Singer, songwriter, musician and arranger Barry Manilow

DATE January 1, 2003 ACCOUNT NUMBER N/A
TIME 12:00 Noon-1:00 PM AUDIENCE N/A
NETWORK NPR
PROGRAM Fresh Air

Interview: Barry Manilow discusses his music
TERRY GROSS, host:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. Happy new year.

Today we conclude our encore week featuring our favorite music interviews
from
2002. First we hear from one of the most successful pop performers of the
'70s and early '80s, Barry Manilow. He had 25 Top 40 hits between 1974 and
'83, including "Mandy," "I Write The Songs," "Tryin' To Get The Feeling
Again," "Looks Like We Made It," "Daybreak," "Can't Smile Without You,"
"Copacabana" and "I Made It Through The Rain." Before he started writing
and
singing pop songs, he wrote commercial jingles and he was Bette Midler's
first
music director. He stopped recording his own songs in the '80s; there
didn't
seem to be much interest in them anymore. But recently he moved back on to
the pop charts with his `best of' compilation "Ultimate Manilow." And in
2002
he had a new CD of original songs called "Here At The Mayflower." I spoke
with him last March.

When I picked up your "Ultimate Manilow" record, the great hits record, I
looked at the songs on the back and I thought, `Well, I know that. I know
that one. Don't know this one. Don't know this one,' but when I played it,
I
realized that I knew the ones that I didn't think I knew. I just didn't
remember them by title.

Mr. BARRY MANILOW: Oh, I have insinuated my little self into your brains
over
the last 20 years.

GROSS: But that's the thing. I mean, you know, your songs were everywhere.
I mean...

Mr. MANILOW: They were everywhere.

GROSS: ...they were on the radio. They were on TV. They were in stores...

Mr. MANILOW: They were.

GROSS: ...and probably in elevators. I mean, they were just all over.

Mr. MANILOW: Oh, I'm sure they were in elevators. I'm sure they were in
elevators, yes.

GROSS: Well...

Mr. MANILOW: No, it's true. And, you know, I hadn't even listened to these
records. You know, I sing them nightly, but, you know, they don't sound
exactly like the old records did. And I actually--somebody was playing it
and
I actually listened to it and they all sound pretty good. I mean, you know,
we get into it and it sounds pretty good even, you know, all these years
later.

GROSS: What are some of the most unusual places you've heard your songs?

Mr. MANILOW: That's a great question. Some of the most unusual
places--well, you know, I must say that, you know, I have heard it in
restaurants, but unusual places, I don't know. You know, in big stadiums
and,
of course, you know, in boutiques and, you know, the karaoke bars. That was
pretty awful. I must say that was really...

GROSS: Well, tell me a karaoke story.

Mr. MANILOW: There was some very bad singer trying to do "I Write The
Songs."
It was really--I had to leave.

GROSS: Well, what were you doing there in the first place? Why were you in
a
karaoke bar?

Mr. MANILOW: I didn't know it was a karaoke bar. It was a Mexican
restaurant, and suddenly somebody got up and sang. I hope they didn't know
that I was there.

GROSS: That's really funny. The funny thing about "I Write The Songs"--you
know, people associate that song with you 'cause you recorded it, but you
didn't write "I Write The Songs."

Mr. MANILOW: I did not. And I knew it was going to get me in trouble as
soon
as Clive showed--you know, my hit record "Experience" is all--I give the
credit to Clive Davis, who was the president of Arista while I was there.
And
when I went on to Arista Records, I really knew nothing about pop music at
all. My first single was "Could It Be Magic," you know, a song that I based
on a Chopin prelude and it came in at eight minutes long, so what did I know
about pop music. So, I mean, you're supposed to have a three-minute record.
But when Clive started to work with me, he actually taught me the ins and
outs
of how to have a hit record. And he would submit songs to me so that I
would
arrange and produce and sing these outside pieces of material even though I
considered myself a songwriter. And "I Write The Songs" was one of the ones
he gave me. And I knew I was going to get in trouble if I accepted this
because, first of all, I figured everybody was going to think that I was
screaming about how I write all the songs in the world. What does he think
he
is? Burt Bacharach, you know?

And then, you know, I didn't write "I Write The Songs," but Bruce Johnson of
The Beach Boys wrote it, and when I sang it, I knew what he was trying to
get
to. He's saying the spirit of music is really the creator of everything,
you
know, of all composers' work. And I believe that, too. I believe that when
I'm writing, I have nothing to do with it. I'm just taking dictation. I
loved that idea, but I didn't think anybody listening to "I Write The Songs"
would really understand that. And I was right. Most people actually
thought
that I was singing about myself. And it didn't seem to bother anybody,
either, but it's true. I didn't write "I Write The Songs."

GROSS: Why don't we hear a little bit of "I Write The Songs."

