Tom Waits, "Rain Dogs"

Mitch drags us down to the low side of the road

Mitch’s Pitch:

Some kids grow up wanting to be rock stars or actors. Others have a more noble spirit and train to be doctors or teachers. I was always fascinated with hobos. I just loved the idea of hopping on a train and going somewhere...anywhere (that’s at least three and a half stars). I’d imagine hanging out at the hobo jungle, laughing over a barrel fire with some buddies, eating mulligan stew, wearing some sweet fingerless gloves, and discussing the secret hobo code. Regular, cool hobo stuff, just like in that Genesis video (RIP Duke).

So it’s no surprise that I fell under the sway of Jack Kerouac and the beatnik generation at an early age, them being the patron saints of suburban hoboism and me being eager for a hip identity. One day Jack Kerouac introduced me to Tom Waits, through an article that linked the two (Jack, sadly, was long dead of excessive hoboism). I had never heard of Tom Waits before, and the radio certainly never played Tom Waits, but I already knew that I loved Tom Waits. I just had to, us both being hip beatniks and drifters.

So I went to the record store and picked up Anthology of Tom Waits on vinyl. Sure enough, there was a Kerouac quote on the back cover. Sure enough, I loved it. It was blues-jazz music with a little artsy weirdness and some spoken word poetry. As a Dylan fan his gruff voice didn’t bother me, and it was serendipitous to learn that he originally wrote my beloved Bruce’s “Jersey Girl”. It all fit perfectly together, Kerouac and Waits and me, hipsters and tramps, storytellers and dharma bums.

And then I heard Rain Dogs and my mind exploded.

Over the course of 19 songs and 53 minutes Tom Waits demolished every preconceived notion I had of what music and art was or could be. He challenged me on every level with song structures and instrumentation that sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. He pushed me beyond my comfort zone and changed the way I listened to music forevermore.

There are three basic types of Tom Waits’ songs: the bawlers (the weepy ballads), the brawlers (the up-tempo raves), and the bastards (the experiments). Those categories are ill-defined and overlapping, but they are all well-represented on Rain Dogs. 

Tom’s beautifully broken ballads have always been his greatest strength, and they commonly feature unforgettable melodies that shine through, no matter how weird the song structures. “Hang Down Your Head”, “Time”, “Blind Love”, and “Downtown Train” are all fantastic, timeless songs that hit you the way good weepers should.

Innovative instrumentation is the key to the brawlers on Rain Dogs, and I just love the sound of Marc Ribot’s guitar throughout this album, especially on “Jockey Full Of Bourbon”. The rhythm section is primal and it has the propulsive feel of a locomotion. You actually feel like a hobo riding on a train when listening to Rain Dogs, especially with the clanging on tunes like “Gun Street Girl”.

This, of course, brings us to the bastards - the weird songs that kick off this album and make it a challenging listen - at least at first. I adore Tom’s storytelling and wordplay - “9th & Hennepin” is positively bursting with imagery.  Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome but I don’t skip any of the weird songs. I dig them all and know every word.

The attraction of being a hobo is the attraction to the very idea of freedom. Tom Waits may have dropped his earlier hobo persona, but he certainly retained his hobo spirit on Rain Dogs, an album that breaks all conventions and embraces the freedom to explore rock music that is truly unlike any other. 

I know this was a tough one, boys, but I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it.

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Don’s Response:

Crossword puzzles. Larry David. Golf. 

Some things are colossal pains in the ass but worth the effort. Strangely, the more difficult the challenge, the more rewarding the experience.

Tom Waits’ Rain Dogs will test you. In fact, about half way through the third song I looked up the definition of “masochism.” Apparently, it’s a noun that literally means “the tendency to derive pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from one’s own pain or humiliation.” There you have it, the first time Waits and sexual gratification have been used in the same paragraph. Thankfully, the general use definition is “the enjoyment of what appears to be painful or tiresome.” Phew, let’s use that one. No offense, just my politics.

