Buy this CD from:
Insound

Rating:

Scott Walker, born Noel Scott Engel, began his career in the late 1950s. As a teen idol, and then later as a pop artist for The Walker Brothers, the artist enjoyed success with his radio-friendly ballads. As his career matured, however, Walker became less interested in commercial acclaim and more interested in personal songwriting.

By the time 1995’s Tilt came out, Walker had completely abandoned “pop star” for cult icon. Tilt was a dark masterpiece that broke new ground for the vocalist. It moved his art farther than it had ever been taken before through its confrontational emotion and undeniable originality. The Drift takes the far reaching sounds of Tilt, and pushes them even further.

The vocals, which are mixed to the front of the album, dictate the entire performance. The sound of his voice falls somewhere between Frank Sinatra and Diamanda Galas as his cords swing from a soft croon to a harrowing wail without effort. Backing his moans are distraught instruments; strings, keys, field recordings, and drums. It is as if Bernard Herrman wrote a broken Alfred Hitchcock score.

Walker’s cryptic lyrics are an art in their own right. “Jesse” starts off w/ the hum of low-pitched strings and the reverberated stroke of an empty guitar. Exasperated gasping sounds slowly puff in alternating speakers. Then the vocals; “Nose holes caked in black cocaine / No one holds a match to your skin / No dupe / No chiming.” The song continues on, slowly, for two minutes with little change until Walker suddenly explodes “Famine is / a tall / tall / tower.” Strings take a severe turn to the higher pitch as Walkers voice grows in volume and anguish. The song lyrics draw vague parallels: the destruction of the world trade center / a distraught Elvis Presley talking to his stillborn twin. The dramatic changes throughout the song pale compared to the final 50 seconds; the instruments die and Walker repeatedly broods in an a cappella warble, “Alive / I’m the only one left alive.”

Walker is the director of this nightmare, sometimes quite literally. In “Cue,” his voice slithers atop quietly menacing strings. As the track drones forward, the lyrics command, “BAM BAM / BAM BAM,” and four heavy beats follow. The beats mirror the timing and emphasis of the voice exactly as they pound over the track with a terrifying effect. Walker continues his monologue. The instrumentation drops out as he utters the word, “stopped.” From here, the singer continues his monologue over the empty track with a creepy, floating voice. The next movement of the song is sudden and dramatic; Walker’s tone takes a forceful change while high-pitched strings abruptly scream in support of him. The change is violent.

Volume is another tool employed throughout the album. Tense dramatic feelings are amplified as a hushed hum blasts into a loud blare of thick, screaming sound. Much of the album is made up of empty spaces which are overwhelmed by bursting noise. Yet even the quietest moments are intended to be heard and the liner notes for The Drift remind listeners explicitly that the album “should be played at high volume.”

The Drift is a terrifying listen. The changing volume, menacing lyrics, irregular instrumentation, and Walker’s ghost-like voice, all work together to form a theatrical masterpiece.

Reviewed by: Richie Corelli

Comments? Discuss this review in the forum