(Soundbite of "I Write The Songs")

Mr. MANILOW: (Singing) I write the songs that make the whole world sing. I
write the songs of love and special things. I write the songs that make the
young girls cry. I write the songs. I write the songs.

GROSS: That's Barry Manilow, and that's one of his hits that's included on
the new CD "Ultimate Manilow."

Now let's talk about your early musical life. Your first instrument was, I
think, accordion?

Mr. MANILOW: I'm sorry.

GROSS: What happened?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah. I'm sorry that it was the accordion.

GROSS: Oh, you're sorry that it was the accordion. Oh.

Mr. MANILOW: I--yeah.

GROSS: Why do you have to apologize?

Mr. MANILOW: Yes, I'm guilty. I'm guilty that it was the accordion.

GROSS: Well, the accordion is, like, the hippest instrument now. I don't
have to tell you that, you know?

Mr. MANILOW: Not when I played it.

GROSS: Not when you played it. The whole "Lady Of Spain" bit?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah, I think every Jewish and Italian boy cannot get out of
Brooklyn, New York, unless he learns how to play the accordion. There's a
guard at the Brooklyn Bridge and you have to play "Lady Of Spain" before you
can go over the bridge. Everybody I knew played the accordion badly. I
happened to--you know, because I was more musical than the rest of my
friends,
I kind of got through "Hava Nagila" and "Lady Of Spain," and I actually
entertained my relatives. You know, they just thought it was the greatest
thing. It really wasn't the thing that turned my musical motor on, I can
tell
you, but you're right. There are people who play the accordion and actually
make it sound good. I was not one of those people.

GROSS: Did you sing when you played?

Mr. MANILOW: No, I never sang. I didn't sing until I started making
records.
I never really thought of myself as a singer. Singing was for other people
to
do.

GROSS: Right.

Mr. MANILOW: Performing was for other people to do. I was at--if I was
going
to have a career in music at all, it was going to be as a musician. And
that
was it. No, I never sang.

GROSS: When you first started working professionally, I think it was in
more
of a supporting role, working--like you had an act with a woman singer--I
think Jeannie was her name?

Mr. MANILOW: Yes.

GROSS: And so you did some arranging for her. You were the pianist. You
sang some duets with her. But it was kind of--it sounds from your book like
it was a kind of supporting role. Did you see yourself as being like a
supporting role type of character in music?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, if I saw myself at all in music--and like I said, it was
so risky I never even dreamed about even that. But if I were to imagine
myself in the music business at that time, it would have been in a
supporting
role, as an arranger, as a pianist, as a producer, as a songwriter. Those
were my goals. Those were my dreams. Those were my fantasies that one day,
if I ever took the risk, that's where I would wind up. And so my first
professional engagement was as an accompanist for many, many singers, and
Jeannie was one of them.

GROSS: Well, your most famous position in a supporting role was as Bette
Midler's accompanist and music arranger, and this was in the era when she
was
playing at the Continental Baths, the gay steam bath in Manhattan. How did
you meet Bette Midler?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, she was one of the dozens of girl and boy singers that I
was accompanying. I had left CBS and I had begun accompanying singers, and
I
was making a really healthy living. Because I'm really a good accompanist.
I'm not that great a pianist, but I'm a really good accompanist. And they
are
always in demand in New York for auditions and people who need arranging and
coaching and stuff. So before I knew it, I was coaching just about every
singer that needed a pianist. I was booked like 12 hours a day. And Bette
must have heard of me and called me and asked if I would play a couple of
weekends for her at this placed called the Continental Baths. So I worked
for
a couple of weekends for her. I subbed for her piano player that she had,
and
she exploded and asked me if I would stay along with her. And I, frankly,
didn't want to just work for one person, and she couldn't afford to, you
know,
really just, you know, pay me for, you know, 24 hours a day, but Bette
Midler
was so incredibly talented that I just could not say `no,' and I began to
work
for her exclusively.

GROSS: Could you talk a little bit about what it was like to play to an
audience in a gay steam bath?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, I only worked there for two weekends. You know, people
got--you know, there's this unbelievable reputation that both Bette and I
had,
you know, about working in, you know, all the gay bath houses around the
world, you know, in Iran and Paris. But I don't know how long she worked
there, but I know for me, it was only two weekends, and it was a nightclub
situation there, although they were in towels, but it was a nightclub
situation, and there was a stage and lights and a sound system. And Bette
would come out and do her brilliant hour and a half, and they would freak
out,
and after the two weekends, she got booked at a place called the Upstairs at
the Downstairs, which was in Manhattan, and that was it. That was the end
of
my experience at the Continental Baths. But a lot of other people worked at
the baths because, like I said, it was a really interesting nightclub
situation, and the audiences were fantastic to the performers.

GROSS: My guest is Barry Manilow. We'll talk more after a break. This is
FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

GROSS: My guest is Barry Manilow. He was one of the biggest pop hit makers
of the '70s and early '80s. Here's his first big hit, "Mandy."

