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Scott Walker's 40-year musical journey has been one of the strangest trips in the history of pop music. In the mid '60s, the American expat became a teen idol in the UK as the lead singer of the Walker Brothers (not his brothers), crooning faux-Spector pop classics like "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore" and "Make It Easy On Yourself." Finding pop stardom not to his taste, Walker turned his back on the marketplace and produced a series of solo albums exploring the songs of Jacques Brel, as well as his own increasing dark and esoteric compositions. Those four albums (Scott 1-4) gradually scared off his teen fans with their dark, bombastic orchestrations topped with his flamboyant Morrison-meets-Sinatra vocalizations. They've since become cult classics.
Aside from some MOR side trips done for money in the early '70s, Walker's music became exponentially darker and more abstract as time went by. His work on the Walker Brothers' 1978 LP Nite Flights was hugely influential on Bowie and Eno, while 1984's Climate Of Hunter kept up with the times with a progressive post-punk sound. By the time he released Tilt in 1995, Walker had abandoned pop and rock forms completely, intertwining dark string arrangements, operatic vocals and abstract lyrics into a confounding yet oftentimes-beautiful record that listeners would declare either classic or unlistenable (or both).
The Drift is Walker's long awaited follow up to Tilt, and the 11 years since have done little to lighten his mood. In fact, Walker has created the darkest and heaviest work of his career, and he's achieved the seemingly impossible by producing an album even more intense and difficult than Tilt. His lyrics are still obtuse and abstract (though the occasional liner note provides background), his vocals are more tortured than ever, and the instrumentations are charged with thundering drums, dissonant orchestral blasts and grating guitars that make "Kid A" sound like Fountains Of Wayne.
While The Drift might be more easily appreciated than enjoyed, there's an undercurrent of beauty and black humor running through its dark soundscapes, making each listen more engaging than the last. At 63, it's amazing to see an artist like Walker creating music that's more original and challenging than that of cutting-edge artists half his age. Hearing The Drift is certainly a harrowing experience, but for the musically adventurous, it's exceptionally rewarding.








