By Kat Bein
By Laurie Charles
By Shea Serrano
By Jeff Weinberger
By Kat Bein
By Shea Serrano
By S. Pajot
By Terrence McCoy
Now that self-proclaimed "fanatical music fan" Quentin Tarantino has been enshrined as America's rock and roll arbiter of taste, he needs to be called on his musical pretenses (before his next film comes out).
There's been more pulp written about Tarantino's Pulp Fiction than anyone -- even the filmmaker himself -- needs to read. But shaking his movie from America's cultural cobweb remains difficult thanks to its unusual soundtrack. Before genuflecting at the altar of Tarantino bruises the knees of a generation, someone should point out that the writer-director has pulled a scam equal in significance (and underhandedness) to the movie's boxer character Butch (Bruce Willis) taking a brutal mobster's money to lose a fight, then not only winning the bout but killing his opponent and, of course, absconding with the gangster's fundage.
Tarantino would have us believe this stuff happens, at least in the movies.
What's worse is that he used his break-all-film-school-rules technique and a stellar cast to shill for some of his favorite songs. They have little or nothing to do with the plot of Pulp Fiction, but Tarantino's co-hobby is making home tapes, committing songs from his record collection to blank cassettes as gifts for friends. The man has DJ syndrome.
If you want to turn people on to songs you consider cool, well, those songs should be, yes, cool. But if the point is simply to take the unexpected turn and leave the audience with head-scratching that relieves no intellectual itch, then Tarantino's rock and roll vision succeeds in caging itself in non-sequitur barbwire. Big deal. Anomaly is easy.
The soundtrack is an okay collection of tunes -- a jukebox on CD -- ruined by constant interruptions for bits of the film's mostly pointless, wanna-be-witty-and-clever dialogue. Tarantino admits he adds nonmusical interludes to his homemade tapes, as well.
In the movie, Tarantino jolts us into the opening credits with a surf tune, one of four selections from the genre on the soundtrack. For this, Dick Dale's "Misirlou" was chosen, because, Tarantino has said, it lets viewers know they're in store for "an epic." Epic means long poem. Pulp Fiction is long, all right, but short on poetry. The best that can be said is that at least it wasn't the Beach Boys or Jan and Dean.
Dick Dale launched the surf-music wave in 1960 with "Let's Go Trippin'" (covered by the Beach Boys) and promptly disappeared like Atlantis. His comeback began in 1993 with Tribal Thunder, followed this year by Unknown Territory. While everyone seems to agree he still has the reverb touch, his inclusion on the soundtrack must be a personal favor, because Dick Dale is about as cool as the Chantays, the Surfaris (if "Wipe Out" had intro-ed the film, Tarantino's head would be called for), or the Trashmen ("Surfin' Bird"). This is where Tarantino puts a target on his ego. The arrow is bowed by Laika & the Cosmonauts.
If Q.T. were really cool, he would have found room for this band. "Listening to Laika & the Cosmonauts's new CD makes me feel that I'm standing toes over on that endless wave in the midst of a tropical sunset." Those words come from none other than Mr. Dick Dale himself.
Instead the soundtrack includes, along with Dale, the Revels ("Comanche"), the Lively Ones ("Surf Rider"), and the Tornadoes ("Bustin' Surfboards"). The Revels are obscure enough to be considered a fairly cool choice, but their song is no great shakes. Of course, it rules compared to the Lively Ones's deadly dull one.
However, Tarantino scores big with his choice of the Tornadoes, but he does so inadvertently. See, the Tornadoes were a British band that had a huge hit with "Telstar," named after the first U.S. communications satellite. And Laika is named after the Soviet Union's famous space dog. Cosmic, huh?
Who ever heard of Laika & the Cosmonauts? They're from Finland, for ice sakes. And that's the point. They're cool. No, the point is that Laika makes better music than what's on the soundtrack. Alas, Tarantino is an American moviemaker, a Hollywood moviemaker. Too bad. There was some potential shown in Reservoir Dogs.
The real-life Laika was an eleven-pound mutt who went into space aboard Sputnik II, the first satellite launched with a living thing inside. Laika means "barker." The animal died of oxygen deprivation a week after the November 3, 1957 blastoff. The band Laika & the Cosmonauts never runs out of air.
Not that Tarantino needs to be -- or deserves to be -- made hip to Laika & the Cosmonauts. The band is easily overlooked by even the most conscientious music consumers. All three of them.
Laika's music is no pup fiction. There are no lyrics, just what the group calls their "instruments of terror" laying out a breathless mix of originals and rearrangements of Lalo Schifrin's "Mission: Impossible," Henry Mancini's "Experiment in Terror," and the theme from the movie The Endless Summer. Just to keep everyone in their seats, the Cosmonauts also salute Hitchcock by combining the themes from Psycho and Vertigo.
The Finnish sensations are slated to release a new album in February. The current CD, Instruments of Terror, is available in the States on the Upstart label, which also has issued a nineteen-song compilation of surf music called Beyond the Beach that's cooler (a Tin Machine outtake!) than anything in Pulp Fiction.