Chameleons in Music

Ah, the chameleons in the world of rock music.  Chameleons in the best sense preempt environment changes.  If the winds of music are going one way, the chameleon was, in all likelihood, there first.  But they ceaselessly reinvent themselves to the point where to try to describe the artist in one word, or even a sentence (or a paragraph, or so on and so forth...) is a fruitless exercise.  There are only a couple of chameleons in rock music that are of note, and I think it's necessary to at least examine each chameleon in some sort of detail or length.  These two are Bob Dylan and David Bowie, and they both have led stellar careers where each milestone coincides with some sort of reinvention and/or landmark work that either pioneered a genre or proved to be that genre's finest work.

But really, which image would best describe "Bob Dylan" as the man?  You'd be hard-pressed to pick one picture and say "That there is everything Bob Dylan was."

He was a folk revivalist, a neo-folkie who brought the genre back into the popular consciousness pushed its boundaries in form.  He then forsook folk for more fertile territories by going electric, infusing the ferocity of rock with a lyrical inventiveness that has never been replicated since.  But then he became "the lonesome hobo" and then a country crooner.  And then, in the wake of his marriage, became the epitome of lovesick and in one fell swoop created the "confessional singer-songwriter" genre, all while penning a classic album that simply is the best breakup album of all time, if not standing tall as one of the greatest records, ever.  Next he found himself and became born again.  That didn't last, though, as he changed his colors and became the world-weary, grizzled old wise man that he is today.

In every sense, he either invented the genre (neo-folk), or proved to produce the finest records in whatever genre he happened to be in at the time (Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde On Blonde, among the rest of them).  Perhaps you could make an argument that in strict terms of music, you'd be hard-pressed to find a genre that Bobby D actually invented for himself.  But I think that there's almost no such thing as a completely "new" genre: it's built from the blocks of older genres and appropriated and given a fresh new light, which is what Bob Dylan did.

Regardless, just by looking through the previous paragraph that condenses a 40 or so year career into a paragraph probably does Bob Dylan oodles of grave injustices.  No man has ever been as slippery as Bob Dylan.  Hard to get a hold of, because he is, and hard to get a hold of because he has changed too many times to account, to keep up with the times as they changed around him.\

Now, I could have also picked from a ton of possible photos for David Bowie, but of all the ones I could choose, I prefer this photo, as I wanted to avoid using the album cover for Low at every turn (because really, I would have no problem with that).  But David Bowie has led almost as long as a career as Bob Dylan, with almost as many twists and turns, which were arguably more drastic than Dylan's.

First plumbing psychadelic folk, Bowie later turned to glam rock, which later became a brief foray into soul and R&B before he went entirely experimental and avant-garde with the so-called "Berlin Trilogy," a classic landmark.  After "retreating" a bit into more accessible music for a long while, Bowie turned to electronica before basically spending his time reinventing his legacy.

While at first it doesn't seem like as many twists and turns as Dylan's career was, Bowie's were undoubtedly more revolutionary.  Bowie essentially invented glam rock with Hunky Dory and the Ziggy Stardust record.  He also pioneered the use of electronics in music and essentially helped form post-punk and New Wave with his "Berlin Trilogy."  Those achievements alone are astounding, but when taken in the context that it was all basically done by one man, who had either the wits or just the fleeting sense of creativity to change his musical appearance so drastically, then this proposition becomes mind-blowing.  Most artists spend their lives daydreaming about inventing genres and becoming a pervasive influence in music; David Bowie spent most of his time, well, inventing genres and becoming a pervasive influence in music.

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And so, there you have it.  They're a little brief, but I hope you get the gist of it.  Dylan and Bowie were both quintessential chameleons: they never remained in a state of stasis for very long in their careers, as either they just kept on changing to their environment or actually creating a new environment around them.  Because of their successes in their changes, they both have had lasting influences in rock music and have both created, together, at least 50 records that must be heard before a person dies.  That's pretty damn impressive, right?

This Record Probably Should Have Been Released...

...33 years ago.  So, released 2008 shoulda been 1975.

This record is like, Bruce Springsteen.  No, really.  The frontman, Brian Fallon, sounds like the Boss himself, except minus the growl and tear that develops in the Boss's singing.

