| ....."Remember me...?" Slumped on a park bench, at the bottom of the social heap, the drunken
derelict turns his eyes to the heavens as the first flakes of snow begin to fall. "Remember me?
I ordered the blonde, the Firebird, the Alligator shoes... Somebody's made a terrible mistake." Nobody loves, or
understands, a loser quite as much as Tom Waits. For more than two decades, he has built up a
unique body of work. His songs catalogue the ill starred dreams and fleeting consolations of life
in that part of town dissected by the bus station, the bloodbank and the tattoo parlour,
describing his gallery of pimps, drunks and small town girls ensnared by vice in a voice bruised
by nicotine and alcohol and a musical style ranging from lounge jazz to vaudevillian polka.
........
America's most original storyteller. |