(Soundbite of "Mandy")

Mr. MANILOW: (Singing) I remember all my life raining down as cold as ice,
shadows of a man, a face through a window, crying in the night, the night
goes
into morning. Just another day, happy people pass my way. Looking in their
eyes, I see a memory. I never realized how happy you made me. Oh, Mandy.
Well, you came and you gave without taking. But I sent you away. Oh,
Mandy.
Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking, and I need you today. Oh,
Mandy.

GROSS: At what point did you think, `Well, I'm going to be the one by the
microphone. I'm going to be the one singing. I'm going to have my own
act'?
What led you to that point?

Mr. MANILOW: You know, I was--it felt to me--it still seems to me that I
was
not in charge of that until way, way into my career. It felt like I was
just
catching up. Because when this opportunity to sing for myself came up, I
was
very reluctant to pursue this. I, first of all, didn't believe that I had
any
right to be a singer. I didn't think that I had a voice. I didn't think
that
I had a style. I didn't think that--and frankly, it wasn't anything that
I'd
ever aspired to anyway. I was still trying to come from that old Tin Pan
Alley school where you wrote songs for other people to record. But I got
this
record offer--a contract offer because somebody had heard my demos that I
had
sung. I had sung my own songs. And I was trying to get other people to
record them but I couldn't afford other singers, so I sang them myself. And
I
got an offer to make a record because Bell Records thought that I--I don't
know what they thought. They like what they heard. And I was, you know, so
interested in promoting my own songs that if that was the only way to do it,
I
took it.

But they said that I could not--they wouldn't give me this deal unless I
promised to go out and put a show together and promote it. Well, that--I
just
didn't know how to do that, but I was still conducting for Bette, and I
asked
her if I could sing a few songs to open her second act. And in that way I
would tour to promote my album and I would also stay music director for her
show. And she let me do it. So I would conduct her first act, then I would
open her second act with three of my songs from this new album that I had
made, and then I would continue to conduct. So that kind of worked out
great.

GROSS: Were you the first person to record one of your own songs?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah, I was. Yes, I was. I was the first person to record
one
of my own songs, if you don't want to count "State Farm is there."

(Soundbite of laughter)

GROSS: Is that one of your commercials?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah.

GROSS: Yeah, 'cause you wrote a lot of jingles before you made it as a
performer.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah, I did. Yeah, I did.

GROSS: Oh, so how's the whole thing go? What's the first line in that, the
"State Farm is there"?

Mr. MANILOW: What? `Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.'

GROSS: Yeah.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah.

GROSS: Oh, wow.

Mr. MANILOW: A very talented girl named Leslie Miller recorded that one
after
I wrote it, and then there was another one called "I am stuck on Band-Aids
and
a Band-Aid's stuck on me," and there was a whole batch of little kids that
recorded that. But, I mean, you know, I wouldn't consider that that was,
you
know, my first hit, you know.

GROSS: Well, let me back up to that. How did you start writing
commercials?
You know, we've got you going from Bette Midler's music director to
recording
demos and recording yourself. Where do the commercials fit it?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, when I was sending my demos out, a commercial agent
heard
some of these demos and they thought that I was writing commercially. And
they called me and said, `Do you want to up for a Dodge commercial?' And I
said, `Sure.' So I wrote a Dodge commercial, the melody to the lyric that
they gave me. And, of course, my commercial, not knowing anything, came in
like, you know, at four minutes or something. I was supposed to write it
for
30 seconds, you know. But they liked the melody, and ultimately after we
pared the whole thing down to 30 seconds, I got it. I got the first one I
went out for. And then they kept calling me to write various jingles. And
State Farm and Band-Aids are the ones that people still remember.

GROSS: Now what did you learn about the craft of songwriting from writing
commercial jingles?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, you know, I attended the New York College of Music and a
little while I went to Juilliard. And even though that was pretty good
training for my brains, the commercial world, my three years in the
commercial
world was really the college that I went to because I got to work with the
top
musicians. You know, they pay so well. You work with the top studio
musicians, who taught me really how to arrange music. You know, the oboe
player would say, `Psst. Come on over here. You see this thing? You're
writing it too high.' I'd say, `Really? I'm writing it too high?' `Yeah.
The oboe can't go up that high, so take it down an octave.' This would go
on
and on.

I worked with the great, great studio singers who taught me how to harmonize
and how to change the timbre of my voice. I worked with these great
engineers
who, you know, I would stand behind and I would see how they made these
jingles sound so hot that they would jump out of the radio. And as far as
the
songwriting goes, well, you're up against so many fantastic songwriters that
you've got to write the catchiest melody in 30 seconds. If you don't write
the best one, then the other guys get it. And so for three years, I was in
school, and I'll never forget that.

