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Tom Waits: Orphans (Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards)
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Label: |
Anti Inc. |
| Released: |
2006.11.21 |
Time:
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64:20 / 69:37 / 55:46
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| Category: |
Progressive Rock |
| Producer(s): |
See Artists ... |
| Rating: |
*********. (9/10) |
| Media type: |
CD Triple
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| Web address: |
www.anti.com |
| Appears with: |
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| Purchase date: |
2008.03.12 |
| Price in €: |
19,99 |
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Brawlers:
[1] Lie to Me (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:10
[2] Low Down (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:15
[3] 2:19 (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 5:02
[4] Fish in the Jailhouse (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:22
[5] Bottom of the World (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 5:42
[6] Lucinda (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:52
[7] Ain't Goin' Down to the Well (Ledbetter/Lomax/Lomax) - 2:28
[8] Lord I've Been Changed (Traditional) - 2:28
[9] Puttin' on the Dog (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:39
[10] Road to Peace (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 7:17
[11] All the Time (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:33
[12] The Return of Jackie and Judy (Ramone/Ramone/Ramone) - 3:28
[13] Walk Away (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:43
[14] Sea of Love (Baptiste/Khoury) - 3:43
[15] Buzz Fledderjohn (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:12
[16] Rains on Me (Waits, Weiss) - 3:20
Bawlers:
[1] Bend Down the Branches (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 1:06
[2] You Can Never Hold Back Spring (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:26
[3] Long Way Home (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:10
[4] Widow's Grove (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:58
[5] Little Drop of Poison (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:09
[6] Shiny Things (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:20
[7] World Keeps Turning (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:16
[8] Tell It to Me (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:08
[9] Never Let Go (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:13
[10] Fannin Street (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 5:01
[11] Little Man (Edwards) - 4:33
[12] It's Over (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:40
[13] If I Have to Go (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:15
[14] Goodnight Irene (Ledbetter/Lomax) - 4:47
[15] The Fall of Troy (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:00
[16] Take Care of All My Children (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:31
[17] Down There by the Train (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 5:38
[18] Danny Says (Ramone/Ramone/Ramone) - 3:05
[19] Jayne's Blue Wish (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:29
[20] Young at Heart (Leigh, Richards) - 3:41
Bastards:
[1] What Keeps Mankind Alive (Brecht/Weill) - 2:09
[2] Children's Story (Public Domain/Woyzeck) - 1:42
[3] Heigh Ho (Chruchill/Morey) - 3:32
[4] Army Ants - 3:25
[5] Books of Moses (Spence) - 2:49
[6] Bone Chain (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 1:03
[7] Two Sisters (Traditional) - 4:55
[8] First Kiss (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:40
[9] Dog Door (Brennan/Linkous/Waits) - 2:43
[10] Redrum (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 1:12
[11] Nirvana (Bukowski) - 2:12
[12] Home I'll Never Be (Kerouac/Waits) - 2:28
[13] Poor Little Lamb Kennedy, Waits 1:43
[14] Altar Boy (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:48
[15] The Pontiac (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 1:54
[16] Spidey's Wild Ride (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:03
[17] King Kong (Johnston) - 5:29
[18] On the Road (Kerouac/Waits) - 4:14
[19] Hidden Track - 2:56
[20] Hidden Track - 3:38
| A
r t i s t s , P e r s o n n e l |
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Tom Waits - Guitar, Percussion, Arranger, Keyboards, Vocals, Producer, Pump Organ
Dave Alvin - Guitar
Anges Amar - Whistle
Ara Anderson - Trumpet
Ray Armando - Percussion
Bobby Baloo - Cowbell
Bobby Black - Steel Guitar
Michael Blair - Percussion, Drums
Andrew Borger - Percussion
Brain - Percussion
Matthew Brubeck - Bass
Dan Cantrell - Accordion
Ralph Carney - Saxophone
Crispin Cioe - Saxophone
Bent Clausen - Banjo
Les Claypool - Bass
Jimmy Cleveland - Trombone
Harry Cody - Banjo
Greg Cohen - Bass
Eddie Davis Orchestra - Banjo
Steve Foreman - Percussion
Bob Funk - Trombone
Joe Gore - Guitar
Chris Grady - Trumpet
Brett Gurewitz - Guitar, Engineer
Ron Hacker - Guitar
John F. Hammond - Harmonica
Arno Hecht - Saxophone
Billy Higgins - Drums
Art Hillery - Piano
Stephen Hodges - Percussion
Trevor Horn - Bass
Carla Kihlstedt - Violin
Guy Klesevic - Accordion
Gary Knowlton - Keyboards
Mike Knowlton - Guitar
Larry LaLonde - Guitar
Adam Lane - Bass
Mark Linkous - Bass, Guitar, Drums
Hollywood Paul Litteral - Trumpet
Charlie Musselwhite - Harmonica
Tom Nunn - Bugle
Eric Perney - Bass
Nick Phelps - Horn
Dan Plonsey - Clarinet
Marc Ribot - Guitar
Bebe Risenfors - Clarinet
Gino Robair - Percussion
Mike Silverman - Bass
Jeff Sloan - Percussion
Nolan Andrew Smith - Trumpet
Larry Taylor - Bass
Francis Thumm - Piano
Leroy Vinnegar - Bass
Casey Waits - Drums
Sullivan Waits - Guitar
Richard Waters - Waterphone
Tom Yoder - Trombone
Seth Ford Young - Bass
Kathleen Brennan - Producer
Bernd Bergdorg - Engineer
Tchad Blake - Engineer
Gene Cornelius - Engineer
Biff Dawes - Engineer
Oz Fritz - Engineer
Mitchell Froom - Engineer, Chamberlin
Mark Howard - Engineer
Bob Musso - Engineer
Jim Jarmusch - Photography
Jacquire King - Engineer
Karl Derfler - Digital Editing, Remixing, Mixing
Gavin Lurssen - Mastering
Julianne Deery - Production Coordination, Photography, Cover Photo
Anton Corbijn - Photography
Jane Rose - Photography
Strangers - Photography
Matt Mahurin - Photo Enhancement
Johnny Brewton - Art Direction, Design
| C
o m m e n t s , N o t e s |
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2006 CD Anti 86677
2006 CD Anti 66772
2006 CD Anti 86844
2006 CD Anti 68442
This collection goes far beyond a simple career retrospective, with
over thirty new songs, from his own versions of songs he gave to other
artists to things recorded in the garage with his kids. Also includes
Tom's unique interpretations of songs by such diverse talents as The
Ramones, Daniel Johnston, Kurt Weill & Bertolt Brecht, and
Leadbelly. Each of the three CDs is separately grouped and sub-titled
"Brawlers", "Bawlers" and "Bastards" to capture the full spectrum of
Waits' ranging and roving musical styles. "Brawlers" is chock full of
raucous blues and full-throated juke-joint stomp, "Bawlers" contains
Celtic and country ballads, waltzes, lullabies, piano, and classic
lyrical Waits' songs, while "Bastards" is filled with experimental
music, stories, and jokes. The beautifully designed booklet reproduces
Tom's lyrics in the style of a book of old poetry, with twenty pages of
never before seen photos. The limited edition deluxe package contains a
hardcover-bound 94-page booklet.
"Eine Menge Songs, die hinter den Herd fallen, während man das Essen
zubereitet" beschreibt Tom Waits seine neue 3-CD-Box "Orphans". Die
Kollektion geht über eine einfache Retrospektive seiner Karriere weit
hinaus. Mehr als 30 neu aufgenommene Songs - von Waits eigenen
Versionen jener Stücke, die er anderen Künstlern überlassen hat, bis zu
Nummern, die "ich mit den Kindern in der Garage aufgenommen habe."
Zweidrittel des Materials sind bislang unveröffentlicht. Zusätzlich zu
den neuen Arbeiten gibt es auf "Orphans" Stücke, die zum ersten Mal
ihre Heimat auf einem Waits-Album finden, darunter seine einzigartigen
Interpretationen von so außergewöhnlichen Talenten wie The Ramones,
Daniel Johnston, Kurt Weill & Bertolt Brecht und Leadbelly. Jede
der drei CDs ist in Sparten eingeteilt und mit eigenem Titel versehen -
"Brawlers", "Bawlers" und "Bastards" - um das gesamte Spektrum der
unterschiedlichen Stile von Waits zu dokumentieren. "Brawlers" ist
randvoll mit knorrigem Blues und stampfenden Songs, "Bawlers"
beinhaltet keltische Stücke und Country-Balladen, dazu Walzer,
Lullabies, Piano und Songs mit typischen Waits-Texten, während
"Bastards" mit experimenteller Musik, Geschichten und Witzen gefüllt
ist. "Orphans" wird zum Pflichtkauf für alle treuen Waits-Fans.
At this stage of the game, any new Tom Waits record is an event.
Listening through the music of his entire career is daunting, to say
the least, but it's a journey no one else, with the possible exception
of Bob Dylan, has taken before. If one listens to the official
recordings, from 1973's Closing Time, featuring the songs of an
itinerant Beat barroom singer (no lounges please), right on through to
the frenetic mania of 2004's Real Gone, one becomes aware of not only
the twists and turns of a songwriter wrestling and bellowing at and
with his muse, but of a journeyman artist barely able to hold on to the
lid of his creativity, let alone keep it on. True, there have been many
stops along the way: in the seediest lounges (1977's Foreign Affairs,
which could have been a twisted inspiration to novelist Phillip Kerr
when he wrote the Berlin Noir trilogy); acid-drenched blues scree
(1980's Heartattack and Vine); travelogues of the unseen and the
unspeakable (1985's Rain Dogs); seething and murderous suburban
nightmares (1987's Franks Wild Years); the frighteningly comic tales of
plagues and carnivals (1993's Black Rider); the scrape, squeal, and
hollowed-out metal crunch of urban junkyards and classically American
paranoia (1999's Mule Variations); and through-the-mirror-darkly image
nightmares and fairy tale variations (2002's Alice and Blood Money).
All of it is contained in the man who takes delight in the bent,
quarreling marriage of song and sound with dangerously comic imagery.
Orphans is the most unwieldy Tom Waits collection yet. Packaged in a
Cibachrome-tinted box are three discs containing 56 songs total. It
claims 30 new tunes, but a mere 14 can be found on other records - six
othersd have to be hunted for while the remainder have shown up in
various incarnationson soundtracks, compilations, etc. This crazy thing
began as a collection of outtakes, rarities, soundtrack tunes, and
compilation-only cuts - some of which survive here in new form,
including tracks from the Ramblin' Jack Elliot tribute, the Bridge
benefit, and two Ramones covers, to name a few. In other words, the
first conception for this mess was as a hodgepodge collection of attic
material. Waits checked out the tune selection as it was and said
something like "nah, bad idea; this would suck." So, he did what any
self-respecting artist with a head full of ideas, two stomping,
shuffling feet, and itchy fingers - and time on his hands - would do:
he recorded new songs and re-recorded others, so the thing would have
some kind of elasticity yet hold its rickety bone and far-reaching
sources together by means of cheap glue, chewed gum, solder, and a
visionary recording engineer named Karl Derfler.
The end result is this daunting triple disc divided by title and theme:
disc one is "Brawlers," Waits' rock and blues record, evoking everyone
from T. Rex and Johnny Burnette to Sonny Curtis and Howlin' Wolf. It's
a grand thing, since he hasn't released one like this before - the
closest were Heartattack and Vine on one side and Mule Variations on
the other. Travel, regret, murder, salvation, guttersnipe meditations
on sorrow, and nefarious and broken-down innocent - and nefarious -
amorous intentions are a few of the themes that run through these tunes
like oil and sand. Disc two is "Bawlers," a collection of ballads, raw
love songs, weepy wine tunes, wistful yet tentative hope - in the form
of floppy prayers - and an under-the-table and wishing, bewildered, yet
dead-on topical tome on the world's political situation. Disc three,
entitled "Bastards," is even edgier; it's Waits hanging out there with
his music and muse on the lunatic fringe of experimentation. Think Bone
Machine's wilder moments and Waits' loopy standup comedy in the form of
six spoken word pieces included here. Thank goodness he finally did
this. If you've ever seen the man on a stage, you'll get why these are
so important immediately.
"Brawler" digs deep into the American roots music that has obsessed
Waits since the beginning of his long labyrinthine haul. There's the
frenetic rockabilly swagger that probably makes Carl Perkins and Gene
Vincent shake and shimmy in their graves. One of the movie tunes, a
cover of "Sea of Love," recalls its place in the film for those who've
seen it. If you haven't, it's a slanted, tarnished jewel freshly
liberated from antiquity. The hobo ballad "Bottom of the World" recalls
old country gospel, and "Lucinda" can only be described as a gallows
dance tune. The slippery hoodoo blues "Road to Peace" is the season's
most timely and topical political song.
"Bawlers" is the set's bridge, and it's easy to see why: it's the most
accessible disc in the box. There are some of the movie tunes here,
from flicks like Pollock, Big Bad Love, and Shrek 2. Other cuts, such
as "Goodnight Irene," recall "Tom Traubert's Blues (Four Sheets to the
Wind in Copenhagen)" from the Small Change album; the singing
protagonist here is older and more desperate, almost suicidal.