But that's not really only it.  Both the Gaslight Anthem and the Boss utilize the same themes, perhaps recycled a whole lot, but still just as powerful: songs about late night films, old cars, the whole bit.  So why am I writing about this record, when I could be writing about the Boss himself?

Well, first off I don't feel like addressing the Boss himself yet.  That'll be later.  But this is a damn good record.  One reviewer put it this way (credit is due, yeah?):

Bruce Springsteen went and saw the Ramones once, and was inspired to write his hit, "Hungry Heart," which he was going to give to them.  But his manager, I think, wanted Bruce to keep it, because Bruce had often given away #1 hits.  Lo and behold, he kept it, and his first #1 hit.  But what if he had went ahead and given it to the Ramones?

And if the Ramones were doing Bruce, that's sort of what the Gaslight Anthem would sound like.  They're technically a punk band, but they don't sing "punk" in the typical sense: not like the Sex Pistols with the nihilism, not like the Clash with their activism.  They channel the furious roar of Bruce Springsteen, who rides a middle-class vibe.  Bruce's characters are sad and/or mad with their current position in society: they care about the situation they're in, but they're not going to create a riot over it...they will just cope the best they can and get the hell out of town.  Stories are carved through the stories of middle America.  That's what the Gaslight Anthem go for here.  So while they apparently play the whole Warped scene, they don't really fit at all.

And for all the imagery and lyric material that they plumb fearlessly, for all its almost cheesy language and abuse of clichés, it is not they are improperly applied.  Clichés are at their worst when applied poorly, or done without good intentions.  When Fallon sings on this record, you get a true sense of sincerity.  There's no sense of triteness, no sense of being sly, just all serious, all there.  When you hear him lift straight from Springsteen's "No Surrender," it feels like it belongs there.

For being such a modern record, its construction implies a much older age than, well, two years, give or take a bit.  There are no indicators of any sort of modernity: just the old way of going about it, pure muscle, feeling, integrity.  All the parts are simple enough, which also evokes those days closely following and around Springsteen's Born to Run era.  So that's why this record should have really been released back then.  But since it's here and not there, it's a brilliant and nostalgic trip back to those days.

Record for the Ages: David Bowie - Low

When most people think of David Bowie, they think of the Ziggy Stardust character he created, or him just being a weird guy.  Like, a really weird guy.  I don't blame them.  Ziggy is by far his most popular record, and David Bowie was weird back then (I am actually of this opinion too, but in a more...accepting manner).  But when I think of David Bowie, I think of this work of staggering proportions, Low: masterful, and groundbreaking.

That is not really to say that Low necessarily blazed the trail; in fact, Iggy Pop's the Idiot did it first.  But, for those familiar with the album, David Bowie had a heavy influence and guiding hand in the musical direction of the record.  In fact, outside of a couple of cuts, Bowie wrote the music to the Idiot.  Bowie's work on his friend's record allowed him to pursue his goals on Low with greater courage, dexterity, and awareness, therefore making this the far superior selection.

Much of Low's success can be attributed therein to his collaborator on the record, Brian Eno.  Eno has always been one of those unique figures in rock and roll.  Few know of his existence, but his influence is beyond widespread.  Besides his solo records which are avant-garde and experimental, Eno's producing and collaborative work itself reads like a best-of list of all the artists, such as:

Talking Heads - More Songs About Building and Food, Fear of Music, Remain In Light

U2 - The Unforgettable Fire, The Joshua Tree, Achtung Baby

Devo - Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!

David Byrne and Brian Eno - My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today

among countless others.

For one reason or another, working with Eno seems to elevate the quality of everything he touches...perhaps his challenges to rock conventions challenge the artist to be more, or maybe it is some insane sort of coincidences that align the full blossoming of an artist and their collaborator/producer in Eno towards one goal.  Regardless, while Bowie is still Bowie here, we can say that Eno probably pushed the record further into greatness than what could have been expected without him.

