The Abominable Dr. Phibes is a 1971 horror film starring Vincent Price, Joseph Cotten, Terry-Thomas and Hugh Griffith. The screenplay was written by James Whiton and William Goldstein, with additional uncredited scripting by director Robert Fuest (The Devil’s Rain). Its art deco sets, dark humour and knowing performance by Price have made the film and its sequel Dr. Phibes Rises Again cult classics. The character of Dr. Phibes is inspired by the Biblical ten plagues of Ancient Egypt from the Old Testament for the methodology of his murderous spree.

One of the most stylish and poetic horror films ever made, The Abominable Dr. Phibes sees Vincent Price appearing as Dr. Anton Phibes, presumed to have died in a car crash with his wife, Victoria (played, uncredited, by lovely Caroline Munro), some four years previously. It appears Phibes has somehow survived and he returns, eager to avenge his beloved Victoria, whom he believes to have died at the hands of incompetent doctors on the operating table. Set in England in 1925, a disfigured Phibes sets about killing the doctors he holds responsible by visiting upon them the ten biblical plagues of ancient Egypt. As Phibes’s victims rack up, it becomes a race against time for Inspector Trout and Scotland Yard to stop him before the final doctor and his young son meet their fate.

In this towering achievement of British horror, Vincent Price was at the very height of his powers, in what the film’s producers claimed to be his one hundredth film. The success of the film can certainly be in part attributed to Price, despite the fact that due to his disfigurement, his lines are largely post-dubbed by himself as he can only speak in the film with the aid of an uncomfortable-looking contraption attached to his neck, his familiar, strangled vowels seeming even more otherworldly crawling from the amplification device. The darkly humorous, yet genuinely affecting plot and script are perfectly suited to Price who had long since perfected the art of delivering barbed bon mots whilst giving a sideways glance at the camera.

Buy The Vincent Price Collection on Blu-ray from Amazon.com

Assisted by his silent female companion, Vulnavia (Virginia North), the updated plagues unleashed by Phibes are:

Boils

A tricky one to translate to the screen (indeed it isn’t, it takes place before the film starts), unlucky Professor Thornton stung to death by bees.

Gnats

Gnats proving too difficult to present onscreen, Phibes lowers deadly vampire bats into Dr Dunwoody’s bedroom via the skylight. The ferocious winged  beasts are cute vegetarian fruit bats, but shh, no-one noticed.

Frogs

Right animal this time, stuck-up Dr Hargreaves has his head crushed by Dr Phibes’s constricting frog head-piece at a masked ball. A funny and disturbing scene ensues as assorted horses and birds peer over to view his corpse.

Blood

Stag film loving, brandy-quaffing Dr Longstreet (Terry-Thomas) has his late-night viewing interrupted by Anton and Vulnavia as they carry out an unwanted complete blood donation. So delightful is Thomas, he returned as different character in the film’s sequel.

Hail

Dr Hedgepath is frozen to death in his car, a fiendish ice machine attached to the engine.

Rats

Again, flies too difficult and expensive to convey, rats are secreted into Dr Kitaj’s biplane, despite their fluffy appearance, enough to cause him to spin to the ground (in a hurry, and without applying the brakes). Originally, the rats were to kill the doctor on a boat but it was quickly realised that escape would’ve been relatively simple.

Beasts

Particularly ingeniously, Dr Whitcombe is impaled on the brass horn of an ornamental unicorn, fired from a catapult. Not a real unicorn, that would be silly.

Locusts

Perhaps the most well-known plague, poor Nurse Allen gets a really rough deal, after drilling a hole into her bedroom ceiling, he pours green slime over her sleeping body, a rare treat for the locusts who ravenously follow the liquid, gnawing her face off in the process

Death of the First-Born

Slip-shod policing assumes this to be the already dead elder brother of the doctor, not the actually kidnapped teenage son of lead surgeon, Dr Vesalius. Years before Saw, a devilish trap is contructed, the youngster facing a death by acid lest his father is able to perform a perilously quick operation to find the key to undo his bindings, hidden as it is within his body, close to his heart. Phibes finally comes undone, a daring, high-octane rescue being successful. This just leaves the final plague…

Darkness

Unaware of his failure, Phibes embalms himself, finally joining his darling wife in the greatest darkness.

