The WALKER BROTHERS: "No Regrets"

Original released on LP GTO GTLP 007

(UK, October 1975)

The news that the Walker Brothers were preparing a comeback was not the hottest headline of 1975. Some seven years had passed since the trio parted - seven years during which all three members had essentially sunk from view, without even the benefit of a rabid cult following to set the pulse racing. Remember, this was pre-Tilt, pre-Climate of Hunter, pre-Julian Cope and Marc Almond, pre-all the subsequent developments which raised Scott Walker at least to semi-mythological status. In a nutshell, the Walkers were so washed up, there wasn't a towel in the world that could dry them. But somebody cared, and, by mid-summer, the Walkers were touring the British cabaret circuit and preparing to relaunch their recording career with "No Regrets," a gargantuan slab of maudlin sadness which wrung every last iota of pain from Scott's voice. Six minutes long, it defied almost every law of pop averages - even Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and the Beatles' "Hey Jude" had variety on their side, as they slipped from movement to movement. "No Regrets" was one long sulk from start to finish - and it was brilliant. The single shot up the U.K. chart, the Walkers were all over the TV, and the album of the same name was the most eagerly awaited of the season. It stunk. Okay, that's not strictly true. It had its moments - usually the Scott vocals, but occasionally John got a gem in as well. His reggae take on Curtis Mayfield's "He'll Break Your Heart" is a widescreen epic of echo-laden summertime, rivaled in punch only by Scott's closing "Burn Our Bridges." But "Boulder to Birmingham," so recently, sweetly, energized by Emmylou Harris, moldered by comparison with her version, while Janis Ian's "Lover's Lullaby" and Donna Weiss' "Hold an Old Friend's Hand" are the kind of turgid turkeys which the original band broke up to escape from. Had they followed suit this time around, no one could have blamed them in the slightest. (Dave Thompson in AllMusic)

SCOTT WALKER: EP "Lights Of Cincinatti"

Original released on EP Philips P37059PE
(PORTUGAL, 1969)

SCOTT WALKER: "The Moviegoer"

Original released on LP Philips 6308 120

(UK, October 1972)

If you're looking for more Walker writing genius, this isn't the place. It's a selection of late 60s / early 70s film theme interpretations; some amazing (Ennio Morricone & Joan Baez' "Ballad of Sacco and Vanzetti"); most are interesting. On an album that critics loudly declare as representative of his total decline and which Walker considered nothing more than a rent-paying exercise, his vocal genius is at its most dazzling. The baritone vibrato is deep, velvety and measured and on the mad jazz melodies of Michel Legrand ("A Face in the Crowd" / "The Summer Knows") and the sly beauty of Lalo Schifrin's "That Night" there is an inimitable, exquisite yearning. Like wistful slow-motion Super 8 film footage, the major seventh heaven of Dory Previn and Fred Karlin's "Come Saturday Morning" together with Walker's incredible timbre and interpretative command may just define the concept. His greatest vocal album. Your bohemian aunt has probably had it for years. 'Borrow' it. (in RateYourMusic)

SCOTT WALKER: "'til The Band Comes In"

Original released on LP Philips 6308 035

(UK, 1970)

Scott Walker's first four albums are marvelously creepy collections of dark, avant-pop tunes with touches of cabaret and jazz, but he took a right turn on the fifth, "'til The Band Comes In". In the main, it seems like Walker was trying to “go commercial,” at least enough to appeal to Tony Bennett fans (at one point, Walker even seems to affect a distinct Bennett impersonation). Walker never walks a completely straight line, though, so there are some anomalies, like the Lee Hazlewood-esque, country/folk-inflected “Cowbells Shakin'.” At the time, no one could have guessed that the experimental forays still ahead for Walker would make this album's predecessors sound like bubblegum pop. (Jim Allen in AllMusic)

SCOTT WALKER 4

Original released on LP Philips SBL 7913

(UK, September 1969)

Walker dropped out of the British Top Ten with his fourth album, but the result was probably his finest '60s LP. While the tension between the bloated production and his introspective, ambitious lyrics remains, much of the over-the-top bombast of the orchestral arrangements has been reined in, leaving a relatively stripped-down approach that complements his songs rather than smothering them. This is the first Walker album to feature entirely original material, and his songwriting is more lucid and cutting. Several of the tracks stand among his finest. "The Seventh Seal," based upon the classic film by Ingmar Bergman, features remarkably ambitious (and relatively successful) lyrics set against a haunting Ennio Morricone-style arrangement. "The Old Man's Back Again" also echoes Morricone, and tackles no less ambitious a lyrical palette; "dedicated to the neo-Stalinist regime," the "old man" of this song was supposedly Josef Stalin. "Hero of the War" is also one of Walker's better vignettes, serenading his war hero with a cryptic mix of tribute and irony. Other songs show engaging folk, country, and soul influences that were largely buried on his previous solo albums. (Richie Unterberger in AllMusic)

SCOTT WALKER: "Sing Songs From His TV Series"

Original released on LP Philips SLP 7900

(UK, July 1969)

