>Grand Weepers and Grim Reapers
>
> In many ways, having Tom Waits as the unofficial headliner for
> South by Southwest 1999 was a no-win situation. With thousands
> of conference registrants jockeying for one of approximately 1,300
> tickets -- music-savvy industry lifers who need no introduction to
> one of the legends of modern music -- not to mention the legions of
> Austin scenesters living in a music-savvy town that worships the
> Bay Area-based gutter poet, a lot of people were gonna be left at
> the corner of heart attack and vine when they couldn't get in. One
> woman, who had snuck into the Paramount Theatre, even stood up
> during the second of Waits' two encores and chastised the singer
> for playing such a comparatively small venue. "I don't wanna get
> into a big diatribe with you," pleaded Waits, taken aback. And the
> young woman, who at that moment in time was without question the
> most hated person in Austin, wasn't the only one complaining.
> Waits' new label, Epitaph, conference organizers -- everyone was
> unhappy at the politics of distributing Willy Wonka's golden tickets.
> A classic no-win situation. Except for those lucky enough to witness
> Waits' nearly two -hour set. For them, it was like winning the rock
> & roll sweepstakes. Shuffling onstage shortly after midnight, after a
> line that stretched around the block had been herded inside (a line
> wrapped around the landmark theatre in the opposite direction of
> that morning's line to get tickets), Waits appeared in his trademark
> blue jeans, white tee, jean jacket, and bowery bum hat, backed by
> a quartet clustered at center stage like a jazz band. Standing at the
> front of the stage, bent forward and to his left -- lit primarily by a
> spotlight at his feet -- Waits burst forth with a singular sandpaper
> growl/howl that left positively no doubt this was really happening.
> "Thank you," he rasped after the second song, "16 Shells From a
> Thirty-Ought Six." "What makes you think I stay up this late?
> Thanks for waiting in that line for so long." What followed after that,
> a 17-song main set, and two, two-song encores, is the stuff rock &
> roll dreams are made of -- the stuff of legend (if only local). Expect
> to read Margaret Moser's full report in this Friday's Chronicle, but
> let's just say that Wait's self-described set of "grand weepers and
> grim reapers" ("my wife says I have only two kinds of songs," he
> chuckled) was like that of a great jazzman -- mind-blowing,
> masterful, and unique to that one performance only. Every person
> present undoubtedly stumbled out onto the cool, clear evening with
> his/her own epiphany, mine being Waits' reading a reworked "9th &
> Hennepin" from Raindogs, an album generously highlighted by the
> set-list. For this writer, it was the first time beat poetry, jazz, and
> popular music came together with such power and grace -- a
> musical moment never to be forgotten. Multiply that by 1,300-or-so
> crazed fans, and you get the picture.
"The truth ain't always what we need, sometimes we need to hear a beautiful
lie." -Bill Lloyd
