Onism is a word coined by author and poet John Konieg that refers to the bitter realization of how little of the world you will ever truly experience.
Sadly, with the thousands of cultures alive today, most of us will only be a part of one, or perhaps a few if we are lucky.
Driven by this realization, I’ve embarked on a journey to immerse myself in as many cultures as humanly possible—what better way to do so than through a medium similar across every culture–Music?
Today, this journey takes us to the continent of Africa and to a country you have perhaps heard of before—the giants of Africa, Nigeria.
Happy Independence Day, Nigeria.
What do you know about Nigeria?
Just like most African countries, Nigeria was colonized by a European nation — Britain.
Nigeria is a country located in West Africa that boasts a population of over 233 million people who speak over 525 languages. It is the most populated country in Africa and the 7th in the world. Nigeria is widely known for its music, food and fashion industry.
Onism is a word coined by author and poet John Konieg that refers to the bitter realization of how little of the world you will ever truly experience.
Sadly, with the thousands of cultures alive today, most of us will only be a part of one, or perhaps a few if we are lucky.
Driven by this realization, I’ve embarked on a journey to immerse myself in as many cultures as humanly possible. What better way to do so than through a medium similar across every culture–Music.
Today, this journey takes us to the vibrant and colorful heart of Mexico.
Feliz Día de la Independencia, México (Happy Indepenedence Day, Mexico).
What do you know about Mexico?
Mexico, the 13th largest country by area and 10th most populated country in the world is located in the southern part of North America. Thanks to its significant trade relationship with the U.S. and the large Mexican-American population, the Mexican culture is undoubtedly one of the more accessible and influential cultures for us to appreciate.
When was the last time you listened to a song from a non-American/British artist? What about the last time you listened to a song in a different language? Ever wanted to expand your music taste to include songs from all around the world?
Well that’s the goal of this article series. I hope to help you expand your song taste to include songs from other countries, in other languages and from different cultures.
In Reykjavík, Iceland, there is a small museum hidden(ish) underground in what used to be a restroom. This museum is a unique punk museum filled with graffiti, newspaper clippings of the history of punk in Iceland, punk jackets you can try on and even headphones hanging from the ceiling playing punk Icelandic songs.
If you go just make sure to not start taking pictures until you have paid the local punk (Svarti Álfur) who runs the museum.
Like most punk history, Icelandic punk came to be as a way to protest societal norms and became more than just a musical revolution. So today we will be shining light on different Icelandic punk bands.
A little annoying disclaimer first: For all of these I could only find them on Spotify and not YouTube.
Fræbblnarn
One of the most popular and first Icelandic punk bands is Fræbblnarn. Some songs from them are “No Friends” and “Bjór”. Both of these songs are from their album before they broke up in 1983. They did get back together and are currently making more music. Their most recent album as of now is “Dót,” released in 2018.
Their songs are known for their fast lyrics with upbeat instrumentals which contrast the words/meaning of the song, similar to Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated.”
Tuð
Another Icelandic punk band is Tuð. They claim themselves to rant about problems of middle age “loudly and abundantly.” Their songs are pretty short, ranging from one song being 3 seconds to the longest being 2 minutes. They are fast paced, and even without knowing the language, seem anger-filled as claimed.
A personal favorite is “Vorlag” in the “Þegiðu!” album, which has a caricature of a punk old man with pins and a spiky mohawk. “Vorlag” translates to “Spring Song” in Icelandic. It is about a guy who gets locked out of his home in the cold and freezes to death. When looking up the lyrics, they remind me of something out of an Edger Allan Poe book.
In comparison, there is a song “Tilfinningamaðurinn” (The emotional man) which is about different good things happening only for something to go wrong. The good moments, however, are humorously contrasted by the screaming voice.
Nöp
The last Icelandic punk band that is newest with only five singles coming out during 2023-now is Nöp. Nöp have two songs in English (“My friends are dead” and “Shoot you in the face”) and three that aren’t (“Rifast,” “Eurobabble” and “Drullusama”). The songs are pretty similar instrumentally, with strong bass transitioning into heavy drums. Their songs, however, have different topics. “Eurobabble,” “Drullusama,” and “Shoot you in the face” have themes of social commentary and war/death, while “My friends are dead” is more about the meaning of life being nothing and becoming older and friends passing away.
I hope you enjoyed the first installation to the International Music series.
Onism is a word coined by author and poet John Konieg that refers to the bitter realization of how little of the world you will ever truly experience.
