GOOD WRITING: Tom Waits' "Soldier's Things"
Let's pick apart what makes this such a well-written song.
Davenports and kettle drums
and swallow tail coats.
Table cloths and patent leather shoes.
Bathing suits and bowling balls,
and clarinets and rings.
All this radio really needs is a fuse.
A tinker, a tailor…
A soldier's things.
His rifle, his boots full of rocks.
And this one is for bravery,
and this one is for me.
And everything's a dollar
in this box.
Cuff links and hub caps.
Trophies and paperbacks.
It's good transportation,
but the brakes aren't so hot.
Neck ties and boxing gloves.
This jackknife is rusted.
You can pound that dent out
on the hood.
A tinker, a tailor…
A soldier's things.
His rifle, his boots full of rocks.
And this one is for bravery,
and this one is for me.
And everything's a dollar
in this box.
This song kills me. It’s written by Tom Waits, although the version I am linking to here is by Holly Cole, who pretty much nails it as far as I'm concerned. The writing on this song is very simple, but completely brilliant and emotionally devastating.
As you can see, it is mostly a list, but it is a very carefully selected list that create a portrait of a man who lived in the 1920s and 30s, with its mention of Davenports and swallow-tail coats. All of the items are very carefully selected to give a portrait of a man—specifically a man who might have been the father of someone like Tom Waits, who was alive in the 1960s and 70s. He also includes “old man wisdom” such as “you can pound that dent out in the hood” and “all this radio really needs is a fuse.”
Then the chorus comes along and brings the entire song into definition. He lists a few grim details (“his boots full of rocks”), mentions what we understand are some medals received, and then the last line arrives as the kicker: “Everything’s a dollar in this box.” We understand that his father is dead and he is left with all of these items that made up his life.
Then there’s the collective understanding, which speaks to the larger, super-depressing nature of life. All of these things probably meant something to his father. He got medals for some military action that might have been a major experience for him. He might have had a lot of fun with those bowling balls. But now it’s just a bunch of meaningless crap left over from a man who is gone. The final line “Everything’s a dollar in this box” just emphasizes how the possessions that meant to much to this man are now just items of junk to be gotten rid of. It’s harsh but real, folks!
The additional greatness is the way it becomes a metaphysical statement about the ephemeral nature of life. We all have our possessions, and we all have to face that once we’re gone, they might just amount to a big box of crap. The moments and life experiences that were important to us just don’t amount to a hill of beans. It’s a bummer, but it’s the way it is, and Waits gets it all across in a few potent lines. Yay, Tom!