Top 25 Soundtracks
Soundtracks are different than scores. A score is the original music, usually instrumental, composed to complement the film’s mis en scene. As a rule, scores do not bring attention to themselves. A soundtrack, on the other hand, is made up of (usually) previously published songs, collected in a film. Soundtracks necessarily call attention to themselves and, especially in the post-MTV era, have become the film’s alter-ego.
When we think about soundtracks, we think about musicals. One of the first musical films was Alan Crosland’s The Jazz Singer (1927). The genre stems from a pre-film theatrical tradition, which includes vaudeville and minstrel shows. During the jazz era, new technology profoundly changed these arts. Talkie films, and recorded music, combined — tentatively at first, and now with artistic (and corporate) gusto.
It is worth noting that corporate mergers now provide strong incentives for directors to include certain music in their films. In a way, soundtracks exist because they are another product that the studio can sell.
To be sure, film soundtracks document cultural change, set the mood, and can have key thematic roles. But a song’s ability to bend time is possibly its most powerful component. Do you remember where you were, and who you were with, the first time you heard that song? When we hear that song, it takes us back to that time. It’s a time machine. Now, filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino actually take yesterday’s music to the present, or anachronistically take today’s music back to the past. The conscious play with time makes the soundtrack today a vital component of any film and, in the hands of a master filmmaker, can take on a life of its own.
Here are 24 of the best soundtracks (and 1 really good score), listed chronologically.
A Hard Day’s Night (1964)
What was originally intended as merely an exploitation film, produced to cash in on the music industry’s latest fad, turned out to be an extraordinary cultural icon. Richard Lester’s loose, documentary style coupled well with The Beatles’ raw, pre-George-Martin-over-produced sound. The boys weren’t acting, they were just goofing off, like the teenagers they really were. The combination lit a generation on fire, and is a lasting monument to a cultural moment that will never, ever return.
The Graduate (1967)
Mike Nichols uses Simon and Garfunkel’s spare, earnest music, to further express the confusion and self-doubt that is at the heart of this coming-of-age film. Released in the winter after the summer of love, the film encouraged many of the era’s more timid, conformist young people, to take a chance and explore the counter-culture, spurring the question: can you be a hippie and still cut your hair?
Easy Rider (1969)
Featuring many of the then-emerging musical heroes of the counter-culture, this soundtrack was one of the first conscious efforts at making a statement with a music collection. Dennis Hopper’s direction is as crazed as his lifestyle no doubt was then, and the songs (by Hendrix, Dylan by way of Roger McGuinn, Steppenwolf, the Electric Prunes, Electric Flag), convey the chaos that is freedom.
Shaft (1971)
You can’t say Blaxploitation without saying Shaft. The Gordon Parks classic features Charles ‘Skip’ Pitts’ now-famous wah-wah pedal riff that became synonymous with empowerment of the American black male. The films were intended only to extract money from black audiences (hence the name of the genre), but with Isaac Hayes’ and Richard Roundtree’s macho mastery, this film (perhaps) unintentionally became something much more — a cultural rallying point and a source of pride.
Superfly (1972)
Blaxploitation takes a more introspective turn in this dark classic by Gordon Parks, Jr. (son of Shaft’s Gordon Parks). The hero in this film isn’t a private detective — he’s a cocaine dealer. Curtis Mayfield’s soundtrack, though, adds an air of cool to the message, a sense that was common among African Americans, in the era of the Black Panthers, social revolutionaries who were effectively erased after being dubbed as criminals by J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI. The revolution will not be televised, but there may be a film.
The Harder They Come (1972)
Crime, drugs, and the music industry come together in this Perry Henzell classic. The iconic soundtrack documented the birth of reggae music from its ska roots. It was, and is, important as a cultural reference, and as a primary source for musicologists. Jimmy Cliff, Toots and the Maytalls, and Desmond Decker, led the way on a path that would be followed by Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, and a host of imitators. This is the original.
American Graffiti (1973)
This early George Lucas film was the first of a genre that might be called Nostalgia Porn. Look back 20 years, package childhood memories, and sell them to aging adults looking for life affirmation. Lucas deftly collected obscure cuts from b-list “The” bands (The Heartbeats, The Regents, The Crows, The Cleftones, The Flamingos…) to create a sense of time travel. This is probably the first instance of this technique, later taken up in films like Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982) and Back to the Future (1985). Credit Lucas with yet another innovation.
Saturday Night Fever (1977)
This is the mother of all movie soundtracks. The album went multi-platinum, and brought millions into the disco craze. The songs, with their luxuriant strings and flashy pop production, paint a picture of affluence, that contrasts with the gritty reality of Tony Manero’s actual life — which is the point of the John Badham film. Escapism and fame are they only way out of an otherwise hopeless existence. It’s the theme of many films, such as Rocky, which came out the year before. The Bee Gees get top billing, but the soundtrack also includes standout performances by Walter Murphy, MFSB, The Trammps, Rick Dees, and Kool and the Gang.
