This week we’ll spend our two hours in a shroud of barroom musk, out-of-tune brass, and painted ladies all spent before the tunes of an American treasure. We speak of Tom Waits. The New York Times, in a review of Barney Hoskyns’ 2009 biography of Tom Waits, Lowside of The Road describes our subject today thusly: “He is as potent and unpredictable a musical force as most of us have witnessed in our lifetimes, and that’s not faint praise. The graveyard croak of his gravelly, bellowing baritone is righteous, paint-scraping, unmistakable; it scatters small animals and slaps your synapses to startled attention. With what’s left of your adrenalized wits, you can attend to his mordant lyrics, which he packs into songs he divides (as his wife, Kathleen Brennan, put it) into two primordial categories: “the grand weeper” and “the grim reaper”. He’s our neighbor here in Sonoma County and we could not be more proud of the boy…really.