Scott Walker – Modern Genius

The only musical influence my ma had on me was getting me into Scott Walker (Real name – Noel Scott Engel). She was into the Walker Brothers and had a “best” of cassette that had some of his solo stuff on it. Had a copy of it and during the school holidays had an evening job so used to get up at four and go to work at six and stay up watching whatever shite was on UTV.

Around five AM or half past, when the sun came up I’d put the lead on the dog. Then I’d stick Scott on the walkman and wander the empty streets of Navan. It seemed like the perfect setting to listen to that kind of music. No one around. It was like I was the only one on a recently deserted planet. There were hanging baskets with flowers in them that had been recently watered.

The water would be trickling down from the baskets leaving small lonely pools on the ground and each drop was accompanied by the intro to “Boy Child”. Or maybe “Montague Terrace in Blue” would fill my ears as I passed red traffic lights with no queue of cars behind them.

Those songs and his other compositions were so rich in imagery, you could see the song in front of you yet not be sure of what you were looking at. They were like sonic dream-scapes. Then there were his Brel covers like “Jackie” that conjured up imagery of a debauchery that no one really enjoyed but engaged in for the sake of it.

I later went on to buy those iconic albums seen in the images at the top of this post and was blown away. Right now as I write this I am listening to “The Drift”, his latest album which he released in 2006 (He’s releasing them around every ten years at this stage) and I’m being blown away all over again. What he is doing now is beyond music. It is simply art. Listen. Be blown away.

Scott Walker is one of those people who I can truly say made me think in ways I hadn’t before. The word genius is thrown about a lot to describe musicians but in this case it doesn’t even come close to describing his greatness.

Montague Terrace in Blue (ENGEL)

The little clock’s stopped ticking now
We’re swallowed in the stomached rue
The only sound to tear the night
Comes from the man upstairs

His bloated belching figure stomps
He may crash through the ceiling soon
The window sees trees cry from cold
And claw the moon

But we know don’t we
And we’ll dream won’t we
Of Montague Terrace in blue

The girl across the hall makes love
Her thoughts lay cold like shattered stone
Her thighs are full of tales to tell
Of all the nights she’s known

Your eyes ignite like cold blue fire
The scent of secrets everywhere
A fist filled with illusions
Clutches all our cares

But we know don’t we
And we’ll dream won’t we
Of Montague Terrace in blue oh in blue

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~ by Marcas MacCaoimhín on February 9, 2008.