Musings of a Punk Rock Father

Today I listened to Tom Waits' beautiful, bizarre album "Real Gone." I hadn't heard it in a while, and this time I was particularly swept away by a song called "Hoist That Rag."

Well I learned the trade
From Piggy Knowles and
Sing Sing Tommy Shay Boys
god used me as a hammer boys
To beat his weary drum today

Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag

The sun is up the world is flat
Damn good address for a rat
The smell of blood
The drone of flies
You know what to do if
The baby cries

Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag

Well we stick our fingers in
The ground, heave and
Turn the world around
Smoke is blacking out the sun

At night I pray and clean my gun
The cracked bell rings as
The ghost bird sings and the gods
Go begging here
So just open fire
As you hit the shore
All is fair in love
And war

Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag
Hoist that rag

Waits sings this song with an urgency that sounds like his life depends on it. The song (and the whole album, in fact) makes me picture a somewhat cartoonish factory, with giant smokestacks spitting out balls of smoke while huge, grimy gears turn and turn. If you hear the album, maybe you'll know what I mean.

"Hoist That Rag" is either the quietest loud song I've ever heard or the loudest quiet song I've ever heard; it seems to exist somewhere in between. Or it could be the most beautiful ugly song I've ever heard, or the ugliest beautiful song I've ever heard. Of course, maybe I'm just in a mood to consider it the ______est _______ song I've ever heard, and it's all a load of hyperbole.