Covers, man.
They're everywhere, for better or worse. You find them in the most unexpected places. When I was in college, my best friend (not the one I married, the dude one) turned me on to the Finnish metal band HIM. Being enamored with all things mischievous and vibrant at the time, I was hooked. The dynamic overtures of the heavy, romantic music fit right into the pocket my mind had waiting for it. Ville Valo and his band of tattooed dilettantes were making exactly the kind of over the top music I wanted to back the time I spent sulking at a bar in the local party house. It wasn't my most shining, social time, but at least the two of us had control over the tunes when a house party would break out on a frigid February night. We exposed a lot of our peers, en masse, to the glories of the overly dramatic love metal.
Imagine my surprise, then, when something cut through the clamor and din of a typical collegiate bacchanalia. I was well into my desired beverage of choice for the evening when I cocked my ear to catch the tune over the noise of 20-somethings trying to hook up. I knew this song. Not from HIM, but from somewhere else. It was their perfectly suited version of Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Game'. I distinctly recall breaking into peals of laughter at the dawning insight into the soundtrack, assuredly looking quite insane to anyone observing from an objective standpoint. One minute - deeply engaged in a drinking contest. The next - howling to myself in the corner, asking Sam to turn up the music. I must have looked like I had suffered a stroke. Par for the course at the basement bar in college.
Chris Isaak had created a strange thing in his song 'Wicked Game'. It was on heavy rotation for awhile on VH1 when I was younger. I remember him rolling around on a beach with a model, all filmed in black and white. The song was a sultry, sexy number that was completely beyond my understanding of the world at the time. I remember thinking it must make sense when I grew older. Turns out it would. His crooning number, softly strummed and played with passion, was aiming for something beyond my audience. HIM would see to all that.
The Finnish metal band, hot on the word of mouth from prankster Bam Margera, was quickly making a name for themselves in America. Their album Razorblade Romance, released in 1999 (or 2000, depending on legalities) was a phenomenal example of intentionally overly-dramatic Gothic metal with romantic tinges. To a drinker and a writer with a soft spot for hard music, I was hooked. Their cover of 'Wicked Game' was a natural fit. They hit the same core structures of the song while adding their own little touches or personality to it, in a way making it their own. I honestly think of it in terms of HIM as much as I would Chris Isaak. They put weight and menace behind what was otherwise an ethereal and intangible song. Isaak was distant yet close, HIM were heavy yet aloof.
These differing versions of Wicked Game show just how both artists versions of the song can hold equal validity in my eyes. They both have their own legitimate versions, each strong and independent of the other despite the linked essence in the center. Give a listen and see which one makes more sense to you.
No preamble here, kids.
It's cover week. I should have recognized the signs when I was writing yesterday, but I was too focused on getting to bed. I wasn't just seeking a lullaby, I was looking for the comfort of music you recognize, but packaged in a new and novel manner. That's what I love about some of the more inspired covers I hear - it's one thing to do a paint-by-numbers deal and just trace around the pre-established lines. It's something else entirely to reinvent a song, to take what has been created and re-interpret it in a way that twists and contorts it into something new. I think it can take just as much originality as writing the song in the first place.
Take, for example, 'Rock On' by David Essex. That is, in and of itself, a great glam song from the 70s. It's a weird, slinky little thing that weasels a bass line into a core component of the song. It was the definition of heavy. The off-kilter rhythm and the iconic melody are recognizable and grabbing, even today. You hear the song and know immediately that it's great if a bit distant. One of those songs that comes on the radio at random and you wonder why it hasn't sneaked into more of your playlists like it did into your subconscious.
When I was in high school I caught the Smashing Pumpkins on their last major tour before the end of their first epoch. They were on the tour supporting Machina, which was divisive to say the least. They put on a memorable show at the Northrop Auditorium, I'm pretty sure, but the fact that they were playing a smaller venue than the stadiums they used to pack certainly conveys all you need to know about where their fans had gone. Anyway, during their set full of hits and new tracks came a song I couldn't quite place, but knew it sounded familiar. When James Iha's guitar began screaming the melody to the David Essex rocker, I had an 'aha!' moment. The Pumpkins had taken the song and turned it into an even heavier, angstier arena anthem. Basically they turned it into a Pumpkins song. Corgan's angry buzz of a voice, when added to the already phenomenal mix of Iha, bassist Melissa Auf der Mauer's excellent support and the astounding drums of Jimmy Chamberlain, was a knock out. Take a listen here.
