I originally wrote and posted what follows on Facebook on 20 August, 2022. A lot of it was plagiarized verbatim (from me, by me) from a "Song of the Week" (the "Album of the Week" predecessor) that I emailed to friends and family sometime in 2009. About a month ago, the album was re-issued in a special 50th anniversary, yellow vinyl edition. I just finished listening to it a few minutes ago. I didn't listen to it for a month because it's one of those records that needs to be appreciated under particular circumstances, which finally popped up earlier this evening. Thought I'd re-share it here...
Do yourself a favour right now. Look out your window. Is it dark outside? If not, it may be better if you wait until it is to read this. If you're reading this in a room with no windows, it probably doesn't matter all that much, I suppose. But this week's album and accompanying "sermon" need to be appreciated in a certain ambiance. Or at least that's what this humbly pretentious wannabe writer is hoping for.
I used to take late night walks all the time before I had problems with my hips. I still like to do it occasionally, but I don't do it as often as I used to/should. There is a spot on the campus of Indiana University that I loved to go to when I lived in Bloomington, particularly at night, particularly in the fall. I liked to go there just to ring in the new day. It's the one place I never have to worry about being disturbed for any reason. In fact only two other people would ever think to look for me there and, well, frankly, they're not likely to be interested in doing so.
There is something mystical and magical about the night. Is it just me or does the night--specifically that extraordinarily fine line between today and tomorrow--seem more alive than any other time of the day?
Whether we realize it or not, I think we've always had a strange fascination with the night. Nocturnal activities are what many of us live for. That's when most of the things that end up meaning the most to us occur. If you look back at your lives, I'm willing to bet that more than half of your fondest memories occurred after dark. It could be just staying up drinking and talking with old friends, it could be a hot date that turns into something hotter later, it could be a formal occasion such as your senior prom, it could be a five hour phone conversation, it could be a night out with family, it could just be a night out. Whatever the circumstances and no matter how meaningful they are, they probably wouldn't have been as exciting if they had occurred during the day.
The night sometimes makes us do things we might not normally do. I swear to you, one night at the stroke of midnight, I actually walked outside stark naked and howled at the moon. Looking back on it, I'm not sure why I did it. Maybe I just wanted to be able to say many years later that I'd done something that crazy. Come to think about it, I'm not even sure the moon was out that night.
It's an exciting and almost dangerous time. This is the time when it's safe for our deepest, darkest secrets to come out of hiding. We can tell the night all those things we can't tell the day because if the sunlight is allowed to strike those deep, dark secrets, then the rest of the world can see what we work so hard to keep from it. But at night, we can truly be ourselves.
I'm also a fan of restaurants and diners that stay open twenty-four hours a day. In my younger days, I would occasionally hop on over to the nearest Steak and Shake for some late night Berry Berry Cobbler a la mode. Unfortunately, Steak and Shake (at least back then) didn't serve French toast. So I would occasionally have to drive way out of my way to the Waffle House which did. Even though it's my favourite breakfast food, I still think French toast tastes best after midnight. Which brings us to this week's album...
No singer inhabits the night quite as naturally or as organically as Tom Waits. His music has provided us over the years with many late night glimpses into the late night--songs full of bars and strip clubs and all night diners and cheap booze and enough cigarette smoke that you could get lung cancer just from listening. With a soul filled with jazz and beat poetry, a language filled with adjectives and a voice of whisky-soaked gravel, it is virtually impossible to listen to Tom Waits's music while the sun is shining. Even his album covers, especially the ones from the 1970s, look like they would turn to dust in broad daylight.
This week's particular nocturnal submission is his third album (and the rare live performance). Please enjoy 1975's "Nighthawks At the Diner," which seems to focus precisely on that. I've always been particularly curious about the song "Eggs and Sausage (In a Cadillac with Susan Michelson)." I'm still trying to figure out if "In a Cadillac with Susan Michelson" is a secondary title or if he actually did eat eggs and sausage in a Cadillac with Susan Michelson. These are the kinds of thoughts that go through my head late at night...
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!
The Reverend Will the Thrill
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