At the Commodore Ballroom on Saturday, October 16

Do you believe that a room can create magic? If not, Tom Waits at the Commodore would have changed your mind. The grizzled 54-year-old played two Vancouver concerts last weekend as part of a limited 10-date world tour. Both Friday's show at the Orpheum and Saturday's at the Commodore were designed to throw fans a curve ball. Instead of trotting out the songs that are guaranteed to send everyone home happy, Waits decided to mess with expectations. So while he begrudgingly included one or two favourites--"Temptation" and "16 Shells from a Thirty-Ought Six"--he mostly took a road less travelled. There was no "In the Neighborhood", "Downtown Train", or "Innocent When You Dream". Instead, both nights drew heavily from his just-released Real Gone. The album ranks right up there with the junkyard bluesman's best work, but here's betting that no one showed up to hear "Sins of My Father" or "Tomorrow", as maddeningly beautiful as they were.

Because the set was weighted so heavily with the unfamiliar, Friday was a mild disappointment. Waits was backed by a crack band that included his son Casey on percussion and turntables, Larry Taylor on bass, Primus skin-beater Brain on drums, and Marc Ribot on guitar. (Tossing off skittery, blues-skronk leads with awe-inspiring effortlessness, the last was the unofficial star on the both nights.) The Orpheum crowd was happy to be there, no shocker considering the show sold out in nine minutes. And to be fair, Waits, who was playing his first concert in five years, was captivating, flapping his arms like a crow with a broken wing as he cackled, howled, and occasionally beatboxed his way through the set. The assembled faithful sang along politely on "Table Top Joe", laughed at the between-songs banter ("I went to the Elbow Room. I heard they treat you badly there. I couldn't resist"), and clapped enthusiastically after each number. There were undeniable highlights--the creeping "How's It Gonna End" was perfect soundtrack music for contemplating one's mortality--but that didn't stop people from literally falling asleep during the slow moments.

In contrast, Saturday was electric. The Commodore--the smallest room that Waits has played in two decades--was the reason for that. The night kicked off the venerable Granville Street venue's yearlong, 75th-anniversary celebration, and the room was packed with hard-core fans, many of whom had camped out on the street to ensure they were part of the evening. (Being a special event, the only place tickets were sold was at the Commodore, which led to the faithful lining up the night before the box office opened.) The reward for such devotion was the chance to get up close to a legend. You could see every line on Waits's weather-beaten face and watch the sweat pour down him as he tore up boho-trash-blues numbers like "Make It Rain".

What made the night a stunner was the way that performer and audience fed off each other's energy. The connection, which never quite happened at the Orpheum, was made early on, right around the middle of "Don't Go Into That Barn", a ramshackle, Faulknerian tale of ruin that's Real Gone's best song. Waits bellowed and spat his way through the story of Everett Lee, who's high on potato-and-tulip wine, and Saginaw Calinda, who lives in the shadow of a long-dead farm. It was at the end of the tune that performer and audience become one. Sounding like a crazy uncle who's been locked in the root cellar for too long, Waits hollered out the line "Did you cover your tracks?", at which point the crowd screamed back, "Yes, sir."

"Did you bring your knife?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did they see your face?"

"No, sir."

"Did the mom see you?"

"No, sir."

And so it went. "Don't Go Into That Barn" gave every fan in attendance a memory they'll never forget. Just as amazing was that the show never slowed down after that five-minute masterpiece. Yes, it was that magical.