When C is away, as she has been for the last two days, I tend to fall into a reflective mood. It's not that I sit around the house and mope, it's more that her absence tends to see me break from my normal evening and morning routine. Because I'm on my own, for some reason I spend a lot less time watching TV and a lot more time just reading and listening to music. I've been meaning to use the time as a way of catching up on some DVDs that I never seem to find the time to watch, and when yesterday's post brought a couple of packages from Play, I finally had a bit of motivation.
I watched Scott Walker: 30 Century Man.
Regular readers will know that Scott Walker is a real hero of mine, and I've written about him here many, many times in the past (but 'W' is an awfully long way off in the alphabeticon yet, so indulge me). The film is excellent: there are lots of interesting interviews with people like Brian Eno, David Bowie and Jarvis Cocker, but best of all we get an interview with the man himself and we get to see loads and loads of archive footage of him at work, in the Walker Brothers, performing some of his peerless 1960s solo material and of him in the studio recording last year's "The Drift". Amongst other things, I learned that Walker first discovered the music of Jacques Brel, the artist who changed him forever, when he picked up a German Bunny on the opening night of the London Playboy Club and she took him back to her house and played him some records. Most pop stars would presumably be more interested in the Bunny than the music, but Walker sat up all night with her listening to Brel. Well, so he says anyway.
I loved it.
Perhaps it was my reflective and slightly melancholy mood, but as soon as the film was finished, I went and dug out those four brilliant solo albums (Scott I, II, II & IV) and retreated to the bedroom for a listen in a darkened room.
It was magical and I'd recommend it. As if that wasn't enough, it also came with a free t-shirt, so now I am probably the only person in the world with not one, but two Scott Walker t-shirts.
What more could a wife ask for when she's away than that her husband stays indoors in darkened rooms and listens to beautiful, heart-rending classics of existentialism and death, all sung in the greatest male baritone ever committed to record?
...well, apart from the washing up.
And the hoovering.
And some ironing.
And some laundry.