Breaking down the career of Scott Walker in three acts
Perhaps the most impressive and vital skill of an artist is the ability to evolve. When thinking about the true greats in music history, the ability to morph and change is what binds them. No truly important and revered artist has ever stayed the same—David Bowie took on a new character at every turn, Bob Dylan defied his roots to go electric, The Beatles packed several eras into just seven years, and in the case of Scott Walker of The Walker Brothers, he moved through a career in three distinct acts.
The first begins in 1964, but essential context is needed from back in the mid-1950s. Born in 1943, Scott Walker, or then Noel Scott Engel, was only a kid when he stepped onto his first stage on Broadway. As a child actor and singer, his career in musicals was brief but felt crucial. Here, he learned everything in the most dramatic, theatrical way possible. For all of the musical inspirations and references that would come later down the line and inform his work, the fact remains that theatre and musical theatre songs were the first, providing Walker with an early masterclass in narrative-driven lyricism, storytelling through song and heightened, almost melodramatic emotions in music. He didn’t pursue the world of theatre, but it undeniably stayed in his back pocket as he entered phase one: The Walker Brothers.
No, they weren’t actually brothers, but they may as well have been. Made up of John Maus—already using the stage name John Walker—Gary Leeds, and the man still known as Noel Scott Engel, this was the moment everything changed. With all three members sporting a similar clean-cut handsomeness and harmonising as naturally as siblings, they decided to lean into it. All three adopted the surname Walker, and Noel became Scott—the name we know today was born.
And the Walker Brothers made him known. After forming in Los Angeles, all three moved to the UK to embed themselves in the flying rock and roll scene in London. They hung around the same clubs that the Rolling Stones frequented, but they offered something very different. While the Stones, the Beatles, and the rest of the rockers moved off in a more countercultural direction, the Walker Brothers always stayed rather traditional. Their music is suave; it’s smooth, cinematic, and theatrical, as Scott first learned. It perfectly bridges the gap between counterculture and mainstream, with tracks like ‘The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore’ appealing just as much to teenage girls as they did to their mothers.
In short, it was a success. At one point, their fan club was even bigger than The Beatles’, as people became obsessed with the trio—their tight sound, seductive songs, and, of course, their good looks. But, as all greats do, Walker saw what was happening—things were becoming too easy—so he changed.
Open act two: Walker’s solo career. Scott, Scott 2, Scott 3, Scott 4; why mess around coming up with titles when the work is this imaginative? It’s such a minor detail, but that alone speaks to Walker as an artist. During those early solo years, he was absolutely zoned in, releasing those four records in only three years, and each one is an opus. They just seemed to get better and better, but each one was a step towards what would come next.
Scott is the most obvious continuation of The Walker Brothers’ success and appeal—simpler, slicker, and poppier. The songs still explore relatable themes of love, longing, and loss, and many, like the band’s output, are versions of other people’s work. By Scott 2, though, things begin to change. Suddenly, there’s a song like ‘The Amorous Humphrey Plugg’, which is specific and deeply characterful, packed with places and people as Walker started weaving entire stories and worlds into his tracks.
The evolution continued, as Scott 3 featured mostly self-written songs, marking his growing confidence as a songwriter. On tracks like ‘It’s Raining Today’ or ‘Big Louise’, the pop sheen all but disappears. Instead, these songs feel closer to musical theatre, driven by sheer scale, sharp emotion, and a dedication to storytelling. It’s a deeply ornate album, a far cry from the countercultural crowd, his earlier band, or any of his peers.
By Scott 4, that peerlessness defines his work. These songs could only ever be Scott Walker songs—by now, he had fully established himself as a singular talent.
And then act three begins to come in as that singularity refined itself and refined itself in the most chaotic way possible. It is not that the scope or scale of what Walker did changed; it is that he clearly focused further and further solely on himself and his mind. The later years of Walker’s career can only be described as complete freedom as the man did absolutely whatever he wanted. In his solo project, that theatricality gave way to all-out avant-garde on records like Tilt, The Drift and Bish Bosch.
Suddenly, the man who used to be the 1960s suave star is punching raw meat to get the right drum sound or releasing whole records of almost unsettling noise music, finding new and strange approaches for his storytelling. He also said yes to seemingly whatever outside project took his fancy, whether doing film scores for Brady Corbet’s work or writing music for contemporary dance pieces. If he found it inspiring, he would do it; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t.
But really, that was a law through it all. As with every artist who spent their career evolving, the motivation is always and only inspiration. They take one shape for as long as it interests them and then move on. So, as Scott Walker changed from a Walker Brother to a theatrical soloist to an avant-garde experimenter, it always followed the path his creativity wanted him to walk.
