(And some of the songs are worth going back to.) B Fortunately, this one's long on patter-first live double in history where you skip the song to get to the next intro.
#Tom waits big in japan lyrics full
When he really works at evoking the swizzle-stick blues, Waits is so full of shit Port-O-San ought to name a model after him. I mean, there might be more coverable songs here if maudlin melodies didn't merge with neon imagery in the spindrift dirge of the honky-tonk nicotine night. This time he begins to sound like a Ferlinghetti imitator, and while nostalgia for past bohemias sure beats nostalgia for past wars, it's still a drain and a drag.
Last time he was an urban romantic with a good eye who you would have figured for a Ferlinghetti fan if you'd thought about it. He doesn't carry a tune as well as Newman, though, which gets to be an annoyance on side two. With his jazz-schooled piano and drawling delivery, he resembles Randy Newman more than such fellow inmates as Jackson Browne and David Blue-Newman feigns feelings for the purpose of mocking them, while Waits exploits an honest sentimentality which he undercuts just enough to be credible.
Waits has been around-one of the two songs that make this album is about driving home at dawn in a '55 Chevy, the other about contacting a girlfriend of forty years before.
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