Valentine’s
Day” are about as good as they get.
By
contrast, “Never Let Go” sings of a love that will endure regardless of any
external pressure or poverty-stricken situation is thrown at it:
“Our ring’s in the pawnshop
The rains in the hole
Down at the Five Points I stand
I’ll lose everything
But I won’t let go of your hand.”
Never
did a wedding ring mean so little and so much at the same time, as I hear Tom
sing the hell out of these words. Also, I
love the reference to the Five Points of New York not as they are now – cold concrete,
suits and the stink of money – but the Five Points of a hundred years ago,
teeming with humanity and the stink of the lack of money.
The last
disc is “Bastards,” which seems an unlikely collection of songs that don’t
quite fit in either of the first two.
Illegitimate births of songs that cover the obscure and the macabre.
“Army Ants” is a spoken word piece that
is Waits reciting a series of disturbing facts about the insect world. Robber Flies injecting paralyzing fluid into
their prey, Praying Mantis sex and its homicidal climax, and my favourite bit: “if you place a minute bit of alcohol on a
scorpion it will instantly go mad, and sting itself to death.” In the song’s
last moments, Waits ties all of this cold and alien behavior back to the human
experience. Listening to it made me
delightfully itchy.
On “First Kiss” Waits paints a spoken word
portrait of a woman who gave him his first kiss. Delightful details throughout, seemingly
unrelated to each other, but together painting a fantastic and grotesque
character study:
“She drove a big old Lincoln with
suicide doors
And a sewing machine in the back
And a light bulb that looked like
an alligator egg
Was mounted up from the hood.
She had an easter bonnet that had
been signed by
Tennessee Early Ford
And she always had sawdust in her
hair.”
If it
seems easy to write that kind of stuff, try it.
It rarely comes out sounding as fascinatingly specific as Waits - and his
muse Brennan – can manage.
Yet just
when you think you’re going to be lulled into the hypnotic recitation of Waits’
poetry, he comes at you hard with a song like “Dog Door” which with its heavy, sampled bass beats and crazy alien
arrangements sounds like something that you’d expect to hear on a Beck album. Waits has incredible musical range, which is
why I’ve had to add four tags to this review just to categorize him.
I’m a
fan of all three “Orphans” albums, although I think “Brawlers” is the best if I
had to choose. “Bawlers” is the weakest
musically (although still good) and “Bastards” is entertaining but many of the
tracks (even some of my favourites) have a novelty feel that wears a little
thin on repeat listens.
All
three albums feature a few remakes here and there. Some of these are great, like his take on the
traditional folk standard “Two Sisters”
or the Ramones’ “The Return of Jackie and
Judy.” The Ramones did a fine
version of Waits’ “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up”
as well, by the way.
Other
remakes, like Del Shannon’s “Sea of Love”
or the Sinatra standard “Young at Heart”
come off forced, as Waits tries a little too hard to make them his own. Or maybe he naturally makes them his own, but
they just don’t suit him. Either way, I
could’ve lived without these.
If I
were to cream the top fourteen songs off of “Orphans” I believe the album would
approach five star greatness; amazing given these are songs that didn’t make previous
cuts. However, at best this should’ve
been a double album, and because of this I’m going to give it only three, but
very close to four despite its excesses.
Best tracks (by album):
From Brawlers: Low Down, 2:19, Fish in the Jailhouse, Bottom of the
World, Rains on Me
From Bawlers: Long Way Home, Tell It to Me,
Never Let Go, Fannin Street,
From Bastards: Army Ants, First Kiss, Dog Door, Altar Boy, Spidey’s
Wild Ride, King Kong
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