Tom Waits : What’s He Building?

During the Christmas festivities a couple of balls of malt into a serious philosophical discussion a friend of mine suddenly asked – if you had the time to write another Blog not themed around music what topic would you choose?

The question took me aback but my answer was immediate and as surprising to me as it was to him.

’I would write a Blog called ‘Tom, Tom, Tom’ celebrating the wondrous achievements of those who share my forename including, of course, those Toms formally called Thomas, Tommy, Tomas and indeed Thom.

Toms have been prominent in every field of human endeavour throughout history so I’ll have no shortage of engaging subjects.

Here’s 10 off the top of my head :

Thomas The Apostle – How can we know the way?

Thomas Jefferson – “The equal rights of man, and the happiness of every individual, are now acknowledged to be the only legitimate objects of government.”

Thomas Hobbes – Because waking I often observe the absurdity of dreams, but never dream of the absurdities of my waking thoughts, I am well satisfied that being awake, I know I dream not; though when I dream, I think myself awake.

Thomas Hardy

At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead,
In a full-hearted evensong of joy illimited.

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt and small,
With blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

Tom Mix – King of The Cowboys, 291 Films and a violent death!

Tom Finney – A Football Genius : Tom Finney would have been great in any team, in any match and in any age .. even if he had been wearing an overcoat.”Bill Shankly.

Thomas Tallis – Listen to Spem in allium if you want a foretaste of the sound of Heaven.

Tommy Farr – The Tonypandy Terror who went the full 15 rounds with Joe Louis in his prime.

Thomas Sudhof – Nobel Prize Winner, Professor of molecular and cellular physiology.

Oh .. And Tom Waits – Singer, songwriter and performer  extraordinaire :

You won’t believe what Mr. Sticha saw
There’s poison underneath the sink
Of course…

But there’s also
Enough formaldehyde to choke
A horse…

What’s he building
In there.

What the hell is he
Building in there?

Tom. Tom. Tom.

Tom Waits whether he’s right or whether he’s wrong Lord ain’t we gonna miss him when he’s gone.

But, if you have created and curated one of the great songbooks you will never, ever, be gone.

Tom has studied the old masters – Hank Williams, Gershwin, Mississippi John Hurt, Kerouac, Hemingway, Bukowski, O’ Hara and Bob Dylan.

He has drunk deep of their influence and then mixed up a miraculous confection tipping the hat to them all while remaining obstinately and magnificently the one and only inimitable Tom Waits.

Ain’t no kind of song Tom can’t write.

Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards.

Drunk Songs.

Sober Songs.

Lullabys and Vampire Venom.

Philosophical Songs.

Sociological Songs.

Songs you won’t forget for the whole of your life.

Songs as innocent as dreams.

Songs as guilty as your worst waking nightmare.

Songs that, damn it, can make a grown man or woman break right down and cry.

Songs that make you scratch your head and then say with a grin – well I guess that’s true I know someone with a story just like that (often because it’s your story).

Songs that can spook you and give you the shivers.

What’s he building in there?
What the hell is he building in there?
*
He has subscriptions to those magazines
He never waves when he goes by
And he’s hiding something from the rest of us
He’s all to himself, I think I know why
*
Songs that are plain as day and cranky as Hell.
*
He took down the tire-swing from the pepper tree
He has no children of his own, you see
He has no dog, he has no friends
And his lawn is dying
*
Songs that betray a deep knowledge of the crooked timber of humanity.
*
And what about those packages he sends?
What’s he building in there?
With that hook light on the stairs
What’s he building in there?

I’ll tell you one thing, he’s not building a play
house for the children.
*
Songs that can make you laugh out loud one minute and silence you with dread the next.
*
Now what’s that sound from underneath the door?
He’s pounding nails into a hardwood floor
*
And I swear to God I heard someone moaning low
And I keep seeing the blue light of a TV show

He has a router and a table saw

What’s he building in there?
What the hell is he building in there?
*
I. heard he has an ex-wife in some place called Mayor’s Income, Tennessee
And he used to have a consulting business in Indonesia
*
Songs that Nobody else could write.
*
But what’s he building in there?
He has no friends but he gets a lot of mail
I bet he spent a little time in jail
*
I heard he was up on the roof last night, signaling with a flashlight
And what’s that tune he’s always whistling?
 
What’s he building in there?
What’s he building in there?
*
We have a right to know
*

Songs that Nobody else could write.

Nobody.

Nobody.

Tom. Tom. Tom.

