The Impossible Dream

Anthony Reynolds

Description

The Walker Brothers were the US counter-strike to the British invasion of the mid-60s. While The Beatles, the Stones and many others were busy colonising the US charts, three tall, handsome American men went into voluntary exile in a freezing London bedsit and launched their quest for pop stardom.

Not actually brothers, John (Maus), Gary (Leeds) and Scott (Engel) succeeded against the odds, becoming one of world’s biggest bands of 1966/67. With that came hit records—including two British chart-toppers, ‘Make It Easy On Yourself’ and ‘The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore’—and all that success entails: screaming girls, package tours, and intense interest in their private lives. The pressure of success eventually caused them to split, and the Walkers went their separate ways. Of the three, Scott is now the most prominent, having embarked on a mysterious solo career that has since become the stuff of myth, but Gary and John have recorded varied and interesting work, too. All three drifted into obscurity before reforming in 1976 and releasing the classic ‘No Regrets’ single. They concluded their recording career with one of the decade’s most influential records, 1978’s Nite Flights, about which Brian Eno recently exclaimed: “We haven’t got any further than this. It’s a disgrace.”

The Impossible Dream is an in-depth biography that traces the career of one of the most successful bands in pop history. In addition to assessing and analysing the talent and appeal of the enigmatic Scott, the author also covers the history and contributions of the other ‘brothers’, John and Gary, and provides a thorough analysis of all three men’s careers both as individual artists and as a group, from 1963 to 1978. Drawing on decades of archive interviews with the band (some previously unpublished), and many new interviews with backing musicians, record label staff, and producers, this is the definitive telling of The Walker Brothers’ story.

Sujets

• Musique
• Histoire de la musique
• Music
• Musician
• Multiple signal classification
• Pop Vocal
• Individual Composer

Informations

• Publié par: Jawbone Press
• Date de parution: 01 août 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781908279170
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Impossible Dream
The Story Of Scott Walker And The Walker Brothers
Anthony Reynolds
A Genuine Jawbone Book
First edition 2009
Published in the UK and the USA by
Jawbone Press
2a Union Court
20-22 Union Road
London SW4 6JP
England
www.jawbonepress.com
ISBN: 978-1-908279-17-0
Editor: Robert Webb
Volume copyright © 2009 Outline Press Ltd. Text copyright © 2009 Anthony Reynolds. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review. For more information you must contact the publisher.


For Margaret

Contents
Prologue: … Is A Cabaret
Chapter 1: The Birth Of The Blues
Chapter 2: LA Tango
Chapter 3: The Bedsitters
Chapter 4: To Love Somebody
Chapter 5: Loving Her
Chapter 6: 1966
Chapter 7: Final Images
Chapter 8: Solo Scott, Solo John
Photo Section
Chapter 9: The Fall And Rise Of John And Scott
Chapter 10: Joanna And The Jazz Life
Chapter 11: A Loner
Chapter 12: So Low 70s
Chapter 13: Old Grand-Dad
Chapter 14: No Regrets
Chapter 15: Regrets
Chapter 16: Long Day’s Journey Into Nite
Appendix I: Stage And Television/Radio Appearances
Appendix II: Ladies And Gentlemen … This Is Scott Walker!
Appendix III: Selected Discography
Appendix IV: Sources
Acknowledgements
About The Author