Resignation displaces hope; it's a long reach into the past and
expresses the void of the present. The cover of the Ramones' "Danny
Says" is completely reinvented; it's one of the loneliest, most sweetly
desolate of Waits' many sides. It's not all darkness, however; there
are gorgeous songs here too, such as "Never Let Go" and "You Can Never
Hold Back Spring," where an indomitable human spirit reins and rings
true.
Finally, it comes down to "Bastards." The eerie, strange,
cabaret-in-a-carnival music that is Weill and Brecht's "What Keeps
Mankind Alive" enlists banjos, accordion, tuba, and big bass drum as
simply the means to let these twisted words out of the box. Thankfully
the cover of "Books of Moses," originally by Skip Spence, is here, as
is Daniel Johnston's "King Kong." Neither of these cuts resembles their
original version, and Waits brings out the dark underbelly inherent in
each. "Bedtime Story" is the first of the Waits monologues here. It is
the repressed wish of every parent (with a sense of humor) to have the
temerity to tell this kind of tale to their children when they retire.
Others include a reading of Charles Bukowski's "Nirvana," the hilarious
monologue "The Pontiac," and the live routine "Dog Door." Perhaps the
most inviting cut here is the piano-and-horn ballad "Altar Boy," a
postmodern saloon song that would make Bobby Short turn red with rage.
This disc is the true mixed bag in the set: unruly, uneven, and full of
feints and free-for-alls.
Ultimately, the epicenter of Orphans is Waits' voice. It's many
expressions, nuances, bellows, barks, hollers, open wails, roughshod
croons, and midnight whispers carry these songs and monologues to the
listener with authority as an open invitation into his sound world, his
view of tradition, and his manner of shaping that world as something
not ephemeral, but as an extension of musical time itself. As a
vocalist, Waits, like Bob Dylan, embodies the entire genealogical line
of the blues, jazz, local barroom bards, and traveling minstrels in the
very grain of his songs. That wily throat carries not only the songs he
and his songwriting partner and wife, Kathleen Brennan, pen, but also
the magnet for the sonic atmospheres that frame it. There is adventure,
danger, and the sound of the previous, the forgotten, and the wished
for in it. And it is that voice that links all three of these discs
together and makes them partners. One cannot dismiss that even though
some of these songs have appeared elsewhere, Orphans is a major work
that goes beyond the origins of the material and drags everything past
and present with sound and texture into a present to be presented as
something utterly new, beyond anything he has previously issued. To
paraphrase Ezra Pound in response to Allen Ginsberg's inquiry about
what his poem "The Cantos" meant, these orphans speak for themselves.
Thom Jurek - All Music Guide
With these astounding 54 songs (plus two bonus tracks) Tom Waits has
added a vital new work to his catalog. The title, Orphans, refers to
the songs either being from a range of outside projects, various
impulses, and whims, or simply not having found a place on the albums
for which they were intended. While that scenario has constituted a
stopgap measure for lesser artists, this set stands alongside Waits's
finest work. He has shaped it into three separate discs, each one
separately titled after the prevailing character of its tracks and
playing with its own mood and dramatic arc. Brawlers favors raucousness
and uptempo grinds and grooves, while Bawlers showcases balladry and
the more overtly poetic. Bastards is a funhouse of angular characters,
spiky anecdotes, shaggy dogs, and even a Kurt Weill cover. The set
offers everything from the amped-up rockabilly hiccuping of "Lie to Me"
to the breathtaking perfection of "Shiny Things," and from the outraged
political reporting of "Road to Peace" to the closing-time lament of
"Little Man."
David Greenberger - Amazon.com
Schon lange hatte Tom Waits eine Box mit Raritäten aus seinen Archiven
angekündigt; der Titel stand seit Jahren fest: Orphans, „Waisenkinder“
– Songs, die auf weit verstreuten Compilations, vergriffenen
Soundtracks oder kaum aufzutrebenden Tributalben veröffentlicht waren,
Songs, die er für andere Musiker geschrieben hatte oder schlichtweg wie
Brotkrümel vom Tisch gefallen und weggekehrt waren. In Fankreisen
kursierten Listen mit den möglichen Tracks, man rätselte herum,
Journalisten foppte der Meister der Erzählkunst mit haarsträubenden
Geschichten über das Material. Er habe eigentlich kein richtiges
Archiv, das meiste sei verloren gegangen, manches habe er sich
zusammenkaufen müssen, von Russen und anderen seltsamen Figuren,
undsoweiter. Nun hat der Mythenerfinder das Zwielicht gelüftet und eine
Box mit einem üppig ausgestatteten Buch und 56 Tracks auf drei CDs
zusammengetragen, die er ganz entgegen seiner Masche fein säuberlich
sortiert hat. Man trennt ja ! den Müll, könnte Waits behaupten. In der
Abteilung „Brawlers“ treffen sich die Rock´n´Roller, Blues und
Boogiemänner, für „Bawlers“ bündelte der Barde seine Folks und
Balladen, und „Bastards“ ist den Experimenten, Gedichten und schrägsten
Werken gewidmet, die der Kalifornier auftreiben konnte. Dabei hat Waits
manches Material neu eingespielt oder um zusätzliche Instrumente
ergänzt, er hat eigene Stücke wie das Leadbelly-Motiv „Fannin´ Street“,
welches er einst für John Hammond schrieb, interpretiert oder Songs
anderer Autoren gecoveret, darunter Kurt Weill, Jack Kerouac und David
Johnston. Und mit „Road To Peace“ gibt Waits ein aktuelles Statement
zum Krieg im Mittleren Osten ab. Ein Raritätenkabinett? Alles andere
als das.
Uli Lemke - Amazon.de
Der wunderbare Waldschrat ist wieder da - und es ist noch immer
einmalig, wie er grummelt, röchelt, knarzt und tobt und ganz nebenbei
unerhörte neue Klänge erfindet: Tom Waits hat mit "Orphans" (Anti) ein
famoses Dreifach-Album herausgebracht: 30 neue Aufnahmen plus 26 selten
gehörte Lieder plus ein 94 Seiten dickes Booklet mit Texten und raren
Fotos. So was kann man nicht downloaden. So was bekommt im Plattenregal
einen Ehrenplatz.
Tobias Schmitz - Stern
Eine etwas andere Retrospektive: Mit 56 Songs auf drei CDs zeigt
"Orphans" alle Gesichter des Tom Waits. Doch statt einfach ein
Best-of-Album mit den Höhepunkten aus gut 30 Jahren rauszuhauen, hat
Waits mehr als die Hälfte der Songs neu aufgenommen, den Rest mit
Raritäten aufgefüllt und alles gut sortiert. "Brawlers" liefert viel
stampfenden Blues und hat mit "Low down" seinen heimlichen Hohepunkt:
Bei dem Garagenrocker sitzt nämlich Waits 20-jähriger Sohn Casey am
Schlagzeug. Auf "Bawlers" dagegen steht das Piano im Mittelpunkt. An
Songs wie "You can never hold back Spring" sollte man sich aber nicht
ohne ausreichend Rotwein wagen, denn die Balladen und düsteren
Wiegenlieder auf "Bawlers" gehören zu Waits' besten Songs in diesem
Genre. Natürlich darf auch eine Platte mit dem Untertitel "Bastards"
nicht fehlen. Waits erzählt abgründige Gute-Nacht-Geschichten,
rezitiert Bukowski, covert Daniel Johnston und die Ramones.
Selbstverständlich hat der grandiose Dreierpack auch eine angemessene
Ausstattung: Das aufwändige Booklet liefert alle Texte und zeigt bisher
unveröffentlichte Fotos.
(cs) - kulturnews.de
Some are calling it a Tom Waits career retrospective, but Orphans, the
new triple CD opus from rock'n'roll's most enduring and enigmatic
adventurer, is so much more. For a start it contains over 30 new songs
– everything from versions of tracks previously given out to other
artists, to music recorded in the garage with his kids and covers of
everyone from The Ramones to Leadbelly. For another, it's split up into
three separate CDs - Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards – and as such not
only spans a huge selection of music but also presents it in a much
more coherent way than usual. Where Brawlers focuses on Waits'
grittier, upbeat side with a procession of roadhouse rock and diner
blues, Bawlers profiles his way with a waltz and his love of ballads,
highlighting his capacity for truly poignant songwriting. Bastards,
meanwhile, is perhaps the most interesting set: a stream of
experimental output that features covers, Bukowski poems, horror
stories and gags. Ambitious and sprawling yet well selected and
carefully executed, Orphans is so much more than the sum of its parts
and a beautifully frank portrait of a true musical legend.
Paul Sullivan - Amazon.co.uk
Even though he's no longer prone to imbibing anything stronger than a
double espresso, Tom Waits is seemingly incapable of walking a straight
line when it comes to his musical output - much to the delight of folks
who revel in his wide-eyed explorations of the art house and the
flophouse. Waits initially envisioned Orphans as something of an
archive-emptying venture, but rounding up the material led him in
enough unexpected directions to require expansion to three full discs:
Brawlers for rough-hewn rock; Bawlers for sea chanteys, ballads, and
drinking songs; and Bastards for unreconstructed eccentricity. While
tethered by Waits's unmistakable voice - both in a literal and
figurative sense - each volume has a distinct personality. Brawlers
veers between seething passion, evinced in the free-form wail of "Road
to Peace" (an unblinking, unpartisan look at terror in the Middle East)
and barroom-ready raunch, brought to the fore on the bump 'n' grind of
"Low Down" and an off-kilter cover of the Ramones' "The Return of
Jackie and Judy." Oddly enough, that band shows up again on Bawlers, in
the form of a poignantly swaying version of "Danny Says" that, despite
its seeming idiosyncrasy, fits in nicely with Waits's versions of
"Goodnight Irene" and "Young at Heart." It's the original material,
however, that really shines through, notably the
sentimental-but-not-saccharine "Tell It to Me." The funhouse mirror
distortions that run through Bastards - from the menacingly
eschatological blues of "Books of Moses" to the chain-gang chanting of
"King Kong" - lend a dark, disturbing tone, but Waits balances that out
with a passel of spoken-word pieces that exude the woozy good humor at
the core of his all-too-uncommon live shows. At its core, Orphans is
not only a testament to Waits' innate artistry, but to the purity of
soul that's driven him all along.
David Sprague - Barnes & Noble
Waits's unique sensibility is in full flower throughout the set: his
gruff croon, barks, and howls; the insistent clanking of strange
percussion; and his evocative, detail-rich lyrics are all on ample
display. From the spooky rave-up of "Lie to Me" through the
heartrending beauty of "Shiny Things" and the familiar strains of
"Goodnight Irene," to his off-kilter cover of Daniel Johnston's "King
Kong," ORPHANS is packed with spectacular surprises. Add beautiful
packaging and a lyric book complete with rare photos, and ORPHANS
becomes another must-have document from one of music's most imaginative
and consistently enjoyable artists. A veritable godsend for Tom Waits
fans (and a fun place for the uninitiated to plunge in feet first),
ORPHANS is a 3-disc, 54-track set that brings together previously
unheard material from various stages of Waits's career. The songs are
grouped by style. The first disc, BRAWLERS, contains raucous stomps and
uptempo jams, the second disc, BAWLERS, is full of lyrical balladry,
and the third, BASTARDS, is a hodge-podge of experimental tunes and
covers. Many of the songs are outtakes from studio albums, while others
are the results of outside projects or one-off oddities.
CDUniverse.com
When Tom Waits claims he doesn't know why he called this three-CD set
Orphans, he's being cagey. Orphans obviously began as an outtakes
collection - unreleased work tapes plus old soundtrack, tribute and
benefit tracks. Only then, Waits, painfully aware that odds-and-sods
projects were lame, decided to fill in some blanks with new songs,
couldn't resist rerecording others and ended up with a definitive
album. Each disc has its own subtitle: Brawlers for rock, Bawlers for
ballads and Bastards for weirdness. Although the promo advertises "56
Songs. 30 New Recordings," only fourteen can be readily found on other
albums.
Brawlers is Waits blues a la Mule Variations, only broader. His drummer
son Casey's basic thump on "Low Down" reminds the ear that Waits
generally bellows over pretty intricate beats. He was on the dreamy New
Orleans lilt of "Sea of Love" back in 1988, and though Tito Puente
might not think so, "Fish in the Jailhouse" is indeed a mambo. Of
course, there's also the first of two Ramones covers, and, fitting
nowhere but so good they'd fit anywhere, the mandolin-tinged "Bottom of
the World" and the unrhymed, seven-minute "Road to Peace," a portrayal
of a Palestinian terrorist that blinks even less than Springsteen's.
Bawlers is Waits' bread and butter - professional sentimentalists love
the way he mauls slow ones, and six of the soundtrack tunes are here,
from Big Bad Love, Pollock and Shrek 2. Waits can get grotesquely goopy
when he makes nice, but the new "Tell It to Me" and the recycled "The
Fall of Troy" are genre classics right up there with Waits' bumptious
claims on "Young at Heart" and "Goodnight Irene." Bastards is messier
musically, but its six spoken-word pieces are long overdue for anyone
who's guffawed at the shaggy-dog monologues Waits rolls out at shows.