Buy The Abominable Dr. Phibes + Dr. Phibes Rises Again on MGM DVD from Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.com

The genius of Phibes’s traps and his hideous visage, mostly covered throughout the film by a self-crafted mask and wig, have made the villain one of the most iconic movie monsters outside of the Universal canon. Price is ably assisted by a cast who by turns, play the film completely straight and conversely with an eyebrow permanently raised, in particular Inspector Trout, played by Peter Jeffrey (Countess Dracula, Dr. Phibes Rises Again), who gets most of the juiciest lines. Also worthy of mention are Trout’s assistant, Crow (Derek Godfrey from Hands of the Ripper), the jeweller played by Aubrey Woods and why not, a second mention for the incomparable Terry-Thomas.

Trade ad showing Peter Cushing was originally cast but had to drop out due to his wife’s death

Director, Fuest, had cut his teeth directing many episodes of classic 60s TV show, The Avengers, only slightly suggesting the visual feast and engaging plot he delivers in the film. He also directed the sequel and the enjoyable Shatner/Borgnine romp The Devil’s Rain. The Elstree-filmed sensational ‘thirties era’ set design came from the hands of Brian Eatwell, who also worked on Sam Fuller’s White Dog and the David Bowie-starring The Man Who Fell to Earth. The vibrant colours simply boil on the screen. The eerie cemetery scenes were shot in then partly derelict Highgate Cemetery, North London.

The sound of the film is one of its greatest stars. The music-loving Phibes doesn’t speak until half an hour into the film, indeed there is no dialogue at all for the first ten minutes. Instead we are treated to one of Basil Kirchin’s masterpieces, his score a combination of ominous, thundering organ work and boozy, swooning jazz, enticing and suffocating. Watching Phibes conduct his creepy clockwork orchestra, The Clockwork Wizards, is one of the great cinematic treats of 1970s British film. The drunken trumpet playing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ over the closing credits absolutely nails the genius of the film; Phibes has indeed been wronged, driven to madness by love and grief – we can’t help but slightly feel for the ‘monster’ just as we had for Frankenstein’s creation, forty years previously.

Buy Vincent Price seven film MGM Scream Legends Collection on DVD from Amazon.com

How ironic the plaudits were for films such as the original Saw and Se7en, their traps and conceits being hailed as revolutionary. What a shame this film beat them to it with more style and panache they could ever dream of, decades before. As the end credits role (the cast splendidly split into  ’The Protagonists’, ‘The Girl’, ‘The Victims’, ‘The Law’ and ‘Interested Parties’) we hear the unmistakable laugh of Price, indicating his inevitable return. Although there was a sequel, Dr. Phibes Rises Again, this was the only one of many earmarked, said to have been Dr. Phibes in the Holy Land, The Brides of Phibes, Phibes Resurrectus and The Seven Fates of Dr. Phibes. Alas, we can only dream.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Dr. Phibes Rises Again!  is the 1972 sequel to The Abominable Dr. Phibes. It was directed by Robert Fuest and stars Vincent Price as Dr. Anton Phibes.

Three years on from being abominable, the conjunction of the planets cause Phibes to rise from his stasis. Finding the house above his lair has been demolished and ransacked of the ancient papyrus scroll detailing the location of the River of Life, he vows to take back what is rightfully his and finally grant himself and his beloved (dead) wife Victoria eternal life. A trip to Egypt is called for and no-one, the thief Darius Biederbeck, who is as desperate as Phibes to find the source, nor Inspector Trout, back again with his superb one-liners and comic misunderstandings, can stop him.

Biederbeck: “What kind of fiend are you?”

Phibes: “The kind that wins, my friend!”

After the success of the first outing, the studio wasted no time in bringing Dr Anton Phibes out of his self-induced hibernation just a year later. The film is enormous fun but it would be remiss of me to insist it’s as stunning as the first; however, there is still much to admire and the film is never anything less than terrific entertainment.