Christmas Alphabet : A for Aaron Neville, 5 Blind Boys of Alabama & W H Auden

Home.

Home.

Home.

A drumbeat from the heart urging you back Home for Christmas.

For Aaron Neville Home is in Louisiana and he hymns it royally.

Wherever the Home that calls to your heart is I hope you make it there for Christmas.

Now for some mighty, mighty testifying from The Five Blind Boys of Alabama.

Tom Waits, a notable Jukebox favourite, adds his unmistakeable golden tones to add even more piquancy.

Go Tell It!

W. H. Auden was unquestionably a great Poet who combined enormous technical accomplishment with searching intelligence and wit.

When Auden speaks we do well to listen and reflect.

 

Next Post on the 21st .. S for …

 

Tom Waits : (Looking For) The Heart of Saturday Night

They say there is nobility in work.

Well, I can tell you none of them guys ever got up in the blue black cold to work at the breakers yard for Mr Conte.

Pop says keep your head down and your lip buttoned and in 10 years you’ll be a manager.

Ten years!

Ten years of Yes Sir/No Sir and hands raw and shredded.

Ten Years and I’ll be nearly 30 – an old man!

I tell you if it wasn’t for the music and Saturday Nights I’m not sure I’d make it through this year let alone 10.

You switch on, turn the dial and Boom!

Elvis. Little Richard, Don and Phil, Dion.

Some girls say I look just like Ricky Nelson.

I guess when I shave close and comb my hair that ain’t so far from the truth.

With my Saturday Night clothes on when I look in the mirror can’t see a trace of that guy at the breakers yard.

Out the door, keys swinging, start her up.

Tank full of gas. The Oldsmobile and me.

Looking for the heart of Saturday Night.

On our way to pick up my sweet one for tonight.

Looking for the heart of Saturday Night.

Heading downtown to the bright lights.

I bet this’ll be like no night I’ve ever seen.

Cash a plenty and a six pack.

What more could you want?

C’mon let’s barrel down the avenue – show these folks what a really sharp couple look like.

Let ‘em stare when we stop on the red.

Wave ‘em bye bye when we go on the green.

Guess they’re looking for the heart of Saturday Night too.

Well, listen to that neon buzzin’ and the crack of the pool balls.

You know, this just might be the Saturday I’m hitting my peak.

But, sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I don’t see Ricky Nelson.

I see a working stiff out looking for the heart of Saturday Night like he looked a hundred times before.

The sweet one with me tonight – will I want to have my arm around her next Saturday Night?

Will she want to climb into The Oldsmobile with me?

Maybe it’s the booze that’s got me thinking this way.

The Irish in me maybe.

Thats what my second cousin Vinnie says.

You know, sometimes, thinking of all those Saturdays past and all those Saturdays to come it’s hard not to find there’s a melancholy tear in your eye.

The barmaid seen plenty of me with plenty of different girls and she gives a smile from the corner of her eye.

Let’s have one more game of pool and one more round of drinks.

I’ll drink to the magic of the melancholy.

Soon enough, on past experience, I won’t be dancin’ so much as stumblin’.

You know thinkin’ of all this you can quiver right down to your core.

But what else you gonna do?

Still, I’m gonna gas her up next week.

Can’t lose that tingle.

I know, just know, that one of these weeks, after I make it through Monday to Friday, I’ll be barrelling down the avenue with my arm around my sweet one in my Oldsmobile and find I’m right in the heart of Saturday Night.

Right in the heart.

Tom Waits.

The Rock ‘n’ Roll Kerouac.

Finding the mythic in the everyday.

Writing songs that dramatise experiences we have all had.

Looking for the heart of Saturday Night.

We walk towards the light and tingle even though we know Saturday Nights have come and gone before without us ever landing, bullseye, right in the heart.

There’s tremendous art in the way Tom chooses a loping tempo for this song.

For me, this is the tempo of dream.

In a dream you can in slow motion view the scenes simultaneously from the air for the grand perspective and from the street for the emotional close ups.

The neon buzzin’ and the crack of the pool balls.

The quiver right down in your core.

A song that will have meaning however long your life lasts and however old you were when you first heard it.

Everyone has looked or is looking for the heart of Saturday Night.

The patina of meaning will grow more burnished year by year as you revisit the song.

The one heading out , keys swinging, tingling as they head off into the lights may not be you anymore but your Son, your Grand Daughter.

Looking for the heart of Saturday Night.

Tom Waits.

A pretty good scout if you’re looking for the heart of Saturday Night.