In "The Pontiac," a dad reminisces about his cars, the mad entomology
lecture "Army Ants" isn't far behind, and "First Kiss" explains
something we've always wondered. Waits reached that romantic milestone
with a trailer crone who made up her own language, wore rubber boots
and could fix anything with string. Just like our Tom.
ROBERT CHRISTGAU - Nov 13, 2006
Rolling Stone
Tom Waits has long been the leading ambassador for the American
bohemian tradition, a role he inherited from the beats, bums and
folkies of the '60s. And with this three-disc, 54-track set, he really
is spoiling us.
Culled in roughly equal proportions from previously recorded "orphan"
tracks heretofore lacking a secure home in his oeuvre, and brand new
material, the collection is divided into separate anthologies of
Bawlers, Brawlers and Bastards, roughly correspondent respectively with
ballads, blues, and bizarro items that don't sit comfortably in any
category.
It’s remarkable, though, how much of a piece the entire set is,
reflecting how skilfully Waits has welded the various tributary styles
of his art into a seamless whole. Whether they involve melancholy
piano, wan banjo, gutbucket blues guitar, rumbustious horns, mouth
percussion, or the sturm-und-clang of his Harry Partch-inspired
homemade instruments, all these tracks are instantly recognisable as
Tom Waits. This even holds for the cover versions of such things as The
Ramones' "The Return Of Jackie And Judy", Daniel Johnston's "King Kong"
or Brecht & Weill's "What Keeps Mankind Alive", all of which
instantly adopt his musical character, like animals assuming the
protective colouration of their surroundings.
They have good reason to need protection, too: the world of Waits'
Orphans is a tough and tragic, often brutal place, where the dice
invariably roll snake-eyes, and any glimpse of love is but a fleeting
memory. Has there ever been a sadder couplet than that which opens "The
World Keeps Turning", written for the soundtrack to Pollock: "On our
anniversary/There'll be someone else where you used to be"?
If there has, it's probably lurking here, in similarly lachrymose
laments like "The Fall Of Troy", an account of how a young boy's death
impacts upon his family and friends, which opens with the observation,
"It's the same with men as with horses and dogs/Nothing wants to die".
A similar grim mordancy holds for most of Waits' protagonists - the
drifter brought low on "Fannin Street"; the farmer who loses his farm
in a flood, only to see his beloved leave town. But even if they're as
bereft and abandoned as the hobo who's "Lost At The Bottom Of The
World", the tiniest dewdrop can shine a glimmer of redemption into
their world: "Well God’s green hair is where I slept last night/He
balanced a diamond on a blade of grass". It's perhaps the case, as
Waits suggests on the stealthy tango of clarinet and bowed saw "Little
Drop Of Poison", that a touch of mischief adds a little spice to life,
but it has to be in the right proportion, like the poison in the Fugu
fish.
Something similar applies to Waits' music, which always has the devil
about it, some spark of intrigue that sets it apart from the routine
run of singer-songwriter offerings. One's as unlikely to find David
Gray, for instance, wielding dramatic metal percussion, wheezing
rhythmically like a rusty iron lung, or attempting the weird
psychobilly blend of staccato pedal steel and ramshackle horns that
accompanies "Lie To Me”. In general, though, the arrangements on the
Bawlers songs are subtler and more sensitive, with a wan tone well
suited to the material.
The mood changes significantly for Brawlers, which comprises mostly
raucous, grungy blues, raggedy boogies, whiskery shuffles and barroom
stomps delivered in Waits' distinctive rumble'n'clank manner - a
delirious, rowdy sound in which can be discerned the godfatherly
presences of Howlin' Wolf, Harry Partch and Captain Beefheart.
This disc also contains what is undoubtedly Waits' most overtly
political song, "Road To Peace", an account of a young suicide bomber's
attack on a bus in Jerusalem, and the ghastly spiral of retribution it
triggers. A stinging indictment of the fundamentalism afflicting all
sides in the conflict, Waits serves his bitterest condemnation for the
measly president insulated from his actions thousands of miles away,
blithely fulfilling Kissinger's deadly notion that "...We have no
friends; America has only interests". All the more devastating, too,
for being virtually the only direct protest song in Waits's entire
catalogue.
There's so much more to enjoy here - the adaptations of Kerouac in
"Home I'll Never Be" and "On The Road"; the caterwauling multi-tracked
Tom choir bawling out "Goodnight Irene"; the prisoner in "Fish In The
Jailhouse" bragging about his ability to pick locks with a fishbone;
lines like "Well, the rat always knows when he's in with weasels"; and
above all, the overarching humanism that enlightens even the most
sombre corners of this massive project. It’s an attitude perhaps best
encapsulated in "Bend Down The Branches", an allegorical observation
about how trees (ie humans) may get old, but never ugly: "You're like a
willow, once you were gold/We're made for bending, even beauty gets
old". There's plenty that's old and beautiful about these Orphans.
Andy Gill - Uncut
Tom Waits is widely considered a genius. While he hasn’t achieved any
real mainstream recognition (his famous songs were mostly made famous
by other people such as Rod Stewart), he can still be considered
immensely popular. He has a cult following like few other
singer/songwriters, due to his uncompromising creativity and charming
personality, which is why he can released a 3-album, 3-hours collection
of songs and expect people to buy it. The songs are a strange mix of
new and old originals, spoken-word pieces, movie tunes, standards,
cover songs, and even a poem put to music. In spite of this, Orphans is
quite a coherent collection.
An interesting thing about the album is the division of styles.
Usually, Tom Waits albums pull you every which way; as he furiously
growls about demons and hell in one track, on the next sings a
beautiful lament to his broken heart. This inconsistency in style has
been prevalent on most Tom Waits album, and few of his albums have a
truly defining sound (Although Alice mostly contains ballads,
Kommeniezuspadt, and a few others to a lesser degree, completely
interrupts the flow.) His albums are often confusing in their
inconsistent style. Orphans, however, offers a defining sound on each
disc. Brawlers are the bluesy, rockier tracks, Bawlers are the ballads,
and Bastards are the crazy, experimental songs he is so (in)famous for.
The division brings to mind Nick Cave’s Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of
Orpheus which focused on his rock songs and ballads respectively.
This is of course to be taken loosely. A few songs could have fit on
another disc, but the album titles describe pretty well what you’re in
for. ‘Brawlers’ is, as previously mentioned, the straight-forward
blues-tracks, subjected to Waits’ whisky-worn voice and unconventional
percussion, including human beatboxing, something he began
experimenting with on 2004’s “Real Gone”. This is mostly true, although
a few stray pretty far from that narrow definition. The non-rhyming
“Road to Peace” will no doubt stand out the very first time you listen
to the album. Not just because it has great melody and instrumentation,
which it does, but more because of the lyrical topic: It’s an unabashed
anti-war song, addressing the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Nothing is
hidden in metaphors. Consider this:
“Now our president wants to be seen as a hero and he’s hungry for re-election.
But Bush is reluctant to risk his future in the fear of his political failures
So he plays chess at his desk and poses for the press
10,000 miles from the road to peace”
It’s not exactly subtle. This is not a critique though. “Road to Peace”
is a remarkable song in the truest sense of the word. It’s extremely
poignant and it seems genuinely honest, avoiding the clichés usually
plaguing such political topics. Waits sings with as much conviction as
ever, and “Road to Peace” is definitely one of the most moving songs he
has written. While it of his career is not the sole highlight of the
first disc, nothing stands out to the same degree. Worth mentioning,
however, is another single “Bottom of the World”, a song about a
traveller, who finds himself lost “at the bottom of the world”. It’s a
mellow song, Tom’s rather harsh vocals aside. Some might notice the
reference to Blood Money’s “All the World is Green”, in which Tom Waits
sings, “He’s balancing a diamond / On a blade of grass”, a line which
is repeated (although slightly altered) here.
This is not to say that the rockier tracks are not worthwhile. “Fish in
the Jailhouse” is a furious, bluesy track, driven mainly by a harsh
drum-beat. As the song progresses, the instrumentation builds up with a
bluesy guitar and a saxophone. The sparse instrumentation directs the
focus to Tom Waits’ singing, which recalls “Big Black Mariah” and
“Sixteen Shells from a Thirty-Ought Six”.
“Bend down the Branches” immediately establishes the “Bawler” sound. It
is a short, but beautiful ballad, serving as an introduction to the
album. “Bawlers” is easily the most accessible of the three discs. It
switches between heart-warming and heart-breaking ballads, reminiscing
both early Tom Waits tunes and the darker sound of 2002’s Alice. The
single from the album, “You Can Never Hold Back Spring”, is a gorgeous,
optimistic ballad, “Never Let Go” a grandiose ode to love. Listen to
Tom Waits proclaim, “You can send me to hell / But I’ll never let go of
your hand”. It's one of the album's best moments. “Little Man”, is a
jazzy, barroom ballad (composed by Teddy Edwards). All of them are
fantastic songs. Highlights are abundant, and it’s hard to pick a truly
defining moment on “Bawlers” (Put a gun to my head and I’d probably say
“Never Let Go”). The song writing is incredibly strong throughout the
20 songs, and Bawlers, though it is also the longest, is the most
cohesive and solid of the three albums.
However, “Bastards” isn’t meant to be consistent. Spoken-word tracks
are plentiful, and each song sounds different from the next, though
Tom’s signature demonic growl is prevalent in most tracks on the album.
The very first track “What Keeps Mankind Alive” isn’t even a Waits
original, but remains one of the best songs the “bastard” side of Tom
Waits has ever recorded. The songs sound like the wildest songs from
Mule Variations and Bone Machine. A spoken-word piece, "Children's
Story", is a twisted bed-time story about a child who's all alone in
the world. Also worth noting is Tom’s reading of “Nirvana” the Bukowski
poem. It’s a wonderful track and although that should mainly be
attributed to Bukowski, Tom Waits’ expressive voice suits the poem
perfectly. One of the wildest tracks on the album, “King Kong”, is
driven by a human beat-box and a roar rivalling the King itself. No
song uses Tom Waits’ beat-box experimentations better than this.
Closing the album are two unlisted skits, showing off his offbeat sense
of humour, ensuring that “Orphans” covers every aspect of his
personality.
Although covers appear frequently on the three-disc collection, you
wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t heard them before. Tom makes the songs
his own, and nothing here really sounds out of place. He is one of the
rare old artists who isn’t past his prime and continues to rival his
best work with new releases. Few of his albums show the diversity of
his song writing and vocals as well as this. “Orphans” is essential for
Tom Waits fans, as perhaps his career’s best demonstration of his
creative persona. 54-tracks might be a bit much for someone just
beginning the journey through Waits’ catalogue, but Orphans should be
one of the first stops along the way.
Copyright 2005-2008 Sputnikmusic.com
In his 30 years of making music, Tom Waits has fashioned an evocatively
scabby America, filled with hard-luck cases hollering blues and
wheezing ballads. The three-CD set Orphans, built from new, old, and
rare recordings, adds a truckload of characters to his dramatis
personae. Some come via covers, including one Brecht song and two by
the Ramones (!). But the bulk are Waits', often dressed in scrap-yard
percussion and sublime guitar noise, each — from hobo to suicide bomber
— familiar, compelling, and tugging out empathy.
Will Hermes - Entertainment Weekly and Time Inc.
Tom Waits is not normal. He doesn't have a normal voice. He doesn't
write normal songs. He doesn't make normal albums. So it should be no
surprise that his three-disc compilation Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers
& Bastards is anything but a normal anthology.
On the one hand, it's a rarities set that rescues 26 odds and sods --
tunes from soundtracks, stage shows, tribute albums and charity discs
-- that have been in musical hock for years. On the other hand, it's a
new release, with 30 -- count 'em, 30! -- recent recordings. Then, just
to make things even more confusing, it's also a trio of concept albums.
The instant-classic Brawlers disc has 16 nasty slices of Tom's swampy
hoodoo voodoo and juke-joint madness, jerry-rigged from from the usual
spare parts:
The shambling grooves and carnival melodies, the Salvation Army band
arrangements and clanking junkyard percussion, the rusty Beefheart
grumbling and skronky horns, the field-holler yelps and poetic lyrics
about fish in the jailhouse and a moon the colour of a carpet stain.
The moodier 20-track Bawlers disc concentrates on Tom's bleakly
beautiful, desperately romantic piano ballads and country-folk laments.
And the oddball Bastards disc introduces 18 red-headed stepchildren,
misguided souls and musical misfits: Spoken-word cuts, twisted bedtime
stories, field recordings, nature lectures and tunes set to the words
of Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowski.
Each disc is packed willy-nilly like a surprise package from a pawn
shop jumble sale, with remarkable originals (like the pointedly
political and topical Road to Peace) sitting side by side with weirdly
wonderful covers (like the gritty reworkings of Sea of Love, Daniel
Johnston's King Kong, The Seven Dwarves' Heigh-Ho! and The Ramones'
Return of Jackie and Judy) and unearthed treasures (like Rains on Me
from an old fundraiser disc).
