Random Weekend Bits #3: Tom Waits and the Sunday Rage

Stewart D’Arrietta

The bile frothed this weekend, people, it really fucking did. After Saturday’s Broken Records gig at the Liquid Rooms I went for a couple of drinks with the lads from the band and then, given Mrs. Toad was away in London for the weekend, decided to stop by Stewart D’Arrietta’s Tom Waits tribute show ‘Belly of a Drunken Piano’ on the way home.

Now, Tom Waits may perhaps be my ultimate number one musical uber-deity, but I rarely even listen to Tom Waits cover versions because all they ever make me think is ‘gosh, what a great song, I think I’ll go put on the original.’ In short I have never heard anyone sing Tom Waits songs anything like as gut-wrenchingly as Tom Waits can.

Basically, I went to see Mr. D’Arietta’s show because I got the impression he too loved Tom Waits and would simply sing a handful of my favourite songs in the universe, and occasionally indulge in some banter with the audience about how brilliant we all think Tom Waits is. And that is exactly what we got. Almost.

After the first song some retard behind me, instead of clapping like everyone else, let out an almighty ‘Boooo.’ So far, so irritating. Then, after another song the prick gets to his feet and bellows out ‘Is this as good as it gets? Is this it?’

So I shouted back ‘What the fuck did you expect, you dickhead? We’re here because we love Tom Waits, he’s here because he loves Tom Waits, if you don’t like it, fuck off.’ Which to his credit he duly did, making gestures of disgust as he went. Typical bloody genteel Edinburgh audience though, the most anyone else managed was ‘Well leave then.’ during this little exchange.

Now, if you think something you have paid to see is shit, then I am not entirely going to disagree with your right to say so. But honestly, what did this penis think he was going to see? Live hot sex? Fermat’s Last Theorem proved live on stage? The real, actual Tom Waits for thirteen quid? What a complete dickhead. Now D’Arietta did no more than a loving karaoke job on Tom Waits’ best songs, it was hardly earth-shattering stuff. But what on god’s teat-suckling, pig-fucking, child-molesting, well-done-steak-cooking green earth else was it fucking well going to be?

Short of actually being Tom Waits I am at a complete loss to guess what else the poor bastard could have done to satisfy this cunt. Did he honestly not realise that, contrary to rumours of his having an army of clones traipsing the earth singing his entire repertoire for just over a tenner, there is actually only one Tom fucking Waits?

Clearly not. What a thick-skulled fucking cock-smoker. As he left and D’Arietta stood there looking a bit embarrassed on stage I managed one last contribution, before sitting back down and listening politely like the good, civillised patron of the arts that my mother desperately wishes I had become:

“Fuck him, he’s a penis. We’re better off without him.”

Tom Waits – What’s He Building in There?
Tom Waits – Invitation to the Blues
Tom Waits – Kentucky Avenue
Tom Waits – All the World is Green This song pretty much soundtracked my falling head over heels in love with Mrs. Toad. We love this one, and now that we’re actually married it seems all the more poignant. And he ended with it – good lad!

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