Apparently 58 – although Waits is known for misdirecting everyone except very close friends and close family on true biographical details – the singer/songwriter/actor casts a shadow many times larger than his wiry frame, though his career has usuall
y prompted one of three responses: people either love him religiously, hate him passionately or have barely even heard of him.
More than two decades since his last appearance in the capital, Waits specifically chose the Playhouse for the only two British dates on the European leg of his Glitter and Doom tour. Judging by the way the venue handled the potentially problematic ticket sales system Waits was piloting, he chose well – fans, disgruntled by the near Draconian ID requirements, slipped into the venue precisely on time as though it was any other gig.
Tom Waits in concert is as far from any other gig as you can get, though – a fact that became obvious the moment he appeared on stage. Like Leonard Cohen the week before, Waits received a standing ovation before a note was played or sung. This show, however, went a few steps beyond even that event in more than one way.
The singer strides genres like few others. Blues, jazz, gospel, rock, folk and the nebulous 'experimental' labels fit and fall away with every uttered syllable. Even the content of his songs seem to shift and slide like quicksand. He often writes songs that are somewhat elliptical, open to interpretation as to their specific meaning, but always crystal clear in their emotional position.
Opening with a medley of Lucinda and Ain't Goin' Down To The Well, the audience were sold. The ticket price may have been twice that of most major artists, but few were inclined to quibble.
Controlling the screaming, wolf whistling crowd with the slightest of hand gestures, the wizard of weird slipped easily into Raindogs, featuring some deliciously sweet soprano sax from multi-instrumentalist Vincent Henry.
Sporting a three-piece suit that had seen better days, black shirt, a pair of workman's boots and a bowler, he looked more like a mutant Chaplinesque figure than an award-winning songwriting legend whose works have been covered by The Eagles, Bruce Springsteen and Rod Stewart.
For over two hours, Waits serenaded the audience with classics like Cemetery Polka, Get Behind The Mule, and Bottom Of The World.
Marrying Real Gone's bizarre story song, Circus, with Alice's Tabletop Joe was a typical Wait's stroke of genius. The song would have been completely surreal but for the fact that it was based on the story of a real-life Coney Island Amusement Park 'freak' named Johnny Eck, known as the half boy, from the early 20th century.
He doesn't do 'album versions'. Clearly, the musicians in his band, including his two sons Casey and Sullivan, could easily get close, but that was never the point. It was as though the songs had a life of their own and had simply grown organically beyond anything the singer might have trapped – briefly – in his studio.
His between song schtick had the audience alternately spellbound or laughing, while his trademark growling, baying, crooning or just plain singing had the crowd roaring and applauding, often in a standing ovation.
This wasn't just a concert, it was a performance – in every sense of the word.