This is a cover that always springs to mind when I think of what makes a good reinterpretation. If you hadn't known it wasn't theirs, you would just as easily assume it was a live standard they did that hadn't been put on record. I'm gonna dig up some of my other favorite covers in the coming week. Let me know if you've got a good example - I'd love to hear it.
Time for a lullaby, kids.
I'm spent. I had a busy, productive day at the office, followed by dinner out at my favorite restaurant (hi Fuji Ya!) and spent some time packing boxes. We're moving out of our first place together, into a bigger and better home. We're both excited, but are already feeling the pressure of condensing four years of life plus the recent wedding into boxes and a U-haul. It's fun, but draining. Exhilarating, but exhausting. Sleep is a blissful thing, but last night was only the restless kind that comes with unshakable concerns of the waking life. Sometimes you need a good lullaby to put you out. I love Obadiah Parker's cover of 'Hey Ya' by Outkast. Always does the trick.
For some, it might not be the most desired praise, to label a song as something to put you to sleep. In this case, I'd strongly disagree. The soothing, soulful singer-songwriter type, Parker (not his real name) made a name for himself online a few years back with this serene version of the frenetic dance track. He took what was already a phenomenal club song possessing an vintage flair for passion and dance-ability and flipped it inside out. Turns out the bones of Oukast's pop smash from the turn of the millennium is a great song from the core, not just studio finesse. Parker's version is just him and his guitar, softly strumming and singing the lyrics, which in this light become much more bittersweet and soul-baring. It's an amazing effect to see.
On a night you feel stressed, worn out or simply can't sleep, songs like these are a blessing. It's sweet and soothing, a beautiful rendition of a song that works as a dichotomous work. I love the original for its uncontrollable energy. I love this version for the warm towel it wraps around my mind. I think sometimes I can actually feel my pulse and blood pressure drop when I listen to it. Tell you what - you go download this song. I have to turn in for the night. No way can I keep my eyes open any longer. Drifting off.
Might as well get right back to it.
Fall days like this always stand out in my mind. Not unlike the bright and vibrant days of spring, there are certain qualities to the days of fall that are distinct and lasting. They stay with you in strange ways. When the days get shorter and colder, I'm always reminded of the fall I spent listening to Punk In Drublic by NOFX.
Not to date myself, let's just say it was more than a year after the album came out (1994) that I was introduced to it. Up until that point, my understanding of punk music was limited pretty much to Green Day and little else. I know. I was ultra hardcore. So I went to visit some family out West on the coast of Washington (a place I adore and would love to live someday) when my infinitely cooler and more more culturally aware cousin introduced me to a few things. One was the then-ascendant ska and reggae resurgence. The other was Punk In Drublic. It was not only completely fresh and alive in my radio-reared ears, it was coming recommended by the authority on cool. So I took his word seriously and picked up the seminal NOFX album (along with a few other recommendations I'll write about later) and listened to it nonstop for that entire fall. Over the years it's become a staple in my upbeat, sing along in the car collection of albums.
It's no surprise this album has been such an enduring success. Despite NOFX's defiant stance on corporate distribution or structure, the album has sold over a million copies worldwide. That's insane for an independent punk album, especially given the musical landscape of 1994. We had no iTunes or mp3s or bit torrent back then. All there was, was word of mouth, live shows, radio and MTV. This California crew of miscreants crafted some audaciously catchy songs with funny and intelligent lyrics to compliment them. On top of that, they stayed fresh through the whole album. No two songs are carbon copies of another, which is a difficult feat for any band but particularly in the punk genre.
