Saturday, May 17, 2008
Tom Waits + Real Gone
Did ya come from outer space? Did ya kill that bird in the coop? Ooh there be a guitar like old Barney Kessell and something dirty going on, murder rag, going on and on. Sink the song in the blood, bring someone over, bring 'em over, play drums in your own bathroom. Tie rope round a friend's finger for oaths, rope round a neck, throw 'em off the pier. America. America! America someone has disappeared. America let's have a beer. Pretty girl in a bottle, you find her on a beach, she ain't got a soul you can reach. What this? Like exorcism music man, like at a wake: it a party or it a crying shame? Someone here got the spookies, that for sure! So one minute you're dancing, then it's go-slows for every man and his barking dog. Is he wearing a yellow shirt or hanging from inside it like a scarecrow in reverse? We don't know. Answer is in the harmonica. Secrets are in the freaky barn. Chain gang sign says "ghosts at work." Sins is on sand another place now. Sometimes I think they won't be comin' home at all. Boss says God. It's a curse! What's an old piano player to do? I lay down in the bones of his ear. Sounds like rain on an old tin roof fall. Then stomp. Like someone smashing them Japanese robots up. Maracas. And some crooning too. Crackles like an old vinyl record. Beefheart is in the grooves. Oh my voodoo. Drive an old Ford down a country road. 'Tend you're running to Puerto Rico too. Trees rustle, moon appears. It drips. A rooster crows three for you. Hear him slide his feet on wood. Scratch! Devil is grunting for tequila. Oh Lord. Bim bam bang, it's true. Woooooo hoooooooooo. Wooooooooooooooooooooo hooooooooooooooooooooooo. Wooooooooooooooooo hoooooooo00000oooooo000000000ooooo000000000000000.
- Mark Mordue
* First published at Neumu (USA)