True confession: We don’t really believe in the validity of Top Ten lists because so many clickbait online “listicles” seem to exist simply to drive web traffic rather than to reflect on the nature of canon formation in a critically self-aware manner, but...we do really love listening to movie soundtracks, and since we were asked to come up with a top ten of movie soundtracks that we love, here are the ten that came to mind in the order in which we thought of them.
Cannibal Holocaust [1980]
The score to this horrifically violent and unpleasant film is a weirdly schizophrenic affair that seesaws between lush, treacly orchestral love themes, oddly perky funk workouts, and sour synthesized drones. It’s a kind of personality test for the listener to figure out which is creepier: the idea that the music for Cannibal Holocaust was somehow supposed to be funky or the idea that the music for Cannibal Holocaust was somehow supposed to be romantic. Any way you slice it (sorry), this is a rough, sick ride, and we love it. The real appeal is this particularly tasteless Linn drum snare noise which makes a kind of “Piaooowww” like laser stab sound; it’s used as a rhythmic tattoo across the entire soundtrack and once heard, it can never be forgotten.
Paris, Texas [1984]
In the early eighties Martin used to listen to this soundtrack over and over, and it triggered his interest in steelstring acoustic guitar. Deceptive simplicity that conceals deep mastery; we’ve heard other Ry Cooder albums but this is the only one that we come back to with regularity. It’s probably a cliché to invoke the “high lonesome sound”, but it does really go awfully well with the desolation of the emptier parts of the landscapes around Las Vegas and into Southern California, the blasted wasteland of America that takes over wherever the irrigation runs out.
Rosemary’s Baby [1968]
Obviously, there are a lot of clichéd horror movie soundtracks that feature little children’s voices. Which only makes sense - children are scary! While we can forgive “Children of the Corn” because it’s so damn catchy, most uses of childlike vocals in horror soundtracks are banal at this point. But before this tactic got played out, there was a magic time when this record was made by our mainman Krzystof Komeda. (I don’t know if he was actually first to do this - that’s for people who reduce life to lists to figure out?) At any rate, what gives it its bewitching power is precisely its relentless, repetitive, kind of moronically simple “la la la la la la la la la la” little girl vocal run, a fluttering riff that just hammers into your brain. There are some love themes, and some darker moments of satanic muttering and psychedelic chanting, but it’s the didactic use of child-like voices that really hits hard here. An undersung masterpiece.
Cul De Sac [1966]
As with Rosemary’s Baby, so too here: Krystof Komeda’s soundtrack for Polanski’s film is pretty much perfect in every way, but it has one big problem: at 25 minutes or so, it’s way, way too short! Every fleeting minute from this little jewel of a soundtrack is appealing, and when you listen to Komeda’s blend of cool jazz and electronic stylings (dig that unforgettable wiggly vibrato organ tone!) you will find that it can elevate even the most mundane tasks of your day until you feel like you’re starring in some kind of flawlessly cool advertisement for skinny neckties or whiskey. But we need to find some bonus cuts to thicken this bad boy because there’s just not enough of the good stuff to go around.
A Man and a Woman [1966]
Drew’s never seen this film, but at this point he knows the Francis Lai score so well that he’s already imagined all sorts of possible narratives that might connect the dots between this suite of sultry sambas and breathy French confections (though that one stressed out number is kind of hard to make fit with the overall vibe of Olympics-level smooching that this record gives off). When he did a year abroad in the UK and bought a record player this was one of only five thrift store LPs that he used to play obsessively, over and over, in between drum and bass and house 12”s. Bonus points for having that hot pink cover and for using the font Peignot, rounding off an experience that is easy on the ears and the eyes. No home is complete without a copy of this album.
Casino Royale [1967]
Do we even need to explain why this soundtrack rules? Do you live under a rock? Are you unfamiliar with the names Burt Bacharach, Herb Alpert and Dusty Springfield? Hello? Is this thing on? Seriously, every cut is a masterclass and words like “swinging” and “catchy” barely do justice to the stone cold musical genius going on here. Do yourself a favor and get with the program, people.
Barbarella [1968]
Instant mood elevation in vinyl form. You can’t listen to the Bob Crewe generation sing the title theme and not sing along with every preposterous word. All together now, “Barbarella, psychedella / There's a kind of cockle shell about you . . “ but the fun doesn’t stop there, because when things get freaky in the evil city of Sogo and Anita Pallenberg starts huffing on the “essence of man”, out come some truly gnarly fuzz guitars, echo-plexed percussive gadgets and ridiculous arrangement ideas. Obviously we’re intensely biased as the name of our band comes from this film, but don’t just take it from us. Ask Duran Duran.
Heatstroke [1982]
New York city electro and hip hop pioneer Man Parrish also spent some quality time during the crossfade between the late 70s disco era and the early 80s rap attack making soundtracks for gay porn, and the world is a better place because of it. Once you’ve heard those genderless vocodered sex-robots chanting “Pocket full of quarters and I’m going to towwwwnnnn” you will be a believer, and you don’t need a thick carpet of chest hair or a dodgy leather clone jacket to get into this party. Good times are guaranteed with this one.
Nosferatu [1922]
Popol Vuh made so many great soundtrack albums for the films of Werner Herzog that picking just one is really hard and feels really mean but if we’re going to play this list game then we’ll just suck it up and select this astonishing slab of primo Teutonic romanticism. It’s lush and moody and secretive and thrilling and fucking scary, like drinking an intoxicatingly final glass of red wine in a Transylvanian castle at sunset as the wolf howls echo off the hillsides and your host’s dirty yellow fingernails start to look awfully long and sharp. The record makes most of the genre known as “dark ambient” seem like reductive, pointless crap.
In the Shadow of the Sun [1980]
Throbbing Gristle’s soundtrack to this blurry, beguiling collaged overlay of Derek Jarman’s Super-8 home movies is a gauzy and mysterious transmission from some alternate plane of consciousness. It’s hard to imagine a soundtrack which more intuitively expresses the images to which it is wedded; the blown-out, phased and heavily spaced tones and billowing waves of audio-murk from the un-Fab Four seem to translate Jarman’s hypnagogic reverie with uncanny intimacy. Drew is a huge Throbbing Gristle nerd and wrote a book about them, and while this is not our favorite TG Lp, it’s right up there with the very best of them. Put it on, turn on, and drop out.
[Matmos perform their release 'The Marriage of True Minds' at the City Recital Hall as part of Sydney Festival on January 15. Tickets here]