Sometime around the release of his 1984 album Climate of Hunter, Scott Walker discorporated and his consciousness scattered. Periodically, heâ€™s able to gather his atoms back together and create a harrowing dispatch from the ether before vanishing for another decade or so. His once-golden voice reduced to a haunted wail, Walker painstakingly recreates the sounds of traveling through half-existence surrounded by phantoms of the 20th centuryâ€™s cruelty. Maybe thatâ€™s all a little dramatic, but itâ€™s nearly impossible to use the conventional language of criticism to describe Walkerâ€™s recent output. Bish Bosch is marginally more focused than 2006â€™s The Drift, but the punishing intrusions of sound, from howling strings to flecks of metal guitar, remain entrancing and alienating. Walkerâ€™s dissipated opera howl dances with carefully chosen, evocative words over unconventional rhythms. Songs like the minimalist â€śDimpleâ€ť and titanic â€śSDSS1416+13B (Zercon, A Flagpole Sitter)â€ť weave a singular spell that absolutely demand attention.
By Tom Forget
The opinions expressed on the BUST blog are those of the authors themselves and do not necessarily reflect the position of BUST Magazine or its staff.
blog comments powered by Disqus