There’s an odd contradiction when it comes to the avant-garde – a word that I’m very much comfortable giving to Rain Dogs – and the odd, especially when it pertains to popular music. It’s a music that starts off abrasive, seemingly uninviting, a means to distance from the pack. But just like the comfortable bosom of which the eerily Waits looking photographer lies into, it soon becomes welcoming because it is more hospitable to those who feel among the outcasts and strange. Ironically the final line from Rolling Stones’ outlying negative review serves as the biggest positive I could think: that “until Waits can leash that impulse [of nosing through the barrooms and back alleys] more successfully, he’ll have to be content to remain on the margins with his subjects.” Well with the brilliance of Rain Dogs I more than welcome King Waits to his throne.
Rain Dogs cover is in colour and placement a reaction to similar covers by Elvis (debut album) and The Clash (London Calling), and whilst the music of Rain Dogs would never claim to escape rock and roll and blues there is also something Punk Rock to this album; unable to sit still, full of an inviting wickedness and chocked to the brim with short burst of creativity (also, like most long lasting punk bands, Waits got tired of his initial style quite quickly). It builds on the promise of Swordfishtrombones, being more sprawling, full of more variety, and yet somehow focused and full of propulsion. Despite being 19 songs and 54 minutes this album never lets up.
This album may distinguish itself in the Waits catalogue by being the first from New York City (an influence that does become apparent), but as the first track makes clear Waits is not satisfied in a single location. “Singapore” is quite similar to previous album opener “Underground” aesthetically, with the marimba as lead instrument but the horns being replaced by guitar, and the surrealities of Wait’s lyrics manifest themselves stronger here than ever before, with descriptions to “making feet for children’s shoes” and “dangling from a rope of sand.” Then, like Swordfishtrombones, it moves into a track that is more of a soundscape with “Clap Hands,” starting off in “a broken clock” with bells ringing and then feeling lost in time. Will smooth electric and acoustic guitars complementing and clashing, this dreamy track builds upon that feel by referencing “they all went to heaven in a little row boat” from New York native Lincoln Chases’ “Clapping Song” (I’ll admit that, until this week, my ignorant self thought that was just a line from Radiohead’s “Pyramid Song).
“Cemetery Pokla” certainly lives up to its title, sounding almost from beyond the grave as Waits describes his grotesque extended family. The guitars to the back end of this track go absolutely crazy, and the way that cymbal crashes act like perverse rimshots to the jokey descriptions of Mistresses with wooden legs and uncles who never keep it in their pants gives this track almost Beetlejuician mannerisms. The Latino enthused “Jockey Full is Bourbon” is also full of death (and, incidentally, used greatly in the Down By Law soundtrack along with other Rain Dogs songs) and has a great thriller of a guitar riff supplied by the as not yet mentioned great Marc Ribot, a man who would become an integral key in Wait’s sound (appearing on at least half of future records). “Tango Till They’re Sore” begins with a delightfully off key piano that moves into a tango that is as evocative as it is unclear of location. There are references to New Orleans, but the Tango has its routes in Europe. I think, though, that having specific details would ruin much of the mystique. As Tom says: “I’ll tell you all my secrets/ But I lie about my past.”
“Big Black Mariah” contains yet another guitar legend, although one you likely all know. Even if I didn’t know the Keith Richards had rented his skills (and likely his narcotic intake) to Waits’ festivities, I could have sensed something by Richard’s trademark guitar sound; hating the sixth string and leaving chords hanging in the air. Tom Waits also brings out some of his “crazy voice” on the beginning of this track, something he reserves for special occasions. After this we get to the more eerie and dreamy with the percussive “Diamonds and Gold,” referencing again how he is as mad as a hatter and the carnivalistic rhythm dictates a story of green meadows and rusty nails.
The last two songs on Side One are also the most, shall we say, “normal” sounding songs on the whole record. The first song “Hang Down Your Head”, like “Jersey Girl,” can be attributed to his lovely co-writer wife. Although there are no “sha la las” here, there are some bright sounding guitars and organs that give this a bit of lushness without resorting to strings. The second song is an all-time Tom Waits classic and a return to his folkier side, “Time”. Some of the amazing descriptions in this song, like “the shadow boys are breaking all the laws” and “History puts a saint in every dream” makes this so close to sounding like a Leonard Cohen songs, though the organ, electric guitar backing and, crucially, Wait’s more vulnerable than usual make this uniquely his (the Big Time version of this song is probably my favourite version).