'Linoleum' is fantastic, both as a song and an opener. It's full of huge melodies and harmony, with a great riff and heartfelt lyrics on the nature of materialism. I love strumming it on an acoustic guitar - it actually works surprisingly well as a stripped down tune, a sign of great songwriting. 'Leave It Alone' shares the same sense of poppy qualities paired with dingy punk aesthetic. 'Dig' has a wonderfully unexpected break in the middle for some ska-tinged guitars and trumpet. An amusing take on racial assumptions, 'Don't Call Me White' still has some of the same bite in today's climate as it did 16 years ago. My cousin was a huge fan (and won me over with) the epic and shimmering absurdity of 'Perfect Government'. This song, despite the tongue in cheek guitar heroics, has incredible hooks and some simple, yet ever the more timely lyrics. Give it a listen. 'Dying Degree' is as ear-catching as it is frenetic. In a surprise move, the closer 'Scavenger Type' is a poignant and moving little tale of a homeless man at his end.
Man. Great album. The trick of it, the real staying power of it, seems to stem from the real beauty and strength of writing hidden underneath the grime of speed-ball punk ethos. Dust this one of and see how the punk genre can really shine when given a chance. This album is proof that it's more than the reductive assumptions of 'three chords and an attitude'. Punk In Drublic is still phenomenal.
Okay, let me explain.
It is Halloween proper as I write this. Spooky Month has lived and thrived in the month of October. It's dying now, fading into the cold, dark abyss of Minnesota winter. As sad as I may be to see my favorite holiday come and go once again, it's not the end of the world. Fall here is a beautiful time; the leaves are changing. The air is crisp and clear. The first snow is beautiful. There - I said the S word. It's inevitable. Every year we have to face the undeniable return of the dreaded white stuff. Again, not the end of the world - it just feels like it. The older I've gotten, though, the more I see the beauty and natural order in it. So how does this tie in with the end of Spooky Month? Simple. I want to implore you to watch the 1982 version of The Thing.
The Thing is a classic of the horror genre, with a few unique twists that still set it apart from the modern dreck. Set in a research station on the South Pole, the movie tells a paranoia inducing tale of an alien creature that can change shape. That's really all I want to give away of a plot that's well worn and almost 30 years old. To say anymore would ruin a few good surprises. Kurt Russell stars as a burly and surly helicopter pilot who unravels the mystery in front of him, one shot of whiskey at a time. When a dog from a neighboring Norwegian research facility arrives at the station, being hunted by the last surviving Norske, things go awry and an expedition is sent out to find the facts. The venturing crew find...something...in the ice. The Norwegian camp is in ashes. When they return to their outpost, Russell and co. are faced with a terrifying, inhuman force. It. Is. Amazing.
There are so many things that work well in this movie. The direction is fantastic, establishing a sense of space in a grounded, if painfully cold, place. Watching this movie almost gets me excited for winter, if that makes any semblance of sense. The cast do a superb job of recoiling in the face of indescribable monstrosities, which brings me to the crux of the movie. The monster, the titular Thing, is astounding and horrifying, even today. The practical effects are appalling in the best possible way (WARNING - NOT SAFE FOR STOMACH). Consider yourself warned - this movie is not for the faint of heart. It's nasty and ultra grotesque. In spite of, or perhaps because of the graphic and slimy gore, The Thing is an astounding watch.
I have little to no interest in seeing the recent prequel in theaters. This version, directed by John Carpenter (in his first major outing), is a perfect stand-alone horror movie. The story is told so fantastically well, the beats so well spaced and timed, the plot so deftly woven, that seeing explicitly what happens before it is simply not necessary. The chaos in the Norwegian camp was so perfectly established in this version that I just don't see the point in revisiting it to tell their story. Maybe I'm wrong here, but I just feel Carpenter's version is such a great, singular thing that it doesn't need expansion.
So there you have it. One last gasp of Spooky Month to see you through to next year. Get ready for the impending winter with a horrifying, paranoid tale of isolation and mistrust. It'll keep your mind free of cabin fever for the next season. Or maybe not. Maybe you'll just get more suspicious of your companions. Either way, enjoy The Thing. Lights off, as always.
Evening, gang.
