Scott Walker: 30 Century Man
(Times Film Festival 31st October -1st November 2006, on general release February 2007)
Do you know Scott Walker? Perhaps not. But once upon a time, he had it all. As the baritone crooner in sixties three-piece The Walker Brothers, Scott had fame, money and the hearts of limitless teenage girls. Jimi Hendrix started out over here as their warm up act. Scott was given his own prime time TV show on the BBC. A riot broke out in Ireland when their car was mobbed by fifteen hundred fans.
Yet his story is a reminder that all glory is fleeting: cracking under the pressures of fame, Scott split from the Walker Brothers in 1967 and produced a series of increasingly melancholy, self-titled albums riddled with existential angst. Understandably, his fan base was miffed, and by the release of Scott 4 in 1970, Scott was just another forgotten has-been who’d failed to make the transition from popstar to serious musician.
All this changed when Julian Cope of post-punk outfit The Teardrop Explodes re-released his favourite solo Scott tracks on a single, grey-sleeved 12” under the title of ‘fire escape in the sky: the godlike genius of Scott Walker,’ and a legend was born. Reclaimed by the post-punk community as an icon of moody, poetic anguish, Scott’s work went on to inspire an entire generation of alternative rockers who related to his vivid, if somewhat bleak outlook on life. This revival enabled Scott to record a series of new albums since 1984 – increasingly avant-garde, experimental records which have made him into a cult figure across the creative community.
Now you know all about Scott Walker, you pretty much know all about Stephen Kijack’s cinematic documentary, Scott Walker: 30 Century Man, as well. Focusing almost exclusively on Walker’s solipsistic career arc, Kijack’s film may seem surprisingly light on biography, although this is as much a product of Walker’s reticence as it is of stylistic choice. Indeed, as Walker is a near-total recluse, just being granted an interview and permission to film scenes from the recording of the new album (including, most memorably, percussion being sampled from a man pummelling a side of meat) counts as groundbreaking new material.
Though the rare footage either unearthed or filmed during the making of the documentary is the highlight of the hour and a half, the bulk of the film is filled out with various musicians waxing lyrical over their love of Scott’s music. The quality of these is variable. Radiohead joyously recount their earliest memories of discovering his music and Alison Goldfrapp and David Bowie reveal themselves in choosing their favourite tracks. Yet Sting corners us with a stumbling A-level philosophy lesson on existentialism and Soft Cell’s Marc Almond can’t really explain why he doesn’t like the newer albums, yet is given reams of screen time nonetheless.
The majority of time, however, is given over to what Kijack calls ‘listening’ rather than ‘talking’ heads, as celebrity interviewees nod along to the music. The beautifully mastered audio tracks let the sound shine through, though it’s doubtful if sitting in a darkened room listening to loud, melancholy music will win any new converts. It’s a bit like having your stoned older brother forcing you to listen to his Pink Floyd records in the attic with only a lava lamp to provide ‘profound’ glimpses of what it’s all about.
The film is nonetheless a timely retrospective of a legendary career. It’s a must see for fans and a decent introduction to the Scott Walker oeuvre, a cinematic mixtape celebrating a man who has left a profound imprint on modern music. Though it’s on general release in February, it might be worth waiting for the DVD, which contains two hours of extra material that didn’t make the final cut, including a touching cover of ‘Montague Terrace’ by Dot Allison. But what of the man himself? Does he have a life? Is he happy? ‘No comment,’ says Stephen Kijack. ‘We didn’t want to go in that direction. He has a personal life. Darts, pubs… who knows?’