The drift scott walker rapidshare

Opening with a broken deconstruction of the "Jailhouse Rock" guitar riff, Walker immediately intones the fate of his subjects, all sung in the 1st person perspective of Elvis. Afterward, Walker whispers, "pow Jesse, as always, remains silent. Elvis, described here as "six feet of foetus" may have died over 40 years after Jesse, while the Towers shortly after one another; but time matters little in Walker's dream-like lyrics.

Presley collapses in slow motion over the years as his godlike image begins to sour, and Walker sees him as doomed from birth. Of all the violent and brutal sections of The Drift , nothing sounds more quietly disturbing than the final section of "Jesse. The image of Elvis on all fours trying to do the impossible, flatten and smooth a prairie may be bizarre, but the existential dread that it carries hits close to home for any listener.

Why did they hit the towers? Why did they have to kill all those innocent people? Why is my brother dead before I ever knew him? Why do I have his face? We can ask our own questions, but we'd be sitting right in that prairie next to Elvis. Walker took the history of Elvis, tied it into the current political crisis, and made the American cultural god into a doomed tragic hero crying out for his lost brother. Though these two monoliths are the key songs on The Drift , every track finds Walker painting a unique picture with his music and oblique lyrics.

One extremely important technique used throughout the album finds Walker using the studio-as-instrument philosophy to acts as a Foley artist, especially in pieces like "Jolson and Jones" and "Cue. The imagery of the lyrics are only increased by things like shuffling footsteps, distant yelling, and at one point, a screaming donkey actually brought into the studio and recorded.

It all seems absurd, yet in the context, it takes his listener into a vivid world. At first, they sound like the crates the diseased ridden ships are carrying, yet by the end as the sickness spreads they seem to imply coffins being made; the definition shifts as the song takes on a new context.

The fact that Walker's work takes so long to be created could almost be a good thing. The cult artist's first new studio record since 's devastating Tilt was written and produced over a seven-year period, and, like its predecessor, its stories are taken from a varied, almost overstuffed horizon of literature, news stories, Walker's half-forgotten dreams, and otherwise poetic neuroses.

Forty years into his recording career, Scott Walker is still making music that he wants to make; like all great artists, he's making music that only he can make-- and hoping or not that other people catch onto something, anything in the big, dark, dense vacuum of The Drift.

Walker beats the noise-mongers in New York, the conservatory-schooled theater kids, the gallery poseurs, the reclusive art-pop geniuses, all the perennially stylish genre tourists, celebrity revolutionaries, and outmoded underground icons.

He, despite little more than a cult status in his native and long since abandoned country, has emerged a visionary, maker of some of the most texturally complex, viscerally emotional, and downright horrific music this side of anyone at all. But then, the composer of The Drift , Walker's first new studio record since 's devastating Tilt , didn't appear from out of nowhere.

Rather, the Ohio-born artist born Scott Noel Engel staked a claim to the musical territory somewhere between orchestral pop and psychological soliloquy from his earliest solo records.

After garnering major success in the UK as one-third of the pop act the Walker Brothers none of whom were actually related, or born with the name Walker , Scott Walker left the group and released four LPs between to Scott , 2 , 3 , and 4 , each of which is held as a classic by diehard pop sophisticates.

Walker released a string of albums in the early s that retreated drastically from the ambition of his first four before unexpectedly reuniting with the Walker Brothers for 's Nite Flights , and unveiling the first glimpses of the major musical artist we hear today. Walker's Climate of Hunter from furthered his movement towards the abstract albeit very gradually , though it wasn't until Tilt that his gift for radical songcraft and sound sculpting came to the fore.

If his earliest solo music contained unusual themes for a pop artist, they did at least contain fairly conventional orchestrations and melodies. There were intermittent soundtrack and score contributions of varying magnitudes, as well as a couple other low-key projects, but The Drift is Scott Walker 's proper follow-up to 's Tilt , an album that also happened to trail its predecessor by 11 years.

If 's Climate of Hunter put the MOR in morose, Tilt avoided the road completely and went straight toward the fractured, fraught images inside Walker 's nightmares. It was entirely removed from anything that could've been classified as contemporary. The Drift isn't an equally severe leap from Tilt , but it is darker, less arranged, alternately more and less dense, and ultimately more frightening. Maybe it'll make your body temperature drop a few degrees.

The songs swing from hovering drones to crushing jolts. The blocks that make them, then, differ tremendously in weight, from one that could be pushed by an index finger to one that could only be hauled by a forklift. Whenever a vast shaft of space opens up, it is eventually stuffed with drastic, horrific dissonance. While a song might contain a constant element or two, they're all in a constant state of unease and flux. Walker 's voice matches the activity levels of the sounds, providing a kind of paranoid croon one minute and then, during another, casting almost demonic projections that are nearly as rattling as the accompaniment.

From the outset, the album seems impossibly insular and impenetrable, especially if you've been led to believe that Scott Walker 's name is synonymous with recluse, but it has everything to do with real lives or, more accurately, real deaths. Walker is acutely aware of what's going on with the world outside his supposed candle-lit bunker; he's only finding very unique OK, bloody minded ways to bring them up.

Any mystique behind the recordings is laid to waste by one scene from a documentary, titled 30 Century Man, which shows Walker -- a baseball hat-wearing sixty-something man from Ohio -- instructing another man on how to thump a slab of meat.

It looks and sounds absurd, of course the participants seem to be aware of this , but then again, the results are used in a song inspired by the public executions of Benito Mussolini and his mistress. Broken spells aside, how much more bleak could this album be? None more bleak. AllMusic relies heavily on JavaScript. Please enable JavaScript in your browser to use the site fully.