Tom Waits
Blue Valentine

THE REVIEW

My father has an extensive vinyl collection, which he hardly ever listens to, but they remain well-kept nonetheless. The first album I heard on vinyl was "Absolutely Live" by the Doors, and I was particularly enchanted by the version of "Soul Kitchen." I went to buy it a few weeks later on CD, but the effect was not the same. The sound wasn't as warm and enveloping as it was on vinyl. Recently, I read some music books, and perhaps I understand why.

The point is that music is round, and to be transferred to CD, it must be squared. In this way, it loses some frequencies, and even if the result may seem the same to us (those frequencies we wouldn't hear anyway), in reality, something is missing, and the music loses body. That's why Stratovarius sounds so good on CD, while John Cale does not. It's a matter of vibrations.
Anyway, every morning, when my father goes to work, I rummage through his collection of records looking for something to listen to. And for a week now, I've been listening to and re-listening to "Blue Valentine" by Tom Waits, an album from 1978, with nocturnal atmospheres and still very jazzy (just after "Heartattack And Vine," Waits would begin his noise period). On that note, I've noticed that many critics start to give importance to Tom Waits's work only from "Swordfishtrombones" onwards, dismissing the first part of his career, shelving it under the label of retro or otherwise not innovative. But I find this work very warm and made very much from the heart. Starting with "Somewhere," a piece taken from the soundtrack of "West Side Story" and here presented in a typically Waitsian interpretation, with a vocal style that could anticipate that of Nick Cave. It follows "Red Shoes By The Drugstore," partially spoken and partially shouted, very nocturnal, with an intriguing rhythm characteristic of the more recent Tom Waits. A piano piece played with taste is the subsequent "Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis," which stylistically could also remind one of Petrucciani.

"Romeo Is Bleeding" is a crime story with apt images like "he'll die without a whimper, like every hero dreams, just an angel with a bullet and Cagney on the screen" and in terms of arrangements it's definitely the strong point of the album, with Jim Hughart's tireless bass weaving a formidable rhythmic foundation throughout the track and Frank Vicari's tenor sax solo. "$29.00" is a pause, relieving tension, a relaxing blues, preceding what is perhaps the most famous song on the album, the visionary "Wrong Side Of The Road." A text made mainly of non-sense, wandering through pure cut-up images "Strangle all the Christmas carols" and simple insults "Tell your folks they can kiss my ass." The result is very disorienting, with the music following Waits's excessively expressive singing step by step until the final verse "Wrong way..." which is repeated amid almost childish (ba-du-ba) cries shouted by a maniacal pervert. After this slow, the pace picks up with "Whistlin' Past The Graveyard," truly frantic, where the singing is raucous and sometimes even choked. We return to quieter grounds with "Kentucky Avenue," a truly tender song that makes a song like "A Sweet Bullet From A Pretty Blue Gun" utterly unpredictable, recited in a style akin to Iggy's in "Down In The Streets" (Fun House, 1970).

In closing, the title track, desperate in its execution (reduced to just 2 guitars) as well as in its lyrics, is enriched by a solo that reminds me of Paco De Lucia in spirit, though it is certainly far from his style; and by Waits's singing expressiveness, reaching its peak here without yelling or swearing. An album that might be boring for those without time, but those who don't have time shouldn't listen to music. The listening requires patience, it's true, but we are talking about an exquisitely played album, yet not "polished," and it is indeed a joy for the ears despite not being commercial at all.