83 reviews ryan adams p. 52
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kate bush p. 56
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bill orcutt p. 58
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supreme dicks p. 60
Dog Day Afternoon
T
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kurt vile p. 61
Tom Waits delivers his best album since 1985’s Rain Dogs
creepers and the weepers, the keepers (Bone Machine, of cool—either you know it or you don’t, and after 20 Mule Variations) minus the sleepers (Alice, Black Rider). albums, if you still have to ask, you’ll most likely never We start off on a runaway know. Me? I’m a lifer. True story: Back in college I borrowed 1985’s downtown train, careening through the slaughterhouses Rain Dogs from the public library and got so lost in its lurid tales and gin joints of “Chicago.” of the depraved, the derelict and the dispossessed camping on the Then we’re wading through Tom Waits wrong side of the tracks in Reagan’s Morning In America that I the fevered, hoodoo swamps of “Raised Right Man.” On “Evdidn’t return it for a year and a half. erybody’s Talking At The Same When I finally brought it back, I was banned Time,” we’re tooling down the before—the-piano’s-beenAnt ifor life. All told, it was worth it. I mention all lost highway of some forgotdrinkin’ drollery of the Asythis because Bad As Me sounds like a wellum years and the cinematic ten David Lynch movie in a come echo of Rain Dogs’ spellbinding urban sweep and lump-in-yourvintage convertible with tail magic realism. Both albums are fulcrums throat sentimentalism of the Coppola sound- fins and Laura Dern and Nicolas Cage fucktrack years—with all that comes after: the ing in the backseat. “Get Lost” sounds like effortlessly balancing all that has come
om Waits has become the secret handshake
Bad As Me
photo by jesse dylan
magnet
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