10 Songs, 1 Hour 8 Minutes

EDITORS’ NOTES

Scott Walker is the ultimate stranger in a strange land. Born Scott Engel in Hamilton, Ohio, he became a UK pop star with the Walker Brothers in the 1960s, sported a solo career where he was described as sounding like “Tony Bennett on acid,” and in the past eleven years has released just two solo albums – this one and 1995’s Tilt. Both are challenging works that require the listener to suspend their beliefs in what a song should do. You do not hum these tunes. You do not tap your foot to these beats. Preferably, you sit in a comfortable chair in a dark room and let the slowly unfolding drama overtake you. The Drift is the mesmerizing sound of the apocalypse oozing down the walls around you. Walker employs sparse orchestration and much of the album is spent in silence, awaiting Walker’s tremulous proclamations. One doesn’t walk away from The Drift with a favorite track, but with a memory for repeated phrases that have been painstakingly beaten into consciousness: “I’m the only one left alive,” “I’ll punch a donkey in the streets of Galway,” “World about to end.” Careful with this one.

EDITORS’ NOTES

Scott Walker is the ultimate stranger in a strange land. Born Scott Engel in Hamilton, Ohio, he became a UK pop star with the Walker Brothers in the 1960s, sported a solo career where he was described as sounding like “Tony Bennett on acid,” and in the past eleven years has released just two solo albums – this one and 1995’s Tilt. Both are challenging works that require the listener to suspend their beliefs in what a song should do. You do not hum these tunes. You do not tap your foot to these beats. Preferably, you sit in a comfortable chair in a dark room and let the slowly unfolding drama overtake you. The Drift is the mesmerizing sound of the apocalypse oozing down the walls around you. Walker employs sparse orchestration and much of the album is spent in silence, awaiting Walker’s tremulous proclamations. One doesn’t walk away from The Drift with a favorite track, but with a memory for repeated phrases that have been painstakingly beaten into consciousness: “I’m the only one left alive,” “I’ll punch a donkey in the streets of Galway,” “World about to end.” Careful with this one.

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