It is sad that of the thousands of cultures today, the majority of the public will only be a part of one or two, or a handful if you’re lucky.
Driven by this thought, I’ve embarked on a journey to immerse myself in various cultures. Many of my blog posts will focus on exploring the vibrant music of different countries on their independence or national days.
Today, we’re celebrating all the beautiful Malaysians in our communities.
“Selamat pagi” to my Malaysians, and a joyous Hari Merdeka to you all.
Malaysia is a beautiful country located in southeast Asia.
It is widely known for its captivating landscapes, rich cultural heritage and diverse demographics.
Malaysia is home to over 30 million people, with different ethnicities like Malay, Chinese, Indian, Punjabi, Iban, Kadazan and many more. The country’s landscape is equally diverse, ranging from lush rainforests and beaches to bustling cities.
Malaysia is made up of Peninsular Malaysia and East Malaysia, which together include more than 800 islands.
This geographical variety provides a rich backdrop for the country’s cultural and musical expressions.
Malaysia was colonized by the Portuguese in the early 16th century, followed by the Dutch and then the British. It wasn’t until August 31, 1957, that Malaysia gained its independence from British colonial rule.
Hari Merdeka, or Independence Day, is celebrated annually to commemorate this significant milestone.
To celebrate Hari Merdeka, I’ve selected two of the most memorable contemporary Malaysian tracks that I found while exploring the Malaysian music scene.
A little disclaimer: this was my first time listening to Malaysian music/artists, so this is my unbiased opinion as an outsider attempting to peer into their beautiful culture.
“Luka Dan Benci” by Night Skies & Visions
“Luka Dan Benci” is a song by Night Skies and Visions, a pop punk band in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia which debuted April 2015.
“Luka Dan Benci” translates to “Wounds and Hatred.”
The track opens with a haunting, reverberating guitar melody, setting a somber tone. The steady drumbeat adds a raw intensity, driving the song forward as it builds up to an emotional chorus.
“Luka Dan Benci” evokes a bittersweet feeling, with its slow-yet-powerful guitar riffs mirroring the tension between love and pain.
The best way I can describe the vibe is nostalgic. I apologize if this description does not resonate with a lot of you, but I grew up watching Mexican and Philippines telenovelas, and while listening to this song, I had a montage of all the series I thoroughly enjoyed watching as a kid playing in my head.
If this is not something you can relate to, they are still worth the listen.
The rest of their songs like “Go There If You Miss Me” and “Saturday Night” — which are in English,might I add — are more upbeat anthems with catchy hooks and energetic guitars that instantly transport you to the early 2000s pop-punk scene.
Their songs feel like a throwback to teenage anthems, with driving drumbeats and electric guitar power chords. The fast tempo and carefree attitude make it perfect for dancing around with friends or reliving your high school days.
Some of their songs felt a lot of the early 2000s preppy pop songs. If at some point you enjoyed songs from Hannah Montana, Camp Rock or High School Musical, you just might enjoy listening to Night Skies and Visions.
“Consequences” by I Lost the Plot
Moving on from Night Skies & Visions, I discovered another gem in the Malaysian music scene—”Consequences” by I Lost the Plot.
While it’s quite different in style, it carries its own unique charm.
The track opens with a 37-second instrumental solo before the song begins.
The upbeat tempo, driving guitars and catchy lyrics give it an adrenaline-pumping vibe, perfect for getting you pumped up.
The best way I can describe it is that it should be a catchy theme song for a cartoon hero show. Have you ever randomly caught yourself singing or humming the theme songs for Kim Possible or Ben 10? Yes? Then this track would definitely have the same effect.
The rest of their songs maintain a similar energetic vibe, making any track from I Lost the Plot an excellent choice for sports or heart-racing activities.
Tanggal 31 Ogos
To fully embrace the spirit of Hari Merdeka, Tanggal 31 Ogos is a popular patriotic song specifically celebrating Malaysia’s Independence Day. The song, with a title that translates to “31 August,” reflects the joy and pride of the country on its independence anniversary.
A good listen to get in the the mood for Heri Merdeka.
I’ve curated a Spotify playlist featuring these tracks and other Malaysian artists I’ve discovered. I urge you to give it a listen and experience the essence of Malaysia’s vibrant music scene for yourself.
Oppression is a funny thing, but then again so are humans – the more your press and restrain a spirit, the stronger it grows.
East Berlin was no different.
