Good soundtracks have to do more than collect the songs that appear in a movie; they have to flow well, from track to track, and never leave you wondering what the filmmaker was thinking when he stuck a particular song in the mix. Some songs that work in the movie don’t work outside of that context; think of all the smarmy, lightweight love songs that litter the soundtracks of romantic comedies, and how they seemed perfect for the last-minute epiphany that your female best friend was the love of your life all along, but you just didn’t see it because of her darn glasses or lack of perky breasts. Don’t you hate when that happens?
Soundtracks are analogous to mix tapes (yes, I know they’re on CD now, but I like the term “mix tape”) in that usually they collect a variety of artists who, if they’re not commissioned to write a song specifically for the film, will accede to the inclusion of a track or two. Where soundtracks differ is that, with a mix tape, you don’t have to pay the royalties for each song (and of course you don’t sell your mix tape, because that would be wrong, he said nervously looking over his shoulder). Sometimes the filmmakers go for the obvious, name-brand single or song that made the band or suggests them to an audience whenever they hear it (when you think of Journey, you think of “Don’t Stop Believing,” thus its way-too-often use in film and TV over the last decade). But sometimes a soundtrack has the opportunity to give you a look either at an artist’s deeper cuts, or discover a “new” artist entirely (in the sense that “if I haven’t heard of them, they’re new to me!”).
The Moldy Peaches (or is it just “Moldy Peaches?” I’m not sure) are all over the “Juno” soundtrack, which easily became my favorite CD from 2007 (sharing the honor with Modest Mouse’s “We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank”) in the form of Kimya Dawson, who went on to have a brief run as America’s Favorite Indie-Rock Kookie Songwriter before receding from the stage (I haven’t heard of her since, so if her career is thriving in some other part of the country my apologies for implying that it’s not). And the song that closed out the film (and the soundtrack) was an unexpected pleasure, Michael Cera and Ellen Page’s acoustic take on “Anyone Else But You,” which appears on the soundtrack earlier in the original Moldy Peaches version. Cera and Page acquit themselves nicely on the song, which isn’t demanding vocally but merely calls for interplay between a male and female singer talking about not wanting anyone else but each other. Simple, basic, to the point, and it’s a great song. I’ve probably listened to it more than I have the original version, which is also good. When you return to a song, even after time has passed and the newness of it wears off, you know you’ve got a good one here.
I’d be lying if I said I never thought of including this on a mix tape I might make for any particular female I might have found myself romantically interested in over the years since I first heard the song. But I figure it’d go down about as well as the time I stuck “Let’s Get It On” at the end of a CD for a girl as a joke (more about that later, if I feel up to it, when I eventually tackle the greatest Marvin Gaye song of all time). But there have been a few girls about whom I could say I felt this way, and while over time the feelings might have faded I tend to look back with fond nostalgia over the times we had (whether they were all in my own mind or something mutual). I guess the partners can change but the sentiment remains the same: whoever I might figuratively be playing the song for is indeed, at that moment, the person I’d prefer over all other women.
When I make a mix tape (okay, mix CD; even I realize it’s anachronistic and inaccurate to describe it as otherwise) for another person, I have to take into consideration what it is that I’m trying to say. If the songs come on too strong, I might scare off the girl I’m trying in my clumsy way to woo or just make feel better. If not enough songs mention the fact that I’m kinda in love with the girl I’m giving the CD to, I might as well put “Just a Friend” on repeat and be done with it. “Anyone Else But You” is pretty blatant without being “I need you, I love you, I can’t live without you”, especially if you’ve just met the girl (no I never made a mix CD for a girl I just met, though the thought did cross my mind on more than one occasion. Yes, I’m considering professional help). It’s what I think is a nice way to say “you rock, and because you rock I want very much to rock with you, or to help you rock it out…aw, now I’m sweating again, and you’re looking at me with that ‘what the hell is wrong with this guy?’ look in your eyes again.”
No, that’s never happened to me…moving on.
Michael Cera seems to be the patron saint of my soundtrack collection, as he adorns the copy of three of them (“Juno,” “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist,” and “Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World,” which I just picked up after wanting to find it for over a year now). I’m quite an awkward lad myself, so I identify with the nervous, socially incompetent way in which his characters deal with the world (he’s become his own character type, the “Michael Cera part” which requires an actor to respond to life’s challenges with clumsiness). Ellen Page is kind of my dream girl, at least as the snarky teenager she usually plays in films (she’s probably preppy and non-self-aware in real life). And they introduced me to one of my new favorite songs at the end of a really good movie about teenage pregnancy, before it became the impetus of countless MTV reality shows (teenage pregnancy, not the song). If I were to put it on a mix CD for a girl and it creeps her out, that’s her problem. It’s a good song.
But I probably wouldn’t put it on the mix CD…
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