Killer punchlines
Look into the eyes of this attractive and rather worried looking young woman. What sad story do you see? What tale of despair and dreams gone bad? What demons? What lost angels?
What, you don’t see any of that in this face? Well, that’s only because she’s not yet, in Frank’s words, a “spent and used piece of jet trash.” But she’s definitely headed in that direction, and Frank’s not the only one who would have seen her that way.
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| > Click the image for a larger version and to better read the ad copy. |
Yes, folks, this is a real American Airlines ad from 1968. And, yes, the ad copy does say (among other gems): “Being beautiful is not enough. A girl has to have that special attitude. If she does, you get that special service. If she doesn’t, we both pay.” What that means, I don’t know and don’t want to know.A cartoon version of the same campaign depicts the fate of those fortunate ladies who do have that special attitude and therefore don’t have to “pay”. But to me it looks like what they get in the end is something equal to worse:
Again, click the image to read the text. What’s happening here is that the girl with the special attitude is being kidnapped by a man who intends to make her his wife, by which he apparently means some kind of drink-and-dinner serving, endlessly smiling household robot. Because a girl who can smile and take it for 5 1/2 hours is hard to find.
As incredible as it is, this American Airlines campaign is perhaps outdone only by the “Fly Me” campaign that National Airlines ran a few years later in the early 70s (around the time that self-cleaning ovens were also become the standard for young working-class couples like Frank and his wife):
> Click here for a great overview and discussion of these kinds of ads
So, this is the kind of beautiful face that Frank drives a nail into and hangs his wild years on, not to mention his hang-ups and his regrets. Fly me. Marry me. Use me. (And then what?)
Frank’s not a nice guy; that’s clear. To him, his wife is just like the used furniture that he sells at the shop. Except she can make a good Bloody Mary, which, again, makes her more like a used appliance, similar to but not quite as “new” as that self-cleaning oven. No, Frank’s not a nice guy at all.
But then, we knew that. Because Frank’s clearly a known type. Not just the type that the airlines used to target. No, I also mean the type of guy we’ve seen often on this blog. In my last post, I claimed that “Frank’s Wild Years” takes us in several new directions. And that’s true. But in some key ways, we’re driving down the same road. Frank is the same guy who has kept popping up since almost day one of the blog, when Ken explored the murder ballad “Omie Wise,” another American tale about a man who kills his “girl” simply because he doesn’t want her around anymore. This type of guy doesn’t want the future that life with this girl represents and doesn’t want to be dragged down by what he’s already had (her). Here or there, then or now — not a happy ending for the Omies or Cheryls of the world.
But wait, what are we talking about? Isn’t this a song about a guy who kills his dog, not his wife? After all, Frank comes right out and says it. The motive is in the punchline.
Carlos, the dog that Frank never could stand.
Isn’t it? No, I don’t think so. Waits is a poet. He’s telling us a truth here about Frank, but not at face value. When it comes to Frank, Waits is the cagey witness, as this law blog picks up on. When asked directly in an actual interview as to whether Frank kills his wife in the blaze, Waits responded this way:
No, I didn’t want to give the impression that she went up in the smoke. She was at the beauty parlor.
Translation: Stupid question. You might as well ask if this couple was happy. And Waits has already told us, they were so happy.
There aren’t many covers of “Frank’s Wild Years” by musical artists (if you know of any good ones, send them our way). But, in keeping with the Hollywood setting and noir atmosphere, there are many film interpretations, by professionals and amateurs alike. People love to set this sordid little tale to film. Some of my favorite versions also make it clear in different ways that the dog is not the primary object of Frank’s alcohol and gasoline fueled rage, or perhaps not even an object of it at all:
“Frank’s Wild Years”
Or that the wife and the dog are, essentially, the same creature in Frank’s eyes:
Or that Frank has literally killed his wife with a hammer and torches the place to cover it up:
Waits has described “Frank’s Wild Years” as a portrait of “crumbling beauty…a little bit of that American dream gone straight to hell.” What motivates this trip to hell? According to Waits, it’s the dream being torn and beaten down by the petty and by the everyday personal failure, which eventually becomes the defining feature of one’s life:
Charles Bukowski [another quintessential Los Angeles character] had a story that was essentially saying that it’s the little things that drive men mad. It’s not the big things. It’s not World War II. It’s the broken shoelace when there is no time left that sends men completely out of their minds. So this is kind of in that spirit. Little of a Ken Nordine flavor…I think there’s a little bit of Frank in everybody.
“Bickering,” Ken Nordine…everydayness just waiting to explode
> listen on Spotify
> listen on Spotify
The connection between flawed people, failed dreams, the petty everyday, and deadly violence grows more pronounced in Waits’ work over the years, reaching a climax of sorts in the album Bone Machine (1992). Built around themes of death and murder, the album includes several original murder ballads. But these songs aren’t funny at all, in any part; they’re wholly devastating.
Take, for example, “A Little Rain,” which chronicles the demise of a fifteen-year-old girl whose dream is to see the ocean, accepting a ride with a violent traveler whose intention is to use and then kill her. Waits deals us a blow with the punchline in this song as well: “And the last thing she said was, ‘I love you, mom.'”
“A Little Rain,” Tom Waits
> listen to the song on Spotify
> listen to the entire album on Spotify
> lyrics
The fifteen-year-old might otherwise have fulfilled her dreams to see the ocean and the world by becoming a flight attendant. The violent traveler who kills her might otherwise be Frank, out on the road looking for something new, something unspent and unused.
> listen to the song on Spotify
> listen to the entire album on Spotify
> lyrics
The fifteen-year-old might otherwise have fulfilled her dreams to see the ocean and the world by becoming a flight attendant. The violent traveler who kills her might otherwise be Frank, out on the road looking for something new, something unspent and unused.
Bone Machine has been described as Waits’ only concept album, focused on the identity, motivations, and development of a killer (and his victims). But that’s not quite true. By my reckoning, Waits’ first concept album is Franks Wild Years (1987), a necessary precursor to Bone Machine. Subtitled “Un Operachi Romantico in Two Acts,” the album is a collection of songs written for a play of the same name, both of which are iterations of the song “Frank’s Wild Years” (Waits drops the apostrophe in the later titles). Together, the album and the play explore in more depth what happens to Frank, chronicling his journey as a small kid with big dreams who travels from his small rural town to the big city, where he becomes steeped in the corruptions it contains, ending up a psychopath.
Tom Waits as Frank
I’ll take a short concluding look at Franks Wild Years in the next post. I’ll also look at the remarkable relationship that helped create the song, the album, and the play, along with much of Waits’ other work — the long-lived and cherished partnership that Waits shares with the musician, songwriter and artist Kathleen Brennan. (His wife.)