GROSS: Now did you ever come up with a hook for a jingle and think, `Wait a
minute. That's really a song. It's not a jingle. I'm keeping that one for
myself'?

Mr. MANILOW: A lot of them. But, you know, once you start to write
30-second
jingles, they really don't want to be much more than 30-second jingles.

GROSS: Uh-huh. So, like, there were ideas coming to you that you knew were
just, like, 30-second ideas?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah. They were great hooks, but every time I tried to expand
them, they didn't work.

GROSS: Right. So there was no bridge to "You Deserve a Break Today"?

Mr. MANILOW: No, there's no bridge to "You Deserve"--and there's no bridge
to
"State Farm is there." And, you know, I mean, "State Farm is there" is a
pretty little melody, you know, that it could be a melody. But frankly,
it's
probably better as a commercial.

GROSS: When you were having all those top-10 hits--this was the '70s and
the
'80s--now all of us who remember then know that--well, most of us were
fashion
victims of one sort or another during that era, particularly in the '70s.

Mr. MANILOW: Weren't we?

GROSS: There were some pretty frightening things that we all wore, that we
all participated in. As a performer--I think it's even worse for
performers,
'cause performers have to wear more extreme versions of whatever...

Mr. MANILOW: And you're tortured with them for the rest of your life.

GROSS: Yeah. Here I am bringing it up again for you. So what are some of
your worst fashion memories?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, you know, I looked just like Rod Stewart and Elton John
did. You know, we were all wearing--we all looked like idiots back then,
you
know.

GROSS: With the white suits, yeah.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah. With the glitter and the, you know, bell-bottoms and
the
Puca beads. Frankly I looked like Britney Spears back then with my long
blond
hair, really, before the boob job.

GROSS: Exactly. I was going to...

Mr. MANILOW: Right.

GROSS: I was going to mention that.

Mr. MANILOW: That was me.

GROSS: David Rakoff did an interview with you in the Sunday New York Times
Magazine.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah.

GROSS: And you had mentioned that the Smithsonian had asked for your
"Copacabana" jacket, which you described...

Mr. MANILOW: Really. Isn't that funny?

GROSS: Yeah. You described it as being a `huge ruffled Desi Arnaz babaloo
kind of thing.'

Mr. MANILOW: It is. I did it as a joke in 1978. And, you know, they
take--and somebody took a photo of me. And, you know, from that moment on I
was sunk. I was just sunk. You know, I did it as a joke, but I think
people,
you know, thought that I was serious.

GROSS: Well, you said that the Smithsonian asked you for the jacket, you
sent
it to them and then they sent it back to you.

Mr. MANILOW: Well, here's--the real story is this. I just put my foot in
my
mouth. They asked me for the jacket. And, you know, it's such a funny
jacket, it's a joke. And so when I got it out--I was interviewed and the
interviewer said, `It's going to the Smithsonian.' I said, `Yeah. I always
knew it was going to wind up in an institution.' And the Smithsonian got so
insulted, they sent it back.

GROSS: Oh. Oh. So where is the jacket now?

Mr. MANILOW: Oh, it lives in my offices in Los Angeles, and it's still as
silly as it ever was, but now it has a little bit more meaning for me.

GROSS: Now I have a question for you, and I know you're asked this a lot,
but
has it bothered you that although you've had this huge success over the
years,
there's also been people, you know, listeners and some critics who, like,
use
the word `syrupy' to describe your music? And, you know, you've been the
butt
of jokes in some articles and other places. Is that difficult to handle?
Does it bug you?

Mr. MANILOW: Now and again it does. I'm, you know, human, so, yeah, it
does.
You know, I go into self-pity for a while and I pull the covers over my
head,
like any human being would do. But it never really stopped me, mostly
because
I believe in what I do. I listen to these songs, you know, trying to get
the
feeling, "This One's For You" and "When October Goes" and I say, `Well, I
like
them. I think they sound great.' And, you know, my band likes them, and
the
audiences like them. And so I just keep going. I just keep doing what I
love
doing and hope that there's an audience out there for it.

And I was always surprised at the critics when they felt they needed to be
so
mean-spirited in their opinions to somebody that they never even met. But I
forgave them, the little creeps, for making my life miserable for all those
years. But, you know, the best revenge is, like I said before, you know, I
continue to get the opportunity to make music, to make the music that I love
to make. And so that's really the best revenge.

GROSS: Our interview with Barry Manilow was recorded last March. His
greatest hits CD is called "Ultimate Manilow" and a CD of new original songs
is called "Here At The Mayflower."

I'm Terry Gross and this is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of "Copacabana")

Mr. MANILOW: (Singing) Her name was Lola. She was a showgirl. With yellow

feathers in her hair and her dress cut down to there. She would meringue
and
do the cha-cha. And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar
across the crowded floor. They worked from 8 till 4. They were young and
they had each other. Who could ask for more? At the Copa, Copacabana. The
hottest spot short of Havana. Here at the Copa, Copacabana. Music and
passion were always the fashion, at the Copa. They fell in love.

