The late great television show announcer Johnny Olson once said, ""A voice without undue inflection may charm, soothe, calm or arouse."" While such advice may work wonders on ""Name That Tune,"" Tom Waits' vocal prowess is the antithesis of a model orator like Olson; encompassing the most insalubrious, brusque and at times depressing qualities capable of a human voice. Although his poignant voice has been his primary claim to fame, Waits has been one of the most eccentric and creative men of any era. More a genuine entertainer than traditional musician, Waits blends tear-jerking ballads, unsavory and perplexing spoken word tracks and devilish parlor songs as his staple contributions to the music world—all share a part in the three disc, 56 song rarities complication album Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards.
Brawlers is the most invigorating disc of the set, where the sleaziest of Waits' many musical personalities come to life. The songs ""Lord I've Been Changed"" and ""Fish in the Jailhouse"" stand out as some of the most horrific field holler songs you will ever hear in your life. To balance out that creepy duo, Waits makes a statement on how cover songs should sound with his rendition of ""The Return of Jackie and Jude,"" by the Ramones, adding a delta blues twinge that sounds completely different from the original.
After being dazzled by Waits' schizophrenic tirade in Brawlers, the Bawlers disc represents the sensitive qualities beneath Waits' gruff dexterity. In ""You Can Never Hold Back Spring"" and ""Widows Grove,"" the analog sound quality coupled with Waits' mournful voice eerily emulates that of Louis Armstrong in ""What a Wonderful World."" Waits remains in this 1930s prom dance trend throughout this era, culminated with his chilling version of ""Young at Heart"" which, although it sounds like a pirate trying to sing Frank Sinatra, may very well be the best recording the song ever.
Then there's Bastards, an assemblage of disturbing prose and whatever oddities Waits had to fill up the rest of the anthology. The spoken word tracks are some of Waits' finest material to date: from a man's euphoria at a snowy diner in ""Nirvana,"" proclaiming an ingenious supermarket scam in ""Missing My Son"" to a grotesque lecture on various blood-sucking insects in ""Army Ants."" On top of these bewildering stories, Waits unloads some of his polished beat boxing skills in ""King Kong"" and ""Spidey's Wild Ride.""
After two and a half hours of Orphans, the general consensus will be one of two responses: ""what the hell was that"" or ""my brain hurts."" It is no secret that Waits is an acquired taste, and while his music deviates from the norm, think of it like an abstract painting—a bunch of shit on a poster board, but it looks pretty cool anyway.
