Tom Waits

Wherein Tom Waits cleans out the closet, holds a garage sale and finds the crowd begging for more, more, more. Hence the 26 soundtrack-compilation-etc. familiars and 30 "new" songs that sound like all the old ones, spread over three discs that glibly and ably summarize the career thus far: "Brawlers"...

By Robert Wilonsky

November 2, 2006

[
        {
          "name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Inline Content - Mobile Display Size",
          "component": "18855504",
          "insertPoint": "2",
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "2"
        },{
          "name": "Editor Picks",
          "component": "17105533",
          "insertPoint": "4",
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "1"
        },{
          "name": "Inline Links",
          "component": "18349797",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 8,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "7",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Combo - Inline Content",
          "component": "17105532",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 8,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "7",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Inline Links",
          "component": "18349797",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 12,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "11",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Air - Leaderboard Tower - Combo - Inline Content",
          "component": "17105535",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 12,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "11",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        }
      ]

Wherein Tom Waits cleans out the closet, holds a garage sale and finds the crowd begging for more, more, more. Hence the 26 soundtrack-compilation-etc. familiars and 30 "new" songs that sound like all the old ones, spread over three discs that glibly and ably summarize the career thus far: "Brawlers" (or: the Beefheart-and-blues collection), "Bawlers" (or: the piano's-been-drinking after-hours laments) and "Bastards" (or: shit you couldn't sell by its lonesome 'cause not even the faithful would bite). Which Waits you wait for—and me, I go for the songs Bette Midler would have covered in the 1970s—will whittle down the choices here real quick; it's less an intimidating assemblage than an irritating one, unless you dig the spoken-word ramblings on "Bastards" that sound like a car backing down a gravel driveway that stretches 10 miles long. What Waits doesn't acknowledge, because it'd peg him as a square when he considers himself a rhombus, is that he does his best stuff when he doesn't feel the need to jam his work between the quotation marks of irony and distance; he's no boho throwback, no circus freak, just a hopeful romantic with a heart full of nicotine and arsenic.

KEEP THE OBSERVER FREE... Since we started the Dallas Observer, it has been defined as the free, independent voice of Dallas, and we'd like to keep it that way. Your membership allows us to continue offering readers access to our incisive coverage of local news, food, and culture with no paywalls. You can support us by joining as a member for as little as $1.