If the Phibes sequel is lacking one element present in the first that sets it down a rung on the ladder, it’s the cohesion the biblical plagues gave it; though the titular villain is still killing with ever more devious traps, it’s rather more indiscriminate and less joyously fiendish. The 1920s setting still allows Fuest’s skill at direction to flourish but the set-up is a little clumsy. Biederbeck provides the opportunity for the always reliable Robert Quarry (Count Yorga, Madhouse) to flex his diabolical muscle but the relationship between himself and his aide, Ambrose (played by Hugh Griffith, who was cast as the rabbi in the first outing) is rather muddy and if anything gets in the way of the plot. An even bigger pinch of salt is required to accept that both Victoria and Phibes’s orchestra, The Clockwork Wizards, are able to be shipped across to Egypt undetected.

What these factors take away are certainly made up for in additions to the cast. Replacing the pregnant Virginia North in the role as Vulnavia is the tremendous Valli Kemp, who was due to remain as Phibes’s assistant for the proposed sequels, which sadly never appeared. Also featuring are the instantly recognisable brute, Milton Reid (The Blood on Satan’s Claw, an alarming amount of British sex comedies of the 70s), paying the price for being Biederbeck’s servant by having his brain bisected by a booby-trapped phone, Peter Cushing as the ship’s captain, Beryl Reid as, well, Beryl Reid (see also the return of Terry-Thomas) and John Thaw, pecked to death by an eagle. Frankie Howerd was also earmarked to star but, alas, we were denied this comedic pleasure.

Though some of the desert scenes were set on location (in Spain), the set design is still sumptuous and Egypt is the 20s looks as radiant as London, the detail of Phibes’s pyramid hideaway being everything you could hope it to be. Allegedly, relations between Price and Quarry were not perfect, animosity largely due to AIP positioning Quarry as the new star of horror, much to Vincent’s chagrin, whilst Quarry felt Price something of a ham. It is said that after giving Price a burst of opera, Quarry announced “I bet you didn’t know I could sing?” to which Price responded “Well, I knew you couldn’t fucking act”.

Buy Vincent Price: The Art of Fear biography by Denis Meikle from Amazon.co.uk

Music is again of critical importance in the film, duties on this occasion taken by John Gale, who surprisingly went on to very little else.  The score is decidedly more orchestral, veering away from Basil Kirchin’s jazz stylings, although the Clockwork Wizards still play a key role. The film does at least provide us with the dizzying wonder of Vincent Price actually singing ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ over the end credits, a fitting end to a series which was sadly curtailed so quickly.

The great haste in which the sequel was made, as well as the noticeable budget cuts, certainly stifle what is still a great film. As a pair, both The Abominable Dr. Phibes and Dr. Phibes Rises Again bring to the screen one of the great villains of horror cinema, a particularly British creation, doused in tragedy as much as pure evil. In-house wrangling at AIP deprived us of the planned sequels; Bride of Phibes has a well-fleshed out plot, seeing Phibes attempting to rescue Victoria from the hands of a Satanic cult; vengeance coming in many forms from being sucked to death by leeches to being smothered in butter and eaten by lobsters (!) Further sequels are scant on detail but were mentioned by both Fuest and Price in interviews; the last mention of the character being attached to George Romero’s Laurel Production company, with David Carradine scheduled to play the lead…

Daz Lawrence

Buy on MGM DVD from Amazon.co.uk |Amazon.com

The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires was one of Hammer’s final horror films until the company’s recent revival, appearing in 1974. It marked the final appearance of Dracula in a Hammer film (and for the first time, the character was not played by Christopher Lee) and was also Peter Cushing’s last movie for the company (though he did appear in an episode of Hammer House of Horror in 1980).

An uneasy co-production between Hammer and Shaw Brothers of Hong Kong, the film mixed traditional horror with martial arts, then very much in vogue. Not a box office success, the film was unreleased by Warner Brothers in the USA, eventually being sold on to the independent circuit, where it was clumsily re-edited and released as The Seven Brothers Meet Dracula at the end of the decade.

Curiously, in Britain, the film spawned a soundtrack album – the first Hammer film to do so. It was part of a plan to move into the record world by Hammer boss Michael Carreras, and appeared alongside Hammer Presents Dracula. It was, however, a short lived project, as these were the only two LPs released, the planned Hammer Presents Frankenstein never appearing amidst claims of dodgy deals with the unnamed head of Hammer City Records.

