Some songs feel like they were written by someone who has lived three lifetimes, died once, and came back just to tell the story. Martha is one of those. It’s the sixth track on Tom Waits’ 1973 debut album, Closing Time. Here is the kicker: Waits was only 23 years old when he recorded it.
How does a kid in his early twenties channel the weary, gravel-soaked regret of an old man calling a flame from forty years ago? Honestly, it shouldn't work. It should feel like a theater student putting on too much talcum powder to play King Lear. But it doesn't. It feels devastatingly real.
The Story of Old Tom Frost
The song is basically a one-sided telephone conversation. We’re eavesdropping. The narrator, who introduces himself as "old Tom Frost," is calling Martha, a woman he hasn't spoken to in four decades. He’s calling long distance. He tells her not to worry about the cost—a detail that firmly roots the song in a pre-cellphone era where every minute on the line meant money.
It’s a masterclass in songwriting because of what it doesn't say. We don't know why they broke up. We just know that Tom is calling to ask for coffee. He’s looking for a chance to "talk about it all."
That Crushing Chorus
When the chorus hits, the song shifts from a nervous phone call to a sweeping, cinematic memory.
“And those were the days of roses, poetry, and prose...”
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It sounds romantic, sure. But look closer. He mentions they "packed away their sorrows" and "saved them for a rainy day." It’s a polite way of saying they were young and didn't know how to handle the heavy stuff yet. They were living in a bubble of "poetry and prose" until the real world popped it.
The Martha Song by Tom Waits: Fact vs. Fiction
A lot of people wonder if Martha was a real person. Did Tom Waits actually have a long-lost love named Martha that he called up in a drunken stupor?
The short answer is no. Waits has admitted in various interviews over the years that he was essentially playing a character. At the time, he was deeply influenced by the "beat" aesthetic and old-school jazz crooners. He wanted to sound like a man who had seen the bottom of a thousand whiskey bottles. He was a young man obsessed with the idea of being an old man.
- The Piano: That iconic, slightly out-of-tune sounding piano? That’s all Tom. It provides the "bar-room at 3 AM" vibe.
- The Vocals: This was before his voice turned into the "sandpaper and bourbon" growl we know today. It’s cleaner, but you can hear the beginnings of that signature rasp.
- The Lyrics: Timeless. They don't use 1970s slang, which is why the song still feels fresh in 2026.
Why It Still Matters Today
We live in a world of instant connection. If you want to find an ex-girlfriend today, you just type her name into a search bar. You see her vacation photos, her new husband, her kids’ graduation. There’s no mystery left.
Martha captures the era of the "clean break."
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When you lost touch with someone in the 1940s or 50s (the era Tom Frost would have been young in), they were just gone. That telephone call is a massive risk. It’s a leap of faith. Tom Frost is risking rejection and the realization that Martha might not even remember his voice.
The Most Heartbreaking Line
For my money, the worst (or best) part is the end. After all the talk about husbands and kids and being "mature" now, he drops this:
“And I remember quiet evenings, trembling close to you.”
That word. Trembling. It’s not "standing" or "sitting." It’s the raw, physical reaction of two people who were once everything to each other. It’s the sound of a man who realized—forty years too late—that he walked away from the best thing he ever had.
Putting the Song into Context
If you're just getting into Tom Waits, Closing Time is the "easy" entry point. It’s melodic. It’s folk-adjacent. If you jump straight into his 1980s stuff like Rain Dogs, you might be confused why a man is barking at you over a marimba.
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But Martha is the emotional anchor of his entire early career. It’s been covered by everyone from Tim Buckley to Bette Midler, but nobody quite nails the desperate, shaky hope of the original.
Actionable Ways to Experience This Track
If you want to actually feel what this song is doing, don't just play it as background noise while you’re doing dishes. It requires a bit of ritual.
- Wait for Night: This is not a "sunny Saturday morning" song. It’s a "rainy Tuesday at midnight" song.
- Use Good Headphones: The subtle cello arrangements and the way Tom’s voice cracks on the word "Martha" get lost on cheap speakers.
- Read the Lyrics While Listening: Notice the structure. It’s a narrative arc. It starts with an operator and ends with a ghost of a memory.
- Check out the Tim Buckley Version: It’s a totally different beast—more soulful and sweeping—but it shows just how strong the songwriting "bones" of this track really are.
There is no "fix" for the melancholy this song induces. It’s meant to make you think about your own "Martha"—the person you haven't thought about in years, but whose number you probably still have memorized somewhere in the back of your brain.
Just maybe think twice before you actually pick up the phone. Some memories are better left trembling in the past.