•
Rating: “Dick Laurent is dead” (Bill Pullman, “Lost Highway”)
Lynchian. In the collective imagination, a collection of symbols and myths in the culture of a people, this term has appeared for at least twenty years. But what exactly does Lynchian mean? This word is at least an expression, a symptom of a translation beyond the limits of the celluloid world, into the peculiar stylistic features of the American filmmaker; the perception of them in everyday life.
The absurd, the oneiric, the distortion of reality and the fragmentation of space-time are just some of the distinctive traits of this disturbing poetic of images.
But, having said that, it is necessary to pose a question. Namely, can we define masterpieces like “Mulholland Drive“,”Blue Velvet,” “Wild at Heart,” the cult series “Twin Peaks” or “Lost Highway” purely for their visual suggestions and aesthetics as uniquely Lynchian? The obvious answer is “No, we cannot.” Because each of these masterpieces is such because of the mature fruit of an intimate interpenetration between vision and music; rarefied atmospheres, nocturnal compositions that, for at least thirty years, bear the signature of the Italian-American composer Angelo Badalamenti.
Music, therefore, as an integral and indispensable part of a now-famous style; and the compositions in “Lost Highway,” a grotesque detour into the director’s typical obsessions and deviations, are a brilliant example of it.
Curated and produced by Trent Reznor, leader of Nine Inch Nails, and perfectly in line with the distorted and complex dimension of the feature film, the soundtrack is introduced, in the hypnotic opening, by the splendid and measured “I’m Deranged,” a track with noir shades enhanced by the sinuous and warm voice of David Bowie.
Among disturbing sound suggestions à la Twin Peaks (Fred's World, Haunting & Heartbreaking, Dub Driving) and insane, chaotic jazz incursions at the edge of cacophony (Red Bats With Teeth, also by Badalamenti) are embedded decidedly softer tracks; the sensual and bittersweet Eye by Smashing Pumpkins, Lou Reed’s carefree ballad (This Magic Moment) and the elegant and intangible progression of Insensatez, by the Brazilian Antônio C. Jobim. Pieces that offer listeners a muffled parenthesis in which to restore their senses, stunned.
Bizarre jazz snippets worthy of the best gangster-movie (Mr. Eddy's theme 1 & 2, arranged by B. Adamson) alternate, oxymoronically, with the sulfurous vocal sparks of M. Manson, in the hammering and obsessive cover of Screamin’ J. Hawkins (I Put a Spell on You); and literally explode the devastating metallic impulses pervaded by Teutonic echoes (Rammstein and Heirate Mich, by Rammstein). An impeccable sound commentary for one of the most morbid and perverse parts of the entire feature film.
Curiously, the work concludes with a reprise of the opening track (I’m Deranged) probably to emphasize a cyclicality not only cinematic. A Möbius Strip extended into the sound field.
And once the listening is over?
Silencio.
Loading comments slowly
