My company instituted a corporate ban on streaming internet radio because it eats up bandwidth that would be better allotted to, say, sales demos and customer training class. In the past 3 weeks, I’ve managed to rip only one CD to my work laptop, the Grosse Point Blank soundtrack. Every day, I vow to bring in more CDs. Every day, I forget and wind up listening to the Grosse Point Blank soundtrack.
It’s a famously excellent soundtrack, but listen to anything for 90 hours and it’ll begin to peck at your soul. I’ve formed passionate opinions about each song. What’s on the soundtrack, you wonder? (I’m writing this completely from memory):
Blister in the Sun, Violent Femmes. The Violent Femmes were always too folksy for my taste, but like many people I loved “Blister in the Sun” the first time I heard it. The magic wore off with each subsequent listen, and completely dulled when it was used in My So-called Life as Angela’s wacky freedom dance when she realized that she, was, like, so over Jordan Catalano. Then it became a national anthem for poseurs. These days, I’m stricken by how Gordon Gano’s voice whines and drones like a petulant Bob Dylan.
Rudie Can’t Fail, The Clash. This was the first Clash song I truly loved. Back in 1991, I paid $50 for a mail order VHS copy of the Clash pseudo-documentary/movie Rudie Can’t Fail. I loved the Clash, I loved the movie, I loved the song. And it still makes me ridiculously happy after all these years, even after listening to it about 100 times in the past 2 weeks.
Mirror in the Bathroom, English Beat. The only song on the soundtrack that suggests Grosse Point Blank’s ridiculous plot, that of a hit man going to his high school reunion. It makes me crave to hear the English Beat’s “Save it for Later.”
Under Pressure, David Bowie and Queen. The famous bass line always distracted me from the most remarkable thing thing about this song: Freddy Mercury’s completely insane vocal range. He starts off with this weird happy scatting “dee-da-do-da-da-dee-da-da-da,” progresses to a whispery soprano, then he hits that prolonged high note and my arm hair goes erect.
I Can See Clearly Now, Johnny Nash. I was eternally under the impression that a woman sang the lead vocals to this song. Then I found out that it was some bloke name Johnny Nash. After 60 or so listens, I revert back to my original contention: A woman so sings this song.
Live and Let Die, Guns N Roses. I have no doubt that Axl Rose was completely stoned while recording most if not all of his Guns N Roses output, but in this one, he sounds particularly blitzed.
We Care a Lot, Faith No More. This song wins the award for most-improved quota of listening pleasure on the whole damn soundtrack. I used to sort of roll my eyes at pre-Mike Patton Faith No More, but this song kicks ass. I love the funky bass line, I love the slippery, snotty voice of the singer, I love the rag-tag chorus of overly-passionate voices yelling “We care a lot,” I love the stupidly subversive lyrics: “(We care a lot) about you people! (We care a lot) about your guns! (We care a lot) about the war we’re fighting, gee that looks like fun !”
Pressure Drop, The Specials. Ah, the Specials. Guaranteed mood improvement.
Absolute Beginners, The Jam. The time period of this song’s likability is roughly equivalent to the lifespan of a fruitfly.
Armagideon Time, The Clash. Considering how much I love the Clash, it pains me that this funky, political B-side is included on the soundtrack, because it’s forcing me to admit that the Clash recorded sub-par throwaway tracks.
El Matador, Los Fabulosos Cadillacs. How I love the first 20 seconds of this song. Such vigorous salsa, with playful whistles and an infectious drum beat. And then, what a pity, the singer start singing.
Let My Love Open the Door, Pete Townsend. Fuck you, Townsend. The only door that you love could open is the bathroom stall door, so I can puke my guts out in the toilet if I ever hear the vile song again.
Blister 2000, Violent Femmes. A re-make with squealing saxophones and violins and a dragging, lulling tempo. The world did not need this song. When it’s over, the soundtrack restarts back to track #1, to the original “Blister in the Sun,” and I silently make yet another a mental note to bring in new CDs to work tomorrow.