Pirate Radio blossoms across the airwaves, ringing throughout the darkened corners of tenements and squats – The Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop, The Clash, Buzzcocks, and Ian Drury burst through the wall with a blast of pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
It was a shockwave to the restricted, highly controlled world of the DDR, a select group of kids saw their break in the clouds to build a new reality from the ground – or rather, boots up.
Beyond adopting the leather, studs and ‘can-do’ d.i.y. spirit of the movement, these kids began to form bands – circulating outside contraband and inside underground paraphernalia within a loosely organized, but painfully tightknit community across the DDR far beyond East Berlin.
Tim Mohr chronicles the burgeoning punk movement within the DDR from the first girl to spike her hair to the fall of the wall and the birth of Krautrock through “Burning Down the Haus.”
More than glimpse behind the Iron Curtain, Mohr paints a moving portrait of rebellion and reinvention in life or death situations, a revelation spurred on by chains and spikes.
When I first read this post, I wasn’t in a really good place; I was struggling to see the light at the end of the tunnel, to find the drive to keep pushing forward in a world that feels exceedingly futile. In many ways, this book helped me see beauty in the human experience again.
These kids were angry, and rightfully so, but they found hope for a better world within their anger.
They turned that anger into action, they turned life itself into an act of defiance.
These young punks weren’t just surviving the impossible, they made an active choice to live in the face of inscrutable danger.
Beyond the music, beyond the fashion, beyond the shows and squats that’s what stuck with me long after reading – and I hope it will stick with you too.
For those of you looking for an auditory companion to the listening experience, the “Too Much Future” compilation album of DDR punk from 1980-1989 is what I found most aligned with the reading.
Be forewarned, the material is explicit…but if you’re expecting kisses from grandma on a punk album, I can’t help you.
Every rockstar has their peccadillos and predilections, but very few have eclipsed the trouble conjured by Jerry Lee Lewis.
From drunken rages, pill-induced furies, mysterious deaths and all around rambunctious activity — Jerry Lee Lewis was a man possessed — in every sense of the word.
Released in 2022, “Jerry Lee Lewis: Trouble in Mind” presents Ethan Coen’s attempt at reconciling the man’s frankly tricky legacy with his indelible, foundational rock and roll.
A scant 73-minutes long, the documentary is entirely comprised of archival material: television footage, photographs and recordings all championing the wild man of rock. In other words, it’s one hell of a highlight reel.
Beyond the obligatory 70s Johnny Carson appearances, Coen keeps the private and intimate life of the Lewis house just that — private.
There’s no mass-reckoning with the man behind the piano and there’s no unmasking of “Killer” — it’s a portrait of Jerry Lee Lewis as the piano shaking, party making pioneer — no more and no less.
Honestly, I expected more from Coen on his solo debut, a tricky story told by a filmmaker who seems to revel in the trick.
The juxtaposition between the sane and insane — or rather, the insane and mundane — that makes the Coen Brothers’ films so enticing is noticeably absent in this first-person portrayal of Lewis’ meteoric rise, fall and unlikely return from the ashes time and time again.
If anything, Coen seems to pull his punches towards Lewis, falling back on the routine excuse: “It was a different time.”
In conversation surrounding the scandalous marriage to 13-year-old cousin Myra Brown, Coen and his team seemingly absolve Lewis of fault.
By the age of 22, Lewis had already been married twice, the first of which happening just after his sixteenth birthday.
While there’s no blanket statement absolving Lewis of his sins, the inclusion of the factoid is eyebrow-raising in comparison to his child bride.
Similarly, his notorious temper is treated with similar grace; a violent feud with Elvis boils down to nothing more than career misgivings and undo praise no different than Little Richard and James Brown with no mention of Lewis’ drunken threat to shoot Presley while on a visit to Graceland.
Similarly, one of the many incidents of gun violence against his band members is only mentioned in a brief talk show appearance and largely written off as just another legendary quirk.
For a man of such scandalous, tabloid-type character, Coen seems to skirt much of it for reason’s I’m not quite sure of.
It’s a good film and a highly entertaining watch, but that’s where the buck stops with “Jerry Lee Lewis: Trouble in Mind.”
Coen isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel or run a mass expose on Lewis; he’s simply spotlighting the tour-de-force of the pioneering rocker.
For fans willing to brush aside their personal quibbles and those who are new to the spectacle of Jerry Lee Lewis, Coen’s documentary is a wonderful, cursory glance at the life of a legend.
It’s been a while since I’ve jumped into another genre that sounds made up.
