Manafonistas

„Across the album, there are cameos and fleeting glimpses of powerful historical figures, many with blood on their hands: Donald Rumsfeld, the Ku Klux Klan, Attila the Hun, Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev, Pope Julius II, and the ‘Conducator’, a title used by both Ceausescu and his predecessor King Carol II. Sterzing, the Tyrolean village mentioned in ‘Corps De Blah’, was notorious as a bolthole for Nazi war criminals in the aftermath of the Second World War.

At the same time, Scott takes a delight in crude humour, and the album is awash with insults and sardonic put-­‐downs, slapstick, body parts and bad smells (check the tight-­‐sphinctered emissions of ‘Corps De Blah’). There’s plenty of rough and tumble and visceral argy-­‐bargy, too. ‘Epizootics!’ (as well as recalling 1940s hipster slang, the word means an unusually high rate of new infections within an epidemic – appropriately for a man who once had a hit with a song called ‘The Plague’, Scott’s music has often touched on disease) soundtracks its descriptions of sweaty street hassle with swinging, strident percussion and the raucous sub-­‐tones of the rare brass instrument, the tubax, played by Pete Long. “It’s a combination of a tuba and a saxophone,” explains Scott, “and there’s only two in the country. It’s a monster thing, you actually have to sit on the floor, it’s enormous. But it means you can get below the bass, very very deep.”“ (Rob Young, one more time) 

“I’m a pessimist, in that I know it’s not going to end well,” he says, with a laugh. “But most of my songs are spiritual at the core. I try not to be too cynical about things, because it’s too difficult otherwise. You have to be able to work your way through it – you have to be able to see what’s there, and deal with it.”

„Unsurprisingly for a long-­term exile from his native America, Bish Bosch is a great melting pot of clamouring voices and languages, swift scene-­‐changes (the album’s geographic reach covers Denmark, the Alps, Hawaii, the ancient landscapes of Scythia, Greece and Rome, and Romania), time-­‐travelling jump-­‐cuts, and metaphors from medical science and molecular biology that seize you by the throat.

If „The Drift“ was a dark place, full of scorching orchestral textures and ominous rumblings, Bish Bosch is a tauter but more colourful experience, with greater emphasis on processed, abrasive guitars, digital keyboards and thick silences. Scott’s regular producer Peter Walsh, and his regular core of musicians, Ian Thomas (drums), Hugh Burns and James Stevenson (guitars), Alasdair Malloy (percussion) and John Giblin (bass). Guests include trumpeter Guy Barker and pedal steel guitarist BJ Cole, who worked on three of Scott’s mid-­‐seventies LPs.

Musical director Mark Warman plays a prominent role, both as conductor and keyboardist. “If I use the big orchestra I’m using it for noises or textures, or big pillars of sound, rather than arrangements,” Walker explains, adding that the sonic richness was achieved by means of a novel recording technique. “What we did was record the drums, bass, percussion, strings and vocals in digital and analogue simultaneously. Because we knew there were a lot of silences in it, especially in something like ‘Zercon’. And in the endings – the ending of ‘Tar’, where you don’t know what’s going on. So in those spots we just cut off the analogue, and where we had the silences we just used the digital. And then we turned on the analogue again when everyone was playing together. Everything was recorded that way, so it’s about eighty per cent analogue.”“ (Rob Young again)

“I’ve always thought since the late 70’s, “This is my last record.” Every single record has been that way … I guess I just pull the trigger each time.” (Scott Walker) 

„Scott Walker insists none of his work is in any way autobiographical. So you are compelled to re-think the way you experience music to get the most out of these pieces. Instead it’s more like a form of sonic fiction (magic realism, cut-up, sci-fi and historical reinvention all rolled up into distinct packages). There are frequently two, three or more ideas packed into each song: scenarios that seem distinct at first but whose connections are subtly revealed. The lyrics process a mass of data, set to music that often veers into filmic sound effects and Foley artistry. Songs leap across giant historical chasms or reach for the outer limits of space. A single number can contain references to molecular biology and sulphurous farts; quotes from the Bible and Hollywood film directors; medieval leather shoes and Algonquin chiefs. They unashamedly revel in unfamiliar words, technical terminology and obscure references, so keep a dictionary handy and bookmark Wikipedia. It’s all part of the fun.“ (Rob Young, The Wire; Scott Walker will be the cover story of the December edition of The Wire, it will be „album of the month“ in Mojo Magazine, and I will will put it on high rotation on my radio show)

„Shakey’s first album of original songs with the Horse since 1996 wears their trademark sound like an old slipper – beautiful harmonies, plaintive chord changes and chugging country-rock rhythms that allow Young’s improvised guitar solos room to roam. And roam he does – for 87 minutes, many of them looking back over a remarkable life with wistfulness and humour. The meandering but sublime 27-minute opener Driftin‘ Back depicts him as country rock’s Victor Meldrew, grumbling wonderfully about the sound quality on MP3s and threatening to „get a hip-hop haircut“ – a promise he must be held to. Twisted Road thrillingly remembers when he first heard Dylan’s Like a Rolling Stone, „felt that magic an‘ took it home“. Elsewhere, the familiar alchemy with his long-time backing band inspires some of his best songs since 1990’s Ragged Glory. The extraordinary Ramada Inn – a eulogy of an ageing couple, bonded together by drink and love – is almost painfully beautiful. Walk Like a Giant returns to a favourite theme – the death of the hippy dream – but with idealism rekindled and plenty of the old fire.“
(The Guardian)

Die vier, fünf letzten Minuten von WALK LIKE A GIANT, diesem Song über das Ende des Hippie-Traums, hauen dem rockenden Fass den Boden aus. (M.E.)