Considering this 1969 LP made the U.K. Top Ten at a time when Scott Walker's British solo stardom was at its peak, it's surprising that, as of this writing, it has yet to be reissued on CD, though a few tracks do appear on the 2005 compilation Classics & Collectibles. It remains all but unheard, in fact, in the U.S., where it wasn't issued. Considering that all of his other early solo albums have made it onto CD, one suspects that Walker himself might be reluctant to have it re-released if he has any vote in the matter. If so, it's understandable to some degree, as it's not all that representative of what he was usually recording at the time, and certainly not his best work of the period. The dozen songs on "Scott Sings Songs from His TV Series" are all covers of popular standards, not taken from actual performances he did on the set of his six-episode BBC television series in early 1969, but from studio recordings of some (and by no means all) of the tunes he was seen performing on those programs. Fairly heavily orchestrated and middle of the road even by the standards of 1960s MOR vocalists, the selections include interpretations of compositions by the likes of Richard Rodgers, Oscar Hammerstein II, Jerome Kern, Charles Aznavour, Antonio Carlos Jobim, and Kurt Weill, as well as "The Impossible Dream" and a song from the Broadway musical Mame. 

There isn't a hint of rock or even period pop in sight, with the arguable exception of Burt Bacharach and Hal David's "The Look of Love." So it's far from Walker at his best, but that doesn't mean it's worthless. He sings extremely well throughout the album, indicating he could have been a highly successful adult pop crooner had he stuck to that path exclusively. Of course, he didn't, which is the reason most of his fans are interested in Walker in the first place. There's not a hint of the moody darkness that was so integral to his early solo work's strength, and for that matter, no material by Jacques Brel, the composer he enjoyed interpreting more than any other. For that reason alone it's a curiosity that's far less enduring than his other albums of the late '60s and early '70s, and is only recommended to completist fans of the singer, who'll have a hard time locating a copy in spite of its impressive chart performance. (Richie Unterberger in AllMusic)

SCOTT WALKER: The Third Album

Original released on LP Philips SBL 7882

(UK, April 1969)

Scott Walker's final British Top Ten album was the first to be dominated by his own songwriting. Ten of the 13 tunes on this 1969 LP are originals; the remaining three, naturally, were written by one of his chief inspirations, Jacques Brel. There are some interesting moments here. "Big Louise" talks about a hefty prostitute with shocking explicitness for a pop star album of the era. "Copenhagen" (like much of Walker's '60s work) foreshadows David Bowie. "Funeral Tango" is a particularly vicious Brel song. "30 Century Man" is an uncommonly folkish and focused tune for Walker. "We Came Through" is an oddball cavalry charge featuring one of his occasional forays into Ennio Morricone spaghetti Western-like production. The tension between Walker's dense, foreboding lyrics and orchestral production is unusual, to say the least. But too often, it's too difficult to penetrate Walker's insights through Wally Scott's string-drenched production. It shrouds the lyrics in a fog that's often too syrupy to justify the effort needed to fight through it. (Richie Unterberger in AllMusic)

SCOTT WALKER: The Second Album

Original released on LP Philips BL 7840

(UK, April 1968)

Although Walker's second album was his biggest commercial success, actually reaching number one in Britain, it was not his greatest artistic triumph. His taste remains eclectic, encompassing Bacharach/David, Tim Hardin, and of course his main man Jacques Brel (who is covered three times on this album). And his own songwriting efforts hold their own in this esteemed company. "The Girls From the Streets" and "Plastic Palace People" show an uncommonly ambitious lyricist cloaked behind the over-the-top, schmaltzy orchestral arrangements, one more interested in examining the seamy underside of glamour and romance than celebrating its glitter. The Brel tune "Next" must have lifted a few teenage mums' eyebrows with its not-so-hidden hints of homosexuality and abuse. Another Brel tune, "The Girl and the Dogs," is less controversial, but hardly less nasty in its jaded view of romance. Some of the material is not nearly as memorable, however, and the over the top show ballad production can get overbearing. The album included his first Top 20 U.K. hit, "Jackie." (Richie Unterberger in AllMusic)

SCOTT WALKER Debut Album

Original released on LP  Philips SBL 7816

(UK 1967, September 16)

Has anyone kick-started a solo career with as mind-raping a statement as Scott Engel's "Mathilde"? He used to be good for one of these fox-chase ravers per album. That fanfare! More importantly, Mr. Walker metamorphosed from teen idol to incandescent balladeer. He forsakes Sinatra's delicate emotional shading for anguish and chamber-existentialism. He and his arrangers (most notably Wally Stott) are completely aligned... a trick like the suddenly swelling orchestra, Bacharach moving over the face of the waters - Walker earns multiple cracks at this because his voice is a marvel, dignified even when doubled over. And surely he had a hand in their deployment - both "Montague Terrace" and "Such a Small Love" feature the swell, and both are his compositions. Walker is ravenous for territory here; "The Lady Came From Baltimore" presages his 70s country work. It's slight but has a great melody that wouldn't have been out of place in the studios of L.A.ten years later. "When Joanna Loved Me" hews closest to the crooner archetype. In fact, a cover of Brel's "Amsterdam" is the only unconvincing track on the record. "Always Coming Back to You" would've made a fine closer, but no matter. This is pop undreamt of by even the brightest lights of the century. And there were two more albums of the stuff to follow! (in RateYourMusic)