P. S.

If this Is your first visit to The Jukebox – where ya been!

Seriously if it is your debut here do take a look around.

There’s 300 or more Posts to choose from.

I’ll be surprised if you don’t find some old favourites and make some discoveries.

Sign up for Email alerts or follow me on Twitter @thomhickey55 and never miss a Post!

Christmas Alphabet 2018 : T for Tom Petty & Tom Waits

Christmas Tide is a time to cherish blessings.

It is also offers us a space to reflect on those, no longer with us through death or estrangement, with whom we once shared Christmas.

Still we can hold them dear in our hearts, our thoughts and our prayers.

Over the last few years we have lost many legendary musicians – Aretha Franklin, Tony Joe White, Hugh Masakela, Denise LaSalle, Otis Rush and Charles Aznavour immediately spring to my mind.

As I decided which musicians to feature under T for the Alphabet Series I thought at once of Tom Petty and his rousing Christmas Anthem, ‘Christmas All Over Again’.

It was with some sense of shock that I next realised that Tom Petty, so vital a musician and personality, had died shortly before Christmas 2017.

Here’s to you Tom – thanks for all the songs and all the singing.

We will all pass on like the melting snow.

Like melting snow.

Raise your voice alongside the cracked croon of Tom Waits and pray that all those we have lost sleep in Heavenly Peace.

Heavenly Peace.

 

 

The Alphabet Series continues on 17/19 and 21 December.

Don’t Miss One!

 

Tom Waits : Kentucky Avenue

St Paul tells us when we are grown to adulthood that it’s time to put away childish things.

As a guide to moral conduct that may well be sage advice.

There are choices to be weighed in the balance.

There are responsibilties to be shouldered.

There are strengths and weaknesss to be acknowledged.

There are trials, torments and traumas to be survived.

Yes, you need to look at the spinning world with a cool appraising adult eye if you are to navigate it safely.

And yet … we all carry the child we once were within our skins and deep in our psyche.

There is a knowing, an untutored first poetic knowing, known and retained by that child, we would all do well to tap into throughout all our adult days.

You should never be so old not to want to fly away on a magpie’s wings and hop that freight train in the hall all the way down to New Orleans in the fall.

All the way to New Orleans in the fall.

 

 

Tom Waits tells crazy stories blazing with drunken truths.

Tom Waits tells crazy stories blazing with sober, artful lies.

Tom Waits tells crazy stories that make perfect sense to the labouring adult crying out for rest and the blithe bubble blowing child within you.

Tom Waits tells the best damn stories you ever heard and Kentucky Avenue is one of his very best.

The song is brilliantly composed and sung in the continuous present we live in during our childhood days.

The characters who populate the story are ordinary figures and at the same time shadow thrown giants looming on the young mind’s eye.

Eddie Grace’s old Buick is rusting on his drive and Eddie don’t drive no more but Wow! you know those holes in the side … they’re bullet holes! (From the time when Eddie ran with the mob – how do ya think he got that limp?).

Mrs Storm looks at at the world from behind fly blown curtains and she don’t talk to no one not even the mail man since that son of hers went missing in the war.

He used to keep that lawn of hers so perfect it was greener and truer than Augusta.

Sshhh …  don’t put a toe on that lawn – she will stab you with a steak knife if you do!

When you are a child you haven’t exhausted your capacity for pleasure and your sense of wonder is acute.

Man, half a  pack of Lucky Strikes and a packet of macadamia nuts is more treasure than Long John Silver ever dreamed of.

When you’re a child you don’t have to be told you’ll live forever you just know – let’s go ever to Bobby Goodmanson’s and jump off the roof!

And .. oh oh .. the secrets. The secrets.

Hilda plays strip poker when her mama’s across the street and (he told me and he don’t ever lie) Joey Navinsky says she put her tongue in his mouth.

And … oh oh … when you got just one friend, a blood brother … you own the world. The world them others don’t even see … seems like they walking around stone blind.

Let me tie you up with kite string, I’ll show you the scabs on my knee!

Fabled adventures are born every new Dawn – watch  out for the broken glass, put your shoes and socks on,and come along with me

Let’s follow that fire truck, I think your house is burning down!

Let’s  go down to the hobo jungle and kill some rattlesnakes with a trowel (It ain’t dangerous at all ..).

And, oh oh … when you’re having adventures you don’t calculate repercussions – don’t you just love the sound of breaking glass?

We’ll break all the windows in the old Anderson place!

We’ll steal a bunch of boysenberrys and smear ’em on your face .. how great we’ll look!