And in this carny game, everyone's a winner. The completists who
already have the rarities can soak up the new stuff. The casual fans
can catch up on what they've missed. And Waits' orphans can finally
find a home, if not a normal life.
JAM! - Copyright © 2008, Canoe Inc.
Tom Waits, one of music's most enigmatic and peculiar figures, has been
releasing albums since the early '70s, but he was never really in
danger of losing steam. He could only get wiser and stranger with age,
his singular worldview presumably tagging along, ready to transform his
anomalous ideas into nightmarish soundscapes. So there was never any
doubt that this year's troika, Orphans (three meaty discs entitled
"Brawlers," "Bawlers" and "Bastards"), would fail to deliver. The album
embraces its staggering fifty-six-song scope and emerges as an ample
fix -- rather than an overdose -- for Waits addicts.
"Brawlers" is a fantastic collection of potent, cranky, almost
danceable rock, the sort of songs that would spin in the seediest of
bars if anyone but Waits had been the artist. (As such, I wouldn't be
surprised to hear them in college martini lounges this holiday season.)
Our man has as much soul here as ever, and between "Puttin' On the Dog"
and "Sea of Love," he very nearly achieves sexiness. Fuzzy,
frightening, uncomfortable sexiness, sure, but sexiness nonetheless.
The second disc, "Bawlers," evokes a heady sense of bitter romanticism,
the thoughts of a cynic seeing things through faintly rose-colored
glasses. It's made up of eerie wallpaper ballads, love songs and
tragedies. Some of this stuff is like inversed Leonard Cohen or,
perhaps, the kind of music Cohen would make if everyone he loved was
attacked by wild dogs and their funerals were crashed by circus clowns.
Bawlers isn't as odd all that (certainly not as odd as some Waits
music), but it is as gloomy.
With "Brawlers" being boppily insistent and "Bawlers" being aptly
tears-in-my-vodka melancholy, I would have expected "Bastards" to turn
out acidic and vile. That's partly true, but in a pleasantly unexpected
surprise, the third and final voyage here ends up as a sort of mixtape
of every Waits talk-story-song you know and love (albeit with
exclusively new material). "Army Ants" is marble-mouthed National
Geographic lesson on insects-meets-"What's He Building in There?"
creepiness. "First Kiss," "Nirvana" and "Children's Story" treat us to
bedtime tales we never wanted to hear.
Orphans is something akin to taking a journey through a familiar yet
entirely foreign dream-place. Or possibly what it would be like to peer
through a dusty window and watch your weird neighbor alone in his
basement, sifting through relics from his past. Maybe reading a
five-hundred-page novel authored by an ex-college professor who went
insane some years before writing it. Whatever way you qualify it,
Orphans is an experience of the most memorable kind.
Teresa Nieman - November 27, 2006
© prefixmag.com
With 2004's "Real Gone" being harder to love than a ginger stepchild,
many fans of the bourbon marinated poet of the pool hall and diner may
be well be worried about this triple album of rarities and new
material. But they should reassure themselves that this is one of his
most satisfying releases in years. Thematically, we're in similar
territory to Johnny Cash's "Love, God, Murder" compilation, focussing
in on three of the themes that are associated with the artist.
The first disc in Waits' case is called "Brawlers" and takes us on a
neon drenched cab ride across town as seen through the eyes of Charles
Bukowski or William Burroughs. His greatest trick is to reinvent primal
rock, jazz and blues in a way that makes it sound as freshly minted as
grime or dubstep. "Lie To Me" is rockabilly recorded in an echoing
dancehall and "LowDown" reinvents the 12-bar blues. However, some of
the fighting described is taking place on a larger stage.
"The Road To Peace" describes in painful clarity the last journey of a
Palestinian suicide bomber as George W Bush plays chess and poses for
the press ten thousand miles away. His gaze is so unwavering he makes
Thom Yorke look like a monkey neither hearing, seeing or speaking evil.
But the greatest song on this disc, one of Waits' finest, is a cover of
Philip Baptiste's "Sea of Love'. The song, which concerns New Orleans,
was originally recorded in 1988 for a film of the same name, but now
has an added poignancy because of recent events.
"Bawlers" sees Waits dimming the lights, donning a battered pork-pie
hat and sitting down at the piano for a selection of tear-jerkers. Like
comparable modern songwriting talents Nick Cave and Shane MacGowan,
Waits has a sentimental streak running through him a mile or so wide.
But as there isn't a drop of mawkishness or cynical heart string
tugging going on here, instead revel at the graveyard mambo of "A
Little Drop Of Poison", featuring glass bottle solo and musical saw.
However, perhaps most interesting is the third CD, entitled "Bastards",
which mines his love of Brechtian cabaret, carnival atmospherics and
sadistic story telling even further than ever. "Army Ants" explores the
terrifying mating rituals of insect sex; "Children's Story" is the tale
of the last kid left on Earth and is guaranteed to instil insomnia in
the young, while "Dog Door" continues his obsession with grungey
sounding hip hop beats.
So, it seems "Orphans" is that rarity of an album: one that will satisfy hardcore fans as well as the uninitiated.
John Doran - Dotmusic
Tom Waits three disc collection Orphans closes, seemingly inevitably,
with a shaggy dog story involving a can of tuna fish, a fake mother, a
tussle in a parking lot, and the sound of Waits’ rusted, asthmatic
laugh. The laugh of someone getting away with something big.
Orphans is an everything-and-the-kitchen-sink compilation (a
designation particularly apt for an artist for whom the kitchen sink is
both a promising narrative device, full of potential for cleansing and
drowning, and a cheap source of percussion), with some obscure odds and
sods (including Waits’ delightful contribution to the Shrek 2 OST) and
a double album’s worth of new material. The tripartite typology works
like a Waitsian Rorschach test: blurred, suggestive, and revealing.
Orphans may not have something for everyone, but what’s missing says
more about the listener than the record.
Of the three titled discs, Brawlers is the least surprising: Waits
treads the familiar, blasted ground of paranoid barroom blues. It also
may be, barring the discomfiting, lengthy Middle Eastern story-song
“The Road to Peace,” one of the easiest Waits discs to listen to
start-to-finish.
Some of Brawlers’s digestibility derives from its Mule Variations
familiarity. “Walk Away” is a note-for-note reprise of “Get Behind the
Mule,” with a classic Waitsian arrangement of double bass, clapped
hands, and a choir of bass clarinets; “Bottom of the World” recalls the
revivalist glory of “Come on Up to the House,” but in place of ol’ time
redemption, Waits’ eye is firmly on earthly matters: “That fresh egg
yeller is too damn rare, but the white part’s perfect for slicking down
your hair.” “Putting on the Dog” is something like run-of-the-mill
Waits: a samba scored by undead bluesmen posing as murderers in an
illegal jazz bar.
The twenty-song streak of poison-sweet balladry and damaged folk on
Bawlers knits together like a mending bone, full of fractures and old
bruises. In the abstract, Waits’ lyrics appear hopelessly stereotyped,
all one-eyed Jacks and crippled dwarf sailors from Bataan. But Waits
also has an auteur’s eye for arresting detail—a moon the color of a
coffee stain, a feather on an unmade bed—rendered in hyperkinetic,
hallucinatory phrasing, rivaling Sinatra’s in sheer energy and attack.
But of course, Waits keeps the most deformed, most depraved of his
Orphans for the Bastards disc, a mess of spoken word interludes, cruel
jokes, and half-baked sonic experiments. Some of this stuff seems too
damn odd and obscure even for Waits; “Army Ants” is a lecture on the
macabre habits of insects that closes with a homework assignment
straight out of a B-grade horror. Waits’ twisted, opaque rhythm fetish,
which requires beating sound out of every element of his environment,
has stumbled teasingly close to trip-hop’s low-lit electronic maze, but
“Dog Door” is his first bona fide contribution to the genre—Waits’
Temptation falsetto grapples with a slick electronic creak-profundo
that would make del Naja jealous.
The grapeshot scatter of the Bastards songs illuminates the crannies of
Waits’ mind like a flintlock’s flash: the morbid vision that sees the
sun as a wilted sunflower and the earth an overturned pisspot; the
soapbox preacher’s delusional, devotional fervor both exalting and
condemning mankind’s survival by beastly acts.
Orphans’s three discs pose a phylogeny of Waitsian beasts, but the
distinctions will not hold, and not only because several songs belong
on multiple discs (“The Road to Peace,” an eye-for-an-eye parable of
the Middle East, which turns Arabic and Hebrew names both into mournful
scat-singing, is obviously more of a Bastard than a Brawler). Waits’
brimstone evangelists, Arbusian freaks, and hungover Casablancan Sams
will not hold their shape; they are continually becoming each other,
bleeding into one another, just as Waits bleeds into them all.
Andrew Iliff
Copyright 2001-2007 stylusmagazine.com
Countless musicians have been inspired by The Anthology of American
Folk Music, Harry Smith’s 1950s box-set that brought together the
strangest manifestations of blues and country. Tom Waits is evidently
well schooled in these crackly dispatches, but he has always seemed
keener to invent his own legends rather than borrow them from hillbilly
primitives. Waits’s songs are full of yellow dogs and girls like “cheap
motels”, sellers of “opium, fireworks and lead”, wily jailbirds who can
open locks with fishbones.
It is fitting, then, that this beatnik mythographer has authored an
encyclopaedia of curiosities to match Smith’s work. With 54 tracks
spread over three CDs, Orphans . . . is the sort of grand endeavour
that would seem bloated and pretentious coming from most artists.
Waits, thankfully, carries his ambitions lightly. It appears that the
record began as a compilation album, where Waits could gather rarities
such as the majestic Books of Moses. Clearly, the project went
agreeably off the rails.
All the digging for ephemera must have provoked a new streak of
creativity in Waits and Kathleen Brennan, his wife and collaborator,
since 30 of these 54 songs are new. The whole package may look
daunting: a carnival of hobo philosophy and junkyard clank for
obsessives only. In fact, it is characteristically perverse that two of
these three thematically organised discs — Brawlers and Bawlers —
showcase Waits at his most accessible as well as richly inventive.
Bastards is risky territory for neophytes, filled with stuff one
suspects that even Waits finds eccentric. Bawlers, though, focuses on
ruffled but stately piano ballads such as The World Keeps Turning
(sourced from 2000’s Pollock soundtrack), a palliative to those who
favour the nighthawk romance of his 1970s albums. Brawlers is better
still, all picaresque storytelling and exuberant rock’n’roll. Here,
too, is a departure — Road to Peace is a swaggering blues track about a
Palestinian suicide bomber, Israeli retribution and the culpability of
George W. Bush.
As Orphans . . . proves, Waits has made brilliant art by inhabiting an
arcane world of his own imagination. Road to Peace tantalisingly
suggests that, for his next trick, Waits could move his operations into
a real world that is every bit as chaotic and bizarre.
John Mulvey
© Copyright 2008 Times Newspapers Ltd.
This is actually three albums, each with a separate name and function,
which together make up one very powerful entity. Its 56 songs - 30 new,
or reworkings of abandoned songs; 24 rarities, stage and screen songs,
collaborations and covers - are sorted on to CDs titled Bawlers,
Brawlers and Bastards. It's self-explanatory to any Waits fan, since
between them they encapsulate his 30-plus years of music. Bawlers has
those extravagantly sentimental ballads of his, broken beauties such as
If I Have to Go - songs that sound as though they've always been there,
hidden in a gaslit, fantasy America behind the mirror in the bar.
Brawlers has some rock, a lot of blues and gospel, and a curious piece
about the Middle-Eastern conflict (Road to Peace). Bastards is exactly
that: Waits growling, barking, narrating and gleefully improvising on
anything from Weillian Germanics to scary fairytales, and musings on
the realisation that he had been feeding his dogs dried bulls' penises.
Great.
