Sometimes there's a party, sometimes there's famine: in the middle the nothingness.

The Italian newspaper La Repubblica of November 10, 2006, on the occasion of the presentation of "Brawlers, bawlers and bastards," the new triple CD, published a short interview with Tom Waits, but so beautiful that I can't resist the temptation to report it.
Tom speaks in the way I've always liked: poetically (the final description of life is magnificent). Something that very few people can do (William Burroughs was a great one).
Please note: in any case, I acknowledge that the interview is owned by Repubblica and the author, Giuseppe Videtti. I hereby undertake to remove it upon simple email request.
But think this beautiful page of yours has now been forgotten because, as the Rolling Stones used to say, "Who wants yesterday's papers?" So, at least, some people are reading it again.

Here's the interview. Enjoy it by listening to "Bottom of the World," the song released online as the album's trailer.

You says you writes songs that, sometimes, don't want to be sung.
"Recording a song is like catching a sparrow: you have to do it without risking killing it. Sometimes, in the rush to get a song onto a record, you're left with a handful of feathers, and the sparrow—that is, the song—has flown away."

When do you know it's time to sing this or that song?
Songs have their own gestation; some urgently need to be spread, others want to remain in the shadows and continue to change over time. Songs have a thousand-year-old tradition; the recording industry, on the other hand, is barely a hundred years old. For centuries, songs have been passed down orally. No one can assure us that "popular" songs have reached us the way they were originally written.

What was the first time a song crossed your mind and made you want to be a singer-songwriter?
When my father sang Mexican tunes to me, accompanying himself on the guitar. I must have been 4 years old, no older. Then Harry Belafonte came along, and it was love at first listen. I've always been attracted to "other" cultures, too; my music is born from the clash of irreconcilable influences. I like Judy Garland and Black Flag, Frank Sinatra and the Sex Pistols, mariachi, rumba, bossa nova.

And tango?
"A lot of tango." Once upon a time, you could listen to everything on the radio; that was my schooling. I wasn't the one who discovered music; it was those songs that sought me out. As a teenager, I listened to the legendary DJ Wolfman Jack; he was the one who opened my eyes to black music. Then I ended up in a high school with mostly black people, and then my passion for James Brown and all black music ignited. What good times, so much talent. Today, the industry is full of liars and dishonest people. They try to convince anyone they meet that they'll be the next Elvis; that's the trick; then, if it doesn't sell right away, they throw it away like a bum, even if it's a genius."

What was the industry like when you started out, in the '70s?
"There were scavengers and sharks, like today, but even naive people like me were offered a chance."

Does that mean you had a sufficient dose of creativity?
"Creativity? Yes, and many desires and dreams, but I was also young and stupid. And very fragile, and someone liked my fragility and decided to protect me by having me record an album. But at that point I needed a manager and, like everyone else, I was defrauded."

You was given the opportunity to continue recording.
“Everyone lives in their own time. I started out in a period when the industry was trying to fertilize its eggs. Today, iPods, MP3s, and the Internet have atrophied the public's interest; even artists have lost that sense of adventure that drove us to experiment. What consoles me is that, despite everything, there's still a desire to play live; music continues to be a primary need.

There's no need to be pessimistic with a 33-year career like yours.
“Everything has its price. From the beginning, I knew I didn't want to be 24 and hate music. I knew there were mechanisms I didn't like and a certain type of pop I never wanted to do. My longevity has to do with a kind of integrity that, obviously, required financial sacrifices. You know how it goes, right? Your photo in the newspapers gets smaller and smaller, the reviews of your albums shorter and shorter. But that's okay, I never thought I'd become like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

What happened in 1983, when you made a clean break with the past with Swordfishtrombones?
My wife and I wanted to produce the album ourselves. We knew it was a different album, but everyone wanted me to stay the same, as if I were a soft drink recipe. They treated me like 7Up, while I was searching for something I couldn't find inside myself. Kathleen said, "Your records sound like I have a mask on my face." She wanted me to sound more like myself.

What struck you about Kathleen at first: the woman or the artist?
"The woman. If there hadn't been love, we wouldn't still be together after 26 years. And believe me, collaborating with someone you love is the most beautiful thing. The two of us are like the crew of a ship; you have to know how to cook, repair, mend, steer, swim. Ours is a great kitchen.

Your wife says you're the most stubborn man she's ever known.
"It's true, it's hard to change my mind, even though fatherhood has made me more malleable. The truly indissoluble marriage is the one with children (I have three, the eldest plays with my band), you can't divorce them. I manage to keep calm even when they ask me, "Hey, dad, can you get me a couple of tickets to the Red Hot Chili Peppers concert?"

How does your life unfold amidst all this silence?
It's different every day. It's like being in an airport control tower: moments of deadly boredom, moments of absolute terror. Sometimes the boat is full of fish, sometimes you're searching for your wedding ring at the bottom of the ocean, sometimes the wind blows so hard it almost rips the skin off your face, sometimes you sip lemonade by the pool. Sometimes there's a party, sometimes there's famine: in the middle the nothingness. Sometimes, as we Americans say when it's pouring, it rains cats and dogs, other times bulls, cows, and mice. And sometimes my life floats on a lily petal.

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