After ending Side One on such a sombre note, Side Two returns to the circus with the title track, introduced in typical Waitsian fashion by kickass accordion solo. Then we return to the “broken clock” of “Clap Hands” with a guitar that sounds like it was fashioned by its parts. The marimbas and trombones all build on each other in this Kurt Weill style insanity that tells the story of those like Tom who are “Rain Dogs,” with their territories washed away and everyone is looking for shelter. We then fade out comfortably from that track and are abruptly shifted in the minute long “Midtown” instrumental. Definitely different in town to “Downtown,” this sounds like the product of Charles Mingus and an eighties cop show having a demented to child. But as we get to this, in only a minute we are thrust to another tone, of a modernist nightmare sound of pianos and bowed saw. Frank is back in another tale, this time from the first person, in “9th & Hennepin,” with another darkly comic tale with details like the donuts having the names of prostitutes (hell of an opener) and a woman who has a teared tattoo, one for each year, that is now much darker having it spoken to us by Frank himself instead of at a distance. This most jarring of sections completes itself with “Gun Street Girl” a banjo led blues song that sounds like it has been written in the cells of whose jail bars are currently being banged upon.
“Union Love” sees the lovely return of Keith Richard (for the next song too), some saxophones, and the continuation of the metallic percussion as we get one of the straightest rock songs of Rain Dogs . It feels like a ride along, Although, as a lyrics indicate, we are likely being held hostage. Whilst “Union Love” is the most traditional rock, “Blind Love” is the most traditional country sounding song on the record, even down to the lyrics of a man torn by a woman not recognising their love. Probably my least favourite on the album for that reason, as the lyrics on this one are a bit more basic and repetitive, though this is definitely more a process of elimination. Back to a rockier tune for “Walking Spanish,” a song which I think is again supposed to be in jail as Tom fills the song with euphemistic language that might take a fair time to decipher. All I know is that bassline is certainly “walking Spanish.”
The ending to this album is likely to be the strongest of his whole catalogue (maybe only bar one). It begins with its most popular hit “Downtown Train,” an extraordinary rock track whose guitars are as smooth as Tom Waits is rough. It is definitely Rain Dogs most poppy track, though if all pop was this good there would be no complaining, and also acts as a good matching point to the railway and the carnival that have been throughout this record and are both messaged here. And Rod Stewart got a top ten with this song…hey, he could hear a classic when he heard it (surprised Springsteen didn’t cover this one, though). Then, after the short and strange “Bride of Rain Dog” interlude – appropriate title, considering how much this short piece sounds like it could soundtrack a silent horror film – we end with what is probably my favourite song from the album. A big part of that is the New Orleans style funeral music, a sad and grand bye with its swelling brass and then switching to straight jazz. But the other crucial element is how Waits just goes to (down)town on his voice, to the point of hysterics, bringing with it such dramatic imagery: head spinning, setting fire to the Thames, and having gold in your pockets yet only wanting to live where you lay down. It’s Waits at his least specific, but in an absolutely unstrange way I know exactly what he is trying to convey. It would be a truly sad ending if you weren’t going to go back and start the whole thing again anywhere.
Rain Dogs is a masterpiece, a sprawling epic of killer and nothing I would call “filler”, and stands as a pillar of experimental rock; if I was making music right now, this would be the stuff I want to make, but I just don’t have the power and unique heft that only Waits’ voice can bring. It would be my all-time favourite Waits’ album if there wasn’t one album that appealed to my own sensibilities just an inkling more (being deliberately vague until we get there). Tom Waits got mid-way into the eighties having made a seminal record. But Frank’s still got to complete his trilogy.
What did you think of the album, though?
Tom Waits Album Rankings
- Rain Dogs
- Swordfishtrombones
- Heartattack and Vine
- Small Change
- Blue Valentine
- Closing Time
- Nighthawks at the Diner
- The Heart of Saturday Night
- Foreign Affair