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Sundog: Selected Lyrics
Scott Walker is undoubtedly one of the most brilliant, serious and intelligent of artists today. As one of the greatest lyricists of the 20th century and front man of globally loved pop trip, The Walker Brothers, Walker commands huge devotion. A major event, Sundog is the first ever selection of Walker's lyrics curated by the artist himself, published for the first time with a stunning introduction by Eimear McBride. Walker's iconic lyrics will proudly follow in the footsteps of other famous musicians who have been published by Faber & Faber, including Jarvis Cocker, Billy Bragg, and Van Morrison.
224 pages, Hardcover
Published January 30, 2018
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
February 3, 2018
The great beauty or sadness of Scott Walker is how slow he moves in the 20th century. From the very beginning as a teenage singer to now is a magnificent journey. There are many who have long careers either in writing or music, but Scott Walker has always been a consistent quality-artist, who took his time, and not waste our time. "Sundog: Selected Lyrics" is a remarkable book just focusing on Walker's lyrics. As I read them, I can hear the music, but also I try not to listen to the melody that comes to the words (due to memory) and take the text away from the song. It's very clear to Walker and to Eimear McBride, who wrote the introduction, that these are lyrics and not poems, but to me, there is a fine thread standing between poetry and lyrics -especially in the mind of Scott Walker.
"Sundog" is part of a series that Faber and Faber have been publishing over the years. For instance, there is a Jarvis Cocker book of lyrics as well as Billy Bragg. I suspect that Cocker may have something to do with the series, because he was (or still is) the editor at F&F. They all have the same elegant design and reading the Jarvis book as well as Scott's, they stand alone as literature. Walker is a genius in what he does. Reading the lyrics without the music in the background is like watching sculpture made out of words. In this sense, to me, he's very much a poet. He's not a lyricist in the sense of Cole Porter or Elvis Costello, but more of a sound artist who uses words. The brilliant aspect of his lyrics is that Walker can write about terrible violence or emotional distress but be funny at the same time. He has this incredible talent for throwing in one or two words or phrases that cut the violence of the piece and make it almost like a music hall entertainment. It's the contrast between his words, which are carefully written and thought out. When you hear his music, the words sometimes matches with the intensity of the sound, but a lot of times he throws in something ridiculous and it's really funny. The intensity of the work lightens up, but never loses its seriousness or purpose. It's a balancing act. In a way, it is like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" yelling out "Here's Johnny."
"Sundog" is superb poetry, or if you wish, song lyrics. I read the book in one sitting, but I'm going to go back to it again and again. The textures and how the word (or wordings) are placed on the page is equally important to the spaces in his music - where you reflect on what's happening aurally, as well as the sound mixing in with his magnificent voice. Great book.
"Sundog" is part of a series that Faber and Faber have been publishing over the years. For instance, there is a Jarvis Cocker book of lyrics as well as Billy Bragg. I suspect that Cocker may have something to do with the series, because he was (or still is) the editor at F&F. They all have the same elegant design and reading the Jarvis book as well as Scott's, they stand alone as literature. Walker is a genius in what he does. Reading the lyrics without the music in the background is like watching sculpture made out of words. In this sense, to me, he's very much a poet. He's not a lyricist in the sense of Cole Porter or Elvis Costello, but more of a sound artist who uses words. The brilliant aspect of his lyrics is that Walker can write about terrible violence or emotional distress but be funny at the same time. He has this incredible talent for throwing in one or two words or phrases that cut the violence of the piece and make it almost like a music hall entertainment. It's the contrast between his words, which are carefully written and thought out. When you hear his music, the words sometimes matches with the intensity of the sound, but a lot of times he throws in something ridiculous and it's really funny. The intensity of the work lightens up, but never loses its seriousness or purpose. It's a balancing act. In a way, it is like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" yelling out "Here's Johnny."
"Sundog" is superb poetry, or if you wish, song lyrics. I read the book in one sitting, but I'm going to go back to it again and again. The textures and how the word (or wordings) are placed on the page is equally important to the spaces in his music - where you reflect on what's happening aurally, as well as the sound mixing in with his magnificent voice. Great book.
