The Rum Diary Composed by Christopher Young
Lakehouse Records (2011)
Rating: 6/10
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“Approach with
caution, curiosity, and/or alcohol and prepare to be drawn into a
bizarre but not unwelcoming dream world.”
"Where the Rum has Gone."
Review by Marius Masalar
No one remembers Hunter S. Thompson as an ordinary figure in the history
of journalism, and the cultural contributions he is best known for —
“gonzo” journalism, Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas, and of course The Rum
Diary — say a lot about what one can expect from the film adaptation of
the latter book. While the film’s vaguely hallucinatory plotline meandered
in a meaningful way on paper, the transition to film has been a difficult
process, this being the third attempt since the book’s publication.
While critics have been ambivalent and generally unimpressed by this
eventual cinematic take on the story, there is no denying its authenticity
to the source material, for better or worse, and much of the atmosphere’s
uniquely convoluted moods are contributed by film scoring veteran,
CHRISTOPHER YOUNG. While most people think of CHRISTOPHER YOUNG as the
king of horror scoring (which is understandable given his recent credits
for Priest, Drag Me To Hell, The Uninvited, etc.), Young’s expertise
reaches far beyond the frightening and macabre to encompass a variety of
genres. It is thanks to this diversity of talent and considerable film
scoring expertise that Young pulls off a successful score to a difficult
film.
The album opens with 1958’s Grammy Song of the Year, albeit a cover of it
sung by Dean Martin. “Volare (Nel Blu Di Pinto Di Blu)” (1) is a
happy-go-lucky and tuneful song that imparts a sense of exotic longing and
carefree spirit. Happily, it’s one of those examples of songs being used
sensibly on an album; the vintage warmth of Martin’s voice perfectly draws
us into the required context for properly appreciating the score. Young’s
first piece on the album, “Rum Diary” (2) is a main theme, though it does
not recur in any meaningful way throughout the score. The piece presents a
pensive but upbeat motif that develops into a hummable jazzy affair that
proves you can still have a saxophone in a score without it becoming
insufferable. The right tools in the right hands go a long way. “Suckfish
and Snake” (3) brings a vintage organ into the mix and emphasizes the
guitar presence in Young’s eclectic Rum Diary musical ensemble. The
halting phrases are comedic even without the doo-wop vocalizations that
make an entrance midway through. Sadly, the track manages to feel fairly
underwhelming and gives us our first glimpse of a problem that plagues
much of the score: a certain zoned out vibe.
Of course, that’s perfectly appropriate given the story being told, but on
album it results in many tracks that fly by forgettably with an odd
detachment that secures them as fantastic lounge/background music but
makes them slippery for active listening. “Mother of Balls” (4) is a
perfect example of this effect, and it is scarcely diminished in
“Chenault” (5), despite some very competent quiet jazz work — brushed
drumkit, solo sax and all. For many of the tracks affected, it’s really
not an issue, but “Chenault” (5) is the theme for the main love interest
in the film, and the wallpaper transparency of the music confounds the
significance of the character. The quiet vibe is developed more enjoyably
in “Flagged Me Smiling” (6), a groovy cue with much more of a musical arc
to lend it repeat listening value. The sleepy mood picks up again with
“Pink Jelly Remains” (7), featuring a delicious tune on the sax supported
by a pleasant tropical backdrop and energetic screaming trumpets. The
trumpets get quite strident as the track progresses, but it somehow all
fits into the delirium of the film.
The pace continues to pick up with “Rockin’ on Rooster (With My Dead
Monkey’s Mother)” (8). If some of the music is sounding a bit too much
like elevator music for your liking, you can always look to the track
titles for consolation and amusement. They also serve to remind us that
the music toes that line because of the comedic value it provides when
married to the bizarre events occurring on screen. Either way, this piece
is infectious and charming, without the frantic quality imposed by the
trumpets in its predecessor. It also leads smoothly into the score’s
standout dramatic cue, “Sweat Bee” (9), a quiet piano-led waltz wrapped in
soft strings. There’s little room in the film for such moments though, and
“Cock-Of-The-Rock” (10) kicks things back into motion with pokey guitar
stabs and a somewhat goofy baritone saxophone. It’s worth stating that as
hokey as some of the tunes sound, they’re all wholly authentic to the
style and reveal Young’s comfort with styles that range outside his norm.
“Black Note Blues” (11), with its walking bassline and growling vocals, is
oddly uninteresting in its development. It ticks off all the boxes on the
checklist for a typical blues tune, but the overall effect is flat and
forgettable — especially unfortunate since it drags on for nearly four
minutes. The closest we get to a return to the main theme is probably in
the halfway track, “My Car The Cockroach” (12), where the same basic
thematic material is referenced somewhat obliquely by an extremely similar
ensemble. As was the case with the main theme, it offers one of the most
memorable cues on the album and manages an effortless charm that eludes
some of the more generic background tracks on the album. Thankfully, it
sits right beside another track that captures that same charisma: “Neon
Popsicles” (13). Gentle vibes and a quiet lilting rhythm propel the cue
through its unhurried development and bring us to a satisfying conclusion
before dumping us back into the realm of the blah. There’s nothing in
particular wrong with “Hefti-Tefti” (14) and the jittery “He Must Be A
Sadist” (15), but they feel hollow and lacking the conviction of the
stronger tracks on the album. This is also true of “Puerto Rican Piss Off”
(16), though this latter track makes up for it with some unusual sound
effects in the mix that give it a unique feel.
As far as conclusions go, THE RUM DIARY’s is disappointing on album, at
least in terms of Christopher Young’s material. The final three tracks
start out interestingly enough with “Whacking A Salesman” (17) and its odd
lead that sounds like a processed harmonica, but “The Biggest Crook In New
Jersey” (18) feels interminable and distractingly disjointed throughout
its lengthy 5:30 runtime. If nothing else, it makes a fairly poor
transition into the final score cue of the album, “Desperate Drunks and
Postcard Loo” (19). This final offering of Young’s music is actually
pretty fun and has a celebratory feel to it, but it fails to recapture the
vibe of the stronger opening track or any of the more unique five-star
cues along the way. When it surrenders to the closing five source music
tracks, we are hardly sad to see it go. Johnny Depp is credited for the
instrumental version of “The Mermaid Song (Instrumental)” (20) as well as
beautiful “Kemp in the Village” (23), which feels much stronger as a
concluding cue than Young’s final track did. The two instrumental
deviations by the JD Band in between are fun and make you want to dance,
but they seem oddly sandwiched in the album’s otherwise moody concluding
finale. The last word is had by Patti Smith, singing “The Mermaid Song”
(24) a capella quite unenthusiastically. Most listeners will probably feel
as bored as she seems to have been, which is unfortunate in light of the
intelligent lyrics.
THE RUM DIARY is without a doubt a complicated item to critique. It is a
prime example of a score that is hard to divorce from its visual context,
but it isn’t entirely senseless without it either. CHRISTOPHER YOUNG must
be commended for making the best of a challenging scoring opportunity, and
succeeding in producing a perfectly appropriate score, even at the expense
of independent listening value for many of the tracks. That being said,
the material that is good on the album is often really good, and has
enough personality and spunk to be worthy of any jazz lover’s playlist.
Approach with caution, curiosity, and/or alcohol and prepare to be drawn
into a bizarre but not unwelcoming dream world.
