Happy Birthday Scott Walker!



You know, I could rant about my love for Scott Walker until I ran out of words and time escaped me; and I wanted to go to sleep. I’ll keep it short, and try to explain my love for Scott in a non-ranting kind of way. I do feel I will mess it up. It’s alright. I must remind myself that no one will see this.

Of course The Walker Brothers were one of the best bands ever. Timeless and divine. Scott Walker’s voice is out of this world. Has anyone else managed to do what he does? No. Has anyone else possessed a voice like that? No. Could anyone else make a record like Bish Bosch and still be taken seriously? No. Bish Bosch is fucking insane. It is mental, completely mental. And I loved it so. The lyrics are genius and mad. That’s just Scott though.

I have a story to tell about Scott.

I was raised on The Walker Brothers, and I dabbled in Scott’s solo work. Scott and Scott 4 are my favourites. I think I’d put Bish Bosch there just because of how mental it is. Anyway, a few years ago I was miserable and living in a shit place. That shit place was sadly, Stoke On Trent. The only good thing about it was that it was easy to escape to Manchester or London. I thought I could hack it, I thought I could get a job and get out. I ended up being a boomerang between there and where I am now. I have never felt at home anywhere. I have never felt like I belonged anywhere. Maybe I never will; and it partly why I don’t get attached to objects and why I am so far from being materialistic, because one day I hope to leave it all behind and start my life. For real. But I am 26 and I fear it will never happen for me. I am made up of mistakes, false starts and a want to just make something of myself. I fail even when I think I’ve done alright.

So I was struggling. Nothing was working. I wasn’t working. I was stuck. I feared I was going to be thrown out of where I was living at any point, so I never said a word about the broken washing machine or the leaking bath. I had nothing, but I carried one.

One day I got a package from my mum. A care-package I guess. I opened it, and in the parcel was a photo of Morrissey and Scott Walker’s debut record. All I did that day was listen to Scott Walker. I wandered around and just listened to Scott Walker. That debut record means more to me than anyone will ever know.

So a very Happy Birthday to Scott Walker. You gave this hopeless case some kind of lifeline.

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