It’s been awhile since we’ve heard a whole album of new material from Tom Waits, the artist that commands a rabid following spanning generations. But that’s not to say he hasn’t been busy: he compiled the gloriously inclusive three-disc set Orphans back in 2006, and has acted in a number of films, since his last 'proper' album in 2004 (Real Gone). He even delivered a monstrous hip-hop verse on N.A.S.A.’s “Spacious Thoughts.” With that spectrum of artistic asides in mind, many critics and fans will classify Bad As Me as a comfortable return-to-form for Waits, mostly because the brief nature of these tracks hark back to his early days as a beatnik crooner. To do so would be to deny the significant shape shifting of Waits’s career, however; Bad As Me isn’t so much a nostalgic look at the past as it is a concise amalgamation of everything Waits represents as an artist, performer, and storied songwriter.

Bad As Me listens like scattered, scribbled pages read aloud from Waits’s notebook, jumping into tight narratives before quickly changing pace and moving on to the next fleeting fable of romance, mortality and perpetual motion. Once again Waits collaborates on songwriting and production with his wife, Kathleen Brennan, while a handful of guests (Keith Richards, Marc Ribot and David Hidalgo) flit in and out of tracks, only subtly making their presence known before the next cut kicks in. It’s appropriate that all these players play their small parts in the arc of Bad As Me and never linger, adding to the road trip, coming-and-going vibe of this brisk record. On the manic opener “Chicago,” Waits is ready to flee the urban and familial decay surrounding him, barking “We won’t have to say goodbye/If we all go/Maybe things will be better/In Chicago,” hammering the point home by wailing “all aboard!” at track's end. “Face to the Highway” is gentler, but equally ominous: an understated electric lead and sparse percussion create a hollow space for Waits’s musings on responsibility and trust in relationships.

Though Bad As Me is particularly heavy on weepers—from the gorgeous acoustic ballad “Last Leaf” to “Kiss Me,” a deliberate extension of “I Never Talk to Strangers,” his 1977 duet with Bette Midler—there are plenty of dirty rockers to go around. The title track moves at a menacing lurch, and Waits is at the top of his game vocally; he howls in deathly falsetto, then plummets into a grisly growl, all in the span of a few phrases. A seductive one-note banjo line anchors “Raised Right Men," and a piercing organ punctuates the tale's mischievous characters, "Gunplay Maxwell" and "Ice Pick Ed Newcomb." Just when Waits reaches his most threatening on “Hell Broke Luce,” which plays like a crowded prison chant—all handclaps, grungy guitars and military-march percussion—he reels it back in with the longing atmosphere of “New Year’s Eve”: “I didn’t plan to come back/I had only a few things/Two hundred dollars/And my records in a brown paper sack,” he recites. It's redemption as only Waits knows it.

While there may not be a whole lot of surprises to entice old fans on Bad As Me, Waits sounds better, musically and vocally, than he has in years. Some of his releases have been known to stray into uncharted territory (with mixed results), and there’s so comforting feeling in knowing Waits is in total control here. For 45 minutes, we can hand ourselves over to a true musical legend and know that our time won’t be wasted. Bad As Me is as confident, concise and compelling as Waits records come.

Review by:
Kyle Fowle