Like Hammer Presents Dracula, this LP was unusual in that instead of simply featuring James Bernard’s music for the film, it instead had Peter Cushing (as Van Helsing) reading a novelised version of the film (written by screenwriter Don Houghton), complete with sound effects. The story was introduced by David De Keyser, and also features a brief vocal performance from Pik-Sen Lim as Miao Kue (the character played in the film by Shih Szu. The record features a new suite based on Bernard’s score, arranged by Philip Martell, which underscores the narration. It was produced by Roy Skeggs and Philip Martell. Warner Brothers Records released the LP in 1974.

This album was heavily criticised by some soundtrack collectors, most notably Richard Klemensen  in Hammer fanzine Little Shoppe of Horrors, who was aghast that Hammer would release a ‘kiddy album’ instead of simply a music soundtrack. However, in truth, the disc is far removed from the world of Disney albums, and is perhaps closer to an audio book, enhanced with a dramatic musical score. Houghton’s adaptation of his screenplay is tight and punchy, the action benefits from allowing the listener to play it out in their own mind (rather than watching the rather lacklustre kung fu scenes) and Cushing is an excellent narrator. All in all, the album is entertaining, in unconventional – though probably has more limited repeat listening appeal than a standard soundtrack album.

The original album  is now a collectible item, but fans also have the opportunity to hear it on the Anchor Bay DVD release of The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, were it is included as an extra. In 2012, Bsx released the album alongside the original, unadulterated score on CD.

Posted by DF

1968 was an epochal year around the world in horror films and for Hammer it was no different. After covering Mummies, vampires, yetis and reptilian women, there was one  evil being that had yet to be filmed. The Devil Rides Out is a terrific film it it’s own right but the score is something else. There are no holds barred in the film, no twists in the tail, if you pardon the pun – it really is the Horned Beast being dealt with, and composer James Bernard wrote accordingly. It is, perhaps, the definitive horror score up to that point in history. Everything about it screams…well, it just screams. The opening credits are enough – a five-note refrain builds to a particularly satisfying crescendo – except the crescendo just keeps going and going. Five times this is repeated getting ever higher until the orchestra simply run out of notes and the strings spiral downwards. It’s exhausting and the film has barely begun.

As, most famously with 1958′s Dracula, the five notes spell out the film’s title in musical syllables. There is an almost constant rumble of drums, particularly timpani, in the background of the score, sometimes keeping their distance, sometimes thrashing their way to the front, either indicating a threat or imminent ritual. It’s the string section that really get a workout though, regularly trilling like nails down a blackboard, one imagines they were on footballer-like bonuses to keep up. The tension does not relent for the whole score, nearly thirty cues, even the love theme suggesting a whispering threat. On ‘The Baptism Begins’, gongs, cymbals, xylophones and a braying horn combine to almost sickening effect, the main theme again signalling ultimate evil.

Filming had already begun by the time Barnard became involved, Hammer executives concerned that the early rushes were leaning rather too much towards the comedic. Riddled with disconcerting tritones and minor seconds, the score is hugely influential and is perhaps the most effective suite of music written for any horror film. Tritones are a common technique for creating unease in music, employed to disturbing effect in the likes of Blood on Satan’s Claw.

Bernard’s use of clashing chords was a common trick used and would utilised far more often from this point forth; unfamiliar notes and sounds adding to the tension on-screen. An ethereal-sounding vibraphone is used in combination with a piano to add to the undercurrent of strangeness.

There is slight redemption in the finale, the final cue reflective, more controlled but without the soar away happily-ever-after satisfaction given to most films and, inevitably, a variation on the main theme used throughout the film to represent the devil, here ending in a major key for the first time, with bells added to the mix.  Both author Dennis Wheatley and Bernard more than suggesting that messing with things you don’t understand can never end with redemption, both good and evil being very much two sides of the same coin.

Daz Lawrence

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The theremin, originally also known as the ætherphone, etherphone, thereminophone, termenvox or thereminvox, is an early electronic musical instrument, controlled without physical contact from the player.

In the 1950s, the emergence of science fiction movies as mass entertainment gave film-makers and composers-for-film a fuller pallet to play with than ever before, there were no boundaries in the genre, no rules and little precedent. Impressionism, polytonalism and experimentation with new instruments were possible now, though far too risky for existing film types. The sound of invaders from beyond is regularly represented by a theremin. Having failed to establish itself as a serious instrument, both due to the cost and availability of the instrument and, more especially, the fact that it was fiendishly difficult to play, it found it’s niche as the whirring, ethereal thrum of approaching flying saucers and barely believable beasts from the stars, first making it’s authenticated appearance in genre films in 1950’s Rocketship X-M.