August 8, 2018
there will never be another scott walker. that these lyrics, divorced from their instrumentation, stand up completely on their own is proof of that. the guy is untouchable. fuck bob dylan, where is scott walker's nobel
May 7, 2019
Ο Μέγας Scott Walker, ένας ποιητής των ήχων.
February 19, 2018
A book that contains the lyrics of Scott Walker, mostly the late avant-garde ones; Tilt, The Drift, Bish Bosch and Soused. Me and my table de nuit needed this. Who wanted more? I didn't ask for more. But there was more. The last section is appropriately titled 'New Songs'...
1. The Boston Green Head
2. Black Backing
3. Attaché
4. Pitt's
5. Sundog
6. Barracuda
Excerpt 1:
Excerpt 2:
1. The Boston Green Head
2. Black Backing
3. Attaché
4. Pitt's
5. Sundog
6. Barracuda
Excerpt 1:
" Full bladder plus
vengeful erection-
Unpardoned
in every direction. "
Excerpt 2:
" The dildo-smacked cheek
of L'après-midi d'un faune
throbs in a darkened room. "
September 25, 2020
Scott Walker (1943–2019) took one of the more unexpected career turns in pop music, going from a teen idol in the mid 1960s to a more forward-pressing crooner over orchestral backdrops in the late 1960s, and then gradually into straight-up atonal avant-garde soundscapes over following decades. Just as striking as Walker’s musical evolution was his lyrical one. Early covers of Jacques Brel tunes in English slowly gave way to his own character studies from the Britain of the “kitchen sink dramas” and psychological introspection. But from the 1970s on, Walker was writing texts fully on a level with English avant-garde poetry, far removed and far above what even the more bookish and intellectual of his fellow musicians were doing.
Sundog is a volume of selected lyrics that surveys this remarkable career, but its contents and organization turned out to be rather different than I expected. Walker’s lyrics from 1967 to 1984 are quickly rushed through in a part misleadingly titled “The 1960s”, and we get only the following songs: “Duchess”, “It’s Raining Today”, “The World’s Strongest Man”, “The War is Over”, “Boy Child” and “The Electrician”. And then, most appallingly, the sole material from Walker’s Climate of Hunter album, a lyrical achievement on the level of a Paul Celan or J. H. Prynne, is the initial lines from “Track Five” before the drums kick in. Where is all the rest of this great work?
Thus the bulk of this book consists of material from the last four albums: Tilt (4 songs), The Drift (9 songs), Bish Bosch (9 songs) and Soused (5 songs). It is left unexplained who made these selections – was Walker no longer comfortable with his Nite Flights or Climate of Hunter-era lyrical approach, or did an editor at Faber & Faber feel the recent work was the strongest?
Also unclear is who made the typesetting decisions, as some of the lyrics are printed in different and more inventive ways than in the original album booklets. For example, the “Luzener Zeitung” refrain of the song “Patriot (A Single)” is printed like actual newsprint, while “The Day the ‘Conducător’ Died” is formatted with check boxes like the questionnaire it aims to represent. Also, a striking difference from the original Tilt booklet is that the word “come” in “Rosary” is spelled in its three-letter pornographic version, perhaps elucidating the song’s concerns.
When Scott Walker died in early 2019, it was rumoured that he had been planning a new album. The final part of this book, and really what makes it an essential item for committed fans, consists of the lyrics to six new songs. “The Boston Green Head” is a dismal look at the modern city, using Ancient Egypt metaphorically. “Black Backing”, “Attaché”, “Pitt’s”, “Sundog” and “Barracuda” are more enigmatic texts that I am still ruminating on, but full of striking imagery.
But even the New Songs apart, this is a nice book to have. I’ll admit that much of the Bish Bosch album leaves me cold musically, but the lyrics are so rich with wordplay and historical references, and it is nice to slowly read through them here. The hardback is a glued binding, but it feels fairly sturdy.