Eraserhead (1977)
From crass commercialism to dark, industrial existentialism, this film was David Lynch’s graduate film school project. The story of the production is fascinating (it cost only $20 thousand to make). Lynch uses Fats Waller for most of the soundtrack, creating a lost, empty feeling, but the darkly alluring song “In Heaven (Lady In The Radiator Song)” captures, and makes, the essence of the film.
Apocalypse Now (1979)
Francis Ford Coppola’s tour de force takes George Lucas’ American Graffiti time-shifting to a new, darker level. With Vietnam as a setting, Coppola picks songs (and artists) from the era, not just to invoke nostalgia, but to bring out the psychological darkness of the war. Using The Doors’ “The End” in the opening credits was delicious irony, and the Rolling Stones’ joyous “Satisfaction” tracking a band of teenagers who were about to shoot up a Vietnamese family in a boat, was a powerful contrast. Coppola certainly was aware that The Doors and the Stones brought dark messages to the Sixties. What better way to frame his narrative?
The Blues Brothers (1980)
The film, and the soundtrack, were vehicles to revive the careers of Aykroyd and Belushi’s favorite R&B musicians. It succeeded on this and many other counts. The soundtrack excels on a musical level, which of course is de rigueur for a musical comedy, but by using one band, made up of legendary session men like Steve Cropper and Matt Murphy, Landis convincingly conveys the story as one of itinerant musicians desperately in search of the One Big Gig.
The Big Chill (1983)
Lawrence Kasden adopts George Lucas’ mix-tape time travel technique to the next generation. But, unlike American Graffiti, this film is set in the (then) present, and the characters retreat to a spacious mansion to reflect on their revolutionary pasts, and their favorite ‘60s music. Michael (Jeff Goldblum) asks, “Harold, don’t you have any other music, you know, from this century?” Harold (Kevin Kline) replies, “There is no other music, not in my house.” The arrogance of that statement captures the compromise and lost idealism that is the film’s primary, depressing message.
Purple Rain (1984)
Movies about struggling artists go back to the A Star is Born films, and Busby Berkeley’s Babes in Arms (1939), where Mickey Rooney famously shouts, “Hey kids, let’s put on a show!” Taking a page from The Harder They Come, Albert Magnoli’s film again documents the struggles of an aspiring musician. In this effort, though, the music is more central, and much better produced. The soundtrack is dominated by Prince, and features his proteges Apollonia Kotero and Morris Day.
Repo Man (1984)
By 1984, the punk rock event was already dying. It was a genre that defied convention by refusing to sell out, even though it meant certain commercial death. Nirvana would later cash in on it, and Green Day would drive it into commercial ridiculousness. Alex Cox’s low budget film captured West Coast punk in its death throes. The songs and the artists (Circle Jerks, Black Flag, Fear, Suicidal Tendencies) convey the bleak postmodern world to complete Cox’s vision. No doubt, their royalties were affordable.
The Breakfast Club (1985)
The John Hughes duo begins with this seminal coming-of-age story. Hughes was a master of using contemporary popular (and not-so-popular) music to create a time, as opposed to Lucas’ use of music to visit a time. The ’80s was a confused, transitional time for those of us who grew up in the midst of it. It was the Reagan era, neoliberalism was ascendant, the hippies had become yuppies. Musically, rock was dead and punk was dying. Many of us took to schmaltzy, synthesizer-driven pop music, calling it “new wave.” Hughes captured this moment brilliantly, and used it to teach us a very personal lesson about being yourself. The soundtrack succeeds especially for the repressed anger in Simple Minds “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” where plot and soundtrack merge seamlessly.
Pretty in Pink (1986)
John Hughes was also the first director to release pop music films in the MTV era. MTV was at its nascent height of popularity when this film was released. It includes music-videos-within-film which would become one of Hughes’ standards (witness the “Twist and Shout” scene in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986)). It was good fun, and box office gold, but it also reflected a growing synergy (both artistically and corporate) between the television, music, and film industries.
Do the Right Thing (1989)
Rap music began in late-1970s New York City with artists like Grandmaster Flash and the Sugarhill Gang. To date, it has been embraced more by popular than critical audiences. It remains as the primary authentic cultural voice of African Americans, and has been begrudgingly accepted into Hollywood’s musical experience. Michael Shultz’s Krush Groove (1985), based on Russell Simmons’ early work at Def Jam Records (including artists such as Run-DMC and Kurtis Blow), was probably the first. Spike Lee’s film broke ground by featuring, in the opening credits, the song “Fight the Power” by Public Enemy, a band widely feared, and censored, for their political content.