Sylvie Simmons - Friday November 17, 2006
The Guardian
Brawlers:
Lie To Me
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby - move on
I know you got another
Jockey at home
Let me be your rider till your real man comes
Whip me baby lie like a dog
I really don't care if you do
(You got to) Lie to me baby
Uh huh (You got to) lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby - move on
I know you got yoursef a skinny ol' man
Let me be yourr baby, I know that I can
Slap me baby
Give me all of your grief
I have no use for the truth
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby - move on
I know you got another
Jockey at home
Let me be your rider till your real man comes
Whip me baby lie like a dog
Never stop telling me lies
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby
(You got to) Lie to me baby - move on
LowDown
She's a crooked Sheriff in a real straight town
She opened the door shake shake the lights go down
Clover honey and the Jimson Weed
Red leather skirt way up above her knees
Oh yeah, my baby's lowdown
She's a gone lost dirt road
There ain't no way back I been told
Well she's a story they all tell
She's a rebel, she's a yell
Oh yeah, my baby's lowdown
White heat in a cold rain
I'm a mergin here in your mergin lane
Jockey La Fayette, Big Eyed Al
The second hand moon's shining for my gal
She's a big red flag in a mean bullpen
She'll steal it from you, sell right
Back to you again
Well she's a whild rose, she's not settled
Cold gun of ice blue metal, oh
My baby's lowdown
White heat in a cold rain
I'm a mergin here in your mergin lane
Jockey la Fayette, Big Eyed Al
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 leg's upto here
Singing into a hairbrush
Right in front of the mirror
Oh yeah, my baby's lowdown
2:19
I lost everything I had in the '29 flood
The barn was buried 'neath a mile of mud
Now I've got nothing but the whistle and the steam
My baby's leaving town on the 2:19
I said, hey, hey, I don't know what to do
I will remember you
Hey, hey, I don't know what to do
My baby's leaving town on the 2:19
Now there's a fellow that's preaching 'bout hell and damnation
Bouncing off the walls of the Grand Central Station
I treated her bad, I treated her mean
Baby's leaving town on the 2:19
I said, hey, hey, I will remember you
Hey, hey, I don't know what to do
Hey, I don't know what to do
My baby's leaving town on the 2:19
Now I've always been puzzled by the yin and the yang
It'll come out in the wash, but it always leaves a stain
Sturm and Drang, the luster and the sheen
My baby's leaving town on the -
Hey, hey, I don't know what to do
Hey, hey, I will remember you
Hey, hey, I will remember you
My baby's leaving town on the 2:19
Lost the baby with the water, and the preacher stole the bride
Sent her out for a bottle, but when she came back inside
She didn't have my whiskey, didn't have my gin
With a hat full of feathers and a wicked grin
I said, hey, hey, I will remember you
Yeah baby, I will remember you
My baby's leaving town on the 2:19
On the train you get smaller, as you get farther away
The roar covers everything you wanted to say
Was that a raindrop or a tear in your eye?
Were you drying your nails or waving goodbye?
Hey, hey, I will remember you
Hey, hey, I don't know what to do
Oh baby
My baby's leaving town on the 2:19
I will remember you
I don't know what to do, baby
Fish In The Jailhouse
Peoria Johnson told Dirty Ol' Joe
I can break out of any old jail, you know
The bars are iron, the walls are stone
All I need me is an old fishbone
Fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse
Fish in the jailhouse tonight
[?] hammerhead shark
Well, a steelhead salmon or a mud bank carp
I said, one side dull, and then the other side sharp
And on Saturday night I'll be in Central Park
Fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse
Fish in the jailhouse tonight
Ask Little Slow Jackson, on a forty-four trip
Ask Whipperfield[?] Farraday, ask what I did
From the jail to the city, there's a rollin' fog
From Natchez(2) to Kenosha, runnin' down to New York
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight
All right (all right), oh boy (oh boy)
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight
All right (all right), oh boy (oh boy)
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight
All right (all right), oh boy (oh boy)
They're serving fish in the jailhouse
Fish in the jailhouse tonight
Fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight, all right, oh boy
They're serving fish in the jailhouse
Fish in the jailhouse tonight
Bottom Of The World
My daddy told me, lookin back,
The best friend you'll have is a railroad track
So when I was 13 said, I'm rollin' my own
And I'm leavin' Missouri and I'm never comin' home
And I'm lost
And I'm lost
I'm lost at the bottom of the world
I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar
I'm lost at the bottom of the world.
Satchel Puddin' and Lord God Mose
Sitting by the fire with a busted nose
That fresh egg yeller is too damn rare
But the white part is perfect for slickin' down your hair
And I'm lost
And I'm lost
I'm lost at the bottom of the world
I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar
I'm lost at the bottom of the world.
Blackjack Ruby and Nimrod Cain
The moon's the color of a coffee stain
jesse Frank and Birdy Joe Hoaks
But who is the king of all these folks?
And I'm lost
And I'm lost
I'm lost at the bottom of the world
I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar
I'm lost at the bottom of the world.
Well I dined last night with Scarface Ron
On Telapia fish cakes and fried black swan
Razorweed onion and peacock squirrel
And I dreamed all night about a beautiful girl
And I'm lost
And I'm lost
I'm lost at the bottom of the world
I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar
I'm lost at the bottom of the world.
Well God's green hair is where I slept last
He balanced a diamond on a blade of grass
Now I woke me up with a cardinal bird
And when I wanna talk
He hangs on every word
And I'm lost
And I'm lost
I'm lost at the bottom of the world
I'm handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar
I'm lost at the bottom of the world
Lucinda
Well they call me William The Pleaser
I sold opium, fireworks and lead
Now I'm telling my troubles to strangers
When the shadows get long I'll be dead
Now her hair was as black as a bucket of tar
Skin was as white as a cuttlefish bone
I left Texas to follow Lucinda
Now I'll never see heaven or home
I made a wish on silver of moonlight
A sly grin and a bowl full of stars
Like a kid who captures a firefly
And leaves it only to die in the jar
As I kick at the clounds at my hanging
As I swing out over the crowd
I will search every face for Lucinda's
And she will off with me down to hell
I thought I'd broke loose of Lucinda
The rain returned and so did the wind
I cast this burden on the god that's within me
I leave this old world and go free
The devil dances inside empty pockets
But she never wanted money or pearls
No, that wasn't enough for Lucinda
She wasn't that kind of girl
Now I've fallen from grace for Lucinda
Whoever thought that hell would be so cold
I did well for an old tin can sailor
But she wanted the bell in my soul
I've spoken to God on the mountain
And I've swam in the Irish sea
I ate fire and drank from the Ganges
And I'll beg there for mercy for me
I thought I'd broke loose of Lucinda
The rain returned and so did the wind
I was standing outside the Whitehorse
Oh but I was afraid to go in
I heard someone pull the trigger
Her breasts heaved in the moonlight again
There was a smear of gold in the window
And then I was the jewel of her sin
They call me William The Pleaser
I sold opium, fireworks and lead
Now I'm telling my troubles to strangers
When the shadows get long I'll be dead
Now her hair was as black as a bucket of tar
Skin was as white as a cuttlefish bone
I left Texas to follow Lucinda
Now I'll never see heaven or home
No I'll never see heaven or home
No I'll never see heaven or home
Ain't Goin' Down To The Well
Ain't goin' down
Ain't goin' down
Momma to the well, momma to the well, momma to the well,
Momma to the well, no more
Ain't goin' down
Ain't goin' down
Momma to the well, momma to the well, momma to the well,
Momma to the well, no more
Ain't goin' down.
I'm a true believer, I'm a true believer, believer
Ain't goin' down
Ain't goin' down
Momma to the well, momma to the well, momma to the well,
Momma to the well, no more
Ain't goin' down
Ain't goin' down.
If I ever get able, if I ever get able, able, to pay this debt I owe
Ain't goin' down
I ain't goin' down
Momma to the well, momma to the well,
Momma to the well, no more
Ain't goin' down
Momma to the well, momma to the well, momma to the well, momma to the well,
Momma to the well, no more
Ain't goin' down
Ain't goin' down
Ain't goin' down
Ain't goin' down
Lord I've Been Changed
Woah I, know I've been changed
And I know I've been changed
I know I've been changed
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Well, I know I got religion,
Lord knows I'm not ashamed
Well, a holy ghost is my witness
And the angels done sign my name
Oh, I said: I know I've been changed
And I know I've been changed, yeah
Know I've been changed
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Lord knows I've been converted
Lord knows I've been redeemed
Well, you can wake me up in the midnight hour
I'm gonna tell ya just a what I seen
I said: I know I've been changed
And I know I've been changed, yeah
Know I've been changed
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Angels in heaven done sign my name
Puttin' On The Dog
You gotta stomp, whistle and scream
You gotta wake right up in your dreams
You gotta jump, wheel and drive
Keep that feeling alive
You gotta kick, holler and shout
I'm gonna tell you what it's all about
You gotta tell me that you love me
Tell me that you're mine
We're putting on the dog tonight
We're putting on the dog tonight
We'll be p...putting on the dog tonight
Putting on, putting on the dog tonight
We'll be putting on the dog tonight
We'll be putting on the dog tonight
Putting on the dog
Putting on the dog
We'll flip, we'll follow and fly
Just do it now and don't ask why
You gotta strut, wiggle and slide
Let everybody know that you're alive
You gotta crank, gallop and twist
Do it once, you'll never resist
Tell me that you love me
Tell me that you're mine
We're putting on the dog tonight
Putting on the dog tonight, alright
Well we'll be going to a sooky jump it's rain and it pours
Big old Lecky with his suicide doors
Tip that bottle from the brim to the dregs
You ain't dancing 'till you cross your legs
Putting on the dog tonight
We'll be putting on the dog tonight
We'll be putting on the dog tonight
Putting on the dog tonight
Putting on the dog
I've been p...putting on the dog
Putting on the dog
Putting on the dog
Putting on the dog
Putting on the dog
Road To Peace
Young Abdel Madi Shabneh was only 18 years old,
He was the youngest of nine children, never spent a night away from home.
And his mother held his photograph up in the New York Times
You see the killing has intensified along the road to peace
He was a tall, thin boy with a whispy moustache disguised as an orthodox Jew
On a crowded bus in Jerusalem, some had survived World War Two
And the thunderous explosion blew out windows 200 yards away
With more retribution and seventeen dead along the road to peace
Now at King George Ave and Jaffa Road passengers boarded bus 14a
In the aisle next to the driver Abdel Madi Shabnet
And the last thing that he said on earth is "God is great and God is good"
And he blew them all to kingdom come upon the road to peace
Now in response to this another kiss of death was visited upon
Yasser Taha, Israel says is an Hamas senior militant
And Israel sent four choppers in, flames engulfed his white Opel
And it killed his wife and his three year old child leaving only a blackened skeleton
They found his toddlers bottle and a pair of small shoes and they waved them in front of the cameras
But Israel says they did not know that his wife and child were in the car
There are roadblocks everywhere and only suffering on TV
Neither side will ever give up their smallest right along the road to peace
Israel launched it's latest campaign against Hamas on Tuesday
And two days later Hamas shot back and killed five Israeli soldiers
So thousands dead and wounded on both sides most of them middle eastern civilians
They fill the children full of hate to fight an old man's war and die upon the road to peace
"Now this is our land we will fight with all our force" say the Palastinians and the Jews
Each side will cut off the hand of anyone who tries to stop the resistance
If the right eye offends thee then you must pluck it out
And Mahmoud Abbas said Sharon had been lost out along the road to peace
Once Kissinger said "we have no friends, America only has interests"
Now our president wants to be seen as a hero and he's hungry for re-election
But Bush is reluctant to risk his future in the fear of his political failure
So he plays chess at his desk and poses for the press 10,000 miles from the
road to peace
In the video that they found at the home of Abdel Madi Shabneh
He held a Kalashnikov rifle and he spoke with a voice like a boy
He was an excellent student, he studied so hard, it was as if he had a future
He told his mother that he had a test that day out along the road to peace
The fundamentalist killing on both sides is standing in the path of peace
But tell me why are we arming the Israeli army with guns and tanks and bullets?
And if God is great and God is good why can't he change the hearts of men?
Well maybe God himself is lost and needs help
Maybe God himself he needs all of our help
Maybe God himself is lost and needs help
He's out upon the road to peace
Well maybe God himself is lost and needs help
Maybe God himself he needs all of our help
And he's lost upon the road to peace
And he's lost upon the road to peace
Out upon the road to peace
All The Time
You're the tree
That you can't eat the fruit from
I heard horse come to ride me away
I want shade
And a good place to shoot from
If I's a clock
I'd be the end of the day
You know you're not the boss of me
You can lift your skirt
You can shake your hair
But I got all the time in the world
You're the ditch
In the road where the wheels keep spinning
You're the same dead cat
Clawing it's way back grinning
You know
You got a very bad reputation
And you're nine lives
Way down the line
I got a jacket to put on and a hat to wear
I wouldn't waste a gallon on you out there
And I got all the time in the world
A bridge is only there for you to jump off of
And there ain't no rain clouds that are blue
I do declare my independence
Baby I shot off all my fireworks for you
The river's burning and the trees are on fire
There's lots of good rubber left on these tires
And I've got all the time in the world
Baby you're the light that won't change that I got suck at
You're the fan that won't work at the motel
They were all out of red so I got me a blue one
Baby you're always using mine why you get you one?
