Scott Walker
Scott 3

Certain things about Scott Walker unsettle me.

When I listen to Scott Walker, or see him young in a trailer with his Fallen Angel face, I think:

“But is it more dangerous to attend a black mass with your family, or to listen alone (perhaps with headphones) and with rapture to some of his old songs?”

I lean towards the latter.

Because his is, in my opinion, a subtle "lyrical satanism". Like the monologues of the Rebel Angel in Milton’s Paradise Lost.

That fascinates.

That desperate, "naive and sweet" sadness sung that is worth a thousand words on the senselessness of human life. That "disturbing and ancestral" melancholy that gives you its solidarity, gives you a rose, pretends to want to push you away, but in the end takes you away, without you noticing.

And when you finally wake up, you find yourself with the rose in your hand, like Coleridge, and you don’t know if you’ve visited paradise or just its memory, which is nothing but hell.

Those of Scott 3 (and perhaps even more certain of Scott 4, like "The Angel of Ashes") for me represent the songs and the sweet voice (yes, the voice, wonderful) of human melancholy and sadness.

Be it the relentless melancholy of a transvestite who prostitutes himself crying under the moon thinking of his impossible love ("Big Louise"), two retirees overcome by memories of youth ("Two Ragged Soldiers"), or simply a lover abandoned by his beloved ("Two Weeks Since You’ve Gone") is not important.

The important thing is not to get too involved.

I swear, much better to participate in a black mass with the whole family, dog (or cat) included (could always come in handy...).

But don’t forget the popcorn!!