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Reliably odd, then, but unexpectedly moving, too: the best Tom Waits album, all told, since 1992’s “Bone Machine”.
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A semi-bizarre and semi-wonderful example of twisted, melted country-blues-psyche-pop oddballness.
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Overall, the album doesn't show quite the range that some of his previous works have done, but if you enjoy Waits, you're definitely not going to go wrong here.
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It lurches along like a junk-heap jalopy, unsteady and unsafe, bits flying off in every direction, stopping, starting, and bouncing in pain.
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When you boil Real Gone down to its tracks, you’ll keep finding more reasons to love this man – more than anything, you can sense his easy grin.
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Real Gone... is Waits’ grittiest work to date and is an excellent introduction, for those unacquainted, to his hard-boiled thirty-year run.
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In ‘Real Gone’s fearsome complexity of rhythm, lyric and device, Tom Waits appropriates like a shoplifter without much time, and creates something entirely his own. A new music.
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There is plenty that is remarkable about Real Gone.
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All the idiosyncrasies which either drew you to Waits or repelled you from him are present, and many songs hold a resemblance to past gems.
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Real Gone is another provocative moment for Waits, one that has problems, but then, all his records do.
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A noisy, stamping, querulous assault on the senses that could have certainly benefited from more than a little editing.
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Slapping his knees, spitting and grunting, Waits makes the already raw blues sound of songs like "Metropolitan Glide" and "Trampled Rose" sound even more grizzled.
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Real Gone is incredible because of its songs, some of which stand among Waits' finest work.
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Real Gone leans on nail-bending percussion and swagger in a manner that recalls Bone Machine's metallic binge more than the recent theatrics of Alice or Blood Money.
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Real Gone may not rock your world in the way that 2002's musical one-two punch of Blood Money and Alice did, but you'll still be glad to hear it.
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The result is a kind of compactness: a guttural groove so tight it helps Waits come off as a giant.
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Much of Real Gone has been stripped so bare instrumentally that its heavy accumulation of rhythmic noise -- manipulated groans and grunts (“Metropolitan Glide”) what sounds like a cracking horsewhip (“Don’t Go Into The Barn”) -- establishes a sustained, bristling mood that electrifies particular songs but bogs down the album as a whole.
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Real Gone is haunted-house music that invites listeners in for some shared uneasiness, but never lets them settle for long.
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Like an altar built of barbed wire, scrap metal and broken glass, "Real Gone" hammers ungraceful materials into something like beauty.
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New Musical Express (NME)'Real Gone' is not by any means easy listening. It is, though, possibly a new type of music. [2 Oct 2004, p.64]
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Under The RadarThe album feels only like an extension of the Alice / Blood Money plateau, rather than a new height for the artist. [#7]
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MojoHis first, full-tilt protest record... he comes out swinging, in every respect. [Oct 2004, p.110]
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BlenderWaits returns to spare storytelling. [Oct 2004, p.130]
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FilterAnother smartly executed step into the strange grandeur of Mr. Waits. [#12, p.94]
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SpinTotally grimy. [Nov 2004, p.118]
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Entertainment WeeklyOften riveting--and even a little gangsta. [8 Oct 2004, p.114]
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The WireA set of powerfully written and unfussily executed songs. [#248, p.50]
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PlanetA spastically raw and cacophonous basement record. [#8, p.79]
Awards & Rankings
User score distribution:
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Positive: 29 out of 34
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Mixed: 3 out of 34
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Negative: 2 out of 34
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HeinMay 4, 2006Forget all your fucked up 80s revival bands. This is the real sugar!!!
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PaulSOct 9, 2004
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sophiastar(israel)Oct 11, 2004