You look like you’ve been for breakfast at the heartbreak hotel
Inside of a back booth by the pamphlets and the literature on how to lose.
Your waitress was miserable and so was your food.
If you’re gonna try and walk on water make sure you wear your comfortable shoes.
Alex Turner – Piledriver Waltz
It’s time to reignite our series of film soundtrack reviews with a tenuous link to We Love Space. Alex Turner’s short but sweet EP written to accompany the film Submarine was produced by James Ford of Simian Mobile Disco. James is also producer of Alex’s main musical concern, Arctic Monkeys. The ‘Monkeys catalogue is mainly unabashed, accessible rock and this release can be considered less esoteric and cinematic than most other soundtracks we’ve looked at before. It does fit flawlessly though, converting the theme of a first romance viewed through adolescent eyes to straight-up, instantly likeable indie love songs.
My mother is worried I have mental problems. I found a book about teenage paranoid delusions during a routine search of my parents' bedroom.
The film’s plot is narrated with a voice obviously too mature in tone and vocabulary to be that of the film’s teenage protagonist. He looks uncannily like Alex Turner did when he broke into the music scene in 2006. It’s a diverting coincidence but it gives a kind of consistency to the unassuming lyrics toyed with throughout the EP. Turner is a bit of a master at using his voice to cultivate a frank, observational attitude with his songs. It’s not merely a literal re-telling the film’s narrative, it’s a unique musical interpretation of a coming of age tale involving a self-concious 15 year old boy Oliver Tate, his collapsing parental home (involving a New Age mystic called Graham) and his enigmatic but undoubtedly enchanting girlfriend Jordana.
Her mouth tasted of sour milk, Polo mints and Dunhill International.
The film is set in a particularly nostalgic 1980s viewed through tinted spectacles although given the autobiographical feel they’re probably not completely rosy. The soundtrack looks further back for inspiration to understated ballads of the 60s and 70s evoking the likes of Paul Simon, Bob Dylan and John Lennon at their best. It all culminates in a setting which is in effect timeless and suiting of the universal and age-old matter of growing up, finding one’s place in the world and finding someone to enjoy it with.
At such a point there'd be a crane shot but, unless something dramatically changes in my life, there would only be the budget for a zoom-out.
Such a story (and concept for an album) could lend itself to over-sentimentality, but Turner keeps it quaint and charming rather than overwrought and gooey. It’s simple but astute songwriting on display and James Ford’s production is largely perfectly transparent, allowing the arrangements space around Turner’s quick-witted lyrics. The film itself is directed by Richard Ayoade and is both instantly endearing and comical, but the lasting impression and emotional echoes of it’s soundtrack seem to stick in the mind to a higher degree. It’s both an examination and celebration of the self-imposed trauma of youth and escapes the trap of contrived quirkiness it’s film counterpart occasionally falls into.
We Love… Easter Specials at Ministry of Sound, London on Saturday April 23rd and presented by Jaunt> and Wax:On at Digital, Newcastle on Sunday April 24th.
Not since The Wicker Man has a soundtrack occupied my mind like Valerie and her Week of Wonders. It was like a door had been opened in my subconscious and fragments of memories and dreams rejoiced right there in my living room. I became very possessive over my copied version, a VHS to cassette copy which hissed like it had been captured from another world. I would surprise friends with snippets of the theme, it never failed to get a curious “Who’s this?” I was continually asked to make a copies but I had no intentions of making copies for anyone. The ritual chanting, the sections of catholic mass, the czech hymns were mine, the cogs sequence, the acoustic love song, the room of cogs all mine. – Trish Keenan (Broadcast)
During the dark days behind the iron curtain, Czech director Jaromil Jires turned to fairytale surrealism and Freudian symbolism for a study of burgeoning youth. The childlike but chilling tale is accentuated by the eerie chamber music of Lubos Fiser. This finely crafted piece of psychological horror carries the young central character of Valerie through dreamlike states with themes of death, resurrection, retribution and redemption. Fiser’s score carries a pastoralism which gives weight to the folky dreamscape in which Valerie freely interacts with the characters of her dreams. As a whole, the style of film us undoubtedly eccentric and experimental but always exquisitely shot.
She fell into immoral ways and broke the sixth commandment.
From the lilting folk melodies which greet the opening scenes of the film, we know that this coming-of-age story has aspirations beyond the B-movie eroticism of contemporaneous exploitation horror cinema from the likes of Lucio Fulci. A masked demonic priest conducts communion and Mass while eerie choral music mixed with psalm-like prayer denotes the church as being far from pure. A seductive waltz plays between Valerie’s grandmother and the monster as he corrupts her will and seals a devil’s pact with her so that she can regain her youth.