Sundog is a volume of selected lyrics that surveys this remarkable career, but its contents and organization turned out to be rather different than I expected. Walker’s lyrics from 1967 to 1984 are quickly rushed through in a part misleadingly titled “The 1960s”, and we get only the following songs: “Duchess”, “It’s Raining Today”, “The World’s Strongest Man”, “The War is Over”, “Boy Child” and “The Electrician”. And then, most appallingly, the sole material from Walker’s Climate of Hunter album, a lyrical achievement on the level of a Paul Celan or J. H. Prynne, is the initial lines from “Track Five” before the drums kick in. Where is all the rest of this great work?
Thus the bulk of this book consists of material from the last four albums: Tilt (4 songs), The Drift (9 songs), Bish Bosch (9 songs) and Soused (5 songs). It is left unexplained who made these selections – was Walker no longer comfortable with his Nite Flights or Climate of Hunter-era lyrical approach, or did an editor at Faber & Faber feel the recent work was the strongest?
Also unclear is who made the typesetting decisions, as some of the lyrics are printed in different and more inventive ways than in the original album booklets. For example, the “Luzener Zeitung” refrain of the song “Patriot (A Single)” is printed like actual newsprint, while “The Day the ‘Conducător’ Died” is formatted with check boxes like the questionnaire it aims to represent. Also, a striking difference from the original Tilt booklet is that the word “come” in “Rosary” is spelled in its three-letter pornographic version, perhaps elucidating the song’s concerns.
When Scott Walker died in early 2019, it was rumoured that he had been planning a new album. The final part of this book, and really what makes it an essential item for committed fans, consists of the lyrics to six new songs. “The Boston Green Head” is a dismal look at the modern city, using Ancient Egypt metaphorically. “Black Backing”, “Attaché”, “Pitt’s”, “Sundog” and “Barracuda” are more enigmatic texts that I am still ruminating on, but full of striking imagery.
But even the New Songs apart, this is a nice book to have. I’ll admit that much of the Bish Bosch album leaves me cold musically, but the lyrics are so rich with wordplay and historical references, and it is nice to slowly read through them here. The hardback is a glued binding, but it feels fairly sturdy.
Read
March 9, 2026The best lyricist. Incredible lifetime progression as an artist.
---
'Montague Terrace in Blue' (1967)
The little clock's stopped ticking now
We're swallowed in the stomached rue
The only sound to tear the night
Comes from the man upstairs
His bloated belching figure stomps
He may crash through the ceiling soon
The window sees trees cry from cold
And claw the moon
But we know don't we
And we'll dream won't we
Of Montague Terrace in blue
The girl across the hall makes love
Her thoughts lay cold like shattered stone
Her thighs are full of tales to tell
Of all the nights she's known
Your eyes ignite like cold blue fire
The scent of secrets everywhere
A fist filled with illusions
Clutches all our cares
But we know don't we
And we'll dream won't we
Of Montague Terrace in blue oh in blue
---
'Clara' (2006)
Birds
Birds
This is not a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
Like what happen in America
This is us
Our eyesides snagged
Dipped in mob in the daylight
Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through
She knows this room
She can navigate it in the dark
She entered the Palazzo at night by a side door
To ascend to a lift in the upper floor
She lies on the bed
Looking up not yet seeing
The signs of the zodiac painted in gold
On the blue vaulted ceiling
His enormous eyes as he arrives
Coming nearer in the surrounding darkness
His strange beliefs about the moon
Its influence upon men of affairs
The danger of its cold light on your face
While you were sleeping
She'll eclipse it with her head
Stroke him 'til he sleeps
Until he has nothing to do among men of affairs
Sometime before dawn
Her bare feet cross the floor
She gazes from the window
At the fountain in the courtyard
Sometimes I feel like a swallow
A swallow which by some mistake
Has gotten into an attic
And knocks its head against the walls in terror
This is not a rabbit skinned
With a body of silver
Like what happen in America
This is not a terrapin
With its shell torn away
Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through
The mood soon changed
In the clear morning air
A man came up towards the body
And poked it with a stick
It rocked swiftly
And twisted around at the end of the rope
Finer than a hair from every side
Finer than a hair
Birds
Birds
This is just a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