Low is also a peculiar beast in its sequencing.  Side B is entirely instrumental, while the songs on Side A are actually sandwiched between two instrumentals.  Side B is also cold, bleak, and desolate while Side A cultivates a brighter, warmer sound as it gleefully bounces around from thought to thought.  In a great sense, the songs present on Side A are not really songs, per sé, but more or less similar to the "art songs" of the classical genre of music.  Though instead of painting a story within the span of a shortened song (all less than four minutes long), Bowie instead often improvised lyrics that paint surreal pictures rather than clearly illustrate a story: how else can the bizarre lyrics to "Breaking Glass" be interpreted?

Side A, beginning with "Speed of Life," is filled with these "art songs," whose length per track is actually beneficial to the organization of the work as a whole.  While some tracks seem like strange cast-offs given their short length, if fully fleshed out and given length, my impression is that they would also lose their power.  The strength of Side A is the way it flits from picture to picture as if time is precious.  To move through Side A is to move through a powerful set of songs that pull at the gut and strain the brain as they all come by in quick and dizzying succession.  The strangely glittering parts to "Sound and Vision" is a particular delight, with its main recourse, "waiting for the gift of sound and vision," alluding to Bowie's search for both musical and artistic zen (as he was getting back into art once again).

Side B is the other side of the coin, the other half of Low.  Whereas Side A plumbed a brighter existence, Side B was the barren half that more closely resembled a futuristic leap into the depths of space (though I would argue that the tracks would fit very well with the plight of the commoner in the USSR, as evidenced by the titling of "Warszawa").  Through four dirge-like and languid instrumentals, Bowie paints a dark image: sometimes funeral-esque, sometimes sounding almost lost; but in a sense, as the saxophone finally drifts off at the end of "Subterraneans," and the outcome is unknown, the end is somehow fitting.  Bowie was just escaping the icy clutch of an addiction to cocaine, and his sense of insecurity about the future is somehow reflected on Side B.

Low is a record that stands tall with the best of them.  In my personal opinion, this record is an easy shot within a top fifty records of all time list, and I'd be even more inclined to include it on a top twenty(-five) records of all time list.  And while initially I scoffed at Pitchfork's placement of this record over London Calling as the best record of the 1970s, after many plays, I can see why they chose Low: it's quite simply a groundbreaking record, whose incorporation of avant-garde and electronic influences was unprecedented, forward-looking and still familiar at the same time.

Apparently, much of the instrumental material that appears on Low was written (at least primitively) by Bowie as the soundtrack for a movie he acted in, the Man Who Fell to Earth.  They were rejected by the director, as the rumor is that the director wanted a more folk direction with it.  I wonder how that guy feels now, knowing he passed up a masterpiece.

Debut Records...Debuting the New Decade!

Debut records from bands have always been given a sort of free pass; if it’s not fully formed, or if their sound isn’t quite discovered and is rather cliché, it’s passed off as the band simply not being there yet...and the band gets a bit of a freebie in that area.  A decent debut is considered about equivalent to a good second or third record (perhaps only the latter, as the second record is always, always the hardest to create, so in that sense a slightly less than decent second record is equivalent to the decent debut and good third record).

But me?  I’m better than that.  Sort of.  When a record is presented, that is the perfect time to present a cohesive vision branded with a group’s unique sound.  Any sense of derivation is perhaps allowed, but looked down upon with some degree of severity.  A group’s debut is not as if the band just formed yesterday and are recording immediately.  Most group’s debuts come a couple years down the road, so the group does have enough time to put something reasonable to release as a record.

This is not to say that the development of a group’s sound must have occurred only before their debut.  Change is necessary in a group’s sound; stagnation throughout a career is a surefire way to make an early exit.  Bands, groups, or artists with chameleonic careers (i.e. the Beatles, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Talking Heads) have always been the most interesting, most groundbreaking, and the best catalogues.

The impression is that a debut record should be treated differently than a record farther down the line.  In some sense that is true, but on the greater whole, a record is still, well, a record.  So it must be good, first off.  Then the rest of the process is merely just making sure a record is just their first record.  In compiling a “best debut records” list, one can promote or demote good records beyond the normal criteria of a “good” record, to include the elements described above, strictly concerning cohesiveness of sound and lyric.  In addition, a good debut can be groundbreaking: forging a new sound that is copied earns that particular debut record brownie points in my book.

