Skip to main content

A few of my favourite things....

At a late night post-rugby celebrational conversation on Saturday night mulling over "what is your favourite symphony", it occurred to me that chosing favourites when it comes to music, film, literature, art and culture is indeed, a troublesome task that can cause a lot of in-house conflict.

Deciding on our favourites, our lists of what we consider the best or most enjoyable, seems for so many to define who we are. Author Nick Hornby wrote a book dealing with this very theme; High Fidelity, a tale of man's obsession with lists and favourites.

Essentially, it is trivial. Who cares if we rank Neighbours above Emmerdale, or Quincy above Columbo (even if it is true...) but at the same time, it is always enjoyable sifting through the options. For me, it is akin to solving a crossword puzzle - works the brain, the outcome isn't important, but if you love these things, it is deliciously satisfying to complete.

One area I often ponder is on the subject of music and film, and in particular the cross over of the two. It is through film that my love of music blossomed; an awakening of the cinematic genre brought alongside with it a voyage of musical discovery. I was brought up with little popular culture for reference: a Sgt Pepper's LP, The Yellow Submarine & Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on warped VHS. And The Frog Chorus on a 45.

When I first started studying film, it astounded me how much music enhanced the cinematic experience and vice versa. One director, aside from Hitchcock, Lynch and Kubrick, who I instantly adored was Wes Anderson. Aside from the melancholy; tragi-comic themes and slightly eccentric tones, the main element of why I loved his films so much, were the soundtracks. It was on The Royal Tenenbaums soundtrack where I first heard the haunting sound of beautiful Nick Drake. Anderson's soundtracks are, standalone, musical journeys. They take you back to the film itself, and yet further on again; like the behind the scenes extras on the DVD, only inside your brain and in your bones.

So naturally, despite it meaning nothing, despite my opinion being completely subjective for my personal tastes, and despite it likely to change on my mood; here are my top ten soundtracks.

1. The Royal Tenenbaums
2. Lost In Translation
3. West Side Story
4. The Virgin Suicides
5. Chariots of Fire
6. Taxi Driver
7. The Talented Mr Ripley
8. Mulholland Drive
9. Psycho
10. A Clockwork Orange

And I have to live with myself that I have left out The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins....And Bedknobs & Broomsticks....
Labels:

Comments

Hayley said…
I used to spend hours each night as a kid/teen compiling lists of my favourites. My favourite songs, albums, sports people, celebrities, TV shows...

It was hours of "fun" before the Internets.
15 March 2011 at 09:46
Sian said…
Me too. We're so alike :p
17 March 2011 at 14:44
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Brutalism Architecture Study 1: Trellick Tower

Brutalist architecture is an addictive beast that has a bewitching spell on those who delight in its elephantine aggression. Coined from the french phrase "beton brut" - raw concrete - by the British architectural critic Reyner Banham, Brutalism described the style of simple, blocky concrete constructions which flourished in the 1950s & 60s (its origins begin earlier in the 20th century). It was, of course, a pun on the french word to reflect the overall general disgust in which the style was received in the country. Yet I have come to learn that whilst it often evokes much distain amongst critics and the general public alike, there are many, like me, who have an insatiable appetite for the utilitarian concrete ogres whose mundane functions, like a gaping wound, are left very much exposed. I have been traveling the world to take photographs of buildings for the past 15 years, even before I knew I was doing it. Now I actively seek them out mostly for that purpose, as we
Post a Comment
Read more

A Day in the Life of Cardiff

The light is bright, the essence is full of promise, if but a slightly seedy one. On the busy train into Cardiff, two white-haired old ladies sit on the battered seats, their Dot Cotton house coats visible underneath their rain-macs. Tightly pursed lips, arms folded cross their robust darlek-shaped bodies, clutching their handbags as if their lives depended on it. There is a slight smell of odor de cooking-oil. "No discipline" utters one critically to the other, whilst staring directly ahead with a glare of a Terminator. "Dave says he needs to go back to the doctors for his pills". Replies the other, frowning. "They don't listen." "That'll be another bus trip." "We were brought up to listen." "John Lewis is nice." The mouths fasten shut and the two masses of old cotton-wooled hair bob up and down in complete un-agreement with each other. The train chugs along, a DJ tracked monotonous soundtrack. The light is yellow and
5 comments
Read more

Pinch-Punch-First-of-The-Month

Another month is over, another new one begins. 2008 is entering it's twilight weeks, soon destined to nothing more than the dust of history books. The year has, and is, going fast. But on the other hand, it seems like a millennium ago when Big Ben chimed twelve and we welcomed in the new year, and all it's anti-climaxes. The summer never really got going, the sun refusing to leave its blocks, whilst the bitter cold has gripped our skin and bones with its icy claws over the past few weeks, reminding us we really are in winter now. I used to love this time of the year as a kid. Hallowe'en, Bonfire Night, then the always enjoyable run-up to the madness of Christmas festivities. Yet as time passes they all fade into insignificance; a barrel of anti-climax, which I always felt but always managed to conveniently forget.  One Hallowe'en in 1992, we visited my Nan in the midlands, and it is still possibly the most terrified I have ever been in my life. I had always been convinc
5 comments
Read more