I know you won't go very far
You left your blonde wig in the car
And I go all the time in the world
The Return Of Jackie And Judy
Jackie is a punk, Judy is a runt
They went down to the Mudd Club
And they both got drunk
Oh-yeah
Jackie is a bookie, Judy's taking loans
They both came up to New York
Just to see the Ramones
Oh-yeah
And oh, I don't know why she wrote that letter
Oh no, oh no
Oh I don't know why,
We won't forget her oh no
Jackie's playing hooky Judy's playing pool
They both got caught for cutting
Got to go to summer school
Oh-yeah
Jackie's scalping tickets Judy's getting harassed
They both got kicked outside
Didn't have a backstage pass
Oh-yeah
And oh, I don't know why she wrote that letter
Oh no, oh no
And oh, I don't know why
Don't know what's on her mind
I don't know, no, I don't know
But I can't stand to see her cryin'
She's still cryin', she ain't tryin'
She's going to get left behind
Nobody wants you, nobody wants you
Walk Away
Dot King was whittled from the bone of Cain
With a little drop of poison in the red red blood
She need a way to turn around the bend
She said I want to walk away and start over again
There are things I've done I can't erase
I want to look in the mirror see another face
I said, "never", but I'm doing it again
I wanna walk away, start over again
No more rain, no more roses
On my way, shake my thirst in a cool cool pond
There's a winner in every place
There's a heart that's beating in every page
The beginning of it starts at the end
When it's time to walk away and start over again
Weather's murder at a hundred and three
William Ray shot Corabell Lee
A yellow dog knows when he has sinned
You wanna walk away and start over again
No more rain, no more roses
On my way, shaking my thirst in a cool cool pond
Cooper told Maui the whole block's gone
They're dying for jewelry, money, and clothes
I always get out of the trouble I'm in
I want to walk away, start over again
I left my bible by the side of the road
Carve my initials in an old dead tree
I'm going away but I'm going to be back when
It's time to walk away and start over again
Ho ho yeah, hmm, yeah
Gotta walk away, gotta walk away, gotta walk away
Just wanna walk away yeah, wanna walk away and start over again
Wanna walk away, wanna walk away, wanna walk away
Sea Of Love
Come with me my love to the sea
The sea of love
I want to tell you
How much I love you
I'm drowning in a sea of love
Do you remember the night we met?
That's the night I knew you were my pet
I want to tell you
How much I love you
I'm drowning in a sea of love
Come with me to the sea
Do you remember the night we met?
That's the night I just knew you were my pet
I want to tell you
How much I love you
I'm down in a sea of love
Come with me to the sea
Do you remember the night we met?
That's the night I just knew you were my pet
I want to tell you
How much I love you
I'm down in a sea of love
Come with me to the sea
Do you remember the night we met?
That's the night I just knew you were my pet
I want to tell you
How much I love you
I'm down here in a sea of love
Come with me to the sea
Come with me my love to the sea
The sea of love
I want to tell you
How much I love you
I'm down here in a sea of love
Come with me to the sea
Buzz Fledderjohn
I stood on the roof, stood toward dark
To get a better look at the Fledderjons' lawn
Big sharp pistols, ammo too
Nothing but books about World War II
Rottweiler, Dobermann, a Pinkerton guard
I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard
I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed
I said, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard
I seen a python swallowing a Dobermann whole
Piranhas swimming in a mixing bowl
Buzz Fledderjon
Paper's full of stabbings, the sky's full of crows
She's singing in Italian while she's hanging out her clothes
Carp in the bathtub and it's raining real hard
I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard
I said that I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard.
Well, the sailor's ringing doorbells, the sinner's in the pew
Weathervane's squeaking to the west
I seen the cliffs of Dover and the deepest ocean blue
One thing in the world I can't recommend to you
Because I ain't allowed
I said, I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard
I said, I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed
I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard
I ain't allowed
I ain't allowed
I said, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard
Rains On Me
This is how the world will be
Everywhere I go it rains on me
Forty monkeys drowning in a boiling sea
Everywhere I go it rains on me
I went down into the valley to pray
Everywhere I go it rains on me
I got drunk and I stayed all day
Everywhere I go it rains on me
Everywhere I go, everywhere I go
Everywhere I go, it rains on me
All God's chilluns can't you see
Everywhere I go it rains on me
Louie Lista and Marchese
Everywhere I go it rains on me
Robert Sheehan and Paul Body
Everywhere I go it rains on me
I went down to Argyle I went down to Dix
Everywhere I go it rains on me
To get my powders and to get my fix
Everywhere I go it rains on me
Everywhere I go, everywhere I go
Everywhere I go, it rains on me
Everywhere I go, everywhere I go
Everywhere I go, it rains on me
Bawlers:
Bend Down The Branches
The sky's as deep as it can be
Bend down the branches
Close your eyes and you will see
Bend down the branches
You're like a willow
Once you were gold
We're made for bending
Even beauty gets old
Climb the stairs they're not so steep
Bend down the branches
Close your eyes and go to sleep
Bend down the branches
You Can Never Hold Back Spring
You can never hold back spring
You can be sure that I will never
Stop believing
The blushing rose will climb
Spring ahead or fall behind
Winter dreams the same dream
Every time
You can never hold back spring
Even though you've lost your way
The world keeps dreaming of spring
So close your eyes
Open you heart
To one who's dreaming of you
You can never hold back spring
Baby
Remember everything that spring
Can bring
You can never hold back spring
Long Way Home
Well I stumbled in the darkness
I'm lost and alone
Though I said I'd go before us
And show the way back home
There a light up ahead
I can't hold onto her arm
Forgive me pretty baby but I always take the long way home
Money's just something you throw
Off the back of a train
Got a head full of lightning
A hat full of rain
And I know that I said
I'd never do it again
And I love you pretty baby but I always take the long way home
I put food on the table
And roof overhead
But I'd trade it all tomorrow
For the highway instead
Watch your back if I should tell you
Love's the only thing I've ever known
One thing for sure pretty baby I always take the long way home
You know I love you baby
More than the whole wide world
You are my woman
I know you are my pearl
Let's go out past the party lights
Where we can finally be alone
Come with me and we can take the long way home
Come with me, together we can take the long way home
Come with me, together we can take the long way home
Widow's Grove
I met you in the saddle, rode you in the dust
Held your hand to the heavens, pulled your heart to the earth
There was something that blinded me more than the mist
And the breath of the cottonwood buds lighter yet
And you rode the maypole of dance hall legs
And galloped to another's embrace
And I bit the flowers from your wrist corsage
And you waltzed too slowly, too slowly you waltzed
With that girl from Widow's Grove
Oh, I'd follow you to the river, that washes out to the sea
Through the wind, through the rain of a cold dark night
That's where I'll be
Near the breath of a swallow, petals dropped as you fell
And you grabbed then shyly held me, against the stone cold well
In your hand was a glass, you held the ice against the night
And it dripped and it sparkled and I laughed a wish
Before it all slipped down the dark tunneled well
I heard it melt quietly and I looked at you
Bent to the earth with just one pleading wish
Your skirts brushed to the furious pounding
Oh, I'd follow you to the river, that washes out to the sea
Through the wind, through the rain of a cold dark night
That's where I'll be
I hid in the elm and raised the bough, that hung even with your neck
And I chased you and drowned you, there deep in the well
And when your mouth was full and wet, I swallowed all your reckless fate
And with your last breath, you moaned too drunk to wake
Oh, I'd follow you to the river, that washes out to the sea
Through the wind, through the rain of a cold dark night
That's where I'll be
Through the wind, through the rain of a cold dark night
That's where I'll be
Little Drop Of Poison
I like my town with a little drop of poison
Nobody knows they're lining up to go insane
I'm all alone, I smoke my friends down to the filter
But I feel much cleaner after it rains
She left in the fall, that's her picture on the wall
She always had that little drop of poison
She left in the fall, that's her picture on the wall
She always had that little drop of poison
Did the devil make the world while God was sleeping
Someone said you'll never get a wish from a bone
Another wrong goodbye and a hundred sailors
That deep blue sky is my home
She left in the fall, that's her picture on the wall
She always had that little drop of poison
She left in the fall, that's her picture on the wall
She always had that little drop of poison
A rat always knows when he's in with weasels
Here you lose a little every day
I remember when a million was a million
They all have ways to make you pay
They all have ways to make you pay
Shiny Things
The things a crow puts in his nest
They are always things he finds that shine best
Somehow they'll find a shiny dime, a silver twine
From a Valentine
The crows all bring them shiny things
Leave me alone you big ol' Moon
The light you cast is just a liar
You're like the crows, 'cos if it glows
You're dressed to go, you guessed I know
You'll always cling to shiny things
We'll, I'm not dancing here tonight
But things are bound to turn around
Though the only I want that shines is to be king
Here in your eyes
To be your only shiny thing
The World Keeps Turning
On our anniversary
There'll be someone else where you used to be
The world don't care and yet it clings to me
And the moon is gold and silvery
Who knows where the sidewalk ends
Well, the road will turn and the road will bend
They always say he marks the sparrow's fall
How can anyone believe it all?
Well, the band has stopped playing but we keep dancing
The world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
On his hand he wore the ring of another
And the world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
We broke the bank and we tore up the place
And we disappeared oh without a trace
Now the sun it falls into the sea
And around the only one for me
I was so green and the dress you wore was yellow
And the world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
The sun is down and the moon is in the meadow
And the world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
Put a hat on your head
Will you paint the whole damned town red with me?
Well, the band has stopped playing but we keep dancing
The world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
On his hand he wore the ring of another
The world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
The world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
The world keeps turning, the world keeps turning
Tell It To Me
They say you're seeing someone, you're wearing his ring
They say you laughed when you heard my name
They say he takes you dancing, he holds you so near
They say he'll buy you anything
Tell me am I foolish, I don't believe these stories
And I'll be coming home soon
Louise, Louise, if it's true
Tell it to me
I know, you will not see me, but I know you have a daughter
And I hear she has my eyes
They say she calls him "father", and he's proud of her
And even believes all of your lies
But for all your faithless beauty, I'd give all my tomorrows
And if you're still thinking of me
Louise, Louise, if it's true
Tell it to me
Oh Louise, Louise, if it's true
Tell it to me
Oh Louise, Louise, if it's true
Tell it to me
Never Let Go
Well, ring the bell backwards and bury the axe
Fall down on your knees in the dirt
I'm tied to the mast between water and wind
Believe me, you'll never get hurt
Our ring's in the pawnshop, the rain's in the hole
Down at the Five Points(1) I stand
I'll lose everything
But I won't let go of your hand
Well, Peter denied and Judas betrayed
I'll bail with the roll of the drum
And the wind will tell the turn from the wheel
And the watchman is making his rounds
Well, you'll leave me hanging by the skin of my teeth
I've only got one leg to stand
You can send me to hell
But I'll never let go of your hand
Swing from a rope on a cross-legged dream(?)
Signed with One Eyed Jack's blood
From Temple to Union, to LA and Grand
Walking back home in the mud(2)
Now I must make my best of the only way home
Molly deals only in stone
I'm lost on the midway, I'm reckless in your eyes
Just give me a couple more throws
I'll dare you to dine with the cross-legged knight
Dare me to jump and I will
I'll fall from your grace
But I'll never let go of your hand
I'll never let go of your hand
Fannin Street
There's a crooked street in Houston town,
It's a well born path I've traveled down
Now there's ruin in my name, I wish I never got off the train,
I wished I'd listened to the words you said.
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
You'll be lost and never found
You can never turn around
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Once I held you in my arms, I was sure
But I took that silent stare through the guilded door
The desire to have much more, all the glitter and the roar,
I know this is where the sidewalk ends.
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
You'll be lost and never found
You can never turn around
Don't go down to Fannin Street
When I was young I thought only of getting out
I said goodbye to my street, goodbye to my house
Give a man gin, give a man cards, give an inch he takes a yard,
And I rue the day that I stepped off this train.
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
You'll be lost and never found
You can never turn around
Don't go down to Fannin Street.
Little Man
Sure as fire will burn
There's one thing you will learn
Those things you have cherished
Are things that you have earned
Luck is when opportunity
Meets with preparation
And the same is true for every generation
Little man
As you climb upon my knee
The whole future lies in thee
Little man
Little man
Never hurry, take it slow
Things worth while need time to grow
Little man
Don't look back
There are things that might distract
Move ahead towards your goal
And the answers will unfold
Little man
Love is always in the air
It is there for those who care
Little man
Don't look back
There are things that might distract
Move ahead towards your goal
And the answers will unfold
Little man
Love is always in the air
It is there for those who care
Little man
Little man
Little man
Little man
It's Over
You must have brought the bad weather with you
The sky's the colour of lead
All you've left me is a feather
On an unmade bed
It's always me whenever there's trouble
The world does nothing but turn
And the ring it fell off my finger
I guess I'll never learn
But it's over, it's over, it's over
I'm getting dressed in the dark
Our story ends before it begins
I always confess to everyone's sins
The nail gets hammered down
And it's over, let it go
So don't go and make a big deal out of nothing
Well it's just a storm on a dime
And I've always found there's nothing
That money can't buy
I've already gone to the place I'm going
There's no place left to fall
And there's something to be said
For saying nothing at all
And it's over, it's over, it's over
It's done forgotten and through
No one cares what it's all for
You'll be buried in the clothes
That you've never wore
So keep your suitcase by the door
It's over, let it go
No one cares what it's all for
You'll be buried in the clothes
That you never wore
So keep your suitcase by the door
It's over, let it go
You gotta let it go
Let it go, let it go
If I Have To Go
And if I have to go, will you remember me?
Will you find someone else, while I'm away?
