You may think I’m on an audio kick this week, a five-day acoustic pursuit to shape your eardrums to my unbending will, but I assure you it’s simply chance. Our discussion tonight on podcasts is by no means trendsetting, since the trend began months and months ago, and it’s more of a way to sort out my own thoughts and pinpoint why I’ve been spending progressively more time on these homemade radio shows.
“Homemade” actually blankets the field in undue connotation, so let me append this by saying some are professionally done. But a lot of them are shitty. A lot. One of the reasons I didn’t fully embrace the initial upswing was because I downloaded a few shows with high hopes, only to discover a kind of sound piping through my speakers best described as serialized vomit. It was as if a bunch of Neanderthals had broken into a microphone store, somehow managed to build recording equipment out of mud, and then proceeded to vocalize in the wrong end of the mic.
The trick, then, is to choose wisely from the bounty. I’ve finally built a stable, which you probably accomplished a while ago. For me, the appeal of these podcasts isn’t so complex. First, there’s the roughness, the scrappy nature of the whole enterprise. Sure, there’s pleasure to be had from a polished piece of work, such as the modern radio drama I mentioned to you previously, but there is a different type of drama in immediacy.
The medium itself is what separates it from traditional radio. It’s very forgiving–all of my needs and scheduling are built into that small file. If I miss something? I can replay it, wonder of wonders. Most of all, though, it’s the chance to hear different people articulate in spectacular fashion. Remember eavesdropping on that one conversation at Applebee’s during Bottomless Riblets Night? Yeah, this would be the opposite of that.
Get distracted. It’s an older site, but I’m almost positive there’s new content. Tomorrow we talk about podcasts. I know, right? Off the charts.
Soundtracks probably occupy the lowest rung on the musical hierarchy, not sure why, but I do know the first few strains of “Blue Morgan” from Million Dollar Baby started playing in my head while I was driving the other day. It was inexplicable, considering how long it’s been since I’ve seen the flick, and my immediate response was to scour the usual channels for the full album.
Nothing. I couldn’t find a single song.
Morally this was a victory, though according to the laws of the Intertron a grave injustice had befallen. This whole concept of “paying for stuff you keep” is anathema to the virtual world. You simply don’t buy media, least of all music. Please. Music is only an idea, after all, and you don’t put a price on ideas.
When you can’t steal–sometimes the logistics just don’t work–you’ve got to buy, and buy I did. Naturally the soundtrack aisle was empty, like the leper colony it usually is. One reason for this, I’d argue, is because soundtracks are decidedly noncommittal. A disc might contain pop, jazz, heaven help us some country, but it’s actually none of these things. It’s a musical mutt, the sort of thing enjoyed solely by simpletons. It’s like, “Why don’t you pull up a chair and sit next to daddy while the grown-ups talk about real music? When we’re done I’ll give you a secret signal, which will basically resemble abandoning you.”
On top of that you’ve got the presence of the movie overshadowing pretty much everything. Even if Alone in the Dark were scored in a such a way that commanded tears of approbation from the academy, it’d still be an Uwe Boll movie. It can’t really detach itself from the mothership, you know? Since we’re on the subject, I believe Duck Hunt could flourish from a jump to the silver screen, but who would play the sassy dog? Realize I’m speaking about all this as someone who buys one soundtrack a year, so take it as you will.
Let’s end tonight with the elements of a good soundtrack. First of all, we’re not talking about the mishmashes “inspired by” this or that movie. Judging from the few I’ve mistakenly bought, they almost always sound like the shitty, half-melted mixes your ex forgot in your glove compartment, Garden State being the rare exception. I’m talking about genuine soundtracks.
You’ve got your marquee song sung in either the first or last track. Check. Everything else? Slight variations on the main theme. Sounds boring, no? Tell that to Clint, who’s been spinning in my player for the past two hours.