Goodfellas (1990)
Martin Scorsese got his chops as an editor for Woodstock (1970) and later as a director for The Last Waltz (1978), and since, his craft has relied heavily on the connection between music and film. Here, he uses the songs to convey a sense of time, in the Lucas sense, but this film covers a progression of time, so the journey from Tony Bennett, to Bobby Darren, to Cream, signifies Henry Hill’s personal degradation. If nothing else, this soundtrack features one of the best versions of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” ever recorded, coming from the 1977 Hard Again album, produced by Johnny Winter. Its power can travel long distances.
Pulp Fiction (1994)
Quentin Tarantino raised the soundtrack to its own artform. In Reservoir Dogs (1992), the contrast in the scene where Officer Marvin Nash (Kirk Baltz) was being tortured by Mr. Blonde (Michael Masden), to the tune of Stealers Wheel’s “Stuck in the Middle With You” was part of what made the film an instant classic. Pulp Fiction represents the pinnacle of Tarantino’s psycho-symbolic mix-tape approach, which, instead of invoking prior eras, brings the past into the present — with attitude. The film also includes a John Hughes-style music video within the film, i.e. the dance contest scene set to Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell.” If nothing else, his oeuvre is testament to the value that a musicologist adds to a film.
Good Will Hunting (1997)
Gus Van Sant’s masterpiece relies heavily on the script and natural energy between Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Van Sant’s genius touch was to frame that power with the very subtle, quiet music of Eliot Smith and Danny Elfman. Smith’s story is a sad one, and his music is likewise weepy. It sounds like the cold in Boston. Rather than highlighting Will Hunting’s anger, the songs highlight his inner emptiness. It was a brilliant stroke, worthy of any a-list.
The Virgin Suicides (1999)
Noteworthy scores (again, the instrumentals composed specifically for the film) are more the exception than the rule. They are meant to be in the background, only cautiously calling attention to themselves. Yes, John Williams can and will always bring in enough strings to make tears well in your eyes when needed. He continues in the great tradition of Bernard Herrmann. But Sophia Coppola began here what she continued in Lost in Translation (2003), that is, a bold choice for original score. Here it was the French group Air, whose poignant, off-scale progressions give the story an eerie, other-worldly feel. Other noteworthy artists in this genre include Devo’s Mark Mothersbaugh’s work with Wes Anderson (The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)), Oingo Boingo’s Danny Elfman’s work with Tim Burton (Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure (1985), Big Fish (2003)), and Dire Straits’ Mark Knopfler’s work in general (Local Hero (1983), Wag the Dog (1997)).
The Big Lebowski (1998)
Joel and Ethan Cohen curate their soundtracks in a modified Tarantino sort of way. Depending on the film, the songs either adhere strictly to the film’s time and genre, or can introduce revealing contrasts, as they wish, still providing wry commentary on plot developments, and sometimes even a mocking playful sense. Its almost as if the soundtrack is a sub-plot to the one written in the script. This film is notable for its rich variety, including Bob Dylan, Captain Beefheart, and a rousing rendition of “Hotel California” by the Gipsy Kings. They also include a smashing video-within-the-film set to the 1968 psychedelic “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)” by Bob Seger’s early group The First Edition.
O Brother Where Art Thou? (2000)
With this film, the Cohen Brothers went with one genre, one time, enlisting legendary producer, and avid musicologist, T-Bone Burnette, who curated a mix of early 20th century Appalachian folk recordings, including one by Alan Lomax, with faithfully and lovingly re-worked pre-war tunes. It features “I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow,” a video-within-the-film by the so-called Soggy Bottom Boys, voiced by Dan Tyminski from the band Union Station, with backing vocals from Harley Allen and Pat Enright. Burnette used the bluegrass high lonesome sound to augment the mysterious, magical air of the film.
Almost Famous (2000)
Cameron Crowe has the distinction of having been a rock critic (for Rolling Stone) before he was a film director. In this film, he combines T-Bone Burnette’s musicology, with the Cohen Brother’s deft touch. He sets the tone with “The Chipmunks Song,” a holiday favorite, over a tracking shot of a warm, Southern California neighborhood. A bold contrast, setting high expectations, which Crowe meets. The film features a woody score by Nancy Wilson of Heart, and deep-cut tracks from the ’70s, all designed to elicit the ghosts of a fading era. It was all in present time, and painted the picture of time rapidly fading, which was the film’s main theme. The highlight, if you’re a musician, is the scene where the band experiences groupthink, and spontaneously breaks into Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.” The scene brought me to tears, not just for what it was, but also for what it could have been.
Friday Night Lights (2004)
The 21st century has seen a revival of sorts, of African American films. Leaving Blaxploitation behind, these films are more socially conscious, and deploy authentic African American music — rap. The ground broken by Spike Lee is now (almost) mainstream. Peter Berg’s film features a mix of songs from hair bands (Mötley Crüe, Poison) and rap artists (Public Enemy, Run-DMC). The mix reveals a level of ease with the cultural differences between the African American and white communities, without denying the tensions between them. Racial tension is a matter of attitude, and the purpose of art is to change our attitudes. This highlights the simple truth that politicians will not solve problems until the people demand that they be solved.