There's nothing for me, in this world full of strangers
It's all someone else's idea
I don't belong here, and you can't go with me
You'll only slow me down
Until I send for you, don't wear your hair that way
If you cannot be true, I'll understand
Tell all the others, you'll hold in your arms
That I said I'd come back for you
I'll leave my jacket to keep you warm
That's all that I can do
And if I have to go, will you remember me?
Will you find someone else, while I'm away?
Goodnight Irene
[Chorus:]
Irene, goodnight. Irene, goodnight
Goodnight, Irene. Goodnight, Irene.
I'll see you in my dreams.
Last Saturday night I got married.
Me and my wife settled down.
Now, me and my wife are parted.
Gonna take a little stroll downtown.
[Chorus]
Yeah, sometimes I live in the country
And sometimes I live in town.
Yeah, and sometimes I take a great notion
I'm gonna jump in the river and drown.
[Chorus]
Stop ramblin'. Stop that gamblin'.
Stop staying out late at night.
Go home to your wife and family.
Stay there by the fireside, bright.
[Chorus]
Goodnight, Irene. Goodnight, Irene.
I'll see you in my dreams.
The Fall Of Troy
It's the same with men as with horses and dogs
Nothing wants to die
Evelyn James they killed in a game
With guns too big for their hands
Just off St. Charles in No-Mans Land
And you'll have to find your own way home, boys
You'll have to find your own way home
The oldest was Troy, an eighteen year-old boy
Shot dead in March with a robbery
His brother started out to hell and to ruin
Troy's killer was never caught they say
Young nick he just went bad that day
Now he'll have to find his own way home, boys
He'll have to find his own way home
Why cook dinner?
Why make my bed?
Why come home at all?
Out the door and through the woods
There is a world where nothing grows
It's hard to say grace and to sit in the place
Of someone missing at the table
Mom's hair sprayed tight
And her face in her hands
Watching TV for answers to me
After all she's only human
And she's trying to find her own way home, boys
She's trying to find her own way home
My legs ache
My heart is sore
The well is full of pennies
Take Care Of All My Children
Oh, take care of all of my children
Don't let 'em wander and roam
Oh, take care of all of my children
For I don't know when I'm comin' back home
You can put all of my possessions here in Jesus' name
Nail a sign on the door
Bright and early Sunday morning with my walking cane
I'm going up to see my Lord
Oh, keep them together at the sundown
Safe from the Devil's hand
You gotta make them a pillow on the hard ground
I'll be goin' up to Beulah land
You can put all of my possessions here in Jesus' name
And nail a sign on the door
Bright and early Sunday morning with my walking cane
I'm going up to see my Lord
Oh remember you never trust the Devil
Stay clear of Lucifer's hand
Oh and don't let 'em wander in the meadow
Or you'll wind up in the fryin' pan
You can put all of my possessions here in Jesus' name
And nail a sign on the door
Bright and early Sunday morning with my walking cane
I'm going up to see my Lord
Put all of my possessions here in Jesus' name
And nail a sign on the door
Bright and early Sunday morning with my walking cane
I'm going up to see my Lord
Down There By The Train
There's a place I know where the train goes slow
Where the sinner can be washed in the blood of the lamb
There's a river by the trestle down by sinner's grove
Down where the willow and the dogwood grow
You can hear the whistle, you can hear the bell
From the halls of heaven to the gates of hell
And there's room for the forsaken if you're there on time
You'll be washed of all your sins and all of your crimes
If you're down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there where the train goes slow
There's a golden moon that shines up through the mist
And I know that your name can be on that list
There's no eye for an eye, there's no tooth for a tooth
I saw Judas Iscariot carrying John Wilkes Booth
He was down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
He was down there where the train goes slow
If you've lost all your hope, if you've lost all your faith
I know you can be cared for and I know you can be safe
And all the shamefuls and all of the whores
And even the soldier who pierced the side of the Lord
Is down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there where the train goes slow
Well, I've never asked forgiveness and I've never said a prayer
Never given of myself, never truly cared
I've left the ones who loved me and I'm still raising Cain
I've taken the low road and if you've done the same
Meet me down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there where the train goes slow
Meet me down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there by the train
Down there where the train goes slow
Danny Says
Danny says we gotta go
Gotta go to Idaho
But we can't go surfin'
'Cause it's 20 below
Sound check's at 5:02
Record stores and interviews
Oh, but I can't wait
To be with you tomorrow
Baby
Oho-ho-ho, we got nowhere to go
And it may sound funny, but it's true
Hangin' out in 100 B
Watching Get Smart on TV
Thinkin' about
You and me and you and me
Hangin' out in L.A.
And there's nowhere to go
It ain't Christmas if there ain't no snow
Listening to Sheena on the radio
Oh-ho oh-ho
Jayne's Blue Wish
The sky holds all our wishes
The dish ran away with the spoon
Chimney smoke ties the roofs to the sky
There's a hole overhead
It's only the moon
Will there ever be a tree
Grown from the seeds I've sown
Life is a path lit only by the light of those I've loved
By the light of those I love
Life's a path lit only by the light of those I've loved
By the light of those I love
Young At Heart
Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you're young at heart
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
If you're young at heart
You can go to extremes with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart or on its way
Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth
To be young at heart
And as rich as you are it's much better by far
To be young at heart
And if you should survive to 105
Think of all you've derived out of being alive
Then this is the best part
You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart
Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth
To be young at heart
Or as rich as you are it's much better by far
To be young at heart
And if you should survive to 105
Think of all you've derived out of being alive
Then this is the best part
You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart
If you are among the very young at heart
Bastards:
What Keeps Mankind Alive
You gentlemen who think you have a mission
To purge us of the seven deadly sins
Should first sort out the basic food position
Then start your preaching, that's where it begins
You lot who preach restraint and watch your waist as well
Should learn, for once, the way the world is run
However much you twist or whatever lies that you tell
Food is the first thing, morals follow on
So first make sure that those who are now starving
Get proper helpings when we all start carving
What keeps mankind alive?
What keeps mankind alive?
The fact that millions are daily tortured
Stifled, punished, silenced and oppressed
Mankind can keep alive thanks to its brilliance
In keeping its humanity repressed
And for once you must try not to shriek the facts
Mankind is kept alive by bestial acts
Children's Story
Once upon a time there was a poor child,
with no father and no mother
And everything was dead
And no one was left in the whole world
Everything was dead
And the child went on search, day and night
And since nobody was left on the earth,
he wanted to go up into the heavens
And the moon was looking at him so friendly
And when he finally got to the moon,
the moon was a piece of rotten wood
And then he went to the sun
And when he got there, the sun was a wilted sunflower
And when he got to the stars, they were little golden flies.
Stuck up there, like the shrike sticks 'em on a blackthorn
And when he wanted to go back, down to earth,
the earth was an overturned piss pot
And he was all alone, and he sat down and he cried
And he is there till this day
All alone:
Okay, there's your story!
Night-night!
Heigh Ho! (The Dwarfs' Marching Song)
Well, we dig dig dig
Well, we dig in our mine the whole day through
Dig dig dig, that is what we like to do
And it ain't no trick to get rich quick
If you dig dig dig, with a shovel and a pick
Dig dig dig, the whole day through
Got to dig dig dig, it's what we like to do in our mine, in our mine
Where a million diamonds shine
We got to dig dig dig, from the morning till the night
Dig dig dig up everything in sight
We got to dig dig dig, in our mine, in our mine
Dig up diamonds by the score
A thousand rubies, sometimes more
But we don't know what we are diggin' for, yeah
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho
It's off to work we go
We keep on singing all day long
Heigh-ho
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho
Got to make your troubles go
Well, you keep on singing all day long
Heigh-ho
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho
Army Ants
The Whirligig Beetles are wary and fast with an organ to detect the ripples.
The Arachnid Moths lay their eggs inside other insects along the borders of fields or roads in clusters of white cocoons.
The Ribbed Pine Borer is a longhorn beetle, their antenna's are half the length of their body and they feed on dead red pine.
Robber Flies, with their immobile heads, inject a paralyzing fluid into their prey that they snatch from life in mid-air.
The Snow Flea's mode of locomotion, strange and odd, with a spiny tail
mechanism with hooks and a protracted tube from the abdomen to enable
moisture absorption.
The female Praying Mantis devours the male while they are mating. The
male sometimes continues copulating even after the female has bitten
off his head and part of his upper torso.
Every night wasps bite into the stem of a plant, lock their mandibles
into position, stretch out at right angles to the stem and, with legs
dangling, they fall asleep.
If one places a minute amount of liquor on a scorpion, it will instantly go mad and sting itself to death.
The Bombardier Beetle, when disturbed, defends itself by emitting a
series of explosions, sometimes setting off 4 or 5 reports in
succession. The noises sound like miniature popgun blasts and are
accompanied by a cloud of reddish coloured vile smelling fluid.
It is commonly known that ants keep slaves. Certain species, the
so-called Sanguinary Ants in particular, will raid the nests of other
ant tribes and kill the queen and then kidnap many of the workers. The
workers are brought back to the captor's hive where they are coerced
into performing menial tasks.
And as we discussed last semester, the Army Ants will leave nothing but your bones.
Perhaps you've encountered some of these insects in your communities,
displaying both their predatory and defense characteristics, while
imbedded within the walls of flesh and passing for, what is most
commonly recognized... as human
Books Of Moses
Books of Moses, bringing stone news
Wet in the water, weeping in the sun
Books of Moses, got some splinters didn't you
Books of Moses, brought me right here back to you
Flaming heart, ain't it sweet
Lighting the world at your feet
Books of Moses, myth and truth
Books of Moses, bring me back to you
Hero's welcome, there stands your king
Where the serpent shudders and the angels sing
Books of Moses, happening again
Yes he knows us
Well welcome him, your friend
Books of Moses, bringing stone news
Wet is the water, blood covering the sun
Books of Moses, myth and truth
Books of Moses, bring me back to you
Bone Chain
Instrumental
Two Sisters
There was an old woman, lived by the seashore
Bow and balance me
There was an old woman, lived by the seashore
A number of daughters: one, two, three, four
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
There was a young man come there to see them
Bow and balance me
There was a young man come there to see them
and the oldest one got stuck on him
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
He bought the youngest a beaver hat
Bow and balance me
He bought the youngest a beaver hat
and the oldest one got mad at that
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
Oh, sister oh, sister let's walk the seashore
Bow and balance me
Oh, sister oh, sister let's walk the seashore
and see the ships as they're sailing on
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
While these two sisters were walking the shore
Bow and balance me
While these two sisters were walking the shore
the oldest pushed the youngest o'er
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
Oh, sister oh, sister please lend me your hand
Bow and balance me
Oh, sister oh, sister please lend me your hand
and you will have Willy and all of his land
And then I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
I'll never, I'll never will lend you my hand
Bow and balance me
I'll never, I'll never will lend you my hand
but I'll have Willy and all of his land
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
Some time she swam and some time she swam
Bow and balance me
Some time she sank and some time she swam
untill she came to the old mill dam
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
The miller, he got his fishinghook
Bow and balance me
The miller, he got his fishinghook
and fished that maiden out of the brook
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
Oh, miller oh, miller here's five gold rings
Bow and balance me
Oh, miller oh, miller here's five gold rings
to push the maiden in again
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
The miller received those five gold rings
Bow and balance me
The miller received those five gold rings
and pushed that maiden in again
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
The miller was hung in the old mill gate
Bow and balance me
The miller was hung in the old mill gate
for drowning little sister Kate
And I'll be true to my love
if my love will be true to me
First Kiss
She drove a big ol' Lincoln with suicide doors
And a sewing machine in the back
And a light bulb that looked like an alligator egg
Was mounted up front on the hood
And she had an Easter bonnet that had been signed by Tennessee Ernie Ford
And she always had saw dust in her hair
And she cut two holes in the back of her dress
and she had these scapular wings
That were covered with feathers and electrical tape
And when she got good and drunk
She would sing about Elkheart, Indiana
Where the wind is strong and folks mind their own business
And she had at least a hundred old baseballs that she'd taken from kids
And she collected bones of all kinds
And she lived in a trailer under a bridge
And she made her own whiskey and gave cigarettes to kids
And she'd been struck by lightning seven or eight times
And she hated the mention of rain
And she made up her own language
And she wore rubber boots
And she could fix anything with string
And her lips were like cherries
And she was stronger than any man
And she smelled like gasoline and Rootbeer Fizz
And she put mud on a bee sting I got at the creek
And she gave me my very first kiss
And she gave me my very first kiss
Talking 'bout my little Kathleen
She's just a fine young thing
Someday she'll wear my ring
My little Kathleen
Dog Door
Oh mother I want a dog
I want a little dog
I saw a little dog
His name is happy
Well this is me ...
... old ...
I could be a shopkeeper
We'll call 'em ...
She got a six foot pitchfork
I see the wrecking-ball
Back over here together
She got me here with or without
She got me coming through the dog door
She got me coming through the dog door
I said pitchfork
Oh step-ladders
You oughta walk away
But you can't ...