If you're reading this, it's most likely Halloween where you are. I dig. I hope you're having as mega of a day as I am. I spent the previous day recapping the Saturday night hijinks, packing some boxes while watching spooky movies and opening a bottle of Cabernet to enjoy another Treehouse of Horror. Not bad, I have to say. My apartment has no kids, so no trick or treaters for me, to my dismay. I would have fun passing out candy. I would have fun with wine until I pass out, too, but that's not really a Halloween thing. I digress. This year I was a bull, my better half was a matador. Here's me:
Nice, right? Best of all - pretty darn cheap. Total cost? Five bones for the horns. All else was mine. Okay the leg warmers on my arms as hooves were courtesy of my better half.
So I've written up and down about Spooky Month. I loved it. It gave me a chance to indulge in my spooky side and share some awesome Halloweenish things with the wider world. There are, however, some things that slipped through the cracks. These are the posts I wrote prior to Spooky Month that would have been totally appropriate to cut and paste if I had been short on time and creativity. In no particular order, you should check out:
The Thing and I - a genuinely creepy Treehouse of Horror installment, all set at night in a storm.
Silent Hill 2 - the most terrifying game I've ever played. An emotional trip, to say the least. HD collections for PS3 and 360 due out in January.
Cloverfield - A modern Gojira, my favorite monster movie. It's a crazy post-modern take on terrorist events.
Zombies Ate My Neighbors - An underrated gem for the SNes. A love letter to B Movie madness.
Crimson - Beautifully dark album from the Alkaline Trio. Lush and pulsing punk music to set the mood.
MST3K - The best way to enjoy old B Movies. Snark galore. Laughs abound. Legendary.
Old Boy - Not a horror movie, per se. Still a dark, twisted trip to the most tormented depths of humanity. Yeah.
Silent Hill - My love for a flawed, but well-intentioned cinematic adaptation of the video game series.
You Were Always On My Mind - Getting severely caught off guard by a creepy soundtrack.
Grabbed by the Ghoulies - A forgotten gem from Rare. Super fun and full of simple frights!
Maniac Mansion - One of the first great haunted house games. Packed with point-and-click antics.
House of Leaves - Watch a book eat itself like a snake swallowing its own tail.
World War Z - The definitive record of humanity's war on zombie-kind. A sprawling, epic tome.
I Hear You Calling - A great video by the band Gob with homages to Thriller.
So that about sums it up. It's been a month of scares and jumps, noises in the vents and things lurking around the corner. Hit up the Spooky label on the side bar for more goodness. Otherwise, come November 1st it's back to business as usual here. I've had a blast this past month. Hopefully you have too. I'll try to do more large scale themes in the future. Christmas Conundrum, perhaps?
Yo! Spooky Month is heading to a party.
I'm guessing you're going out tonight. If you're like me and work the traditional 40 hour, Monday to Friday week, this is your Halloween night out. Maybe not - maybe you don't wanna deal with the drunks and crowds. I hear you. Personally, I'm avoiding any bars this year, a major plus. Going to a party at a friend's house. Much more relaxed but still super fun and a social outing for a change. But maybe that's not your bag. Maybe you're somewhere in the middle, wanting to stay in a watch a movie, but not a lights off, creeper kind of movie. May I suggest the movie that got me fascinated with the undead in the first place? I submit for your consideration - Return of the Living Dead.
I caught this movie on cable back in the mid 90s without any context. Being young and naive, I thought (mistakenly, I later found out) that this insane movie was supposed to be taken at face value as a horror movie. Only when I watched it as an adult did it click with me - Return of the Living Dead is a comedy zombie movie. A Zom Com, if you want to be obnoxious. Still, there are some really messed up moments from this movie - the Tar Man in the basement. The horde of rain soaked, decomposing zombies rushing the ambulance in the dark. The torso that explains through delirious revelations that zombies eat the brains of the living to ease the pain of being dead. In fact, this little known horror comedy is almost single handedly responsible for establishing that notion in wider culture.
It's not without its detractors, though. It has no connection with the much more revered, Romero-based continuity of Night of, Dawn of and Day of the Dead. John Russo, one of the producers who worked with Romero on the original Night of the Living Dead, held the rights to the titles, and thus established his own continuity with this vein of movies. It's more crass, vulgar and exploitative. It's more of a raucous, rollicking kind of movie in comparison to Romero's terrifying and academic canon. In Return's established universe, the original Night was a cover-by the government after a supposed real life incident in which an army chemical (fictional Trioxin) reanimated the dead. A group of young punks get caught up in the madness when one of their friends, who works at a mortuary, exposes a large quantity of the stuff to the outside world.
