Many writers, musicians and film-makers, of a certain age, or as they get older, are often content to produce work that reinforces the views that their already audience has of them. It's an easy way out, and it pays the bills.
David Lynch and Tom Waits are near contemporaries of one another. They each have a rich legacy of work - both commercially and highly critically accalaimed, complex and startlingly involving, which asks, which demands, that you stop whatever unremarkably inconsequential thing it is that you're doing and begin to listen.
Both David and Tom - my very good friends - have released brand new albums.
In Lynch's case, it's really his first full album of songs (in collaboration with engineer and sonic fraudster, Dean Hurley), and it's a fun packed and packaged ride into doom, murder and voyeuristic despair.
Which, of course, makes it a typical David Lynch joint; the inescapable nuances, jarring juxtapositions and bloody-minded 'awkwardness,' seamlessly and searingly equating with his very best film work.
It's marvellous and you must have it.
Tom - one of my very, very good friends - has, in 'Bad As Me,' produced his best album in over a decade, one of his finest in truth.
Waits has often been accused of overrehearsing his rebelliousness and ootsiderishness - and of making music that sounds as though it was propagandised by a poorly paid impersonator; the snarls, grunts and grimaces, mere affectation.
Here though, Waits has returned to the bruised blues for his inspiration - and it has paid off. Big time (ahem).
So, two more albums to get over excited about. Who'd a thunk it?
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