(Announcements)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Interview: Tom Waits discusses his musical influences, his career
and his two new CDs, "Blood Money" and "Alice"
TERRY GROSS, host:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross.

We're going to conclude our encore week series with one of the true
eccentrics
of pop music, Tom Waits. Earlier this year, in The New York Times, he was
described as `the poet of outcasts.' There's always been an element of
mystery
surrounding his life. The people he sings about are usually losers, hobos,
outlaws and drunks. The darkness of his lyrics is accentuated by the rumble
and rasp of his voice; a voice that sounded old even when he was young.
Waits
has been recording since 1973.

Tom Waits had two new CDs in 2002, "Alice" and "Blood Money." Each was
written for a music theater piece by Robert Wilson. Each has songs
co-written
with Waits' wife, Kathleen Brennan. When I spoke with Waits last May, we
started with a song from "Blood Money." This is "Misery Is The River Of The
World."

(Soundbite of "Misery Is The River Of The World")

Mr. TOM WAITS: (Singing) The higher that the monkey can climb the more he
shows his tail. Call no man happy till he dies. There's no milk at the
bottom of the pail. God builds a church, the devil builds a chapel like the
pistols that are growing on the trunk of a tree. All the good in the world
you can put inside a thimble and still have room for you and me.

If there's one thing you can say about mankind, there's nothing kind about
man. You can drive out nature with a pitchfork, but it always comes roaring
back again. Misery's the river of the world. Misery's the river of the
world. Misery's the river of the world. The higher that the monkey can
climb...

GROSS: Music from Tom Waits' new CD, "Blood Money."

Tom Waits, welcome to FRESH AIR.

Mr. WAITS: Oh, thanks. Thanks for having me.

GROSS: The arrangements for your songs are really good. Do you do the
arrangements yourself?

Mr. WAITS: Well, I collaborate with my wife on the songs in every aspect of
it, really; the composing and arranging and recording and all that business.

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

Mr. WAITS: So, you know, we have a rhythm and a way of working. It's kind
of
like borrowing the same 10 bucks from somebody over and over again, you
know.
But, you know, when you live together, you know, it makes it a lot easier,
the
payback, you know.

GROSS: What was the music that you grew up listening to because your
parents
were listening to it? I mean, before you were old enough to choose music
yourself, what was the music in your house?

Mr. WAITS: Mm-hmm. Really young, mariachi music, I guess. My dad only
played a Mexican radio station. And then, you know, Frank Sinatra, and
later,
Harry Belafonte. And then, you know, I would go over to my friends' houses
and I would go into the den with their dads and find out what they were
listening to, because I was--I couldn't wait to be an old man. I was about
13, you know. I didn't really identify with the music of my own generation,
but I was very curious about the music of others. And I think I responded
to
the song forms themselves, you know; cakewalks and waltzes and barcaroles
and
parlor songs and all that stuff, I think--which is just really nothing more
than Jell-O molds for music, you know. But I seemed to like the old stuff;
Cole Porter and, you know, Oscars and Hammerstein and Gershwin and all that
stuff. I like melody.

GROSS: Now said your father listened mostly to the Mexican station and to
mariachi music.

Mr. WAITS: Yeah.

GROSS: Was your father Mexican?

Mr. WAITS: No. My dad's from Texas. He grew up in a place called Sulphur
Springs, Texas. And my mom's from Oregon. She listened to church music,
you
know, all that--Brother Springer, all the--she used to send money in to all
the preachers, you know. But the earlier songs I remember was "Abilene."
When I heard "Abilene" on the radio, it really moved me. And then I heard,
you know, `Abilene, Abilene, prettiest town I've ever seen. Women there
don't
treat you mean in Abilene,' I just thought that was the greatest lyric, you
know. `Women there don't treat you mean.'

And then, you know "Detroit City"--`Last night I went to sleep in Detroit
City, and I dreamed about the cotton fields back home.' I like songs with
the
names of towns in them, and I think I liked songs with weather in them, and
something to eat. So I feel like there's a certain anatomical aspect to a
song that I respond to. I think, `Oh, yeah. I can go into that world.
There's something to eat, there's a name of a street, there's a--OK. Yeah,
there's a saloon, OK.' So I think probably that's why I put things like
that
in my songs.

GROSS: When you started listening to older music and relating to that, did
other things accompany that, like a certain way of dressing or speaking or
behaving?

Mr. WAITS: Hmm. Oh, yeah, sure. You know, I wore an old hat and I drove
an
old car. I bought a car for 50 bucks from Fred Moody next door who's from
Tennessee, a '55 Buick Special, and, you know, AM radio in it. I guess.
Yeah, sure. I walked with a cane. You know, I was going overboard,
perhaps,
but...

GROSS: What kind of cane was it?

