Tom Waits, Ratcellar Theatre, Phoenix Park, Dublin:Tom Waits ambled on stage more than half-an-hour later than stipulated, but before he had uttered a syllable, he turned the rapturous reception into a standing ovation with the merest upward gesture of his hands, as if the crowd were an army of marionettes dangling on his deftly controlled strings.
This was an audience evidently determined to soak in Waits’s renowned showmanship, and for €130 a ticket, who could blame them.
Much had been made of the unprecedented anti-touting measures on this Glitter and Doom tour, requiring ticketholders to come bearing their passports or driver’s licences, but in the event the checks were random and most people sauntered past security with no more than cursory eye-contact.
The large tent, or so-called Ratcellar Theatre, was a fitting venue for a performer whose puckish onstage persona is equal parts circus ringmaster and fairground carny. With old public address speakers artfully arranged behind him, and a thick layer of dust on his raised platform that billowed with every dramatic stomp of his feet, the production design echoed the smoky, grizzled atmosphere of his songs.
His own well-worn suit and hat appeared to have aged in unison with his extraordinary voice, with its unmistakable, guttural timbre. It can be a monstrous growl, the stuff of children’s nightmares, but while it is his greatest instrument, it is often hard to distinguish his lyrics from the gravelly affectations. Given that Waits is almost as much a storyteller as a songwriter, this is an unfortunate dilemma.
Waits and his excellent band, which includes two of his sons, delivered a generous set exceeding two and-a -half hours, sprinkled with many of the his sparkling classics from his 30-plus year career, particularly when he played his piano solo for a few trademark ballads, including Tom Traubert’s Blues and Innocent When You Dream.
There were, however, undeniable longueurs, where the early energy dissipated and the audience’s attention began to wander. This first performance was far from the triumphant trilogy that Leonard Cohen delivered in June, for instance, and also fell short of the standards promised by the rave reviews his Edinburgh concerts garnered.
But as he stood in the spotlight at the end, with a mirrored top hat reflecting beams of light around the tent, it was possible to rejoice in the Glitter rather than wallow in the Doom.