Tom Waits Is Here to Makeover Your Apartment!

Prior to his most recent album, professional vagabond and alleged “musician” Tom Waits once filmed a pilot of a home makeover show. Though never released to the public, Low Times received a copy of the pilot and has recapped it:

The doorbell rings and Tom Waits harmonizes with the tones in a haggard croon. Amanda opens the door to the Grammy Award-winning singer-songwriter.

“I like your hair,” Waits grumbles. “Let’s fix this place up and maybe then we can get some pierogies downtown. I know a bum named Clebo who cooks them over a barrel. Nice smoky flavor.”

Amanda’s husband Josh asks him in, and Waits looks defeated, putting down a velvet hobo bindle to remove a tape measure, a flask and a copy of the Satanic Bible. He sings half of the Cheers theme song in a deep baritone and transitions into the jingle for “Chicken Tonight.” He screams, bows and looks at Josh.

“Got any nachos? I’m hungry,” laments the greasy shirt and leather jacket wearing Waits.

They enter the dining room. Josh bought the table and chairs at a flea market in Palm Springs and thinks it has a nice modern flair to it.

“You should get some old hubcaps,” murmurs Waits. “Hang those on the wall with twine, maybe some chicken bones in there. Make it look like the patio of a broken-down Mexican whorehouse. A woman named Rosarita works the counter at the bar, makes some delicious chicken mole and tamales. Has the saddest eyes this side of the Rio Grande.” A saxophone added in post-production is heard. Waits stares into the distance, scats in a deep warble. “Let’s take a look at your den.”

Josh and Amanda’s den has become a dumping ground for anything in the house that didn’t have a place. Amanda’s bike rests against one wall next to a folding table with a laptop and some old college textbooks. A fondue set is abandoned on a wicker chair with one busted leg. Amanda suggests a new wall unit and some colorful curtains. Waits surveys the scene.

“You seem to have a lack of commitment on your design focal points for the space,” the star of independent music and cinema says. “I like what you’ve got started here, but you need to really embrace the despair. This room is like your relationship, a busted-up jalopy that you needed to get tuned up years ago but instead you’ve driven it into the ground. Cigarette burns on the seat and an old cassette stuck in the stereo, whistling out the greatest hits of a long-dead country legend that you bought in a gas station outside of Fontana.” Waits smashes a bottle of whiskey on the wall and urinates on the futon. “There it is.”

Walking into the bedroom, Waits shakes his head in disgust. He removes his pork pie hat and throws it on the ground. A guy playing an upright bass emerges from the closet and Waits pulls out a megaphone and begins singing at Amanda. One of the PAs enters with an iguana for Josh to hold. Tom sings a song about the pain of lost love, hits the bed with a two-by-four and kisses the iguana. “Now THAT is what a master bedroom should be about.” Josh looks confused. Amanda asks about new bedside tables, but Waits brushes past her on the way to the back porch.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Raven  Symoné,” Waits declares as he motions to a cactus. “She’s got an amazing voice.” Removing a harmonica from his pocket, Waits tips his hat, winks at the camera and whispers “My work here is done.” As he plays the harmonica a sword-eater walks in from the alley, accompanied by a mariachi band and a mustachioed bodybuilder. Credits roll.