Invented  in 1920 by Russian physicist Lev Sergeivich Termen (Westernised to Leon Theremin) as a by-product of proximity sensor research, the instrument is not physically touched by the player, rather that the area around the two metal antennae is manipulated to create the required sound. The instrument emits an audio signal which the player can then control in two ways; with one hand controlling the pitch, with the other, the volume; with no notes, keys, frets or visible hints, the only way to get the sound you require is by adjusting your initial tone and through years of practice.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5qf9O6c20o

For many years, the most efficient player was Theremin himself but in the 1930’s, New Yorker Samuel Hoffman moved from the violin to this new, space-age instrument and became the go-to man for film directors worldwide – not that there was much choice. From his contribution to Miklos Rosza’s Spellbound in 1945, he appeared on every notable usage of the instrument in film, mostly significantly in 1951’s The Day the Earth Stood Still, not so much ‘duelling banjos’ as ‘duelling theremins’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzRb1OVpat0

Played with real skill, the instrument closely resembles a female soprano and indeed it was often used in place of having to pay an actual singer – early films which feature an almost supernaturally high note from a wispy female singer are almost certainly not a human voice but the eardrum-threatening top note of a theremin. Although there are claims that theremins can be heard in the likes of  Franz Waxman’s score to The Bride of Frankenstein  (and certainly modern interpretations of the score do), the original sound is far more likely to be that of the similarly strange ondes martenot, an electronic instrument invented in 1928.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0aflcF0-ys

Though capturing the public’s consciousness and instinctively coming to represent anything and everything to do with space and aliens, they cared little for what or who made the noise and it became both clichéd and corny. Utilised again in the classic Thing From Another World (1951), fellow countryman Dimitri Tiomkin creates almost vomit-inducing dread by having the soaring tones rising through the already ominous horns.

It wasn’t until The Beach Boys used it on their classic 1966 song Good Vibrations that the public started to take it seriously again; it was also regularly used by Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin in live shows throughout the 1970′s.

Electrical instrumentation was inevitably used far more during the 50s as they were the most obvious way of suggesting the future and progress. The sound of 50’s horror now is the sound of a barely believable past, a time when hysterical mania got everyone from Elmer Bernstein pushed off major motion pictures and on to Cat Women of the Moon to Zero Mostel missing the entire decade through being blacklisted for his political leanings. It’s portentous warnings now sound kitsch – for the millions of people living through the times it was quite different – it was the sound of a terrible, already lost future. The instrument is used by many psychedelic rock bands and by avant-garde composers due to the unpredictability and ethereal quality it brings.

Daz Lawrence

Tales of the Frightened comprises two volumes of spoken-word vinyl recordings, based on the writings of Michael Avallone. They were both released on the Mercury Records label in 1963. All the stories are read by Boris Karloff and feature subtle but sinister music and sound effects.

The 1950′s and 1960′s saw the release of many vinyl recordings of short, chilling tales, often featuring the ghoulish tones of horror stars of the silver screen; the two most prolific being Boris Karloff and Vincent Price, as not only were they well-know but also in possession of immediately recognisable voices.

Originally written in 1956 by Michael Avallone for a series of pulp magazines, Tales of the Frightened sadly only ran for two issues, but there was enough demand for the twenty-six stories to be collected into a paperback shortly afterwards. These were then presented to Karloff to record for radio broadcast (simply titled The Frightened, they are now believed lost) and were extremely popular. Mercury Records seized upon this and re-recorded thirteen of them across two vinyl records with musical atmospherics provided by early electronic music experimentalists, Tom Dissvelt and Kid Baltan who recorded under the name The Electrosoniks.

Michael Avallone was a prolific writer of what can easily be judged as throwaway chaff but is immensely readable; his works include his film tie-in novelisations of Beneath the Planet of the Apes and Friday 13th Part 3.