And, well, this is what I’ve done (surprise, surprise).  Without further ado:

1. The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground & Nico

Did you seriously expect any other result?  As a record, it stands tall as a titanic feat of achievement.  Absolute perfection in every facet of its existence, from the childish sounds of the celeste ringing in “Sunday Morning” to the cacophony that ends the record on “European Son.”  The same raw sound permeates the record, both forecasting punk as the first proto-punk record and the avant-garde experimentalism that would become the norm for any band seeking some sort of “credentials.”  For what it’s worth, this record is fast becoming a personal favorite of mine, and if I were to definitely construct a top records of all time (eventually, I will get around to it), this would be in the top ten, and perhaps even shaking up what once was, in my mind, a top five list (which has been discussed earlier at length).

2. The Sex Pistols - Never Mind the Bollocks

No, you have not heard me talk about this record before.  But yes, it is necessary to hear.  The Sex Pistols were the opposite side of punk compared to the Clash.  The Clash were activists in every sense, aiming to right the wrongs of the world with violence, if perhaps necessary.  The Sex Pistols, though, embodied the rampant nihilism of the genre, which acknowledged the dour state of affairs but simply refused to do anything about it, choosing to self-destruct rather than destroying the existing system.  This record is ranked above my beloved Clash mostly because the rampant nihilism had wider implications on the whole of rock music; while certainly there were a good amount of politi-punk bands running around, the lion’s share of the punk bands chose to be nihilists rather than activists.  That is not to say that this record is not as good as the Clash’s debut or, given argument, as good as London Calling.  Never Mind the Bollocks is quite simply one of the two finest punk rock records of all time.  And, mind you, one of the finest records of all time.

3. Television - Marquee Moon

I’ve talked about this record at length.  But it is incredible to note that the feat of achievement that Marquee Moon is it is a debut record.  It sounds as both a coming shot of perhaps what is to come but it also sounds like a final salvo of virtuosic bliss and the potential of post-punk, which, unfortunately, did not last as long as it could have.  The guitars weave in and out like swords in a dance of death, both perfectly moving in unison and creating a force perfectly complemented by the propulsive force of the rhythm section, which still recalls punk in many ways.

4. Joy Division - Unknown Pleasures

And another record I have talked about at length already.  This record is not only brilliant, but its application of atmospherics can be considered key to a whole host of genres, both in and out of rock music: dubstep, alternative rock, among others, owe a great deal to the path that Joy Division paved with this record.  Part of it is that you feel the record to the greatest degree; the application of such atmospherics means that the fading in of the album itself chills to the bone, and until the final track fades, you are in the merciless grip of Joy Division’s melancholia that is truly affecting.

5. The Clash - The Clash

As I mentioned earlier, this is the flip side to the Sex Pistols.  The activism and desire for change here are contagious, and undoubtedly around the time this record was released, many did probably go out and start their own “white riot.”  They saw the decay in their country and wanted to change it.  This record is considerably more raw than the Sex Pistols’ record.  That was likely a conscious decision by both parties.  The fact is, though, the Clash’s record perhaps embodies more of the “simplicity” inherent that had defined punk: keeping it simple...stupid.  The Clash seems to essentially be a live record: a testament to the righteous fury that punk was capable of.  The Clash perhaps chose the right route through activism, as the Sex Pistols combusted soon after their debut record, concerning “career opportunities” (I am terribly sorry for these puns, so I will blame it on the jet lag).  Regardless, this fact is a masterpiece of raw power, and it undoubtedly went on the influence many.

From there, the list really goes nowhere at all.  You can list them, but from this juncture it degenerates into an absolute mess of arguments without a clear set of rankings, unlike above.  What I would consider as other great debut records:

Pavement - Slanted and Enchanted
The Beatles - Please Please Me
Elvis Costello - My Aim Is True
Arcade Fire - Funeral
The Strokes - Is This It
R.E.M. - Murmur
Tom Waits - Closing Time
The Replacements - Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash
Weezer - Weezer
The Avalanches - Since I Left You

Immortality in Rock Music

There are certain figures regarded as immortal in rock music. To name a few:

