It’s been said that people have just a few basic stories we tell each other over and over, slightly varied: boy loses girl, the soldier goes off to war, the sinner finds redemption, the saint loses his, the lonely drifter finds open road, the prodigal son finds more hell to raise..

With a voice like a rusty buzzsaw, Tom Waits has, over his many-year career, sung convincingly of all of these. His latest, Orphans, is fifty-six songs over three discs—each one a different title, theme and musical style.

The first, Brawlers, ties together old-school rockabilly, bar room bebop and dirty blues, the style of what used to come from guys like by Howlin’ Wolf. Road To Peace chronicles a few months in the seemingly never-ending blood war between the Israelis and the Palestinians. Lie To Me sounds like something Jerry Lee Lewis might have written after a truly nasty meth binge; 2:19 like something John Lee Hooker might have done doing the same.  Walk Away, like a lot of Waits songs, is a paean to the wandering life. Rains On Me is one of those songs you find rattling through your head after a long and badly needed night of drinking.

The second disc, Bawlers, just as it sounds, strays into the sad, mournful and even, occasionally, the hopeful. We’re talking old waltzes here, as well as county, Irish and Scottish ballads, gospel and the like. You Can Never Hold Back Spring and Never Let Go fall into the hopeful category. Shiny Things and It’s Over fall into the forsaken. All four will make you weep. So, for that matter, will a new version of one of my favorite Waits tunes: Down There By The Train.

The third disc, Bastards...well, it’s all ‘bout the oddballs: the monsters, the misfits, the mutants, the stuff that doesn’t really fit anywhere else (not unlike a few people here at FatJerry). The sheer, spoken-word weirdness of Army Ants really defies accurate description, but commands your attention, as does the twisted, delightfully debauched Altar Boy. The latter, I’ll just say, concerns the titular former Catholic looking back on a subsequent life of sin, perversion and deviancy—as well as a fixation on women dressed as nuns (LP?)—sung in the style of an old Rat Pack lounge crooner.

So, Orphans; three discs, fifty-six songs, some rage, some sadness, some weirdness. What more could you ask for?