Tom Waits, Edinburgh 27/7/08

From barely decipherable, drunken ramblings found on a scrap of scribbled paper by my bedside this very ‘morn…

All Glitter, No Doom.

There must be a tax dodge in it somewhere, I mean- hiring a couple of the Waits boys to play in his own backing band? To help finance this year’s family European vacation, one suspects. But, still, what a band.
Although the obvious question must be asked of gifted wind and string man Vincent Henry -could he not strap a couple of rusted cymbals between his knees and mibee kick a big bass drum the odd time as well, the lazy sod? And despite the theatre’s, indeed the whole country’s, anti-cigarette stance, the guitarist, Omar Torrez, was smokin’ throughout. The whole band were. That expression (never used enough, in my humble opinion) “Tighter than Tom Thumb’s arsehole” definitely springs to mind.
Fantastic, inspirational set- yeah, of course at one point I did wish for Burma Shave, but I was getting greedy by that point- greedy, feeling lucky and touched by the songs I got to experience. We could have sat there all night, enthralled, fingers crossed for just one more song.
Wonderful stage dressing/look/feel/vibe blending and blurring naturally into the ornate surroundings of the capital city’s listed theatre, which dates from 1929 and was modelled on the Roxy Cinema in New York.
And it's crowd were good, if mibee a wee bit reticent to join in whole-heartedly on the audience participation moments. I think this was probably just down to being a good bit awe-struck and enchanted by their proximity to Tom Waits, unwilling to forgo even a second of the magic by, god forbid, interacting with it.
Before the show started and as they were being seated, a couple of wags behind me exclaimed on realising their fortuitous seating location, “At least we’ll be able to see the hem of his garment, even if we can’t actually touch it!” We silently agreed that it was more than enough.
Okay, so a few of the tall tales and insect facts divulged by Tom were familiar to me, but they all got big laughs in the right places and, hey, they were still another highlight in a show of highlights for me.
As for the tunes themselves- I was happy. I knew and loved every song, some bringing unnoticed tears and all gave unstoppable grins. The sight of folks in the queue to leave after the gig, with glitter in their hair and on their shoulders sparkling as they made their slow, dazed way out into the night will stay with me, and it’s glimmer seemed to me like the tiny remains of the magic scattered by Tom tonight, slowly fading away like pixie dust.
Or something.
Tom’s hold on the crowd was bewitching, it’s spell never broken- I rose cheering from my seat every damn time he amusingly commanded us to!
Merchandise wise, I couldn’t see me wearing any of the 3 official t-shirt designs, but I liked the idea behind them and at £15.00 a pop they were surprisingly cheaper than I had been expecting. Ok, I might have worn the one that had what looked a bit like a wee stick-man on it, but the little Confession book was a steal- it’s fun, different, but limited to 5000 European tour sales. The nice bootleg t-shirt I got outside was a bargain too at £10.00 for a fairly cool design. I’m off to sleep now, perchance to dream, no doubt, of stomped dust clouds and swinging bare lightbulbs. Of workboots and carny barkers, Romany Greek Cuban-heeled bar mitzvas - the music at which is real gone, trust me, I now know.
Of god and The Devil and The Blues, Invitations and Lies.
Love. Crimson velvet desire, and swamp green obsession.
The World, the dirt in the ground and, above us all, the Moon- in all it’s hues and guises.
Spiders.
Dead Ringers.
Rags.
Stitches.
Rain.
Dogs.
Rain Dogs.
Eggs and Sausage, and the laws against them.
Sweat and Steam.
Mules, I have no doubt, and Diamonds and will o’ the wisps.
And…

And, for once, the Ohrwurm that visit tonight will be welcome, I'm sure.