Jimi Hendrix
Jim Morrison
John Lennon
Bob Marley
Ray Charles
Marvin Gaye
George Harrison
Kurt Cobain
Joe Strummer
Johnny Cash
Stevie Ray Vaughn
John Bonham
Elliot Smith
Keith Moon

and the like. I don't necessarily agree with some inclusions (I'm not sold on Morrison and Cobain, for starters), but for all intents and purposes those are commonly known "immortals" in rock music. What holds these together? They're all dead. And this leads me to my first Immutable Law in Rock Music:

"
To be truly immortal in Rock Music, one must die.
"

Of course, this makes zero sense at first. If you're dead, how are you alive? You're no longer making music. But take a look. Posthumous careers for many of these careers have either overshadowed or recharged some careers. I'm going to pull a different example than some of the people I listed above to prove my point: Ian Curtis of Joy Division.

Joy Division were not really well known when Curtis died. They were on the rise, but not really at that point yet where they got it "good." And then, poof! Ian Curtis, gone from the world. And then everyone discovered "Love Will Tear Us Apart," and the landmark records Unknown Pleasures and Closer. Then, all of a sudden, Joy Division were kind of a big deal. This allowed New Order (the rest of Joy Division) to get a head start, and has furthermore led to reissues, reprintings, and box sets of Joy Division's work. If Ian Curtis had died, would Joy Division have been big? Sure. Would they have been as big as they are now had Ian Curtis died? Arguably, no. Ian Curtis' death casts a long shadow over the melancholia that permeates every Joy Division song. In light of his depression and epilepsy, Joy Division records and songs gain a whole backstory and a whole new meaning. Divorced from their meaning, the songs are quite obviously powerful, muscular, and constantly effecting, but with this meaning every Joy Division song becomes a tour de force that simply obliterates the listener when heard.

The context of death makes everything about the artist more striking, granting the band/artist an aura that is impossible to penetrate. To elaborate on the above example, Ian Curtis, on his dying day, watched a Herzog film, put on Iggy Pop's the Idiot, and then hung himself. Curtis has attained a sort of mysticism due to that. Marvin Gaye was shot by his father, John Lennon was assassinated, while Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix died due to overdoses. They're all now seen with a sort of reverence, an air of the mystic thanks to their deaths.

Each person who has died in the midst of their career has, in a sense, gained a sort of "impenetrable fog" that protects them from any sort of heated criticism and guarantees them a favorable standing in the world of rock music. I'm not saying it's undeserved. Lennon obviously deserves the "impenetrable fog"; his work with the Beatles, Plastic Ono Band and Imagine are all stone-cold classics and monoliths in rock music, and as an activist his edge has been unmatched. But Walls and Bridges? Some Time In New York City? Neither record is much better than mediocre, in my humble opinion. But his death erased any sort of criticism that could be levied against him.

This is why I'm inclined to believe Paul McCartney often suffers in critic circles: he's still around, he's still pounding it out, but either because he's been oft considered as the "soft" Beatle or because of his long career which has led to a fair number of duds to go alongside his many, many studs, he's likely the least respected Beatle (though perhaps Ringo also is given this same title). Now of course, saying someone is the least-respected Beatle is saying the fourth-most respected artist of all time, but that's neither here nor there. John Lennon has two (to three, depending on your level of scathing) duds to go alongside his studs. Granted, it's folly to extrapolate a career and look at sample sizes to examine careers of rock musicians, but it should be duly noted.

I'm also not ragging against John Lennon. Let me make that clear. John Lennon is the fucking man. I observe his birthday and his dying day every year. I don't take the day off, but for that whole day, John Lennon, everything he did and everything he stood for is always on my mind. But his death has granted him a place in the hallowed hall of rock immortals, perhaps given a slightly easier screening process than others. As have countless others, for better or for worse.

If you look at the ripples caused by a musician's death, the effect is pretty obvious. At least nowadays, the artist in question is rewarded with many, many posthumous awards and accolades. George Harrison was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame shortly after his death. Ray Charles won a whopping eight Grammies from his record, Genius Loves Company, which was released two months after his death. Johnny Cash's American IV won a few CMA's and his rendition of "Hurt" absolutely slayed everyone and reaped some rewards soon after he passed (myself included...but his rendition of "Hurt" is great regardless of the circumstances).

