3 / 10
Like much of his output in recent memory, Scott Walker’s 14th album is not the best introduction to his legacy for a generation of music fans who were, perhaps, turned onto his genius by The Last Shadow Puppets, who ripped off his late-’60s golden period admirably. That voice of his is still a powerfully unique warble even at his 70 years of age. But how anyone outside the walls of a mental asylum could genuinely enjoy the annoyingly repetitive industrial drum-throbs, aimless experimento-guitar crunches and lyrics about “reeking gonads” that characterise songs called things like ‘Epizootics!’ is beyond me. The man’s a legend, but seriously, who’s got time for stuff like this?
Jamie Fullerton
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