This week we lost another great troubador. Scott Walker moved from being a bass player in a two bit band to the front man in the Walker Brothers and then on to writing arranging and producing some brilliant modernist music. His music will last forever.

Many thanks to Panu for his wonderful mix which allowed me to indulge myself once more at the table of great music.


In the diaries that he wrote on the train to khazakhstan
With a bottle in his pocket that contained fine Ararat
Were the words he once had shouted from the highest hotel rooms
And upon the plains of avarice that had lightened up the gloom

He had kissed the lips that had kissed the blade before he wiped it clean
And stroked the hair and closed the eyes so they’d know who had been
And through his voice the princes would emerge to choose their road
Caravans had forged the way it was the only way to go

If there had been another choice his majesty and perfect voice would dim
And all that we would have to hold would be the sun now just a stone another private sin
And as her body stroked the night his hands would move to bring delight
He would arrange her words to fit the planned emotional exit the urgent need he had to win

It was a hard day in July when Richmond park became the scene
The salivating auctioneer kept whispering in his ear what pleasures he had seen
But it was going once then twice the gavel struck the broken ice
Some money now to make the dream

But like all kings who came before his ruffled feathers he bemoaned
The plans would break the magic dulled there would be challenges set
His golden crown now in the dirt reminding us of how he soared
But still we hear the tonal truth reminders of a battered youth but still there are no regrets

No regrets No regrets going once going twice Gone