Tom Waits' 1985 concoction, Rain Dogs, distinguishes itself for several reasons. First, there's the fact that it's such a bloody GREAT album--- 19 songs, and nothing subpar or that sounds like filler. Second, there's the fact that it's such a bloody great album that directly succeeds another bloody great album by the same artist--- in this case, Waits' 1983 masterpiece Swordfishtrombones. And, finally, the wildly eclectic nature of the record--- Tom Waits isn't a conventional singer, nor is he a conventional songwriter--- yet, somehow, he manages to mold his inventive, odd compositions into something remarkably appealing: Rain Dogs isn't merely appreciated for its inventiveness and Waits' artistic integrity (although it surely IS appreciated for those qualities as well)--- it's appreciated because it's actually catchy. You'd think that Waits' throaty, warbly baritone would render a song catchy as ably as Celine Dion could pull off a metal record, but here you have it: 19 gracious melodies--- granted, some more conventional than others, but still--- that, if voiced by a more conventional vocalist, could pass for a string of moderate pop hits.

As it is, though, Tom Waits is going to forever remain critically revered and commercially ignored. So be it. Us discerning listeners can keep Tom Waits as our little under-the-rader secret--- barring any more horrid Rod Stewart covers.

Rain Dogs is an exercise in brilliant pop songcraft, yes, but, as with all great records, this one goes a little bit deeper than the surface--- it's also a wonderful character study. Rain Dogs paints as stark, as beautiful, as haunting a picture of inner-city life as any, for example, work of literature would dare to attempt. Rain Dogs is really a series of portraits, each song a study of a different individual--- the tramp, the sailor, the vagabond, the prostitute, the lonely city-dweller, the tortured, the socialite, the nomad. Rain Dogs' fame--- the little that it bears--- can be attributed to "Downtown Train," the oft-covered tale of a weary, lovelorn romantic. This tortured ballad-cum-Rod Stewart AOR-shmaltz touchstone--- Stewart put his own despicable twist on the song and turned it into platinum gold--- was once actually a great song, a soft-spoken tearjerker gently delivered over a subdued surf guitar, packing the stunning emotional wallop of a collapsing brick stronghold. Tom's other attempts at (semi-)conventional pop song structure are just as good, too--- a soothing reassurance in "Hang Down Your Head" and a gentle, devastating lullaby in "Time" are gorgeous mid-album touchstones that briefly break from the eclectic oddities packaged in the surrounding avant-garde vignettes. (Again: if voiced by vocalists deemed "purer," songs like these could have been hits--- but, then, listening to Waits' voice, is there any voice purer than that of the songwriter willing to lend such an unconventional, scratchy timbre to his art out of dedication to his craft? No, sez I.)

And then, of course, there's the wacky stuff. Silly romps like "Singapore" and "Cemetary Polka" are the least interesting tunes of the bunch, mainly because Tom's all but played out the whole carnival-barker-by-way-of-Satan shtick. (And it's a trip he's still on--- "God's Away On Business" was the leadoff single from 2002's Blood Money.) No, the more interesting fare is in the stylistic departures. The chilly, creaky "Clap Hands." An avant-garde rhumba in "Jockey Full of Bourbon." Brash blues-rock numbers in "Walking Spanish" and "Big Black Mariah." Tipsy-sounding New Orleans jazz instrumentals in "Midtown" and "Bride of Rain Dog." Why, by the time Tom's poignant howl in "Anywhere I Lay My Head" dies down, your head's been so gleefully rattled by so many different, creative stylistic approaches that you're almost literally exhausted.

But this strange, swift, eclectic jambalaya works... PERFECTLY. Rain Dogs is the product of a consummate craftsman brimming with creativity. Viva integrity!





Recommended: Yes