American singer and songwriter Scott Walker found massive success in Europe in the late '60s as a kind of hybrid of Engelbert Humperdinck and Ingmar Bergman – a golden baritone full of existential anxiety declaiming over lush orchestral arrangements. Along the way, his apocalypticcabaret approach became a template for "orch pop" proponents such as the Divine Comedy and Eric Matthews. Tilt, however, is eons removed from Walker's '60s work; the "orch" remains, but the "pop" has been replaced by obtuse, sepulchral music that – believe it or not – matches the ambient extremity of Aphex Twin and the queasy claustrophobia of Tricky. Once an expansive singer, Walker now sings with a mournful choke about millennial dread and horror at human brutality. From its grand church-organ-driven arias ("Manhattan") to its bleak, shifting soundscapes ("Bolivia '95"), Tilt is a chilling, often magnificent view into the abyss from a true iconoclast. (RS 771)

ROB KEMP