I never really do music reviews, although in my youth, you might find me singing here and there. Music was actually a big part of my life at one time.
Scott Walker is a person who I believe has created the music of the futuristic generation, the one that sees beyond normal and jumps into the unknown. If you had asked me yesterday anything about him, I would not have been able to give you anything of depth. Somehow today we connected, connected on some metaphor of politics and how the world is spinning.
I would have told you his recent music struck strange and yet melodic junctures in a straight line that continued to infinity. The stuff of dreams. Not pleasant Peter Pan dreams, but fearful, unsettling ones. It is almost like death set to some kind of strange floating memory, that has sound. Some sound.
I would say that he must have had some influence, some piece of his past that has stuck with him. Something that sizzled and burned underneath his creative layer, the early one that was popular, acceptable. I would say he is different. He did have many nightmares in his youth and life. He remembers them and they touch his work now. He is searching to share something that is so completely different, he is without match or measure. Many do not know what they are hearing, but they are hearing and if affects their very being.
As a youth he went to the movies with his aunt, and frequently enough, early enough, that he saw the newsreels before hand. He remembers Mussolini hanging in the piazza. He remembers his mistress hanging upside down, six feet from the ground. He remembers trying to understand it and asking about it and receiving no answers. He does not forget it and it becomes a part and parcel of some of his work.
He is deliberate, creative, he knows what he wants to hear, and he is patient while it comes forward in his work. Untimely, he is timely and he can stop and correct and recreate until his passionate embrace of the macabe lends itself to the unschooled listeners ear.
You cannot be happy listening to most of this discordent crystal hanging and beautiful; and cracking and piercing your skin before your ears, your eyes.
The thing is, do we need to? Do we need to be happy or can we live in this moment of extreme discomfort long enough to walk away from it and wonder and exclaim, what was that? How does it suit me, how is it a part of my life? He is a poet and a musician. He is a reflection of our times which is the past and the future. He is not the pacifier of the message makers, he is the nightmare in the room, deep into the night, that we see in day.
Wickedness, no, fear, no, just unsettled art, reflection of the unsettled, the wisdom of it all gone wrong.
Beauty, like beauty in death, when it ends it is peace.