Mr. WAITS: You know, a cane, like...

GROSS: No, I mean, did it have like a silver tip? I mean, how...

Mr. WAITS: No, no, an old man's cane from a Salvation Army.

GROSS: Uh-huh.

Mr. WAITS: Yeah. And I carved my name in it and everything, you know.

GROSS: And what did you think that, that added to your image?

Mr. WAITS: It gave me a walk, I guess.

GROSS: Uh-huh. Uh-huh.

Mr. WAITS: It gave me something distinctive. `Oh, who was that guy in here
earlier with a cane? Did you see that guy?' It just gave me something that
I
liked identitywise, I guess.

GROSS: My guest is singer, songwriter and musician Tom Waits. His latest
CDs
are "Alice" and "Blood Money." We'll talk more after a break. This is
FRESH
AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

GROSS: My guest is Tom Waits. His latest CDs are "Alice" and "Blood
Money."
Here's a song from "Blood Money" called "A Good Man's Hard To Find."

(Soundbite of "A Good Man's Hard To Find")

Mr. WAITS: (Singing) Well, I always play Russian roulette in my head, 17
black or 29 red. How far from the gutter, how far from the view, I will
always remember to forget about you. A good man is hard to find. Won't let
strangers sleep in my bed. And my favorite words are `goodbye,' and my
favorite color is red.

(Soundbite of music)

GROSS: That's "A Good Man's Hard To Find" from the new Tom Waits' CD "Blood
Money." He also has another new CD called "Alice," and we'll hear some of
that a little bit later.

Now I want to ask you about your voice. You have a very raspy singing
voice.
Was that a sound that you strove for, you know, that you worked on having,
or
is it what naturally developed?

Mr. WAITS: It's that old man thing. I couldn't wait to be an old man; old
man with a deep voice. No. I screamed into a pillow...

GROSS: Well, you know, John Mahoney, the actor?

Mr. WAITS: Sure, yeah.

GROSS: He told me he actually did stuff like that, that...

Mr. WAITS: Oh, yeah.

GROSS: ...he wanted a distinctive voice, and so he used to do these
exercises
that he practiced in a closet of just, like, shouting and trying to, you
know,
like growl a lot...

Mr. WAITS: Yeah.

GROSS: ...and it actually permanently did something to his vocal cords as a
result of it.

Mr. WAITS: Yeah, hooray. I'm all for it.

GROSS: Was, say, Louis Armstrong an influence on you?

Mr. WAITS: Oh, yeah, yeah, sure, yeah. You know, you can't ignore the
influence of someone like Louis Armstrong. You know, he's like a river.
He's
like a country to be explored in and of himself. And--but, yeah, he came
out
of the ground just like a potato. You know, he's completely natural. And,
yeah, sure, I love those tunes. And--but this one, this "A Good Man's Hard
To
Find," was, you know, an attempt to kind of tip my hat somewhat to that...

GROSS: Right.

Mr. WAITS: ...you know.

GROSS: Well, you actually sing in different kinds of voices on your new
CDs.
I mean, you have...

Mr. WAITS: Yeah.

GROSS: ...like, your very deep growly voice and then a lighter voice that
you
use.

Mr. WAITS: You know--well, it's just like--it's just a musical vocabulary,
really.

GROSS: Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Mr. WAITS: You know, you find the appropriate sound for the correct tune
and
match them up. Yeah. You know, I like to scream and, you know, I can
croon,
you know, all that stuff.

GROSS: Have you ever worried about hurting your voice by...

Mr. WAITS: Oh, I've hurt it. Yeah, I have hurt it. But I have a voice
doctor in New York who used to treat Frank Sinatra and various people. He
said, `Oh, you're doing fine. Don't worry about it.'

GROSS: Oh, that's good.

Now you once said that you wish you could have been a part of the Brill
Building era, in which people like Carole King and Leiber and Stoller and
Ellie Greenwich and Jeff Barry were writing songs for singers and for vocal
groups. What do you think you would have liked about that?

Mr. WAITS: Well, I guess writing at gunpoint. It sounds really exciting to
me, those kinds of deadlines. I went into the rehearsal building on Times
Square in New York one afternoon and a really tiny little room. In fact, it
was probably smaller than the room I'm in right now, which is a little
larger
than a phone booth. There's just enough room for a little spinet piano and
then you could just barely close the door and there you were. And you could
hear every kind of music coming to you through the walls and through the
windows, underneath the door. And you heard African bands and you heard,
like, you know, comedians and you'd hear applause every now and then and
you'd
hear tap dancers. And I think I'd just like the whole melange of it, you
know. I mean, it all kind of mixes together.

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

Mr. WAITS: I like turning on two radios at the same time and listen to
them.
I like hearing things incorrectly. I think that's how I get a lot of ideas
is
by mishearing something.

GROSS: Although you weren't part of the Brill Building thing...

Mr. WAITS: No.

