Tom Waits created quite a stir in early July when he
announced a string of nine shows across the Midwest and
South, hitting mostly cities he hasn’t played in 30 years, if
ever.  The demand for tickets was overwhelming, increased by
strict restrictions - like a two-ticket maximum, will-call only
pickup, and low-capacity venues.  These factors virtually
eliminated scalpers and online auction sales, but led to long lines at will-call booths and delayed
show times.  After the rumbling, most attendees on every night of the Orphans Tour (named for the
box-set of rarities,
Orphans: Brawler, Bawlers and Bastards) forgave the eccentric troubadour these
inconveniences after he delivered show after show of brilliantly executed music.  
Classifying Tom Waits is difficult.  Part drunken barroom piano man, part gravelly-voiced hobo, part
theatrical, vaudevillian puppet.  His songs range from beautiful ballads to driving, mechanical
locomotives.  From twisted takes on rare blues gems, to animated narratives on exotic locations
across the globe.   If you don’t know his music, it’s hard to explain.  If you do, you probably either
don’t get it, or you crave it like an opium habit.  There’s little middle ground amongst Tom Waits
fans.     

The beautiful Orpheum Theater in downtown Memphis came alive as Waits came onstage to the
opening beats of "Singapore", the first track on 1985’s
Rain Dogs record.  With a four piece band
behind him – son Casey on drums, Duke Robillard on guitar, Larry Taylor on bass and Bent Clausen
on percussion, he relied heavily on material from his latest studio record, 2004’s
Real Gone as well
as 2002’s
Blood Money and 1999’s Mule Variations.  Waits transitioned between open hands and an
electric guitar for several tunes until a baby grand piano was carried out to the delight of the Friday
night crowd.   To many fans, this is Tom at his finest – the man and his piano, spinning yarns
between songs, like it’s you and him in a smoky piano bar.  Joined only by the stand up bass, he
entranced the audience with a couple of toned down numbers including "Tango ‘Till They’re Sore"
(
Rain Dogs) and "House Where Nobody Lives" (Mule Variations) before taking back the guitar and
finishing up the 2+ hour set.  Memphis’ famous party center Beale Street paled in comparison to the
electricity in the Orpheum that night.  
Fans in Nashville were looking forward to more of the same, but this night would be special as the
setting was the historic Ryman Auditorium.  “Here’s the deal,” he explained from the stage, “I’ve been
saying for a long time, ‘Lets play Tennessee man!’”  After joking about “over saturating” the market
and worrying about attendance, he settled in to give one of the best shows of the tour.  The acoustics
were perfect as the singer and his band carried through a similar but re-organized set list with a few
surprises.  Most notably was the
Small Change classic "Tom Traubert’s Blues (Three Sheets to the
Wind in Copenhagen)", which received the greatest applause of any song at these three shows.  Like
Memphis, the audience was not disappointed and all the chatter in the honky-tonks up and down
Music Row later that night was about the Ryman show.

A couple days before the end of the short tour, word leaked about a “special intimate club
performance” at Cleveland’s 1200 capacity House of Blues.  The show would start at midnight, shortly
after the conclusion of the Akron show that same night!  Once again, ticket demand was intense and
the show sold out instantly.  The line to get in wrapped around the block and it was after 1:30am by
the time the curtain raised to the opening chords of "Going Out West" (Bone Machine).  “I’m trying to
keep it a short set,” Tom joked with the audience.  The concerned crowd groaned in disappointment
but erupted in cheer as he proclaimed, “I’m a kidder…We’re gonna play all night!”  The set at the
House of Blues included a few songs not heard elsewhere this time around, including the poignant
"I Wish I Was In New Orleans" (
Small Change) and "On the Nickel" (Heartattack and Vine).  After two
encores and a brilliant, never-before-played rendition of Hank Williams’s "Ramblin’ Man", Tom Waits
left the stage and ended the show and the tour on a high note.   

After a Tom Waits performance, you feel like you’ve just been a part of something really special.  You
feel like you’ve just read a "Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis," or stood outside a creepy,
country barn that you shouldn’t go into, or that you’ve been coming down off a wicked drunk, drinking
coffee and smoking cigarettes in a cheap diner "where all the doughnuts have names like
prostitutes."  Waits delivered all of the above and then some this time around.     

--Jeremy Porter for Drastic Plastic Press                   
September 20, 2006