A kaleidoscope of influences — hardcore, post-hardcore, metal, new wave, disco, etc. — consistently infused with cheeky irreverence and borderline-effeminate vocality, sasscore is a truly magnificent musical monstrosity that spits in the face of hypermasculinity. Hipsters before hipsters were uncool.
The Compendium of Sass
A “compendium of sass” posted to the now-defunct website “Stuff You Will Hate” described sasscore as “all about tight pants, pink, snotty attitudes, sweaty dance parties, keyboards, androgynous Asian band members and explicit homoeroticism.”
According to the compendium’s anonymous author, sasscore is, plainly put, “Hardcore for the angry skinny boys full of sexual tension and a great collection of skinny ties and thrift store slim-fit suit jackets before those were even a thing that cool people wore.”
Scathing commentary aside, sasscore seems to perfectly encapsulate a highly-specific and lamentably short-lived era of late 90’s and early 2000’s aesthesis.
Just as “twee” describes a brief-but-irrefutably punctuating period of Moldy Peaches-listening, Oxford-wearing, tote bag-carrying proto-hipsterism, sasscore highlights the intersection of “hipster-scenester” male sexuality, “femme arthouse stuff,” and alternative music long before “hipster” became a derogatory term.
And it was polarizing, for sure. People either loved sasscore or absolutely hated it (evidently enough to psychoanalyze its fans on troll websites).
Why Hate Sass?
The anonymous author speculated that one reason the genre was met with such fervent resistance was due to the “latent discomfort hardcore has always had with male sexuality, be it heterosexual or homosexual.”
While there are certainly some points in the author’s manifesto that strike me as conjecture rather than analysis, I do agree that sasscore seems to find its roots in its opposition to the hegemonic masculinity of the hardcore scene.
As we’ve seen with other genres like riot grrrl, queer/homocore and egg punk, the “boy’s club” atmosphere of the hardcore scene is, to put it plainly, highly divisive. While nonconformity is the alleged crux of punk ethos, the veneration of hypermasculinity overshadows the scene’s diversity.
In a way, sasscore is the antithesis of the hypermasculine. While still majorly male-dominated, sasscore artists never shy away from the “feminine,” dressing somewhere between punks, hipsters and scene kids and infusing their instrumentation and stylistics with audacious and experimental styles.
The Emergence of Sass
Sass rose as a movement in the early 2000s with the work of bands like The Crimson Curse, Orchid, The Blood Brothers, Black Eyes (one of my favorite sass bands) and The Plot to Blow Up the Eiffel Tower.
At the same time, other bands such as Destroyer Destroyer, Tower of Rome and many others excluded sasscore’s post-hardcore influences, instead fusing sasscore with mathcore and grindcore. The resulting genre became known as white belt.
Some newer white belt bands that mix hardcore, slam, grind and metalcore revival include SeeYouSpaceCowboy, The Callous Daoboys, and .gif from god (who I saw live last year)
The Sound of Sass
According to Phillip Stounn of DIY Conspiracy, sasscore incorporates elements from genres within and outside of punk and is generally considered a post-hardcore style.
Key stylistic features include an “over-the-top, spastic edge, dissonant, chaotic guitars, occastional dance rhythms, synths and blast beats.”
In 2017, writer Ellie Kovach (influenced by “the compendium of sass”) described the genre’s “lisping vocals shouting incredibly erotic lyrics over chaotic guitar runs and keyboards” and “flamboyant, homoerotic clothing and behavior” as being primarily directed at hardcore’s “tough-guy” culture and “the PC crowd’s stifling lack of ability to have fun.”
Final Thoughts
I’m always a sucker for a genre that counters counterculture, and I always jump at the opportunity to elicit some early-2000’s nostalgia.
While sasscore certainly isn’t for everybody, I find that it’s my particular flavor of so-weird-it’s-almost-bad music. Would I play Black Eyes for my family? Probably not. But have I listened through their self-titled album more times than I can count? Absolutely.
If you’re someone interested in music with a “spastic edge,” then perhaps you should check out sasscore. If you like things a bit on the heavier side, check out white belt.
A look at “Cat Power Sings Dylan: The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert.”
By 1966, Bob Dylan and his apostolic audience were at odds and that tension boiled to a head during one pivotal set at Manchester Free Trade Hall, not the misbilled Royal Albert Hall.
In 2022, Cat Power brought Dylan’s words back home, this time in the right venue.
Power, the notorious alternative folk songstress of ’90s acclaim, while known for being obtuse and inaccessible, feels remarkably accessible in this recording.
Released in 2023, as far as cover albums go – which she is no stranger to – this one is almost painfully straightforward.
