Tom Waits pierces your heart when you least expect it. "Alice" immediately lulls you into a noir sea that seems straight out of Simenon's novels or perhaps from some smoky American metropolis, maybe Tom's own Los Angeles, and then the journey continues relentlessly, paced by the puffs of the train in "Everything You Can Think", heading towards Singapore (echoes of the masterpiece "Rain Dogs") and off-key accordions. Then there's a splendid, melancholic stop around "Flower's Grave", a ballad of the saddest Tom, and "No One Knows I'm Gone", a song of gray remoteness and solitude.
You set off again with the Brechtian schizophrenia of "Kommienezuspadt", so harsh that it's almost annoying, leading to the imaginative masterpiece (read the lyrics please) of "Poor Edward", one of those songs that no one could have written except Tom. The list could go on, but it wouldn't capture the theatrical effectiveness, because these are songs for the theater, and of course, the musicality that Tom Waits knows how to express. Instead, the journey continues through the "blues" story of "Table Top Joe", the recital of "Watch her disappear" etcetera etcetera, up to "Fawn".
If the journey interests you, you just need to sit back and let yourself be lulled. The train is about to depart. . . . . . . .
Alice is a jewel absolutely worthy of his catalog.
I'm still here, a very brief sketch that in less than two minutes says everything that needs to be said with touching delicacy and grace.