... stairs
She got me gone back here
But don't sit there
She let me keep the deck-chair
She got me coming through the dog door
She got me coming through the dog door
Pitchfork (pitchfork)
Crowbar (crowbar)
Clawhammer (clawhammer)
Hot tar (hot tar)
She got me through her middle name
But she can make it rain
She got a small-town chill
And she's starving in the belly wheel
She got me coming through the dog door
She got me coming through the dog door
Pitchfork (pitchfork)
Crowbar (crowbar)
Clawhammer (clawhammer)
Hot tar (hot tar)
Redrum
Instrumental
Nirvana
Not much chance, completely cut loose from purpose,
he was a young man riding a bus through North Carolina on the way to somewhere.
And it began to snow.
And the bus stopped at a little cafe in the hills and the passengers entered.
And he sat at the counter with the others, and he ordered, the food arrived.
And the meal was particularly good.
And the coffee.
The waitress was unlike the women he had known.
She was unaffected, and there was a natural humor which came from her.
And the fry cook said crazy things.
And the dishwasher in back laughed a good clean pleasant laugh.
And the young man watched the snow through the window.
And he wanted to stay in that cafe forever.
The curious feeling swam through him that everything was beautiful there.
And it would always stay beautiful there.
And then the bus driver told the passengers that it was time to board.
And the young man thought: "I'll just stay here, I'll just stay here."
And then he rose and he followed the others into the bus.
He found his seat and looked at the cafe through the window.
And then the bus moved off, down a curve, downward, out of the hills.
And the young man looked straight forward.
And he heard the other passengers speaking of other things,
or they were reading or trying to sleep.
And they hadn't noticed the magic.
And the young man put his head to one side,
closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep.
There was nothing else to do,
just to listen to the sound of the engine,
and the sound of the tires
in the snow
Home I'll Never Be
I left New York in 1949
To go across the country without a bad blame dime
Montana in the cold cold fall
Found my father in the gambling hall
Father, Father where you been?
I've been out in the world and I'm only ten
Father, Father where you been?
I've been out in the world and I'm only ten
Don't worry about me if I should die of pleurisy
Across to Mississippi, across to Tennessee
Across the Niagara, home I'll never be
Home in ol' Medora, home in Ol' Truckee
Apalachicola, home I'll never be
Better or for worse, thick and thin
Like being married to the Little poor man
God he loves me (God he loves me)
Just like I love him (just like I love him)
I want you to do (I want you to do)
Just the same for him (just the same for him, yeah)
Well the worms eat away but don't worry watch the wind
So I left Monatana on an old freight train (on an old freight train)
The night my father died in the cold cold rain (in the cold cold rain)
Road to Opelousas, road to Wounded Knee
Road to Ogallala home I'll never be
Road to Oklahoma, road to El Cahon
Road to Tahachapi, road to San Antone
Hey, hey
Road to Opelousas, road to Wounded Knee
Road to Ogallala, home I'll never be
Road to Oklahoma, road to El Cahon
Road to Tahachapi, road to San Antone
Home I'll never be, home I'll never be
Home I'll never be, home I'll never be
Home I'll never be, home I'll never be
Poor Little Lamb
Poor little lamb now his fleece is all cold
Wakes up in the morning alone
Poor little lamb knows what's coming
Life is an empty cup
Poor little lamb watch your shoulder
Coyote's waiting out there
Nobody will get any older
If we don't find a way out of here
So let's go on a bummer this summer
Where we won't have to be afraid
The world will be on a hummer, boys
And we'll laugh and we'll drink lemonade
Altar Boy
He's an ol' altar boy
Lying out there in the street
He's an ol' alter boy
Bound up in leather and chains
That's why I'm feeling so blue
I'm an old altar boy
What about you?
Now, I can order in Latin
Make 'em au gratin, Joe
I'm an old altar boy
That's why I'm so depressed
I never got the rest of the dream
Just the ritual
Now I'm habitual
Majoring in crimes that are unspeakable
Cause I'm an old altar boy
That's what happened to me.
I'm an old altar boy
He's hoping he can meet a woman dressed like a nun
He knows there's got to be some around here
Drinking across from the church
A little Father Cribari wine
On a Sunday morn' time.
I'm an old altar boy.
Why is he winking at this time in his life?
He never took a wife, cause he's an old altar boy
Oh, yeah...
What about you?
The Pontiac
Well let's see, we had the eh, we had the Fairlane.
Then the u-joints went out on that and the bushings and then your
mother wanted to trade it in on the Tornado, so we got the Tornado.
God, I hated the color of that son of a bitch.
And the dog destroyed the upholstery on the Ford.
Boy, that was long before you were born.
We called it the Yellowbird, two-door, three on the tree.
Tight little mother.
Threw a rod, sold it to Jacobs for a hundred dollar.
Now the Special eh, four-holer, you've never seen body panels lining up like that.
Overhead cam, dual exhaust.
You know I had, let's see I had, four Buicks, loved them all.
Now your Uncle Emmet, well he drives a Thunderbird, it used to belong to your Aunt Evelyn.
Now, she ruined it, drove it to Indiana with no gear oil.
That was the end of that!
Sold that Cadillac to your mom.
Your mom loved that Caddy.
Independent rear suspension,
Landau top, good tires.
Gas hog.
I swear it had the power to repair itself.
I love the old, Dan Steele used to give 'em to me at a discount.
Showroom models and that.
And then there was the Pontiac and...
God, I loved that Pontiac.
Well, it was kind of an ox-blood.
It just kinda handled so beautifully.
Yeah, I miss that car. Well, it was a long time ago, a long time ago.
Spidey's Wild Ride
The smoke from the battle fish and the rain soaked through
and the wheelman left the shore
and barns tumbled and silos flew across fifteen miles bad road tar
And big Bull Trometer hung on to the side
and the pig dogs trembled on Spidey's wild ride
And big John Jizom from downtown Chizom
flew away with old mrs. Storm
And they found Bird Lundy neath a keg of nails crooked as a dog's hind leg
Keeping warm after twenty-nine days on hard assed bread
he drilled to the big outside and clung like a tick to his waterfront
life mooned and clouded, blued and skied
And all the clocks blew up on Spidey's wild ride
And the hills stood up in a great big 3
and left me whipped by the forces that were inside me
Loud as the ocean, cold as a desk, red as the water on the river of flesh
And he was sewing up his pants while he was shoeing a mule
And he was bucking a head wind gale
But the crooked ass beauty was trapped to the side
and he shook on Spidey's wild ride
And all the statue ass makers, and the uprooted trees
And I shouted way up to where the rabbit digs his hole
and the wheelman, the jockeys the landlords and thee
were bucking a head wind south
and with nine lives spent, he landed on his rent
composed with a steele head salmon in his mouth
and I never did see another day outside
cause I'd had enough travel on Spidey's wild ride
King Kong
They shot him down
They shot him down
They thought he was a monster
But he was the King
They came to his island
And they brought her with them
They wanted to get his picture
But they were surprised by his enormous size
And when he saw the woman
He took her without question
Because after all
He was the King
And he loved the woman
He loved the way she looked
And she wouldn't stop screaming
But he loved the woman
And he fought a Tyrannosaurus Rex
And it was a bloody battle
But he fought it for his woman
And he climbed up a mountain
And he looked around
Some kind of forest
With all these dinosaurs
And he stripped his woman
He stripped her bare
But there was a pterodactyl
There!
And then a hero
Came and took his woman
And they fell off the mountain
Into some water
And then later
He came looking for his woman
But they were waiting
And they threw a bomb
And they tied him
And took him across the ocean
And they chained him
And put him in the show
And when he saw his woman
He broke loose
And everyone fled in terror
And he was looking for her
And he overtook a train
And he was looking in the street
And then he found her in her apartment
And he climbed up the Empire State building
It was like a phallic symbol
And he took his woman
To the top of that towering temple
And he climbed up and looked around
Some kind of city
With all those skyscrapers
And all the cars
Just him and his screaming woman
And they were finally alone
He loved his woman
You could see it in his eyes
His great big eyes
He loved his woman
From the moment that he saw her
He was all choked up inside
But when the airplanes came
He was soon to die
But he hung on long enough to set his woman down
And make sure that she was safe
And as the bullets pierced
He looked at her so sincere
Before he fell
Because he loved his woman
And they shot him down
They thought he was a monster
But he was the King
Who killed the monkey
'Twas beauty that killed the beast
And Willis O'Brien died
A tragic death
There wasn't much
That he had left
And Ray Harryhousen said
That when Willis died
That's when the King was really dead
They shot him down
They shot him down
They thought he was a monster
But he was the King
On The Road
I left New York in 1949
To go across the country without a bad blame dime
Montana in the cold cold fall
Found my father in the gambling hall
Father, Father where you been?
I've been out in the world and I'm only ten
Father, Father where you been?
I've been out in the world and I'm only ten
Don't worry about me if I should die of pleurisy
Across to Mississippi, across to Tennessee
Across the Niagara, home I'll never be
Home in ol' Medora, home in Ol' Truckee
Apalachicola, home I'll never be
Better or for worse, thick and thin
Like being married to the Little poor man
God he loves me (God he loves me)
Just like I love him (just like I love him)
I want you to do (I want you to do)
Just the same for him (just the same for him, yeah)
Well the worms eat away but don't worry watch the wind
So I left Monatana on an old freight train (on an old freight train)
The night my father died in the cold cold rain (in the cold cold rain)
Road to Opelousas, road to Wounded Knee
Road to Ogallala home I'll never be
Road to Oklahoma, road to El Cahon
Road to Tahachapi, road to San Antone
Hey, hey
Road to Opelousas, road to Wounded Knee
Road to Ogallala, home I'll never be
Road to Oklahoma, road to El Cahon
Road to Tahachapi, road to San Antone
Home I'll never be, home I'll never be
Home I'll never be, home I'll never be
Home I'll never be, home I'll never be
Dog Treat
Thanks, uh... You know uh, this is weird uh...
Most of us have dogs, allright? (applause)
I don't know if it's a local thing where I live, or if it's everywhere,
and I'm checking it with you because uh, I don't get in the area that
often and I'm just checking to see if...
There's a new kind of a dog treat. And uh (where I live) and they're
available in the pet store and for the longest time I just thought that
it was some kind of a prank. Or uh...
I wasn't really sure what it was, until I read the label on the back and it said "Bull Penis" (laughter).
I was a little shocked! I know you can get just about ANYTHING in this world.
You can get a whale's pancreas if you'd want one! I can get you one! (laughter)
But com'on, a bull's penis! How busy they were their whole lives.
And they throw it to a dog, like that, for a snack! (laughter)
Now, are they available here in the Los Angeles area? They are, aren't they?
Doesn't that make you a little weazy?
Makes you wanna live a long time.
And on the back, on the bottom it said: "100% natural"!
I mean... that's the part that really got me. And it said: "A Real Meat Snack".
There's just no dignity in that. Uh, anyway...
The other thing is that they're 36 inches long! (laughter).
They're so long they had to cut them into bite-size portions.
And then they take two of them and braid them together.
I know, I know! I never want it done. But uh...
This is a song written for Gregory Peck for his dating my mom...
That's a lie!
Missing My Son
I was in a line at the supermarket the other day, and uhm... y'know, I
had all my things on the little conveyor belt there. And uh... there's
a gal in front of me that is uh.. well, she's staring at me and I'm
getting a little nervous and uh, she continues to stare at me. And I
uh, I keep looking the other way. And then, finally she comes over
closer to me and she says: "I apologise for staring, that must have
been annoying. I, I... You look so much like my son, who died. I just
can't take my eyes off you." And she precedes to go into her purse and
she pulls out a photograph of her son who'd died. And uh, he looks
absolutely nothing like me. In fact he's... Chinese. Uh... anyway, we
chatted a little bit. And uh, she says: "I'm sorry, I have to ask you.
Would you mind, as I leave the supermarket here, would you mind saying
"Goodbye mom" to me? I, I know it's a strange request but I haven't
heard my son saying "Goodbye mom" to me, and "So long" and it would
mean so much to me to hear it. And uh, if you don't mind I... " And I
said: "Well, you know, okay, yeah, sure. Eh.. uh... I can say that."
And, and so, she uh gets her groceries all checked out. And uh, as
she's going out the door she waves at me and she hollers across the
store: "Goodbye son!" And I look up and I wave and I say: "Goodbye
mom!" And then she goes, and uh... So I get my few things there, on the
conveyor belt and the checker checks out my things. And uh, and he
gives me the total and he says: "That'll be four hundred and seventy
nine dollars." Uh... and I said: "Well, how is that possible! I've only
got a little tuna fish, and uh some skimmed milk, and uh mustard and a
loaf of bread..." He goes: "Well, well you're also paying for the
groceries for your mother. She uh, told me you'd take care of the bill
for her." And I said: "Well, wait a minute! That's not my mother!" And
he says: "Well I distinctly heard her say as she left the store "Bye
son!" and you said "Bye mom!" and so what are you trying to say here,
uh..." I said: "Well, JESUS!" And I looked out into the parking lot and
she was just getting into her car. And I ran out there. And she was
just closing the door, and she had a little bit of her leg sticking out
of the door and she was pulling away and I grabbed her leg and I
started PULLING it! Just the way... I'm pulling yours...
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