And, ah ah .. when you give and get presents as a child they are like no presents you’ll ever get again:

‘I’ll get a dollar from my mama’s purse, buy that skull and crossbones ring
and you can wear it round your neck on an old piece of string.’

The things we did and the things we nearly, nearly did!

Remember that time we spit on Ronnie Arnold and flipped him the bird or the day we would have slashed the tires on the school bus if the janitor hadn’t woken up!

That’s the kind of thing you do when you’re Blood Brothers (funny how you’re much closer to your Blood Brother than the brothers in your house – you don’t share your dreams and secrets with them!)

I’ll take a rusty nail, scratch your initials in my arm and show you how to sneak up on the roof of the drugstore.

And … oh oh .. when you see with the eyes of a child you see with a clarity .. a vision it’s so easy to lose as your eyes grow accustomed to the adult world:

I’ll take the spokes from your wheelchair, and a magpie’s wings
And I’ll tie ’em to your shoulders and your feet
I’ll steal a hacksaw from my dad, cut the braces off your legs
And we’ll bury them tonight out in the cornfield

Just put a church key in your pocket
We’ll hop that freight train in the hall
We’ll slide all the way down the drain
To New Orleans in the fall

 

 

Thank you Tom for reminding me of how a Magpie’s wings can take you places a 747 never could.

And for letting me keep looking out for that freight train in the Hall.

Let you into a secret … one day I’m gonna ride it all the way down to New Orleans.

Planning to do it in the fall.

In the fall.

Tom Waits – Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis

Last month I went, for the fourth time, to see Conor Macpherson’s modern masterpiece Play ‘The Weir’.

It’s a comic tragedy or a tragic comedy depending on your point of view.

The whole action of the Play takes place on a single evening in an Irish rural bar.

As the drinks flow the four characters tell, in sequential monologue form, riveting stories imbued with puzzled pain, aching regret and unending longing.

Strings break in Heaven.

As each story unfolds more is revealed by the tale than the teller had ever expected.

By the end of the play though they are raw from the experience there is a shared sense of catharsis and, almost miraculously, a feeling that the surrounding darkness is pierced by rays of light and fragile hope.

The search for that fragile hope is one of the main reasons we tell stories – both to others and to ourselves.

As I drove home a song began to play in my head.

A song that is a comic tragedy or a tragic comedy depending on your point of view.

A song of puzzled pain that tells more about the teller than ever anticipated.

A song filled with aching regret and unending longing.

A song that breaks strings in Heaven.

A song that has achieved a sense of catharsis by its conclusion.

A song that, almost miraculously, ends on a note of fragile hope.

A song that takes place at Christmas Time when even the most cynical like to believe in Hope – however faintly it glimmers.

A song by a supreme storyteller.

Tom Waits.

‘Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis’.

Now, aint that just Grand!

Tom Waits, in this freewheeling pre Swordfish Trombones period, wore a baggy coat with pockets stuffed with the works of John Fante, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Charles Bukowski and Alan Ginsberg.

Playing in his head were the recordings of Lenny Bruce, Lord Buckley, Howling Wolf, Bob Dylan and Hank Williams.

He had pretty much taken up residence on the Lost Highway.

Because, of course, it’s the best way to see the Moon and Stars clearly and to find out what kind of storyteller you might become.

Tom Waits became the kind of storyteller who could make you gasp, make you laugh out loud and then cry hot tears as his crazy lyrical stories unfolded.

A Tom Waits song makes you relish the details.

I love the way while the piano rolls meanderingly along the lyric seems to spontaneously emerge out of thin air.

The use of ‘And’ and, ‘Hey’ to kick off each exhalation of thought and invention gives the song a tremendous immediacy.

Hey Charley I’m pregnant
and living on 9-th street
right above a dirty bookstore
off Euclid avenue

It’s important that the song is addressed to a specific person.

It’s thinking of that person, that one person, who might, just might, make it all right again, that makes a person put pen to paper.

And you should always kick off with the news that’ll make the reader sit bolt upright and want to read on.

Read on.

And I stopped taking dope
and I quit drinking whiskey
and my old man plays the trombone
and works out at the track

You want to convince Charley and yourself that things have changed.

They really have changed.

You’ve changed.

Those vices you shared are memories now.

And, you found a guy.

A guy who plays the trombone and brings the dollar bills home.

And he says that he loves me
even though its not his baby
and he says that he’ll raise him up
like he would his own son

And, hey .. a guy who won’t let you down.

Not like all the other Guys.