This is just a cornhusk doll
This morning in my room
A little swallow was trapped
It flew around desperately
Until it fell exhausted on my bed
I picked it up
So as not to frighten it
I opened the window
Then I opened my hand
---
'Montague Terrace in Blue' (1967)
The little clock's stopped ticking now
We're swallowed in the stomached rue
The only sound to tear the night
Comes from the man upstairs
His bloated belching figure stomps
He may crash through the ceiling soon
The window sees trees cry from cold
And claw the moon
But we know don't we
And we'll dream won't we
Of Montague Terrace in blue
The girl across the hall makes love
Her thoughts lay cold like shattered stone
Her thighs are full of tales to tell
Of all the nights she's known
Your eyes ignite like cold blue fire
The scent of secrets everywhere
A fist filled with illusions
Clutches all our cares
But we know don't we
And we'll dream won't we
Of Montague Terrace in blue oh in blue
---
'Clara' (2006)
Birds
Birds
This is not a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
Like what happen in America
This is us
Our eyesides snagged
Dipped in mob in the daylight
Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through
She knows this room
She can navigate it in the dark
She entered the Palazzo at night by a side door
To ascend to a lift in the upper floor
She lies on the bed
Looking up not yet seeing
The signs of the zodiac painted in gold
On the blue vaulted ceiling
His enormous eyes as he arrives
Coming nearer in the surrounding darkness
His strange beliefs about the moon
Its influence upon men of affairs
The danger of its cold light on your face
While you were sleeping
She'll eclipse it with her head
Stroke him 'til he sleeps
Until he has nothing to do among men of affairs
Sometime before dawn
Her bare feet cross the floor
She gazes from the window
At the fountain in the courtyard
Sometimes I feel like a swallow
A swallow which by some mistake
Has gotten into an attic
And knocks its head against the walls in terror
This is not a rabbit skinned
With a body of silver
Like what happen in America
This is not a terrapin
With its shell torn away
Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through
The mood soon changed
In the clear morning air
A man came up towards the body
And poked it with a stick
It rocked swiftly
And twisted around at the end of the rope
Finer than a hair from every side
Finer than a hair
Birds
Birds
This is just a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
This is just a cornhusk doll
This morning in my room
A little swallow was trapped
It flew around desperately
Until it fell exhausted on my bed
I picked it up
So as not to frighten it
I opened the window
Then I opened my hand
August 13, 2020
A selective and well-represented curation of lyrics with thoughtful presentation, linking Walker in ways to poets like David UU and J.H. Prynne. It's hard to reckon that this book might well be considered the last testament to Scott Walker's legacy, considering thr Six Songs at the end (which suggest a ripe musicality that is now forever a promise impossible to reach).
It's also purely fun to see the same context supplied in the album liner notes reproduced here, as - in the guise of a book of poetry - there is added meaning, though not one easily supplied. It's well worth the hunt.
It's also purely fun to see the same context supplied in the album liner notes reproduced here, as - in the guise of a book of poetry - there is added meaning, though not one easily supplied. It's well worth the hunt.
February 3, 2026
Tilt, The Drift, Bisch Bosch and Soused are 4 of the best albums of all time with some of the best lyrics ever written.
I’ve never heard anyone use such interplay and metaphor between music and lyric. GENIUS the best the GOAT the OG cannot overstate my love
I’ve never heard anyone use such interplay and metaphor between music and lyric. GENIUS the best the GOAT the OG cannot overstate my love
January 25, 2018
Last one before 35
July 11, 2018
Nice collection of lyrics. Wish it had more 1967-1970 Scott.
February 2, 2022
Exemplary
February 5, 2022
I Want To Forget You Just The Way You Are!
what's this song about, Scott?
about 4 minutes and 30 seconds.
so it remains
and will remain.
good.
let's entertain doubt
what's this song about, Scott?
about 4 minutes and 30 seconds.
so it remains
and will remain.
good.
let's entertain doubt
Read
November 10, 2023songs so good they work as well if not better as poems
Read
September 27, 2019A great image maker and collector of rare words, rarely does a piece pass by without a singularly jolting phrase. It may not be poetry, but it definitely works as literature
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews