Scott Walker’s legend is based on four late-’60s albums that bridged the gulf between Righteous Brothers–style pop balladry and the anguished avant-gardism of European filmmakers like Ingmar Bergman. Walker is a cinematographer of sound, using dense orchestration, imagistic lyrics and his elegantly harrowed voice to paint the sort of pictures that trouble you long after you’ve left the theater. On his first album since 1995, some songs are inspired by historical incidents—Mussolini’s lover deciding to be executed by his side on “Clara,” a lonely Elvis Presley talking to his stillborn twin on “Jesse.” But mostly the lyric shards conjure abstract scenarios of crisis and corruption, dread and decay. From a chorus of “Curare!” (a poison that relaxes your muscles until you die of asphyxiation) to cackles of gargoyle laughter, The Drift is like a nightmare you look forward to repeating.

Download: “Clara,” “Jolson and Jones,” “The Escape”