The general rule? In rock music, sometimes it's better to die than to live. It doesn't make any sense, really, but it's true. It's truly a peculiar phenomenon. But it's observable. To refuse to acknowledge its existence is shortsighted. It's not talked about a lot...but it's there. Sort of like a dirty little secret. It's also something that should never be wished on someone. Death for the profit of afterlife. Perhaps it is the manifestation of "what could have been?" had they continued to be around; continued to be the great musicians they were.

Key, though, is to enjoy the careers that these immortals have brought us before their dying breath. In this sense, each album is worth more because there are less albums around. So it's therefore to critical to enjoy each landmark work each immortal brings us, to listen and bask in its eternal glory.

Record of the Moment: Iggy Pop - Lust for Life

Somehow, it is hard to imagine that the cheeky young fellow who appears on this record cover to be the same gaunt-faced man who gave the death stare on the cover of Raw Power. It doesn't seem to add up. Here, the dude is happy. Look at that smile. The man on the cover of Raw Power looks like he wants to tear your throat out and eat it in front of your children. And just look at the title of each record: Lust for Life against Raw Power. One implies positivity, the other implies negativity.

But that's where Iggy Pop ended up. After the royal collapse of the Stooges, and a stint in the hospital, Iggy Pop was back in business. He'd cleaned up, essentially (though this probably isn't totally true). But the glaring difference between the cover of the last Stooges and the cover for this record sort of perpetuates that myth. And in some sense, the music is a little lighter. By no means does this mean Iggy Pop went "lite" on the populace. Nope. I don't think Iggy Pop would be caught dead going "lite," because that is simply the way Iggy Pop is.

Compared to the Idiot, the previous release, Lust for Life is a return to form for Iggy Pop. Personally, in my historical pursuits as a rock scholar, I consider the Idiot to be a sort of half-Bowie, half-Pop record. It's obviously still Iggy. But the music is obviously a predecessor to Bowie's groundbreaker, Low. Therefore, the Idiot is sort of the lost brother to Bowie's trilogy (I'd argue that the Idiot should be included in the "trilogy"; thus expanding the concept into a "quadrilogy"). Some people disown the Idiot for its Bowie-ness. I refuse to do so, personally. Regardless, Lust for Life showed that Pop still not only had his own lyrical edge, but his edge as a musician.

The drums that kick off the record instantly blow open your mind. It's big, it's huge, and instantly memorable (and apparently easily sullied and stained: I'm looking at you, Jet). And then it kicks into gear. The younger and angrier Iggy Pop is largely missing; here instead is an older, wiser Iggy Pop, who knows better now that he's escaped his vices. But of course, he still acknowledges their existence (see: "Some Weird Sin"), because who couldn't? Your vices haunt you forever. Iggy captures it perfectly; after all, of all the people who are familiar with self-destruction, Iggy Pop pretty much tops the list.

But this Iggy Pop is largely over that hill and out of that Hell, and he knows it. The way "Success" gleefully careens along, almost teetering on the edge of collapse but always steady...it's infectious. "The Passenger" is similarly enchanting, but not because it's necessarily a "happy" track; it's an Iggy Pop seemingly at peace. The barroom rock of "Turn Blue" is indicative of Iggy's still-present edge, both morbid and scathing in its attacks, but almost sarcastic in its musings. The track is a reference to Iggy Pop's previous struggles with drugs, as easily discerned, but for all anyone knows the implications are much wider.

While the music itself is nowhere near as ear-bleed-inducing as Raw Power is (which was intentional), that is not to say that Lust for Life is toothless. Tracks such as "Neighborhood Threat" prowl along menacingly, with Iggy Pop's voice of "doom," so to speak, going from its tremble-causing baritone to shattering screams and yelps in a heartbeat...all constantly affecting, if sometimes slightly grating (or very grating, depending on your disposition towards the singing abilities of Iggy Pop). The funk-tinged (most Bowie-like) romp, "Fall in Love with Me" stomps along in a marvelous fashion, with Iggy half-crooning the title line over a contagious groove that is hard to deny.

I could speak at length about every track, but I will stop here. Needless to say, Lust for Life is essential. Standing alone, the record is perfect. Its influence is widespread. Lust for Life is a perfect example of proto-punk. Perhaps not as "punk" as what is typically evinced (see: Sex Pistols and early Clash) but indicative of the spirit of punk...ever-restless. Not necessarily experimental or groundbreaking, but essentially free-spirited at its core.