Look, let's be honest here. Return's never gonna win any prestigious awards. It had a surprisingly decent reception and box office performance when it was released. What it will do is take you on an insane ride of splatter-stick comedy and gore. It's violent and over the top, but in an absolutely intentional manner. You want to spice up your night if you're staying in? Give Return of the Living Dead a shot - there is no other movie quite like it, I gurantee it.
Evening, one and all.
It's been a long week for me. One that finds me here, having a cocktail and waxing nostalgic about movies from 15 years ago. I'm glad it's over - Halloween is almost here! So in the interest of Spooky Month, I've been racking my brain, trying to summon the unsung, the things that deserve another day in the sun. Even if the sunlight kills them. Today, it dawned on me - a movie that is surprisingly enjoyable and criminally underrated. Do you guys remember The Frighteners?
In some ways, it's amazing this movie is as unappreciated as it is. First off, it was directed by Peter Jackson. Yes, that Peter Jackson. As a result, it was filmed in New Zealand, which gives a very distinct look to the film - it's a little Beetlejuice-esque in some of its more zany moments, but with gorgeous landscapes and vistas. You want more notoriety? Sure - how about the last major theatrical role by everyone's favorite, Michael J. Fox? We all adored him at his peak, but how many of us saw this hidden gem when it was released? Not I, sadly. Debuting in 1996, I recall seeing the trailers and thinking it looked pretty rad, if a bit off. The kind of movie that seemed too good to be true. Allow me to explain.
The Frighteners is a movie that is, in a way, the flip-side to The Ghostbusters. Fox plays an architect named Frank Bannister (puns!) who loses his wife in a mysterious car accident. Through a series of conveniently obtuse events, he gains the ability to see and commune with the dead. This ability, coupled with a small town's gossip about the mysterious death of his wife, lead him to a career stall-out. He begins to use a few ghost friends to con his fellow townsfolk with staged hauntings and fake poltergeists. It's more than a little over the top, if just a little bit bad ass. His convenient little scheme goes awry, though, when a massive black-robed...thing...begins killing people around him, setting Bannister up as the culprit. These events manage to tie back into a reclusive neighbor and the legend surrounding a long dead serial killer. Needless to say, it gets worse. A lot worse.
If you have any interest in Spooky Month, you have to see this movie - it's an underrated gem of the horror-comedy genre. Fox is superb as the tortured but good natured con man. His undead friends, one of whom is Chi McBride, are awesomely ghoulish, playing their strange roles with aplomb. Sean Astin's father John gives one last amazing performance. Jake Busey delivers an insane performance as Starkweather, the less of whom I say, the better. It's a surprisingly strong film for a little-known mid-90s horror-comedy. Also of note - it bears more than a passing similarity to Silent Hill 4. Both center around similar antagonists and horrible things that strike from within the walls.
I have to say, if you've never seen The Frighteners, you're missing out. It's one of Fox's great unsung roles. He has this wonderful anxiety through his whole performance that makes him so energetic and endearing, despite the trouble he causes. It's both freaky and deeky, full of laughs and gore, dancing the line in a superb manner. Check it out before Halloween hits!
I promised myself it wouldn't come to this.
For Movie Week during the last leg of Spooky Month, I initially thought I would do a whole week of zombie movies. While there was definitely enough fodder to give life to such an indulgent idea, I thought it would be better to cover a broader theme of horror movies than strictly the zombie sub-genre. Well, nuts to that. I'm not saying it's all Romero from here on out, I'm just saying the original 1978 version of Dawn of the Dead is sublime.
Expanding on the premise posited in the initial Living Dead installment, Dawn of the Dead is everything a sequel ought to be. Well, it's not technically a sequel. None of the characters return, nor do the locales. Instead, it's a movie set in the same universe, the same fictional disaster as the first and following installments. Whereas Night was a claustrophobic, isolated film that ran on anxiety, Dawn is huge and sprawling, working in the notion of growing dread. It's a movie that takes the same scope from the first and opens it up. As Romero pulls the camera back we get a sense of the devastation on a wider scale. We see a clearer take on his examination of modern living as viewed through the lens of horrendous circumstances. His allegories are broader, yet more clearly delivered. The action is more spread out, as are the beats of the story. So what gives?
