
Waits uses his lyrics to paint pictures, not as an impressionist, but as a modern realist. He doesn't see someone dying their hair (that would be fascinating enough); he doesn't see them dying their hair in a bathroom; they're dying their hair in the bathroom of a sleazy Texaco. His gargled-razorblade-vocals fitting the lyrics into a sprawling yowl and growl that's a perfect match to a strangled, jolting, blues-twanged and even, at times, invariably smooth instrumental train. This crazy excellent 1985 album is a cycle of mummbly, sad luck-country ("Time," "Blind Love"), explosive blues ("Union Square," "Big Black Mariah"), ghostly night-folk ("Clap Hands," "Gun Street Girl"), and miscellaneous horror ("Anywhere I Lay My Head," "Singapore"). Throughout this absolute trip of an LP, there is never a moment that seems forced or exaggeratedly artsy. Rain Dogs displays one of music's most astonishing mad geniuses at the height of his power. Nothing's been the same these 30 years, like nothing was the same after Pepper.
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