It is 3:20 AM. The ashtray is overflowing, and the piano bench feels more like a life raft than furniture. This is the world of Tom Waits Closing Time, a debut album that is often misunderstood as just a "folk record" because people don't know how to categorize a 23-year-old who sounds like he’s already buried three wives.
Honestly, if you come to this album expecting the clanking, industrial "bone-crunching" sounds of his later years, you’re going to be confused. There is no gravel here. Not yet. Instead, you get a voice that’s surprisingly smooth—supple, even—though it’s already starting to fray at the edges like an old coat.
Why Tom Waits Closing Time Still Matters
Most debut albums are just a collection of a kid's best songs from high school. But Closing Time is different. Released on March 6, 1973, through Asylum Records, it was produced by Jerry Yester, a guy from the Lovin' Spoonful. They recorded the whole thing in about ten days at Sunset Sound. Think about that. Ten days to bottle a mood that has lasted over half a century.
Waits originally wanted a pure jazz record. He wanted a stand-up bass and a smoky, late-night vibe. Yester, however, leaned into the folk-rock sensibilities that were killing it in Southern California at the time. This "pulling against each other" actually created the album's secret sauce. It’s not quite jazz, and it’s definitely not hippie folk. It’s something lonesome and in-between.
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The Tracklist That Launched a Myth
The album opens with "Ol' '55," a song that would later become a hit for the Eagles. Funnily enough, Waits reportedly hated their version. He called it "antiseptic." His version is better because it feels like a guy actually driving home at sunrise, not a band singing about it in a multimillion-dollar studio.
Then you have "I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You." It’s a classic barroom tragedy. The narrator spends the whole song looking at a girl across the room, only to realize he's missed his chance when the lights go up. It’s relatable. It’s painful. It’s basically the human condition in under four minutes.
Other standout tracks include:
- "Martha": A song about an old man calling a former flame from forty years ago. Keep in mind, Waits was 23 when he wrote this. How does a kid know what it feels like to regret a life you haven't lived yet?
- "Grapefruit Moon": A piano ballad so lush it almost hurts. It’s pure sentiment without the cheese.
- "Ice Cream Man": A rare upbeat moment that shows his love for R&B and early rock and roll.
The Production Tensions: Folk vs. Jazz
Jerry Yester and Tom Waits weren't always on the same page. Waits was obsessed with the Beat poets—Kerouac, Bukowski, the whole "living in a flophouse" aesthetic. He wanted the album to sound like a basement. Yester wanted it to sound professional.
They recorded from 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM every day because they couldn't get a night slot at Sunset Sound. Imagine trying to record "Closing Time"—the most nocturnal song ever written—at noon on a Tuesday. Yet, somehow, they captured the magic. Yester famously said that after they finished the instrumental title track, the entire studio sat in silence for five minutes. Nobody wanted to break the spell.
What Really Happened with the Sales?
If you think this album was an instant smash, you've got it wrong. It didn't even chart when it first came out. In the UK, the promotion was basically a single ad in the NME. It took decades for Closing Time to get the respect it deserves.
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It wasn't until 2004 that it was certified Silver in the UK, and it finally hit Gold in 2012. It’s a "slow burn" record. People find it when they need it—usually after a breakup or during a long, lonely night.
The Misconception of the "Normal" Voice
Critics love to talk about how "normal" Waits sounds here. They use words like "sweet" or "accessible." But if you listen closely to "Virginia Avenue" or "Midnight Lullaby," you can hear the character he was building. He wasn't just a singer; he was an actor. He was playing the part of the world-weary traveler before he’d even left San Diego.
He worked the door at The Troubadour. He saw the losers, the drunks, and the dreamers every night. He didn't just write these songs; he curated them from the people he met while checking IDs.
Practical Ways to Experience the Album Today
If you really want to "get" Tom Waits Closing Time, don't just stream it on your phone while you’re at the gym. That’s a waste.
- Get the 50th Anniversary Vinyl: The 180g remaster actually brings out the warmth of the upright bass. You can hear the wood of the piano.
- Listen at the right time: This is not morning music. Put it on after midnight. Turn the lights down.
- Read the lyrics: Don't just let the melodies wash over you. Waits is a storyteller first. Look at the imagery in "Grapefruit Moon"—it’s essentially poetry set to a jazz quartet.
The album serves as a "Swim at Your Own Risk" sign for the rest of his career. It’s the shallow end of a very deep, very weird pool. If you can handle the melancholy of the debut, you might just be ready for the madness of Rain Dogs or Swordfishtrombones.
Actionable Next Steps:
Pick up the 2018 Remastered version on vinyl or high-fidelity digital to hear the nuances of the upright bass that Jerry Yester fought so hard to capture. Once you've finished the album, compare his original "Ol' '55" to the Eagles' version on On the Border to see exactly how Waits' "boozy" authenticity differs from the polished California sound of the 70s.