Dawn of the Dead, famously filmed in 1977 Monroeville, tells the tale of four survivors as they escape the crumbling of society by seeking shelter in a shopping mall. While that sums up the plot, it's much too brief to encapsulate what happens. The movie opens on a frantic television studio, broadcasting in the last day's of humankind holding their collective crap together. Chaos begins to take over the studio. No one is in control. The government is at a loss (or has pulled back, in a pre-Redeker plan sort of way). No official word will tell anyone what to do, other than to shoot for the head. The dead are coming back to life and attacking the living, and order is breaking down on a massive level. We see a SWAT team enduring a standoff with people in a brownstone who won't obey the imposed curfew and who are also harboring their deceased relatives in the basement. A botched assault occurs and innocent people are killed. Stuff's just going wrong all over, basically. So a plucky group of people (smartly fending for themselves) pilot a stolen news chopper away from the city. After a near-fatal refueling pit stop, the band of survivors find refuge in the newest pantheon of American excess, the shopping mall. After a fantastic series of coordinated operations, they barricade the entrances and clear the mall of remaining zombies...and with that, they're trapped.
That's what we all forget about the novelty of Dawn of the Dead - seeking shelter in a mall is great until you realize it's just a fancy prison filled with stuff. The four protagonists initially seek material thrills with their surroundings but quickly become disillusioned with the reality of their situation. A pallor falls over them as they attempt to settle in to their new lives as the last people in their own little world, but it only gets worse. I won't give away the end of a 30 year old movie, but suffice to say - it gets worse. It's Romero, so take a wild guess. But needless to say, our own inability to work together is always our own downfall, movie or not.
The sad thing about all of this is that I shouldn't even have to tell you any of this. Dawn of the Dead wasn't just popular right out of the gate - it's become a legend in the horror field, and the alpha and omega of zombie movies. It's permeated our culture to the point that you don't even realize it until you dig it up. Countless musicians have sampled the iconic soundtrack and score, and even more have sampled audio and bits of dialogue. Entire movies have been inspired just from this film. Without Dawn of the Dead there would be no Walking Dead. Crazy amounts of video games have found inspiration from it, from Resident Evil to Dead Rising. It's become an institution of the zombie genre and is regularly included on lists of the greatest films ever made. The pacing might be a bit sluggish at times, but it's a movie that is so well crafted that a simple premise feels massive and organically hewn. The characters, while not Shakespearean, are natural and believable, enduring the end of the world and struggling to cope in any way they can. Tom Savini's effects are unparalleled, even to this day. I showed a friend of mine this movie and even though he's a horror buff (and I'd seen it several times) we both still winced at some of the more brutal encounters. That's saying something for a movie that's over 30 years old.
So why do I preach about a movie that seems to get all the respect it deserves? Because it's just that good. I know it has deservingly received accolades for the its quality and longevity, but it still deserves more adoration. While the recent remake was close, it just doesn't hold a candle to the original. Dawn of the Dead is a masterpiece, the very definition of what a zombie movie should be. You don't want to slum it with slasher flicks this Halloween? Look no further.
Spooky Month is about to get real, folks.
A movie like The Blair Witch Project could still scare you in the days before Google, Youtube and omnipresent irony. I remember reading bits and pieces about a supposed found-film piece of cinema that ended poorly. Being from a small town with barely functioning internet access, I only knew the essentials - college kids go wandering off in the woods, something bad finds them, they don't make it back. Only thing was, this time it wasn't so safe and fictional. The kids had been reported lost for quite some time. Their home made, hand-held shot movie was rumored to be melting faces and stopping hearts in art-house cinemas all over the country. I was totally intrigued. Then the cat got out of the bag.
