What Scott Walker meant to me is fearlessness, I think.
Several times in his career, Walker took the brave, adventurous road when he could have had an easier time sticking to what history had shown to work. First he ditched his “brothers” to make solo records that reflected his new and growing love of Jacques Brel. And then he stopped recording Brel to focus on his own material exclusively. Then, after a humbling period in the seventies when at his record company’s insistence he made throwaway light pop records (containing recordings of songs like If and Delta Dawn) and a reunion with Gary and John that had seen them score a big hit with a cover of Tom Rush’s No Regrets, he ripped up the rule book once again to make Nite Flights.
Yet, for all that Scott has been, and will continue to be lionised as an avant-garde talent, it’s worth remembering too just what a good singer he was. His wracked nobility on Make it Easy on Yourself, his bottom-of-the-ocean sorrow on The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore, his distracted heartbreak on No Regrets, his provocative glee on Jackie, his simple tenderness on We’re All Alone* – Scott Walker would be one of the greats if we only knew him as an interpretive singer and he’d never written Montague Terrace (In Blue), Duchess or The Electrician.
Ah yes, The Electrician. Somehow it does all comes back to that one. His music got darker than that song. It got weirder. It got longer. But in no other song did Walker find a more perfect balance between his need to give voice to humanity’s darkest emotions and his ability to give those feelings beautiful expression. The Electrician, from its first tolling-bell bass note, casts its spell perfectly every time I hear it.
A fearless writer and a performer of technical and expressive virtuosity – Scott Walker was a true one-off.
*Yes, despite what you may have heard he did make good music between Scott 4 and Nite Flights. Just, not consistently.