Since it's hard—and possibly verboten—to say a bad word about Tom Waits, unholy shaman of whacked-out Americana, I'll content myself with expressing a few mild reservations. From the startling departure of Swordfishtrombones—over 20 years old now—Tom's every subsequent move has been worth following with avid fascination. But with 2002's simultaneously released Alice and Blood Money, it seemed he was veering off into wilfully art-wank Hal Willner territory.
