Compiled by Conor Mitchell
Note: Waits has a lot albums. There are also quite a few bootlegs and out-of-print live things and compilations and whatnot (I can’t ever seem to find a copy of Big Time), and I’m going to skip most of those to concentrate on the easier-to-find studio gems. In the end, it’s tough to go wrong with any of these albums - CM
Closing Time (1973)
Tom’s debut album, which is really fun to listen to in a nostalgic way. It’s got a pronounced folk/Bob Dylan influence, and Waits’ voice is merely sandy at this point, not gravely and deadly. Still, on particular songs the songwriting is already there.
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The Heart of Saturday Night (1974)
Still firmly in the vein of 70’s singer/songwriter stuff a la Nilsson, Randy Newman, Jackson Browne, etc. Waits is dreaming himself a romantic here, in more ways than one, but the tramp in him is more evident.
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Nighthawks at the Diner (1975)
I said I’d avoid live albums, but this is a live-in-studio dealie that showcases a theatrical side of Tom that hadn’t been evident before. He’s in full character mode here with great stories and banter. Not an essential album, but damn close for the stories Waits weaves out of the American night. This album is also worthwhile because it is the link between Waits’ initial singer-songwriter work and his next era of half-soused jazzy Beat poet. Some of his finest poetry is on display here, and although he hadn’t made the Beat schtick his own yet (as he would on his next album), you simply can’t argue with lines like “A yellow biscuit of a buttery cue ball moon rolling maverick across an obsidian sky,” or his comparing the sound of a subway train to the ghost of Gene Krupa. Also, it contains one of Waits’ most gorgeous ballads, “Nobody.”
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Small Change (1976)
To me, this is his first absolutely essential album. It sums up his 70’s mode with all the accompanying smoky haze. It’s a boozy ride, and the jazz comes to the forefront here in great fashion. Waits sounds confident and comfortable and really steps out and then into himself (particularly with his voice).
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Foreign Affairs (1977)
L.A. is all over this one, and the songwriting is good. But I never listen to it. Not essential except for completists, but definitely worth a listen.
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Blue Valentine (1978)
Again, great songwriting but I don’t pull this one off the shelf often. The songs are mostly ballads or down tempo and just don’t quite hang together in the way that Waits’ best work does. For some odd reason it gets mentioned all the time that Rickie Lee Jones is on the back cover with Waits as they were an item at the time. Not essential.
Listen
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Heartattack and Vine (1980)
Wraps up his 70’s piano crooner phase in fine form. Really great songs but doesn’t seem to establish a consistent mood, so it feels stiffer in comparison to the fine old coat fit of Small Change. Not essential, but another that is very close. Most of the album has a slinky groove that is just unstoppable, and it previews Waits’ shift to rhythmically oriented songs (see “16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought Six” on Swordfishtrombones). It also contains an absolutely devastating ballad, “On The Nickel.”
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Swordfishtrombones (1983)
Total transformation. The production is amazingly different, to say nothing of the songs themselves. A huge step forward, and totally redefines Waits from here on out. Essential, essential, essential, and has the best album title ever.
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Rain Dogs (1985)
Nutjob percussion (including 2×4’s, furniture, giant seed pods) and Marc Ribot’s masterful guitar playing sum this up. Perhaps slightly more subdued songwriting (and surprisingly pop w/ “Downtown Train”, later covered by Rod Stewart) but only in comparison to the other albums of this “triology” (along with Swordfishtrombones and Franks Wild Years). Also has some nice guitar work from Keith Richards. Reportedly while recording “Big Black Mariah,” Richards wasn’t getting the feel of the song right, so Waits came into the studio and did a dance to show Richards how his part should feel, to which Richards said, “Oh, why didn’t you do that to begin with? Now I know what you’re talking about.”
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Franks Wild Years (1987)
The album w/ the mysteriously missing apostrophe that pulls together all of Tom’s tricks into one bag. Amazing on all counts, and when you compare the sounds here to the rest of the mid-80’s aural landscape it’s enough to turn your head inside out.
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Bone Machine (1992)
The insanity continues and you’re glad to be in the asylum. Tom’s voice is all over the place, from a reedy falsetto that comes from rain-soaked porches to guttural roars unearthed from more hellish realms. And it works perfectly. By this point, the world seems to have accepted Waits for what he is, and he revels in his own songwriting and sound creation. He won a Grammy for this one.
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Beautiful Maladies: The Island Years (1998)
I mention this one because it’s a good overview of Waits’ 80’s output and mashes the four previous albums together (along with a few cuts from lesser known albums). He selected the tracks, and I’ll call it essential listening even though it’s a compilation and therefore, woefully incomplete. But a great place to start, nonetheless.
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Mule Variations (1999)
Guy steps back into the ring and knocks one outta the park (never you mind my mixed sports metaphors). It’s all here, from hobo tramp to roadside killer to carny creep to sea shanty pirate to lovelorn mess to satisfied old man on a creaky piano bench, and all of it is pretty much perfect. Working with a long list of now-steady collaborators, this is most definitely an essential Tom Waits recording.
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Blood Money/Alice (2002)
I’m lumping these two together as they were released simultaneously after Waits moved to a new record label. They’re comprised of older tunes written for two stage plays. They tend to run together for me and at their worst sound like Tom Waits covering Tom Waits, but there are individual gems to be found here (including some beautiful lyrics on “Alice”, in particular).
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Real Gone (2004)
Something about this album scares me. The levels are all in the red, and Tom uses his voice as an actual instrument here more than anywhere else. Everything is distorted and frantic and scratchy. Just looking at the album cover gets me agitated. “Hoist That Rag” is a killer jam, though. Also, the war ballad, “The Day After Tomorrow” is devastating.
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Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, & Bastards (2006)
Well, the title about sums it up. A collection of songs from all over the place (including stuff from EP’s and covers and other sundries), the album is somewhat conveniently split into his barroom rockers, his tearsoaked ballads, and his oddball mutants. It should work—from devilish stomp anthems to Beat-influenced spoken word pieces—but I don’t find myself ever listening to it. Maybe it’s just too much music? (Can’t believe I said that out loud.) Here’s hoping it’s just a slow grower. A note from Thriller: This compilation is full of stuff that is just jaw-dropping, but spread out over fifty-six songs, it is in fact too much music. We’d suggest trying to get into each disc separately, rather than all at once.
