Real Good, Tom.....

There's something captivating about contraptions that look as if a slight touch will topple them and destroy their workings, yet if left alone could well see you out and run indefinitely. The magic is watching them lurch from cycle to cycle, gradually realising that there's actually a smooth, regular routine hiding beneath the surface.

So it is with "Real Gone", my first veer into the Tom Waits - the music is brash, bold and direct but somewhat crumbling and fragile at the same time, just about keeping pace with itself and, where it stumbles, maintaining an air to give the impression that it meant to all along.

The colour of the mood seems to veer between dark, pained blue and a world-weary rust - both painted on the shoes of an almost epileptic shuffle. It's easy to imagine the album being as at home sitting at the dock-side, watching the days lobster catch come in whilst the gumbo stews in the pot, as it would be sitting on any busy street corner and hearing the hidden stories in the heads of the urban passers-by.

Being a complete novice to the Waits library (it already seems more reasonable from one album to use that word than the cold discography) I have to admit to having not a single clue where this fits in the grand scheme of things. For that matter, from what I've heard of him, even if it fits in anywhere.

Musically, the only thing I recognised in the sound that I own may be the dark urban psychosis of Tricky - only after far more whiskey. To those Waits aficionados I'm sure they'd see that statement as heresy but there is the same dis(regard) for rhythm and ability to work around the notes rather than simply follow them. Where Tricky uses beats and whispers, Waits employs a broken Blues and an incredibly emotive growl.

Whether Tricky is a closet Waits fan or not (more than one Waits sound has been respectfully, erm, borrowed by him) I have absolutely no idea but the fact he's even brought to mind means there must be something in it. That's maybe a whole other conversation for a later drink fuelled time.

Frank Zappa pointed out that "writing about music is like dancing about architecture". If that's the case and this is the way the Waits house is built, then I could quite easily be dancing for quite some time to come.

Genius, knowingly in threadbare trousers.