A guy who will raise up your unborn son – even though he’s not his own son.

And, he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin
every saturday nite.

Now, Charley knows somewhere in his heart that there’s no woman who ever lived who doesn’t want their Darling to give them a ring that was worn by his Mother.

And, Hey, whatever anyone tells you there ain’t no feeling better than goin’ out dancin’ on a Saturday Night – just the two of you.

Just the two of you.

And, I still have that record
of Little Anthony & The Imperials
but someone stole my record player
how do you like that?

When you’re lost and you think you’re going out of your head and your heart’s about to jump right out of your chest you can’t help but remember those old songs.

There are some songs you’ll never get out of your head.

Little Anthony with the soaring voice.

Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart, caused by you, you

If we could start anew, I wouldn’t hesitate
I’d gladly take you back, and tempt the hand of fate
Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart, caused by you

Wo oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

Wo oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

Wo oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

hey Charley … I went back to Omaha to
live with my folks

Charley knows, like you do, that you can never really go back to the home you grew up in.

If you ever had a reason to leave you’re never going to be happy back in Omaha.

And, hey, you had so many reasons to leave.

Reasons to leave.

and I wish I had all the money
that we used to spend on dope
I’d buy me a used car lot
and I wouldn’t sell any of em

I’d just drive a different car
every day dependin on how
I feel.

You and Charley, his hair all slicked back with grease used to drive with the top down at ninety miles an hour on the two lane blacktop.

And, hey, wouldn’t it be great if you had all that wasted cash and could roll down the highway every day in a different car.

Just the two of you.

You can almost feel the warm air caressing you both.

Dreams are like that.

Dreams are like that.

Sometimes dreams are all that can keep you going.

All that can keep you going.

hey Charley
for chrissakes
do you want to know
the truth of it?

I don’t have a husband
he don’t play the trombone
and I need money to pay this lawyer

But. But. It takes a lot of energy to dream.

And, hey, sometimes you just don’t have the strength anymore.

Just don’t have the strength.

So, you breathe deep and let it out.

Let it out.

All of it.

The blood and the guts and the tears.

And, hey, you find yourself saying the thing you promised yourself you’d never say.

The thing you promised yourself you’d never say.

and Charley, hey
I’ll be eligible for parole
come valentines day.

 

Robert Plant, Tom Waits, Del Shannon (and Phil Phillips) dive into The Sea Of Love!

‘The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.’ (Isak Dinesen)

‘There is one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath’ (Herman Melville)

The sea begins at the shore. Standing at its edge we can only marvel at its immensity and otherness. Yet we know that some aspects of ourselves can only be brought to life by deserting the comforting security of the land and the harbour.

You have to put to sea; surrendering to its call, to discover the worlds of wonder which surely lie somewhere beyond the horizon. What’s true for the rolling deep and briny sea is true just as much for that other sea which consumes so much of our waking and dreaming hours – the sea of love.

Come with me now, come with me now and surrender to Phil Phillips and The Twilights original from 1959 and be borne back again to The Sea Of Love.

Phil Phillips wrote the song and sang lead vocals on this classic slice of swamp pop which was a million selling Number 1 R&B hit and Number 2 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. He was born John Phillip Baptiste in Lake Charles Louisiana in March 1931. His roots lay in gospel music with the family group The Gateway Quartet. It was his barely required love for Verdi Mae Thomas that inspired him to switch to the secular realm and Sea Of Love was the dreamily hypnotic result.

Originally recorded as a demo at a local radio station the song came to the attention of George Khoury a sharp local music mogul with a downtown record shop who had enjoyed some chart success already as a producer and record label owner through the lovely, ‘Mathilda’ by Cookie And The Cupcakes.

Indeed it’s Cookie And The Cupcakes, with Ernest Jacobs prominent on piano, along with the mysteriously unnamed Twilights who back up Phil on the recording made at Eddie Shuler’s Goldband Records Studio.

Despite the phenomenal sales which accrued once the original Khoury label recording was leased to big time Mercury Records Phil always claimed that he only ever earned $6,800 from his song with the rest disappearing into the coffers of George Khoury, Eddie Shuler and Mercury. A sadly familiar tale!

What can never be taken away from Phil is the glory of his song and his performance on the record. Sea Of Love drifts along at a stately, one might almost say somnambulant pace as it carries us along. There’s a quality of eyes closed pre dawn hours reverie about the record that allows it to dive fathoms deep into our unconscious.

