Scott Walker: Another tear
falls
by Jeremy
Reed
(Creation Books, ISBN
1-871592-75-5)
This is without doubt
an important book. Allow me to explain. It's
important in the same way that 'Scott Walker: a
deep shade of blue' by Mike Watkinson & Pete
Anderson is important. That is to say, it's about
Scott Walker. If Jeffrey Archer wrote a book about
Scott Walker…well, perhaps not. But you get my
drift. Then again, maybe this isn't the place for
such considerations anyway. Let's see; it says here
that this website is 'A quarterly journal of
songwriting and literature'. Well, if Noel Scott
Engel isn't about songwriting and literature then my
name's Nwankwo Kanu*. That much established, let me
tell you why this book is worth your money if you're
a Scott fan and worth a look even if you aren't, you
poor misguided fool, you.
Having said that,
this may not be your idea of a good read. It may not
be your idea of a conventional 'rock biography'. I
suspect it isn't Jeremy Reed's idea of one either, as
he obviously had no intention of producing anything
like that. Jeremy's a published poet and author whose
past biographical subjects include Rimbaud, de Sade,
Lautréamont, Artaud, yes, yes, all right, I know,
enough of the bleeding nineteenth century French
writers already, you get the picture. The more
cynical and presumptuous among you have already I'm
sure decided what this book's like; full of
airy-fairy arty-farty namby-pamby inconsequential
non-sequiturs that clearly illustrate the process of
an author disappearing up his own rectum at a fair
rate of knots. Yes, I admit it, that was half what I
expected too. Turns out we're quite wrong and this is
a perceptive and learned treatise on the sole
enduring musical icon of the 1960s to remain active
(well, just about) without having become another
recycled product of the postmodern era. Reed
recognizes this fact and devotes a large percentage
of the book to consideration of 'Climate Of
Hunter' and 'Tilt', two of the most
singular musical works of the last fifty years in my
opinion.
As I hinted
previously, unlike Watkinson and Anderson, Reed does
not tread the conventional biographical path inasmuch
as the usual chronological/historical approach is
largely forsaken for the most part in favour if a
critical non-linear approach. He jumps from thought
to thought, song to song, album to album, but his
approach is far from random. He discusses Scott's
vocal technique in depth, provides telling insight
into post-"Scott 4" recordings such
as "The Moviegoer" which are
generally derided or ignored (and makes a good case
for the most part for their reconsideration) and
compares Scott with Isadore Ducasse aka the Comte de
Lautreamont (somewhat less successfully but no less
entertainingly) and is outspoken in his refusal to
deify the aforementioned "Scott 4"
as the unchallenged apex of the man's career. He
quotes Mark Edwards' comment in his review of
Watkinson and Anderson's book that describes Scott's
music as being "too serious for a pop
audience, and far too pop for a serious
audience" and takes it as one of the main
themes for his own book, with no little perception
and attention to detail.
Carps? Firstly, one
comment he makes about the trilogy of recordings that
is "Nite Flights", "Climate Of
Hunter" and "Tilt"; he
observes that they constitute "an innovative
experiment as valid as any…by the likes of
pioneers like Philip Glass, Eno and…David
Bowie." Oh dear. Perhaps he should try
listening to a few genuine pioneers, such as,
shall we say, Raymond Scott, Morton Feldman and Neu!,
from whom Reed's three examples took many of their
ideas. (When I see a sentence with the three words
'David', 'Bowie' and 'pioneer' in it, I smell
T-R-O-U-B-L-E.) Another main problem I have with this
book is his constant references to one Marc Almond,
at the very best an amusing minor player in
contemporary music and, not to put to fine a point on
it, not fit to be compared with Scott Walker in any
way I can imagine. Put it this way; if you'll forgive
the truism, Scott can sing. Almond can't. Simple as
that. Reed has a definite agenda and good for him,
but I can't go along with this aspect of it at all.
Finally, and less seriously, you may find there are
aspects of Reed's prose style you find rather
excruciating, even risible. His constant references
to what Scott might be doing or thinking at the very
moment he is writing that particular section of the
book, for example. Personally, I have no problem with
this at all, indeed I wish more biographers avoided
the dry tedium of reportage in favour of a style they
could at least call their own. I call attention to it
merely to warn those A.J.P. Taylor fans in the
audience, you understand.
Nevertheless, I
recommend this book. There is considerable insight
and much telling analysis of Scott's music and
career, especially of the more recent years and of
his contemporary music. How could I do other than
recommend it? For me, he's one of the greats. The
concluding essay on "Tilt" comes
especially recommended, critical justice done at last
to one of the most important recordings of any kind
of music during the last 20 years. Plus the photos of
the man in full moody flow come are undoubtedly
impressive and worth showing to your mum to see if
she starts screaming uncontrollably. It's now almost
11 o'clock as I near the conclusion of this review;
as I look outside, it's raining softly and at this
moment Scott is probably overcooking some vegetables,
cursing at the pile of junk mail under his post box
or wondering whether he should really have bought
that shirt the other day, just like anyone else. The
one thing he's almost certainly not doing is reading
Jeremy Reed's book about him, which is a shame, as I
think he'd rather enjoy bits of it. I did.
(*Kanu is a
devilishly fine striker for the Arsenal Football Club
Stateside readers!)