The Man #4: Tom Waits

When I refer to "The Man," I refer to titans in my music world. Perhaps later they will warrant their own "The Man" entries (as you may have noticed, I am terribly ineffective when it comes to maintaining series outside of "Record of the Moment"), but there are three people who currently rank ahead of Mr. Waits:

1. Jeff Tweedy
2. Bob Dylan
3. Lou Reed

and one who ranks behind:

5. Joe Strummer

Given that this is my current list, it is subject to flux. However (and this is a potential next entry if I get around to it), Jeff Tweedy will always be my number one. See my second "Records of Great Influence" entry here for the tip of the iceberg regarding the debt I owe Mr. Jeff Tweedy. Or, if you prefer Stephen Colbert's name for the guy, Geoffrey Velvet. The rest are obvious. Dylan, Reed, and Strummer are immutable figures in rock music, gods among mortals like you and I. But Tom Waits is the oddball in this group.

And that's the way I'd describe Tom Waits to someone if they had never heard of him. He is a total oddball. But he's also far and away one of the best songwriters in the 20th century and beyond. But beyond that there's a necessary chasm between "early Waits" and "later Waits."

"Early Waits" is the barroom, lounge music Tom Waits. Pretty jazzy, a little simpler, heavily piano-based. "Later Waits" is probably the longer, more prolific period of Waits. Heavily based in old-school blues, delighting in peculiar instrumentation, peculiar percussion rhythms, it's basically the darker cousin of "early Waits." My description of later Tom Waits would go like this, since otherwise my description doesn't help:

"Imagine like walking into a real seedy bar in like the 20's or 30's and there's some bar band playing some strange burlesque, vaudevillian music. It sounds familiar, yet because of the way it's constructed, it sounds like the bastard child of Howlin' Wolf and the Devil."

The most obvious thing, though, is the voice. Early Tom Waits maintains a light barroom croon that sounds youthful and full. Later Tom Waits sounds world-weary, war-ravaged, dogged by the devil; ranging from a sort of sinister growl to a furious and explosive roar.

But that is not to say that "early Waits" is better than "later Waits" or vice versa. It's more of a "which Waits do I want to hear right now?" and it's there. Boom. Early Waits? I'll put on Closing Time, his superb debut. Later Waits? I'll put on his landmark Rain Dogs, his Grammy-winning Bone Machine, or even put on his mega-package Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, & Bastards. Or if I'm looking for a sort of "here is all of Tom Waits" sort of deal, I'll put on his most recent live record, Glitter and Doom Live.

Why is he one of "the Men"? Partially because he is such an oddball. How has the guy maintained a career playing this sort of music? Not because it's bad, because I love it all to death (or why else would I be writing this?). But commercially, it at first seems totally, totally suicidal. Totally anti-commercial, letting his music exist without being sullied by the post-industrial landscape that so often stains music through commercialism. It's a perfect recipe for disaster, when you look at the landscape now. Still, like the vagrants, the homeless, and the drunks that Tom Waits often writes about, he persists in spite of the changing tides of music. The man does what he wants, and that's one of the other things I love about him. Not about to bend to the will of any man. He plays what he wants. And, well, if you mess with him, he'll probably sue you too (Waits has a long history of suing people for wronging him). Well, if I messed with Tom Waits I'd probably deserve to be sued, too.

That's why I love Tom Waits. That's why he's my Man #4. This favorite quote of mine sums up Tom Waits extremely well, via Tom Waits himself:

"My kids are starting to notice I'm a little different from the other dads. 'Why don't you have a straight job like everyone else?' they asked me the other day. I told them this story: In the forest, there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. Every day, the straight tree would say to the crooked tree, 'Look at me...I'm tall, and I'm straight, and I'm handsome. Look at you...you're all crooked and bent over. No one wants to look at you.' And they grew up in that forest together. And then one day the loggers came, and they saw the crooked tree and the straight tree, and they said, 'Just cut the straight trees and leave the rest.' So the loggers turned all the straight trees into lumber and toothpicks and paper. And the crooked tree is still there, growing stronger and stranger every day."