I love the hummed opening which speaks as eloquently of the yearning for love as the reticent yet straight from the heart vocal which follows. To my ears the lyric and vocal have more than a tinge of the lyrical and romantic tradition of the french/creole culture Phil grew up in.

The song almost seems like a creole chanson translated into English. Perhaps this gives the song something of its woozy surreal charm. Listening repeatedly to the song I felt adrift in a free floating dream – buoyed up by the depths of the sea with only the cool gaze of the forgiving moon to light my way.

The mysterious allure of the song has attracted many singers, both famous and obscure, keen to steer their own course through The Sea Of Love. The first cover I’ve chosen to feature today is by the erstwhile Charles Weedon Westover who became one of the princes of early 1960s pop under the more familiar name of Del Shannon!

As you will have heard this is a much more rhythmically forceful version befitting its 1982 vintage and the confident swagger of Del’s backing band on the song – none other than Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers.

If Phil Phillips original brings to mind a pirogue calmly meandering through the bayou this version has the thrust of a powerful diesel engined motor boat beating back the deep sea channel waves. There’s an artful use of swirling keyboards in the middle of the song as a nod and wink tribute to Del’s own, never to be forgotten ‘Runaway’.

This version was a top 40 hit, the last of Del’s career (which ended so tragically with his suicide in 1990) and a highlight from the highly recommended, ‘Drop Down And Get Me’ album.

Del Shannon (who will feature more extensively on The Jukebox later) was throughout his life a highly distinctive and affecting singer who seemed in his voice to evoke the aura of someone who had never quite recovered from some awful secret hurt. A hurt that left him so wounded and anxious that any happiness on offer appeared bound to be fleeting if not wholly illusory. It’s a voice that suits the plangent mood of Sea Of Love holding you enthralled as the song unfolds.

Next from 1985 a version showcasing a plethora of Rock music, ‘Big Beasts’ on a retro R&B spree in the form of The Honeydrippers who featured Led Zeppelin alumni Robert Plant and Jimmy Page as well as Jeff Beck and Chic maestro Nile Rodgers. Paul Shaffer, famed for fronting the Letterman Show Houseband, held down the keyboard chair. Together they fashion a knowing homage to their 1950s roots in their swooning take on Sea Of Love which went top 5 on The Billboard Hot 100 chart.

And now as they used to say on, ‘Monty Python’ for something completely different. Here’s a, ‘Toasting’ master from Jamaica, U Roy (Ernest Beckford) with a deliriously enjoyable version rechristened, ‘Do You Remember’ which references both Phil Phillips original and a fine 1970 cover by The Heptones drawing on the production smarts of Joe Gibbs.

You can surely feel the hot Caribbean sun and the sea breezes wafting all about you as the irresistible rhythms take you over while U Roy extemporises with a winning mixture of cheeky humour and romantic ardour. You won’t be able to play this only once!

Follow that! Well, fortunately I’ve kept a take on Sea Of Love to conclude which can hold its own against any competition. This, by the one, the only Tom Waits, was a key element in the 1989 noiresque thriller movie, ‘Sea Of Love’ (starring a resurgent Al Pacino and Ellen Barkin), which was named after and featured Phil Phillips original song.

Tom Waits! there’s no one like him. Tom, here, gives us an intense, emotional, spooky hall of distorted mirrors Sea Of Love that leaves your head spinning and your heart battering threateningly against your ribcage. This is the diving deep, claustrophobic, submarine version which alters your sense of time and space with its strange charm.

Embed from Getty Images

Tom Waits is a true American original who wouldn’t know how to just copy a song. His Sea Of Love is a loving recreation of a classic love song and Tom, having written a few of those himself, does it full justice by doing it entirely his own way,

As Tom showed Phil Phillips songs from the late 1950s still has endless depths to sound. Depths to sound in the always flowing, always churning, Sea Of Love.

Notes:

Phil Phillips career was effectively hamstrung by a lengthy contract with Mercury which he fought hard to escape from. Disillusioned with the record industry and never seeing any significant windfalls from later versions of his classic song he went on to be a well regarded radio DJ in Louisiana.

The always commendable German collectors label Bear Family has issue a compilation, inevitably titled Sea Of Love, which with excellent sound collects all the highlights of Phil’s career. Well worth a listen for more examples of his haunting vocal style.

Phil was quite properly inducted in 2007 into the Louisiana Music Hall Of Fame.

Addendum – Since writing this post I’ve discovered this wonderful clip of Phil singing his classic song at The Louisiana hall Of Fame – prepare to feel your eyes moisten!