Beyond the microclimate of critical discourse, it’s easy to forget that there are many people who think that Tom Waits is not that great a singer. Talking to Time Out in 1995, Rod Stewart revealed himself as one of them when he claimed that he was doing Waits a favour by putting his song Downtown Train in the hands of a “proper” vocalist. It might also be argued that Waits – never much to look at – might be further glamorised by having a Hollywood A-lister such as Scarlett Johansson cover an album of his songs. Surely, it’s just the break for which Waits has been eking out a humble existence all these decades?

As the world awaits a reaction from the man himself, let’s ponder Johansson’s form when it comes to singing other people’s songs. As Charlotte in Lost in Translation, she intoned “I’ve gotta have some of your attention” – a line that, sung by Chrissie Hynde on Brass in Pocket, thrilled in its ability to deliver on its filthy promise. Coming from Charlotte it sounded exactly like what it was – a girl in a bar doing karaoke. In the karaoke booth, that’s fine. In your front room, on a CD handed over in exchange for your cash, the novelty wilts like spinach in a hot pan.

A Town With No Cheer – Waits’s snapshot of what happens to a town when the mainline train no longer stops there – is delivered with a listless, undernourished atonality. I Wish I Was in New Orleans is sketched out over a music-box tinkle. It’s slightly better, but as a foundation upon which to construct a defence of this folly it could barely hold up a house of cards.

Consequently, pundits confident that these songs will be as cool as the conceit that brings them together have been faced with no choice but to invoke comparisons with the lathe-voiced Germanic beauty Nico. But on Nico’s albums the psychological shadow world of John Cale’s arrangements mirrored the qualities of her voice.

On Johansson’s album, Dave Sitek’s production heaps on dislocated synths that camouflage Johansson’s voice. Under the circumstances, who would blame him if he went one better and removed it entirely? Or elected to feature more instrumentals, beyond the sonic establishing shot of Fawn? Would that a similar tactic had been deployed on Fannin St. Instead, a bleat that only a deaf mother could love is hitched to a vocal cameo from David Bowie. If you find that your estimation of Dame Dave hasn’t plummeted so sharply since he yelled “South Americaaaa!” on Dancing in the Streets, you may find the opposite happening with your feelings towards Tom Waits. One can only marvel at the ability of these songs to withstand this sort of A-list attack.

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