You are the touch of an alabaster hand.
The “cog sequence” as mentioned by Keenan above is a musical highlight of the film. Mechanical elements sound like drum machines or the early electronic experiments of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. The plot takes a turn for dark, Grimm territory when Valerie walks near the mechanism of the town clock. The soundtrack is as subtle as the way the film is shot, reminding the viewer of Fellini at his best as the frontier between dreams and reality becomes little more than an illusion.
He wants you to love him... How could I when I'm afraid of him? For that very reason.
The album is probably not for faint hearted pop lovers, but those with a penchant for gothic ambience, grandmothers music box, steam driven fairground organs and the incantations of catholic schoolgirls will be delighted by film and score alike. The various motifs, from chiming magical earrings to malevolent carnival tunes illuminate the mind of it’s heroine, depicting a girl’s awakening from innocent child to a young woman’s wider, more abstruse world of experience.
Beware the weasel.
The film has gone on to influence and inspire ‘freak’ folk act The Valerie Project who perform their own original compositions in unison with the film. The band Broadcast (with the late Trish Keenan) took inspiration from the film for the album Haha Sound, the song Valerie being the most obvious example (seen below). This chilling Czech tale of terror and it’s accompanying soundtrack from the other side of the iron curtain are not to be missed. You can purchase the soundtrack direct from a favourite label of the We Love office, Finders Keepers, here.
By the end of the tale Valerie has achieved a kind of detached enlightenment; though appiritions call to her, Valerie refuses to interact with them anymore. And so at the end, in that Autumnal landscape, as her dreams dance around her, she climbs into her bed one last time. “Sleep well my sweet brunette / When you wake keep your secret,” goes the lullaby, “Fear is only a dream / so dream little one, dream.”
Kathryn Bigelow’s Point Break is a must see classic especially if you have a penchant for surfing, guns and early ’90s tight t-shirts, dude. Within the first 5 minutes a masked criminal holding up a bank looks at his watch to proclaim “little hand says, it’s time to rock and roll”, this is old-school action cinema at it’s best.
You're sayin' the FBI's gonna pay me to learn to surf?
Keanu Reeves plays Johnny Utah in his first action hero outing. His mission, to bust The Ex-Presidents, a gang of thrill seeking bank robbers by going undercover and infiltrating their clique. The leader of said gang is Patrick Swayze’s Bhodi who brings an idealistic innocence to the film whilst avoiding the pitfall of falling into self parody of the beach-philosopher character. Special mention must go to Gary Busey who plays the gravelly cynical partner to Johnny Utah, a stereotype as old as Hollywood itself. The role of Angelo Pappas is played with off-the-wall aplomb by Busey, who adds many fine insulting lines to temper Reeves’ and Swayze’s testosterone fuelled antics, “Listen you snot-nose little shit, I was takin’ shrapnel in Khe Sanh when you were crappin’ in your hands and rubbin’ it on your face.” For example.
What's the matter with you guys? This was never about the money, this was about us against the system. That system that kills the human spirit.
The film begins with the rise of brooding synths and strings from accomplished composer Mark Isham. This is combined with a visually effective series of edits of crashing waves to give a hint to the spiritual tone of the film from the get-go. However, like the film itself any indication of spirituality quickly gives way to a maximum velocity, crashing spectacle. The film’s tagline “100% adrenaline” although cliched is probably only a few percent from the truth. Isham has crafted a score that not only complements it’s parent film, but elevates it beyond the egregious silliness which pertains to most ’90s Hollywood action cinema.
When they run they dump the vehicle and they vanish... like a virgin on prom night. I mean they vanish, swishh...
If the film needs a saving grace, it must be the skydiving scene. It is not hyperbole to say this is both a cinematic tour de force and an orchestral masterpiece. Check it out in high quality, here. This is the scene in which the confusion of trust and betrayal between the bank robber and his FBI pursuer comes to a head while plummeting to earth after jumping from a “perfectly good airplane”. Although Isham’s musical signature is present throughout the film, this is where it truly comes to the fore (see track 16 – Skydive). The film has inherent and self-evident weaknesses (mainly the failure to have the audience believe in an enlightenment through extreme sports). However, there are some sublimely crafted action sequences which become almost abstract at times, the exceptional score goes some way to help lead the viewer down this vein.