Annnywayyyyy, sure enough, the more I listened, the more I enjoyed it. Beginning with the closing track of Side 1 – “Time” – I began to love it. The flipside is even better, especially when Keith Richards joins to rip this joint on “Union Square,” and add his unmistakable countrified flourishes and backing vocals to “Blind Love.” A killer 1-2 punch.

Rain Dogs is more revealing on each listen. Richards’ appearance isn’t the only surprise. I didn’t realize Waits wrote “Downtown Train,” which was commercialized by Rod Stewart. I think I should have known this. Looks like there’s a new artist whose catalog I need to explore.

My favorite track is “Anywhere I Lay My Head.” It’s magnificent, the perfect closer to the record, just as rewarding as finishing the Times puzzle, a Curb season finale, or a birdie on the 18th hole.

• Pitch Successful

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Ken’s Response:

I probably need to start by telling you that I was completely lost, and maybe even a little angry at those first three tracks.  “Singapore” is a complete shit-show of noise, and while it successfully transports you to some wet, stanky back-alley where only the most loathsome characters dare venture, it’s also 100% aesthetically awful.  But then I listened over again, and again, and again not because I had to write an essay on Rain Dogs, but because Tom Waits pulled me back in every time I thought I was out.  I realized that “Singapore”, “Clap Hands”, and “Cemetery Polka” aren’t awful, they’re specifically designed to establish a mood for the rest of the album, and in a way only a small handful of artists can, it works brilliantly.  Sure, they aren’t tracks that are getting a lot of rotation on the party playlist, but they do a job, and they do it well.

This is a work of art whose theme is that there’s no theme, except that every track has impeccable musicianship, detailed production, and most importantly, the songs are musical vehicles for Waits’ spoken word poetry.  A leftover beatnik from an era long gone, Waits waxes poetic about everyday observations, pairing them with jazz, rock, country, and some extremely dirgy ballads. 

I’m going to give a lot of credit to Mitch for this one.  I was well aware of Tom Waits before this week, but thought he was a little too “out there” for me.  Mitch said if I gave it a real, deep, critical listen I might be surprised.  I did.  I am.  He’s right.

• Pitch Successful

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CJ’s Response:

I think he’s testing us. Not Mitch, Tom Waits. Although Mitch knew this album would be a trial for someone who likes hooks and melodies and, for lack of a better word, singing.

No, I think it’s old Tom who’s putting our feet to the fire. The first three songs aren’t so much musical compositions as they are a challenge to keep listening. Ken will recognize this kind of confrontational attitude from his Miles Davis pitch. Like Davis, Waits tells us up front with these Broadway show tunes from hell that this is the music he’s gonna play and if you don’t like it, well, that’s your loss, pal.

If you’re still with him, you’re treated to “Jockey Full Of Bourbon”, which, if nothing else, is one of the best song titles in history. But, this is where something starts happening to you as a listener. Waits takes you on a tour of musical genres over the next several songs. You recognize everything from Dick Dale-style surfer music to New Orleans funeral dirges to Argentinian dance numbers to Delta blues riffs to Appalachian folk reels. And it’s all layered beneath and between Waits’ cement mixer narration.

If I were to categorize this album, I would call it “murder music”. And I mean that as a compliment. There are several songs on here that the Coen brothers would surely use as a main character in Fargo was getting shot, shivved or shoved into a wood chipper. These are the kinds of songs that I routinely Shazam when I’m watching some prestige TV show and the protagonist’s father gets cut down in a slow motion hail of bullets as “Gun Street Girl” plays softly in the background.

In the final analysis, I respect the hell out of this album. But, I’d be lying if I said I liked it. I guess if I need to see someone being snuffed out in order to enjoy the music, maybe it’s best if I just walk away.

• Pitch Failed

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Mitch’s pitch wasn't for everyone, but it was good enough to get Tom Waits’ Rain Dogs into the Newbury St. Collection (through the back alley, naturally).

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Do you think that Rain Dogs is full of diamonds & gold or do you want throw some cold water on our carnival? Come on down to the house and tell us everything you think.

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Please join us as next week as CJ takes on the Olympian task of pitching The Donna’s 2004 release, Gold Medal.