Title:Alice By: Waits, Tom Released by: Anti Released on: 2002 Rating (out of 10): 8 Date: 07/29/2002
‘Nuther Beer, ‘Nuther Tear...
No one ever asks Tom Waits for innovation; ever since the mid-80s, all his records are strictly dominated by two personas: the beautiful drunken loser piano player of his '70s albums, bumbling and barbound (with a voice resembling that of Rowlf from The Muppet Show); and the insane noisenik of his prime period, obsessed with making songs that sound like alligators having sex (with a voice resembling that of The Cookie Monster from Sesame Street). Some would even say that the two new Tom Waits albums—Alice and Blood Money—are symbolic of these two personas, respectively; but I find that explanation a bit too simplistic, since both personas pop up on both albums.
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At any rate, we do not expect innovation from Waits: what makes a Tom Waits album good is the emotional depths which he explores with these two personas. As far as that goes, Blood Money is surely the superior work; brutal, relentless and, err, bloody, it shows the noisenick at his peak and renders the crooner even more affecting. Alice, by contrast, is a more refined work: certainly more accessible (though none of the Springsteen-esque stuff like “Hold On” is present), but also less riveting. In addition, while the loser gets his due on the noisenick dominated Blood Money (surely “Coney Island Baby” is just as affecting as “God's Away On Business” or “Starving In The Belly Of A Whale”?), the noisenick on Alice seems more like a bit of a con artist stealing the beautiful loser's well deserved spotlight.
The drunken piano player, however, acquits himself quite well—while there is nothing new on Alice, the songs he develops are well-structured, elegant and as bawl-worthy as ever. It doesn't smash you to a bloody pulp like Blood Money does, but in a dark bar at four in the morning, it holds up as well as any of Waits' forays into the genre of piano balladry.
There's also that formal connection, of course—Alice is supposed to be inspired by a play based on Lewis Carroll's Alice In Wonderland. I've yet to see the play, but as far as the books go, the connection is tenuous at best—Waits puts too much emphasis on the cruelty (and pedophiliac subtext) of Carroll's work, while ignoring the wacky, playful side that (more than anything else) accounts for the book's lasting appeal. What Waits summons up best—on tracks like “Flower's Grave” and “No One Knows I'm Gone”—is the book's melancholy; and frankly, as far as that goes, no one will ever better the scenes from the Disney movie.
No, the album is much better when it strays as far away from Carroll's fantasy world as possible—like on “Reeperbahn.” The story of Rosie, the girl who wanted to become a comedian, is tragic not because she's now a prostitute, but because of how dreams get lost. Likewise, the story of transvestite Hans is not about sexuality per se, but about difference and how it can earn you as much scorn (his father used to hate him) as it can false praise (the father is very proud of him now that “his lingerie is all the rage”), but seldom true love, and why that's fucked up. Put on paper, they seem like clichés—but backed by Waits' impeccable style, imagery and vocal delivery, they shine.
It's the same, to various degrees, with many songs on this album—certainly songs about impossible love aren't the newest thing on the block, but when Waits launches into “Fish & Bird” (the story of a little bird who falls in love with a whale), you better get out your tissues. Even a song like “Poor Edward” (about a man who develops a second face on his head which drives him to suicide) isn't particularly weird considering what Tom has dished up in the past, but the man's voice (somewhere between Rowlf and the Cookie Monster on this one) makes it work.
As I said, the noisenick comes short on this one—“Everything You Can Think” and “We're All Mad Here” are pretty much business as usual, “Kommeniezuspadt” is a novelty song that shows that Waits isn't particularly gifted at speaking German. Take away the Louis Armstrong vibe from “Table Top Joe,” and you're left with a rather dull re-hashing of Tom's usual outsider shtick.
At its best, though, Alice offers songs of triumph and defeat, desperation and glory, fatalism and redemption. Doesn't matter if you've heard it all before—it never gets old.
