A song by Tom Waits: well in as much as anything is sung by Tom. In fact those words strike fear into the ears of many people. Growled, snarled, howled and grunted, perhaps. But they're still afraid in spite of the warning. Well I don't go to church on Sunday, either. Anyway, regarding Tom Waits, a man who insists on making music that sends radio-station playlisters into hiding with pillows over their heads, I confess it. I love the cacophonous, junk-yard gospel rock that he makes. Oh I know that 'The Heart of Saturday Night' is a TRULY beautiful song, but... Listen,
'there's a secret in the rattle of prisoners' chains,
there's a rhythm in the odour from the jailhouse drains,
call on the bull, save the new caught fish,
eat the prison slops from a cracked brown dish.'
That's the best I can do to sum up what his music makes me feel.
Tom makes music with a junk-yard orchestra played through amps with broken speaker cones.
There are people who like this kind of thing. I'm one of them.
Listen, my book is different. There are markets for stuff that not everybody likes. You gonna remember Tom Traubert's Blues or a record by Steps when you're 85 years old?
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