Vaya con Dios, Brah.
Although made in 1991, the film score did not find a release until 2008 when La-La Land (a company specialising in score releases) took it upon themselves to allow this fine piece to be heard. This edition was limited to 2,000 units and features 65 minutes of score with liner notes by Dan Goldwasser incorporating comments from both Bigelow and Isham. It is now out of print.
We won't have anywhere to call home, but we'll be stinkin' rich.
Mark Knopfler’s debut solo effort shows how a score really can set the tone for a film. It’s a simple, sweet vision for director Bill Forsyth’s quirky Scottish film and is beautifully evocative of the small northern town in which the movie is set. It’s a rare case in that the soundtrack went on to sell more than the film itself, but Local Hero remains an all time favourite, as it shows a pure example of life and attitudes in the North instead of a stereotypical or ‘theme-park Scotland’ image as is often portrayed. The 1983 film portended the oil boom in around the ‘Houston of the North’ Aberdeen, along with the entailing social, economic and environmental consequences.
There is no door. Just knock on the window.
If you are a fan of the film, each track can take you back to the fictional town of Furness and the album remains one by which other soundtracks can be measured. Mark Knopfler is the main songwriter but there are contributions from contemporaneous musicians Alan Clark (The Hollies) and Gerry Rafferty (of ‘Baker Street’ fame). Clark contributed the haunting song ‘Stargazer’ which plays out to a backdrop of Aurora Borealis towards the end of the film. There are also some signature Knopfler virtuoso guitar licks, the main theme ‘Going Home’ even made it into Dire Straits set lists in the 80s.
How do you do business with a man who has no door?
Throughout there are fantastic soundscapes to suit the ambience of a rainy day. The music is a valuable part of the movie, but standing alone truly reflects the ill-fated hope, the melancholy and pathos involved in not just a community but a whole country. There is a reality and identity within this soundtrack which transcends the film itself.
The ethics are just the same.
The film score’s power lies in seeing Scotland at first through the smug, wheeling dealing eyes of a Houston oil man sent to buy a piece of the North East to fund America’s gluttony, who succumbs to eventual infatuation with the character of the land and it’s people. We are left with the notion that although the Scottish landscape must be fully appreciated on a kind and bright day, its character can only be fathomed in light of wind and rain, the endless summer days and interminable winter nights.
Welcome to the phantasmagorical world of Pogo. Having endured his gagging clause from his time at Disney, Pogo’s work is now out there for all to enjoy. Make sure to check out his Youtube channel, it’s fantastic. Some words from the man himself:
“After a year producing professionally for Walt Disney Motion Picture Studios, my contract has finally come to an end. The gag order is released, and my classic Disney mixes are allowed back online.
I’d like to apologize to everyone for the secrecy that has so far been surrounding this issue. When one of the biggest, most powerful corporations in the world zipped my mouth shut with the hand of the law, there’s little I could do to communicate without deliberately breaching my contract. Alice, Expialidocious and White Magic had to be hidden because Disney considered them illegal. They otherwise would have engaged me as an ongoing infringer, an act that would understandably exceed the legal boundaries of any corporation.”
Firstly, what deeply strange places nightclubs are; hundreds of strangers, all as high as kites, crammed together in a deliberately disorientating space. And secondly, how much poignancy there is in something ostensibly celebratory; the idea that “the best days of your lives” will be wiped away by a change in fashion. Leckey captures this beautifully in the occasional sound of tolling bells, the endless headlong rush of the video timecodes, the snippets of empty rooms and the suddenly frozen images of young, apprehensive faces.
Jonathan Jones wrote that “(Leckey) haunts the secret parts of modern culture, where memory and emotion linger”. By doing so, he succeeded where almost everyone else fails – in accurately conveying what it feels like to be inside a nightclub, when being inside a nightclub is the most important thing in your life. Thanks to online video sites, the film is now available again; take 15 minutes to put on the headphones and sink back into Britain’s clubbing past.
Featuring performances from 2020Soundsystem live at We Love – Ministry of Sound London, Ivan Smagghe in the Discoteca for We Love Space and DJ Hell in London also.
Cosmic disco doyen Prins Thomas discusses the vagaries of process versus result in making music. New kid in the Discoteca jozif on the importance of crafting a sound. Philosophical Swedes Minilogue profess artistic inspiration comes from being a human being and someone has to play Joris Voorn‘s records.
Featuring performances from Prins Thomas, Joris Voorn and Jeff Mills.