Equal parts faithful reconstruction and self-aware reimagining of Dylan’s last supper, the album playfully tugs at the frayed edges of folk’s second death knell – Farcically, Dylan had already “killed” folk alongside Mike Bloomfield the year before at the 1965 Manchester Folk Festival.
Following the set song by song right down to the acoustic/electric split half-way through, Power effortlessly waltzes between her own delicate, ghost-like phrasing and Dylan’s nasally-spoken slide.
But as a listener, I’m not entirely sure what keeps Powers back from the precipice of empty pantomime she teeters on.
If anything, “Cat Power Sings Dylan: The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert” feels reverential to the point of becoming defanged.
Whether it be the mix or the crowd, there’s a heavy silence that hangs over both the acoustic and electric portions of the album, miles away from Dylan’s caustic bite and his audience’s simmering discontent.
Warning: This Clip Contains Explicit Content.
It’s a beautiful album and a wonderful showcase of both Power’s vocal stylings and Dylan’s lyricism but it feels empty above all else.
The moment is too self-aware, too self-referential.
Her audience sits in rapt attention, intimately acquainted with each dip and turn of the score, even attempting to recreate the “Judas” moment…only for it to be on the wrong song.
It’s Power’s response to the Judas heckle that says everything about the auspices this project was conceived under; “No, Jesus,” she responded dryly before launching into a haunted rendition of “Ballad of a Thin Man.”
We all know what that moment meant for the future of music, for the folk messiah to betray the movement he helmed…it changed everything – and that is the albatross that hangs around Power’s neck throughout the set.
Because we know now what that concert meant and what he means to music, we can’t possibly recreate it in earnest – it’s holy, now…it’s larger than us.
But it shouldn’t have been.
“Cat Power Sings Dylan: The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert” is a wonderfully accessible foray into Bob Dylan’s discography and the stylings of Cat Power. But beyond a well mixed, well arranged reproduction, Power doesn’t bring anything new or fresh into the conversation.
A good cover album, which, technically this is, should expand upon the material or revive the energy that captured audiences originally – and from where I stand, Power dropped the ball on both.
When I was younger, I would cower at the thought of silly campfire stories, checking under the bed and in closet corners before I went to sleep. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve sought out more and more scares.
Some of my favorite experiences with film have been in theaters — jumping so hard that I spill my popcorn — or with a friend, peeking out nervously through our fingertips. Further, some of my favorite music is from horror soundtracks.
Through the use of music, or the lack thereof, a director can build tension, anticipation and cue the audience as to what might be around the corner. They can also heighten the horror of the mundane, making empty hallways or creaking floorboards suddenly terrifying.
One of my most cherished horror soundtracks comes from the 2016 movie “Raw.” Its protagonist, Justine, is a vegetarian whose first year at veterinary school is interrupted by a new and insatiable craving for human flesh. The film utilizes the bloody terror of cannibalism as a metaphor for coming of age as a young woman.
In the background of each highly troubling scene is Jim William’s beautiful and sweet synth score. The music swells and sweeps, grand and dramatic and yet highly empathetic, filled with droning, repetitive sounds both low and high.
Williams spoke in an interview about how he tried to write a score that followed Justine’s journey as a character, starting out with “naive children’s music” and ending somewhere with “visceral rock.”
It’s clear in listening to the album how much depth is there in each song, with tracks like “Lust,” propelling themselves forwards with the energy of a ballerina’s crazed dance. Then, on “Finger Scene,” the piano is light and lighting before growing heavier and more urgent, conveying an escalation in mood.
Williams also mentioned how some of his inspirations included Ennio Morricone and Bernard Herrman, two extremely accomplished film composers. While Morricone created orchestral symphonies for films like “The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly” and “A Fistful of Dollars,” Herrman worked on projects like “Vertigo” and “Taxi Driver.”
William’s idols are particularly relevant to the history of horror, as before the advent of the synthesizer, most music made for films had to be orchestral and in the vein of Morricone. His work just happens to be a genius combination of the two.
In fact, it was Herrman who composed one of the most famous early horror soundtracks for Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho.”
The movie, which came out in 1960, was revolutionary because of its use of music. At first the score starts out as very subtle, suggestive of a possible catastrophe, before peaking at the infamous shower scene with shocking harsh string tones that come across as fingernails scratching down a chalkboard.
Herrman’s score in this scene serves as the catalyst of the jumpscare, electrifying viewers through its violent orchestration.
