Originally coming to fame in the mid-1960s singing orchestral pop ballads as the frontman of The Walker Brothers, Walker went on to a solo career balancing a light entertainment/MOR ballad approach with increasing artistic innovations in arrangement and writing. Despite a series of acclaimed albums, a disastrous drop in sales forced him back into straight Middle of the road recordings with little of his own artistic input. This in turn eventually led to a Walker Brothers reunion in the mid-1970s (although the latter eventually moved, by mutual consent, into more avant-garde areas).
From the mid-1980s, Walker revived his solo career while drastically reinventing his artistic and compositional methods, via a series of acclaimed and vividly avant-garde albums. These combined his iconic voice with an unsettling avant-garde approach which owed more to modernist and post-modernist classical composition than to his pop singer past. This change in approach has been compared to "Andy Williams reinventing himself as Stockhausen".
Walker has been a continuing influence on other artists, in particular The Last Shadow Puppets, Marc Almond, Goldfrapp, Douglas Pearce of the band Death in June, Billy MacKenzie of The Associates, David Sylvian, Julian Cope, Antony Hegarty, Thom Yorke, Steven Wilson, David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, Trey Spruance, Perry Blake, Radiohead, Noah Lennox, Mikael Åkerfeldt, and the Divine Comedy/Neil Hannon.
Walker continued to release solo material until his death, and was signed to 4AD Records. As a record producer or guest performer he worked with a number of artists including Pulp, Ute Lemper, Bat For Lashes and Sunn O))).
Next
Scott Walker Lyrics
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Covering my belly
Some of us blush, somehow
Knees turning to jelly
Next, next
I was still just a kid
There were a hundred like me
A naked body followed me
Next, next
I was still just a kid
When my innocence was lost
In a mobile army whorehouse
Gift from the army, free of cost
Next, next
Me, I really would have liked
A little touch of tenderness
Maybe a word, a smile
An hour of happiness
But, next, next
Oh, it wasn't so tragic
The high heavens did not fall
But how much of that time
I hated being there at all
Next, next Now I always will recall
The brothel truck, the flying flags
The queer lieutenant who slapped
Our asses as if we were fags
Next, next
I swear on the wet head
Of my first case of gonorrhea
It is his ugly voice
That I forever hear
Next, next
That voice that stinks of whiskey
Of corpses and of mud
It is the voice of nations
It is the thick voice of blood
Next, next
And since the each woman
I have taken to bed
Seems to laugh in my arms
To whisper through my head
Next, next
All the naked and the dead
Should hold each others hands
As they watch me scream at night
In a dream no one understands
Next, next
And when I am not screaming
In a voice grown dry and hollow
I stand on endless naked lines
Of the following and the followed
Next, next
One day I'll cut my legs off
Or burn myself alive
Anything, I'll do anything
To get out of line to survive
Never to be next
Never to be next.
Scott Walker's song Next is a haunting and deeply introspective look at the dehumanizing effects of war and prostitution on soldiers. The song paints a vivid picture of a young soldier's experiences with army prostitution, with lyrics that describe his nakedness and vulnerability in the presence of aggressive and abusive men. The chorus of "Next, next" repeats throughout the song, serving as a chilling reminder of the assembly-line mentality of the brothel, and the objectification and disposability of the soldiers trapped within it.
The soldier's longing for tenderness and happiness is juxtaposed against the brutality and emptiness of his experiences, as he is passed from one sexual encounter to the next without regard for his feelings or desires. The queer lieutenant's abuse is especially poignant, and highlights the intersection of homophobia and sexism in the military. The suggestion of a class divide between officers and enlisted men is also present in the lyrics, as the lieutenant presumably has more power over the soldier and is able to exploit him with impunity.
The final verse reveals the soldier's trauma and despair, as he imagines cutting off his legs or setting himself on fire to escape the endless cycle of following and being followed. The use of imagery and metaphor here is especially powerful, as the soldier's nakedness now represents his vulnerability and powerlessness not only in the brothel, but in the wider world.
Overall, Scott Walker's Next is a searing indictment of the system of institutionalized violence that war creates, and the toll it takes on soldiers' mental and emotional health.
Line by Line Meaning
Naked as sin, an army towel
Covering my belly
I am standing here naked except for the army towel which covers my belly
Some of us blush, somehow
Knees turning to jelly
Next, next
I am so ashamed that my knees are turning to jelly but it's time to move on to the next person
I was still just a kid
There were a hundred like me
I followed a naked body
A naked body followed me
Next, next
I was still very young when I was with hundreds of people and all we cared about was following a naked person and being followed by another one, while moving on to the next one
I was still just a kid
When my innocence was lost
In a mobile army whorehouse
Gift from the army, free of cost
Next, next
I was just a child when my innocence was taken away from me in a moving army brothel, which was a gift from the army to us for free, where we moved on to the next women
Me, I really would have liked
A little touch of tenderness
Maybe a word, a smile
An hour of happiness
But, next, next
I hoped someone would show me some love or kindness but all I got was physical interaction and then they moved on to the next person
Oh, it wasn't so tragic
The high heavens did not fall
But how much of that time
I hated being there at all
Next, next
It wasn't a disastrous event like the sky was falling, but I hated being there at that time while again moving on to the next person
Now I always will recall
The brothel truck, the flying flags
The queer lieutenant who slapped
Our asses as if we were fags
Next, next
I always remember the truck which took us to the brothel and the flags that were flown while the queer lieutenant slapped us unaware of our emotion while we moved onto the next person
I swear on the wet head
Of my first case of gonorrhea
It is his ugly voice
That I forever hear
Next, next
I swear on my first wet case of gonorrhea that I can hear his ugly voice forever while also remembering that then we moved onto the next woman
That voice that stinks of whiskey
Of corpses and of mud
It is the voice of nations
It is the thick voice of blood
Next, next
I remember that voice which smells like whiskey, corpses, and mud, which represents the voice of the nation, thick with the blood of all of us who moved on to the next person
And since the each woman
I have taken to bed
Seems to laugh in my arms
To whisper through my head
Next, next
Since each woman I've slept with seems to be laughing in my arms while whispering through my head, again moving on to the next woman
All the naked and the dead
Should hold each others hands
As they watch me scream at night
In a dream no one understands
Next, next
All the naked and dead people should unite and watch me scream during the night and nobody will be able to understand the dream which haunts me while I continue to move on to the next person
And when I am not screaming
In a voice grown dry and hollow
I stand on endless naked lines
Of the following and the followed
Next, next
When I'm not screaming, I stand in endless naked lines, where I am being followed by the next person and following someone else
One day I'll cut my legs off
Or burn myself alive
Anything, I'll do anything
To get out of line to survive
Never to be next
Never to be next.
I'll do anything to get out of the line, even if it means cutting my legs off or burning alive, so I'll never have to plead 'next' again
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Written by: ERIC BLAU, JACQUES ROMAN BREL, MORT SHUMAN
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind