by Alex Peterson • October 2011 “Vocabulary is my main instrument.” —Tom Waits This is the first pull-quote from the back cover of Tom Waits on Tom Waits: Interviews and Encounters , a collection of rock journalism about the master of macabre and melodrama that follows his career from 1973’s Closing Time , his first album, to 2006’s Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards . The self-assessment is not only correct, but also characteristically simple and honest: the key to Tom Waits’ music, his appeal, and the even-/high-quality of his output over the past 40 years is language. He is a bleeding-heart lyricist, first and foremost. Second and secondmost are the perennial obsessions within those lyrics: age, decrepitude, and loss. Or precisely the things that will creep up on a person over the course of their adult life. If read quickly and carefully, an idea of the course of Waits’ adult life is exactly what this book offers. What better way to get to know an inherently wordy musician than through reading a glut of conversations he’s had about his work? The only better way would be listening to his music, one would assume. And odds are, if you’re thinking of picking up Tom Waits on Tom Waits , you’ve done plenty of that already, and it’s left you wanting more. Like his music, Tom Waits on Tom Waits is primarily for hardcore Waits fans. He’s a legend, without doubt, and his status more than merits a collection of rock journalism centering around him. But he’s never had the broad appeal of his most obvious American parallel, Bob Dylan. Unlike any book on Dylan, you won’t find this collection tucked into its own Waits section at the bookstore. “[It’s] nice to know that a man with as much of a predilection towards evasion can come across this sincere.” The idiosyncratic nature of a book on a cult legend should ideally give it more leeway to print the odder aspects of its subject, the logic being that if it’s for the audience of a unique cult figure, it can be a unique cult book. Unfortunately, the counter-logic — that a book about a man without huge mainstream recognition needs to be more palatable if it wants to sell — runs through Tom Waits on Tom Waits as well. It’s not a groundbreaking rock ‘n’ roll book. But, being (in part) a collection of fringe rock journalism from a specific period, it had the opportunity to. Had it organized all of its Waits-talks thematically, around the most interesting insights and personal revelations that reporters have been able to extract over the years, it might not suffer as much as it does from repetition. But it organizes the talks chronologically and, by the editor’s own admission, based on which reprinting rights were affordable. So it’s at best a sideways glance into lesser-known rock journalism: 1973-2006. In a way, this kind of book is always invaluable — where else will you find interviews from such a wide array of small publications like LA Free Press in 1975, Magnet in 1999, Stop Smiling in 2006? And simply talking to Waits is never less than entertaining. Who else refers to litigation as “like picking up a glass of water with a prosthetic hand” or to recording music as “like photographing ghosts”? Who else will gleefully admit, “I haven’t had fun since (a James Brown concert in 1962.) It’s just not a word I like. It’s like Volkswagens or bellbottoms or patchouli oil or bean sprouts. It rubs me up the wrong way. I might go out and have an educational evening, but I don’t have fun.”? Or speak fondly of his father, an alcoholic schoolteacher, before admitting, “I looked up to older musicians as father figures.”? Still, despite Waits’ constant witticisms, the book is on the whole a grab-bag, only intermittently incisive. Little wonder that his lyrics have always touched on age. Waits seemed old at 23, when, eight years after dropping out of high school, he released his first album. Closing Time (1973) was filled with songs about cars that came off the factory floor when Waits was a toddler (“‘Ol ‘55”) and love affairs that would have taken place long before he was born (“Martha”). His music was old 20 years before he was, and the journey he’s been taking since 1973 has been a process of growing into the age and the hard-won wisdom his art has always tried to capture. Like a few other American artists of the 20th century, Waits was forced to realize his raw talent through a succession of public personas that would inevitably turn from an act he had adopted to protect himself from the limelight into his actual personality. When asked about his maturation by LA’s FolkScene KPFK in 1974, Waits poured out his exhausted heart: “I’m getting better I guess…You just have to go out there with the intention of trying to entertain when people don’t want to be entertained by you.” A year later, he told the LA Free Press , “I like to call what I’m doing an improvisational adventure.” Twenty years after that, he’d clearly paid the price of maturing in the limelight. “Whatever I tell you right now would probably be a lie,” he grumbles to the Observer ’s Pete Silverton in 1992 while doing press for Bone Machine . “Comedian Martin Mull interviewed Waits as a character he’d created, talk-show host Barth Gimble, and thus connected with Waits on a level that both understood: that of the created persona.” This is probably true, save for all of the occasions Waits speaks of his wife, Kathleen Brennan. The book is literally divided by album, with a chapter culling together the press Waits did for 19 of his major releases. If read between the lines, though, the book is actually divided between the man Waits was before marrying Brennan, and the one after. The first is the mischievous, sad sack poet you can listen to on the albums made between 1973 and 1980, the period of time when he was still young and struggling to build a persona while dealing with fame (albeit cult fame). The interviews he gave during these years were a greater or lesser mixture of cranky outpourings of frustration (Bart Bull’s 1977 piece “After a One-Night Stand” for the Phoenix Sun-Times ) and evasive/sardonic stream of consciousness-speak (Jim Gerard’s 1976 “Tom Waits for No One?” for the Northeastern Ohio Scene ). A typical yin/yang effusion from 1970s-era Waits goes, “I try to make myself up on stage… I try to avoid the unnaturalness of performing.” The second man, the one in every interview and album since 1980, is the Waits who developed after meeting Brennan during pre-production on Francis Ford Coppola’s One From the Heart , which Waits scored. After a brief courtship, Waits became a married man in 1981 and thereafter started putting out what is inarguably his best work. The post-Brennan interviews are on the whole no less sardonic than the earlier ones, but they’re also almost universally more peaceful. Of his wife, Waits has had nothing but the highest praise for 31 years. “She’s the brains behind pa,” he tells reporters over and again, quoting a lyric from an influence to describe a muse. Waits can still be found grumbling and willfully evading silly questions after marriage; it’s just that it all seems to come from a complacent sense that doing press is necessary, and not all that painful. After the 1987 release of Frank’s Wild Years , Waits told Bill Forman of Music and Sound ...
Tiny Mix Tapes
31 October 2011