The Blair Witch Project has become something of a punchline or shorthand for a common understanding of DIY aesthetic. That's really being too dismissive of a revolutionary thing, though. The truth of the matter is, even knowing that this movie was (spoilers, you dummy) a work of ingenious fiction, it was still damn scary. That seems to be the big secret that no one wants to acknowledge. We're all too cool and jaded and self-aware to be genuinely unnerved or swindled by any kind of momentum or legitimate feeling of connection. Instead we dismiss and say "Oh, that thing? Yeah, what a lame fake movie, right? Who ever bought into it?" Well, I totally did.
I only saw the bleak, doomed cinema verite affair after the fact. The summer it saw wide release was one full of movies you had to see as a teenager - South Park, The Sixth Sense, I think there was an American Pie in there, too. Maybe not. Sometimes those years blend together a bit. Anyway, the movie came and went in the theaters and I still hadn't seen it. So our local Blockbuster (back when that was a thing) had it on sale in the bargain bin (cat being out of the bag) I picked it up for less than five bones. I took the VHS (yeah, I know) home to my parent's new home in the woods, where I watched it all alone on a Sunday night, lights off, house lights outside reflecting off of the bare tree limbs of late October. I got my business thoroughly freaked out.
It may not be the coolest, most bad-ass thing to say, but I'll stand behind this weird little indie horror flick. It has this air of doom and despair permeating it. You knew going into it that the three plucky teenagers (no matter how obnoxious they could be) weren't going to come home. Something unseen was stalking them, to great affect for a solitary audience. The only way it could have gotten scarier for me was if I had to go orienteering alone in the woods that night. The manner in which the 'show-don't-tell' philosophy is employed here puts it in the same realm as Alien or Jaws. We are so much more terrified by the imagined, unperceived threat than a CGI money shot. Noises in the night stop the blood cold. Snarling beasts leaping at the screen, not so much. The cold air of fall and the empty trees create an unmistakable ambiance, the likes of which I haven't seen in any other horror flick since.
The Blair Witch Project brought us one step farther into our modern age of in-media-res production and (ugh) "reality" TV. That's the unfortunate legacy of a game changer. This movie was a refreshing novelty, one that deserves a better reputation than we've bestowed it. Turn the lights off and pick a quiet, solitary night. Watch this ground-breaking found-footage horror movie and tell me you're not the least bit affected by it. I'll be waiting in the heart of the metropolitan area with the lights on, far from the woods.
Imagine my surprise, then, when something cut through the clamor and din of a typical collegiate bacchanalia. I was well into my desired beverage of choice for the evening when I cocked my ear to catch the tune over the noise of 20-somethings trying to hook up. I knew this song. Not from HIM, but from somewhere else. It was their perfectly suited version of Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Game'. I distinctly recall breaking into peals of laughter at the dawning insight into the soundtrack, assuredly looking quite insane to anyone observing from an objective standpoint. One minute - deeply engaged in a drinking contest. The next - howling to myself in the corner, asking Sam to turn up the music. I must have looked like I had suffered a stroke. Par for the course at the basement bar in college.
Chris Isaak had created a strange thing in his song 'Wicked Game'. It was on heavy rotation for awhile on VH1 when I was younger. I remember him rolling around on a beach with a model, all filmed in black and white. The song was a sultry, sexy number that was completely beyond my understanding of the world at the time. I remember thinking it must make sense when I grew older. Turns out it would. His crooning number, softly strummed and played with passion, was aiming for something beyond my audience. HIM would see to all that.
The Finnish metal band, hot on the word of mouth from prankster Bam Margera, was quickly making a name for themselves in America. Their album Razorblade Romance, released in 1999 (or 2000, depending on legalities) was a phenomenal example of intentionally overly-dramatic Gothic metal with romantic tinges. To a drinker and a writer with a soft spot for hard music, I was hooked. Their cover of 'Wicked Game' was a natural fit. They hit the same core structures of the song while adding their own little touches or personality to it, in a way making it their own. I honestly think of it in terms of HIM as much as I would Chris Isaak. They put weight and menace behind what was otherwise an ethereal and intangible song. Isaak was distant yet close, HIM were heavy yet aloof. 
These differing versions of Wicked Game show just how both artists versions of the song can hold equal validity in my eyes. They both have their own legitimate versions, each strong and independent of the other despite the linked essence in the center. Give a listen and see which one makes more sense to you.