GROSS: ...other people have recorded your songs, and I thought I'd play one
of them. Johnny Cash...

Mr. WAITS: Go right ahead, yeah.

GROSS: ...recorded your song "Down There By The Train."

Mr. WAITS: Yeah, right. That killed me. That was wild. I was like--I
said, `That's it. I'm all done now. Boy, you know, Johnny Cash did a song
of
mine. Boy, I'm all done. Thanks very much.'

GROSS: Do you...

Mr. WAITS: That was really flattering, and I loved the way he did it, too.

GROSS: Oh, yeah. Do you know how he knew the song or why he decided to
record it?

Mr. WAITS: Well, a lot of people sent him tunes 'cause he was doing this
record with Rick Rubin and different people that--or, you know, different
songwriters sent him tunes, and he just picked from them. So when someone
does a tune, well, especially someone that you've been listening to since
you
were a kid, it's a bit of a validation. And...

GROSS: Oh, yeah.

Mr. WAITS: So yeah, it's meaningful, you know.

GROSS: Yeah, Johnny Cash is pretty validating when it comes to that. Yeah.

Mr. WAITS: I know. Sure, yeah.

GROSS: OK. Well, let's hear it. This is from Johnny Cash's "American
Recordings" album, and this is the Tom Waits song "Down There By The Train."

(Soundbite of "Down There By The Train")

Mr. JOHNNY CASH: (Singing) You can hear the whistle, you can hear the bell
from the halls of heaven to the gates of hell. And there's room for the
forsaken if you're there on time. You'll be washed of all your sins and all
of your crimes, if you're down there by the train, down there by the train,
down there by the train, down there by the train; down there where the train
goes slow.

GROSS: That's Johnny Cash doing the Tom Waits song "Down There By The
Train."
My guest is Tom Waits.

Did you hear anything different in that song when Johnny Cash recorded it,
different from how you heard it in your head when you wrote it?

Mr. WAITS: Well, he changed some stuff around. That's normal. I do the
same
thing when I do somebody else's tune. You really have to--you try it on,
and
if it's a little tight in here or doesn't quite close over this--you cut it
or, you know, you make it fit. You want to make it sound like yours.

GROSS: It's funny, 'cause that song--when he sings it, it sounds like it's
like an unusual spiritual.

Mr. WAITS: Oh, yeah.

GROSS: And usually you write about godlessness.

Mr. WAITS: Godlessness? Really? Oh...

GROSS: Wouldn't you say?

Mr. WAITS: Oh, I don't know about that.

GROSS: The absence of God?

Mr. WAITS: I don't know. Do you think so?

GROSS: Well, some of the songs.

Mr. WAITS: Yeah? Hmm.

GROSS: Well, one of them explicitly, like "God's Away On Business."

Mr. WAITS: Oh, oh, OK. Well, he's away. He's not gone; he's just away.
And, like, you have to understand, he was on business. So, you know, and a
guy like him has got to be busy, you know, looking after a lot of things,
so...

GROSS: So did you meet Johnny Cash?

Mr. WAITS: No, no. I have not met Johnny Cash. I would look forward to
that
day down the road, and I would love to meet him.

GROSS: Tom Waits, you have two new CDs. We heard part of "Blood Money."
You
have another new CD called "Alice," which, I believe like "Blood Money,"
also
has its origins as a Robert Wilson music theater piece.

Mr. WAITS: Right. Yeah. Yeah. I was down in Hamburg quite a while ago,
in
'93, something like that.

GROSS: And what is "Alice" about?

Mr. WAITS: It's a hypothetical situation, kind of imagining the obsession
that Lewis Carroll had for this young girl Alice and...

GROSS: Oh.

Mr. WAITS: ...you know, what it might have been like inside of his mind in
Victorian England and all that stuff--the beginning of photography, and his,
you know, young gal, and, you know, it's kind of like a, you know, fever
dream
or whatever, kind of virus of the mind.

GROSS: Well, why don't we hear the title track? This is called "Alice,"
and
if there's something you want to say to introduce it, that's great, and if
not, we'll just hear it.

Mr. WAITS: Yeah. This is "Alice." This is kind of like the opening tune,
and it's like a private moment, and it's like sitting in a chair by
yourself,
thinking about someone.

GROSS: OK. Here's "Alice," the title track from the new Tom Waits CD.

(Soundbite of "There's Only Alice")

Mr. WAITS: (Singing) It's dreamy weather whereon you waved your crooked
wand
along an icy pond with a frozen moon; a murder of silhouette crows I saw in
the tears on my face, and the skates on the pond--they spell `Alice.'

I disappear in your name, but you must wait for me. Somewhere across the
sea
there's a wreck of a ship. Your hair is like meadowgrass on the tide and
the
raindrops on my window and the ice in my drink. Baby, all I can think of is
Alice.

