One of the most enigmatic figures in rock history, Scott Walker was known as Scotty Engel when he cut obscure flop records in the late '50s and early '60s in the teen idol vein. He then hooked up with John Maus and Gary Leeds to form the Walker Brothers. They weren't named Walker, they weren't brothers, and they weren't English, but they nevertheless became a part of the British Invasion after moving to the U.K. in 1965. They enjoyed a couple of years of massive success there (and a couple of hits in the U.S.) in a Righteous Brothers vein. As their full-throated lead singer and principal songwriter, Walker was the dominant artistic force in the group, who split in 1967. While remaining virtually unknown in his homeland, Walker launched a hugely successful solo career in Britain with a unique blend of orchestrated, almost MOR arrangements with idiosyncratic and morose lyrics. At the height of psychedelia, Walker openly looked to crooners like Sinatra, Jack Jones, and Tony Bennett for inspiration, and to Jacques Brel for much of his material.
When Wisconsin became the first state in the nation in 1959 to let public employees bargain with their employers, the legislation catalyzed changes to labor laws across the country. In March 2011, when newly elected governor Scott Walker repealed most of that labor law and subsequent ones - and then became the first governor in the nation to survive a recall election fifteen months later - it sent a different message. Both times, Wisconsin took the lead, first empowering public unions and then weakening them. This audiobook recounts the battle between the Republican governor and the unions.
UK five CD box set containing digitally remastered editions of five classic Scott Walker albums released between 1967 and 1970 housed in a hardback, lift-off lid, box. New, extensive sleeve notes on each album plus rare photos. In 1967, a 24 year old Scott Walker stepped out from his role as lead vocalist with the Walker Brothers to produce his debut solo album simply titled Scott to much critical acclaim and chart success. This was to be the start of a vision of an artist set apart from his pop-balladeer teen idol image who went on to become a most enigmatic and revered male vocalist, singer/songwriter, composer, producer and a true creative force.
American eccentric Scott Walker's latest collection of scary stories to sing in the dark is technically a collaboration with the sludgiest band on the planet, but it plays like any of his recent solo albums: flighty, operatic melodies, minimalist circles of percussion, and brittle stabs of noise. SunnO))), the cloaked duo known for foundation-rattling electric guitar drones, provides triumphant punctuation and proper atmosphere, covering his compositions with a layer of tar. With humming menace comes tracks like "Brando" and "Herod 2014," which have the blood-in-the-desert vibe of Cormac McCarthy, with shockingly vivid lyrics ("the nurseries and crèches are heaving with lush lice") and snapping bullwhip from circus performer Peter Gamble. This teaming of a gifted poet and bruising metalheads is like Lou Reed and Metallica's Lulu – but about half as long, and about twice as heavy.
There were intermittent soundtrack and score contributions of varying magnitudes, as well as a couple other low-key projects, but The Drift is Scott Walker's proper follow-up to 1995's Tilt, an album that also happened to trail its predecessor by 11 years. If 1984's Climate of Hunter put the MOR in morose, Tilt avoided the road completely and went straight toward the fractured, fraught images inside Walker's nightmares. It was entirely removed from anything that could've been classified as contemporary. The Drift isn't an equally severe leap from Tilt, but it is darker, less arranged, alternately more and less dense, and ultimately more frightening. Maybe it'll make your body temperature drop a few degrees. Working with what Walker has referred to as "blocks of sound," only a few of the album's 68 minutes have any connection to rock music, and many of those minutes are part of a harrowing 9/11 song that also obliquely references "Jailhouse Rock" as Elvis Presley cries out ("I'm the only one left alive!") to his stillborn twin brother. The songs swing from hovering drones to crushing jolts.