Prologue: … Is A Cabaret
The Walker Brothers’ very last tour was the last time that Scott Walker sang live on stage. But the setting hardly seemed to fit such a historic pop occasion. The final venues graced by the gold and honeyed fire of John and Scott Walker’s combined voices were not symphonic halls, ornate theatres, or even art centres. One of the biggest groups of the 60s found themselves repaying dues they had surely long since settled. Due to bad timing, misguided judgment, and contractual obligation, The Walker Brothers, fronted by one of the most original singer-songwriters of the 20th century, were finally reduced, in the British summer of 1978, to playing cabaret gigs at regional supper clubs.
Since the mid 60s, The Walker Brothers had been responsible for some of the most beautiful, successful, perverse, accessible, obtuse, and plain weird pop music ever made. A year before this final tour, they had completed Nite Flights , an album that would in time be seen as harbouring some of the most seminal and influential songs of the 70s. The album drew on such diverse influences as cocaine psychosis, the occult, contemporary French philosophy, David Bowie and Brian Eno, a love of Dutch brothels, and Krzysztof Penderecki’s seminal ‘Threnody To The Victims Of Hiroshima’.
In the wake of Nite Flights , the Walkers’ next step should have been at least silence – if only to be true to the law of evolution that states that once something has graduated from sea to land, it does not go back. Yet by the ragged arse-end of the 70s, due to some unnamable freakish fluke, they found themselves touring through a weird and profoundly inappropriate hinterland.
Such an aberration was especially painful for their lead singer, who had only now begun to find himself as a writer again after almost a decade of enforced limbo.
In 1978, at Birmingham’s Night Out club, you got a complimentary portion of chicken and chips with your ticket to the show plus a flagon of beer that was refilled free throughout the act. The audience was made up of a nondescript conglomerate of hardcore fans and casual punters – regulars who came every week to such venues, no matter who was on the bill.
The Walkers’ tour was poorly advertised. As a fan, you knew about tonight either because of the modest advert in the local rag, through simple word of mouth, or because you subscribed to one of the dwindling photocopied Walker newsletters that still circulated erratically throughout the worldwide network of fans. As such, you could purchase a ticket well in advance, and although you couldn’t choose whom you’d share your table with, it was a good seat nonetheless: not too far from the stage, with a clear enough view through the banks of cigarette smoke and chatter.
There was little in the way of souvenirs on sale in the foyer as you’d come in: merely a copy of their No Regrets album – both vinyl and cassette formats, on display behind a glass cabinet by the cloakroom. That was it. As a veteran of previous Walker tours, it struck you that this was one of the first without a programme. And they had released another two albums since 1976’s No Regrets – the more sophisticated and refined MOR of Lines and the patchy weirdness of the David Bowie-influenced Nite Flights . Yet there was no sign of either album on sale.
You got the feeling that this tour wasn’t as well organised as it could have been. It even said “Live From America – The Fabulous Walker Brothers” on the board outside the club. What was that about? Even the most casual fan knew that Scott and Gary were long-time residents of London.
This was the kind of club at which the Walkers now played residencies, usually week-long stints where they employed the house band at each venue. Scott had always loathed the travelling that regular touring entailed. By playing live this way it meant that the Walkers were in one place long enough to provide the punters with ample enough opportunity to come to them. The mountain would go to Mohammed. There was also the added advantage that John, Gary, and Scott didn’t have to ferry a road crew and musicians around.
Maintaining a regular band had always been an unholy hassle, and the Walkers themselves had long ago given up any idea of playing as a trio. They could keep costs to a minimum by playing residencies in budget venues such as Bunny’s of Cleethorpes, Fagin’s of Manchester, and Birmingham’s Night Out, leaving enough profit to make the whole ordeal just about viable. For some, however, this was not necessarily bearable. The main thing was that Scott Walker did not have to endure the ridiculous amounts of driving that most tours entailed. Glasgow one night; Brighton the next. Scott had outgrown that life in the 60s.
The 60s. For one summer back then, The Walker Brothers had been even bigger than The Rolling Stones and The Beatles. True to this astonishing past, much of the audience at that Birmingham club in 1978 were anticipating the return of ‘The Blond Beatles’ and their full armada of hits: ‘My Ship Is Coming In’, ‘Make It Easy On Yourself’, ‘The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore’. No one there could have known that Scott had vowed privately never to sing those songs again, and you had even less chance at guessing his reasons why.
Before the headliners apeared there were warm-up acts. Perhaps a comedian, or maybe some local lads playing a covers set. A few instrumentals by the ropey-sounding house band. All introduced by a cheesy MC through the barely adequate PA system. And then, before you knew, it there they were. The Walker Brothers! Close enough to touch if you reached out, although such a display of fanaticism seemed oddly inappropriate.
Still, the Walkers appeared just like they did on the cover of the album in the foyer. They hadn’t changed that much – they were still American-looking. Fit and tanned with wavy, blow-dried hair. The dress was casual. Rangy Scott looked youthful in a Lacoste t-shirt and denim combo. Ever-eccentric Gary sported a houndstooth jacket over a skinny-ribbed Boy Scouts Of America shirt. John, always a tad more attentive of his appearance than the others, was dressed slightly more smartly. Denim combo, but with a neatly pressed shirt – dapper, but still casual, as befitted the show.
Gary had walked on first, smiling his lottery-winner’s smile and waving to a psyched crowd before settling himself behind the drum kit. And then came John and Scott, entering stage left simultaneously, still looking so alike that they could pass for actual siblings. John grinned that movie-star grin, while Scott, in contrast, appeared almost to be grimacing beneath his aviator shades. Funnily, by the end of the week, Scott and John still came on together, but neither would be smiling, and they’d enter from opposite sides of the stage.
The band kicked in immediately, but it was apparent that something wasn’t right. The sound balance was skewed and the band was out of tune, or something. The timing was off, too, a problem not helped by having two drummers up there – a precautionary measure for Gary’s lack of chops. The first number was rubbish, frankly, and immediately afterward, John apologised to the audience, explaining that there hadn’t been enough time to rehearse, or tune up, or somesuch. Scott appeared pained, while grinning Gary, looking left to right and back again in rapid succession, tried to laugh it off. This pretty much set a standard for the rest of the evening, but despite the technical hitches, there was a good buzz in the air. To the majority of the audience, this group stood for something far beyond a one-night stand.
By a few songs in, the atmosphere relaxed and women began shouting out requests. Then someone called for ‘Joanna’, one of Scott’s biggest solo hits. His reaction was ... no acknowledgement whatsoever. He didn’t even dignify the call with a response. He just blanked it. And then the awkward atmosphere was banished as the house band started up again.
The set was mostly made up of material from No Regrets and Lines . There were a few hits from the 60s, but nothing from John or Scott’s solo records and not a whiff of ‘The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore’, not even as part of a medley. The vibe was loose; it was like they were busking it. Laidback and low-key, if not quite funky. There was none of