I couldn’t imagine the new Scott Walker being anything less
than excellent and was thrilled to learn that it exceeded my expectations.
If you liked his last official album, 1996’s Tilt
(Pola X was a soundtrack), which was even more intense
than the one before, 1984’s Climate of Hunter, The
Drift is gonna knock you out. If however you aren't already
a fan of Scott Walker, I doubt it will do anything to convert you.
Before
Walker’s increasingly experimental work of the last quarter-century,
his fascinating career went from a late 1950s teen rocker phase,
to the sophisticated mid-1960s pop of The Walker Brothers, to his
classic late 1960s art-song-oriented Scott series, to wanderings
in the 1970s that included a couple of forays into country and a
Walker Brothers reunion. While his output has been sparse in recent
decades, the quality of his work has been unparalleled by others
of his generation. I wish that other personal favorites such as
Lou Reed or Leonard Cohen or even Dylan could make a new album that
I relate to and respect as much as I do The Drift. There
are certainly exceptions like Brian Wilson, but Smile was
written almost forty years ago and I’ve yet to hear any of
his new material that comes close. Scott Walker is truly a rare
vintage.
The
Drift is an avant garde album in the classic modernist sense
– belonging more to concert halls, opera houses, and performance
spaces than pop venues. Walker hasn’t done his baroque renderings
of Jacques Brel for a long time and he ain’t gonna start here.
These are long involved pieces that waver from the most bare minimalism
to the most elaborate orchestrations. The more spatial parts tend
to be the most experimental and ambient – found sounds, found
percussion, tape recorders rewinding, synths pulsating, vocal noises,
and unorthodox instrumentation. Sometimes the voice is accompanied
by nothing or merely a sound. The dense parts tend to possess a
sort of post-Wagnerian orchestral atonalism and include almost industrial
rhythmic devices. By no means retro, though The Drift is
planted firmly in the old modernist opera tradition, there’s
plenty to remind people that this is a 21st Century record –
from the beats, synths, effect-laden electric guitars, and contemporary
editing devices. Walker’s voice retains it’s unmistakable
baritone quality and his masterful phrasing is as unusual and breathtaking
as ever. Finally this is a true audiophile album and sounds uncommonly
gargantuan.
Though
Walker is often perceived as a great interpreter, many forget that
a number of his finest numbers, particularly the ones that came
after Scott 3, were penned by the singer himself –
both words and music. The lyrical and sonic themes of The Drift
are a dark commentary on contemporary culture – both internal
and external. While Walker discusses everything from Cossacks to
Serbs, from Milosevic to Mussolini, his writing is highly allegorical
– never preachy and rarely obvious. The best example is “Jesse,”
in which he uses Elvis and his Elvis’ stillborn brother to
as a parable for the World Trade Center’s twin towers. The
longest epic, the nearly thirteen-minute “Clara,” is
all about the growing international climate of fascism. News bites,
the sound of bacon frying, inner thoughts, and other random scraps
are collected and combined to portray Scott Walker’s personal
musical body politic. This could very well be sci-fi or a long and
elaborate nightmare - except, knowing what we know as citizens of
our time, The Drift yet another bleak contemporary memoir.
In
its claustrophobia, paranoia, beauty, and supreme power, the apocalypse
Scott Walker has titled “The Drift” is unlike
anything I’ve ever come across. Who the heck is making art
this ambitious, adventurous, and vital these days? As he repeats
“I’m the only one left alive” over and over, I
begin to believe him. More evidence that there is such thing as
an old master in the highy disposable contemporary pop/rock world.