Possessed of a lugubrious, histrionic baritone that could make the most trifling of pop ditties sound like a slow dance on the brink of apocalypse, Scott Walker may be the unlikeliest figure to maintain any presence on oldies radio, thanks to the Walker Brothers' majestically despondent 1966 smash, "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore." From the increasingly experimental solo records that followed, and Walker's subsequent reputation as a reclusive genius and cult figure, you'd expect the subject of Stephen Kijak's documentary to be a forbidding, pretentious artiste—and the pleasant surprise of Kijak's film is that he's anything but. Ignore the movie's occasional heavy-breathing narration and Willy Wonka–esque graphics: In down-to-earth interviews all the more precious for their rarity, the Ohio-born teen idol turned industrial-cabaret innovator comes across not as a Jandek-like eccentric or obscurantist but as a man trying to realize abstract visions through exacting concrete means. And if that means demanding retakes of a percussionist punching a side of meat (for Walker's 2006 album, The Drift), Kijak lets the results speak eloquently for themselves. Admirers and followers ranging from David Bowie (the movie's executive producer) and Brian Eno to Radiohead and Pulp's suavely arch Jarvis Cocker testify to Walker's originality and importance, but for fans, the doc's biggest revelation may be the extent of his stardom, even as he began to explore bawdy Jacques Brel chansons and psychedelic dada crooning. In England, the Walker Brothers rivaled and perhaps surpassed the Beatles in popularity, and Kijak amasses evidence (including electrifying BBC performance clips) to show that Walker's teeny-bopper audience followed his experimentation, at least for three initial solo albums. Given Walker's notoriously unhurried methods, footage of him consulting with Leos Carax about the scoring of the director's gloriously mad Pola X are like glimpses of an obsessive's Olympus—the next best thing to witnessing a powwow between Phil Spector and Werner Herzog.
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DENVERBEAT 03/08/2009 10:04:29 AM
The only reason I went to see 30 Century Man, was the 2 for 1 admission secured by local record store Twist and Shout here in Denver. Watching this film I thought this documentary might be an elaborate put on. After all, Bowie is the executive producer and we see David smirking on screen, and the film feels like Spinal Tap or The Rutles , more a Mockumentary than a Documentary. Another reason for my disbelief, I never heard of Scott Walker. I’ve heard The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore, but The Walkers Brothers as big as the Beatles in England? And yet, Lulu and Bowie testified that it’s true. I doubted Scott Walker early solo careers when I was told that albums: Scott 1, Scott 2 Scott 3 all charted on the Top of the Pop’s, but the mythical Scott 4 bombed. Interviews with surreal people like Scott’s former pianist, who in the intervening years has had a sex change, felt like Marty DiBergi interviewing Nigel Tufnel Just when it can’t get any more far out the recluse himself Scott Walker speaks. He reflects about his life and the music he does now. Scott’s current music sounds like Rod McKuen lyric sung with a bass voice over someone punching meat as strings hold a note for 64 bars and a donkey brays. Think that strange? Eno is driven to tears when he listens to Scot’s 30 century sound. I’ve told you too much already. If you have interests in the portrait of an artist scene then go see it. You can decide if Scott is real. As for me Virginia, I believe there is a Scott Walker. The reason I believe? I was able to check Scott’s 2006 album “The Drift” out of the library, Just like the French guy interviewed in the movie said “I’ve wasted a lot of time listening to Scott Walker. “