One of the next revolutionary film scores in horror came from John Carpenter’s “Halloween.” The iconic, yet simple, repetitive track only took three days to compose and record. Its heavy use of the synthesizer marked a huge departure in the music of horror, more like the screeching and uncomfortable “Psycho,” soundtrack and less like classical Hollywood instrumentation.
The “Halloween” score is heavily credited in transforming an otherwise anticlimactic slasher with high amounts of tension. Empty suburban streets were suddenly full of murderous potential, back to the idea of turning the mundane into the horrible.
In an interview, Professor Neil Lerner of Davidson College discussed how “Halloween” did not come out of a void. He directly cites “Psycho” as an influence, noting the shower scene that utilizes only two pitches in comparison to the repetitive sounds of “Halloween.”
Further, this innovation was partly motivated by budget. Lerner discusses how the “Psycho” budget was so low that Hermann did not have the money to pay for a full orchestra, only the strings. Similarly, Carpenter only had a 300,000 dollar budget for “Halloween,” motivating the director himself to sit down and compose the piece.
The theme of limited budgets continued throughout the 1970’s and 80s with the next great horror movie, “Jaws,” also focusing around two uncomfortable and repeating tones. Composer John Williams recalls how Steven Speilburg thought he was pranking him when he proposed just E, F, E, F, E, F, D, F for the theme of the shark.
So, what makes these soundtracks so scary? How do they work? And why do they continue to persist throughout pop culture? As someone who loves music but struggles to understand a songs’ complicated inner-workings, these questions fascinate me.
Firstly, it seems there is the principle of dissonance, or an overall lack of harmony in music. There are typically major and minor chords which comprise any given track, with the former being associated with positive emotions and the latter conveying sadness or darkness.
This is where dissonance comes into play. In each of these tracks above, there are two or more minor notes combined together at once, which simultaneously sounds unpleasant and works to elevate feelings of fear and natural discomfort. This is highly present in the “Halloween” theme.
Building on this, the combination of sounds in any given musical landscape helps in creating an overall mood or feeling. It’s like a garden of several plants and flowers, growing together, intertwining and sustaining from the same soil.
In the “Halloween” theme, dark, shattering notes thrum together at lower pitch. In the “Psycho” theme, high-pitched strings are paired not only to build that dissonance, but every note is accented at a higher pitch, making it almost feel like it’s imitating the stabbing knife.
Going back to the work of Jim Williams, what stands out about his soundtracks is that he seems to combine all aspects of dissonance and an uncomfortable musical landscape with a complex instrumentation that builds a sense of security before delving into the uncanny. His fusion of Morricone-style orchestral scores with the preceding horror legacy of droning notes and underlying fear makes for a highly effective and intense listening and viewing experience.
Another fantastic modern horror score is that of Disasterpeace, aka Rich Vreeland, a well-known video game composer who worked on the movie “It Follows.”
The track “Title” is tense and somehow lush. It feels like you’re walking home late and night, looking over your shoulder, feeling a cold breath on your neck and back as the music intensifies.
When the stronger instrumentation kicks in around the one minute mark, it so perfectly captures that horrific, striking moment of fear in your heart during a jumpscare. Maybe there was someone there following you all along.
In a Pitchfork review of the score, author Jeremy Gordon writes that Disasterpeace’s “’Title’ sounds like an update of Carpenter’s Halloween theme, as a lonely piano line is slowly enveloped by gothic dread.”
And clearly, the inspiration is there. There are the same dual, pulsing notes.
In this way, horror music seems to build on top of each other, like stray seeds that have blown in and settled in the already-grown garden, populating the old landscape with new vines and fruits and flora.
The landscape of horror soundtracks now is ripe with influence and integration of old and new, growing scares with two-tone dissonance and homages to the past. I look forward to all the scares to come.
In his article “The Walkman Effect,” researcher and musicologist Shūhei Hosokawa outlines the innovation and the inner and outer effects of the new listening device. He claims that the Walkman was the beginning of the personalizable listening experience that created the personal autonomy of choice.
Rather than alienation from the world, the Walkman was solid as a sort of self-enclosure for people. To Hosokawa, the Walkman represents a symbiotic self that affects the transformation of the outer urban environment and the inner environment as both a strategy and device.
Music is generally both public and involved with noise, including street musicians, the cacophony of cars and construction, portable speakers and open car windows. But the Walkman is private. Walkman owners listen to music in a hidden mental sphere, removed from outer sounds. The Walkman is not a technological revolution, but a social one.