GROSS: My guest is singer, songwriter and musician Tom Waits. His latest
CDs
are "Alice" and "Blood Money." We'll be back after a break. This is FRESH
AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

GROSS: My guest is singer, songwriter and musician Tom Waits. He has two
new
CDs, "Alice" and "Blood Money."

Now you dropped out of high school. Why did you drop out? Is there
something
that you wanted to do instead, or did you just hate going?

Mr. WAITS: Oh, I wanted to go into the world, you know? Enough of this.
Didn't like the ceiling in the rooms. I didn't like the holes in the
ceiling,
those little tiny holes and the cork board and the long stick used for
opening
the windows.

GROSS: Oh, God, yeah, we had one of those in my elementary school. Yeah.

Mr. WAITS: Oh, I just hated all that stuff. I was real sensitive to my
visual surroundings, and I just--you know, I just wanted to get out of
there.

GROSS: Did any adults try to stop you, either your parents or teachers?

Mr. WAITS: I had good teachers. I had some--my folks broke up when I was
about 11, and so I had teachers that I liked a lot, that I kind of looked up
to. But then they seemed like they couldn't wait to get out into the world
themselves and do some, you know, banging around and learning and growing.
And so I thought maybe they were encouraging me to leave.

GROSS: So did you succeed in kind of getting out into the world, so to
speak?

Mr. WAITS: Pretty much, yeah.

GROSS: What'd you do?

Mr. WAITS: Oh, I hitchhiked all over the place, and...

GROSS: Did you ever do the street-musician thing?

Mr. WAITS: I didn't, but when I see people do it, I say, `Oh, man, I should
have done that.' I'll tell you, you really get your chops together, you
know?
'Cause I'm real, I guess, particular about now, you know, those things. I
get
real nervous when--but I think I wish I had done that, because it looks like
it takes a lot of guts, and I think that you would probably cut through a
lot
of potential stage fright that you would eventually have, and maybe it'd
help
you down the road. I don't know.

GROSS: So has stage fright been an issue for you?

Mr. WAITS: Oh, yeah, yeah. I go through all kinds of stuff about it. But,
you know, when I get out there I'm all right. But my first gig--my first
big
gig--was an opening show for Frank Zappa, and I think that was difficult. I
was kind of like the rectal thermometer for the audience, and it was a
little
awkward for me. I was alone, and I was performing in front of large groups
of
people, and they were verbally abusive. And I think it--I'm like a dog. I
was so beat as a dog, so...

GROSS: Is there a point in your career that you see as a turning point from
getting to where you are now from where you were when you started
performing?

Mr. WAITS: Oh, yeah, probably--well, I got married, really, you know? That
was it, you know? I mean, that's, like, the most important thing I ever
did.
I mean, and Kathleen really was the one who encouraged me to produce my own
records, you know, and...

GROSS: What kind of music background is she from?

Mr. WAITS: Oh, she's got, like, opera in there, and she was going to be a
nun, you know, so we changed all that.

GROSS: Yeah, I guess so.

Mr. WAITS: But, you know, she's adventurous, you know? And she kind of
picks up a lot of stations that I don't pick up. I get kind of narrow and
concerned in making something--giving it four legs and getting it to stand
up,
and she's more interested in what goes inside. And she's very feminine, and
I
think that's what works. And the idea of going in the studio and doing your
own record is kind of scary. You know, pick the engineer, pick all the
musicians and, you know, write some kind of mission statement for yourself
and
what you want it to be and sound like and feel like, and take responsibility
for everything that goes on the tape. That's a lot to do, especially--it's
a
lot for a record company to let you do when you behave like I did, and they
didn't--they thought I was--you know, I think they thought I was a drunk,
and
they--you know, and I was really non-communicative and I scratched the back
of
my neck a lot and I looked down at my shoes a lot, and I, you know, wore old
suits and they were nervous about me. But once I got a taste for it. I
really like it.

GROSS: Tom Waits, thank you so much. It's really been great to talk with
you. Thank you.

Mr. WAITS: Oh, oh, we're all done.

GROSS: Yeah.

Mr. WAITS: Oh, OK. Nice to talk to you, Terry.

GROSS: Tom Waits, recorded in May, after the release of CDs "Alice" and
"Blood Money."

(Credits)

GROSS: I'm Terry Gross.

All of us at FRESH AIR wish you a happy and healthy new year.

We'll close with a song from Tom Waits' CD, "Blood Money." This is "Coney
Island Baby."

(Soundbite of "Coney Island Baby")

Mr. WAITS: (Singing) Every night she comes to take me out to dream land.
When I'm with her I'm the richest guy in the town. She's a rose. She's a
pearl. She's a spin on my world. All the stars, they've got wishes on her
eyes. She's my Coney Island baby. She's my Coney Island girl. She's a
princess in her own dress. She's the moon in the mist to me. She's my
Coney
Island baby. She's my Coney Island girl.
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