Each tale is introduced with typical Karloff faux-gravitas – “Are you one of the frightened?” and each lasts approximately five minutes, not allowing for any thumb-twiddling or kettle-boiling on the part of the listener. The language is deliriously rich and perhaps a little silly in retrospect but this undoubtedly adds to the charm “Do you whistle past the graveyard?”

Humbly marketed as “one of the most gripping narrative performances in the history of spoken word recording”, these recordings have never made their way onto CD and can be tricky to find in their original form.

Have a glass of port…

Daz Lawrence

The Mummies were a 4-piece American garage rock band from San Mateo, California. They are known for their defiantly lo-fi production values (dubbed ‘budget rock’) and their shadowy true identities, hidden as they were beneath ragged though effective Mummy costumes, reminiscent of those made iconic in Universal’s classic films.

The 1960′s weren’t all peace, love and understanding in the musical breeding grounds of the Pacific Northwest and California. Hundreds of bands appeared across the United States and Canada with vague understandings of chord progression and cheap instruments that were begged for stolen and borrowed but with boundless energy, attitude and fuzz – all recorded in decidedly primitive conditions. This then, is garage rock, one of the furthest-reaching, in terms of influence, musical movements of the latter half of the 20th century. The first wave, began in the early 60′s largely leaving the charts untroubled but the likes of The Kingsmen, with their ever-enduring censor-worrying “Louie Louie”, the more surfy twang of Link Ray and the costumed Paul Revere and the Raiders gained impressive enough followings.

By the early 70′s, many of the bands had already drifted into more traditional forms of employment but were introduced to a new generation by Patti Smith’s guitarist, Lenny Kaye, who assembled the seminal collection “Nuggets”. The famous quote says that Velvet Underground only initially sold a handful of records but everyone that bought one went on to form a band; the same can be said of “Nuggets”, though I’m going to stick my neck out and suggest all those bands were better. The sound of the punk movement can clearly be heard in these earlier bands. Two bands in particular on the record had a distinctive and arresting sound; The Wailers and The Sonics, both from the Tacoma area of Washington.

By the early 80′s garage rock was still the genre of choice for disaffected kids wanting to form a band with limited budgets and with little classical training. If anything, garage rock was now even scuzzier, more obnoxious and louder but still maintained the tradition of simple catchy guitar riffs, repeated choruses and trend-eschewing though instantly recognisable fashions, sometimes aping those of their musical forefathers. England had Thee Mighty Caesars (previously Thee Milkshakes, later Thee Headcoats – ‘Thee’ is a byword in garage lexicon), headed by cantankerous genius Billy Childish. America had The Mummies. Headed by the guy in the Mummy costume with the three other Mummies.

Horror and music had enjoyed success in partnership since the 50′s and 60′s – artists such as Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Screaming Lord Sutch and Bobby ‘Boris’ Pickett had all enjoyed success by borrowing imagery and sounds from recognisably ghoulish sources but it wasn’t until the horror-infused lyrics of The Flesh Eaters and Glenn Danzig’s The Misfits that entire careers were built solely on such a premise. The Mummies couldn’t really care less.

Rebelling against pretty much everything, The Mummies consisted of Trent Ruane on organ and vocals, Larry Winther on guitar, Mazz Kattuah on bass and Russell Quan on drums. Their DIY approach to the band encompassed their home-made costumes (which, in fairness, rather suggests that might be a shop for such things), much of their equipment (the bits that worked), their transport (a daubed upon Pontiac ambulance) and their songs a mixture of the grimy, two minute classics which had inspired them and suitably authentic-sounding originals. Their desire to remain anonymous was in keeping with their disdain for stardom, fame and selling out to The Man.

Their first record “That Girl” appeared on 7″ on the short-lived Pre-BS label. A frazzled mix of potty-mouthed lyrics, whooping and twanging Link Ray-ish guitar (if he’d been in a car accident), it was all done and dusted in a minute and a half, if you listened to the crackle at the beginning and the end – as a reward, you got another 3 tracks too. Further records appeared across a myriad of labels, most notably Estrus, to whom they returned most often. The singles were often released in eye-wateringly small runs, or at least they purported to be – my own collection suggests this may not quite have been the case.

These early singles were collected together as their first album, “The Mummies: Play Their Own Records!”. released on Estrus in 1992. It was an instant success, in the sense that no-one died and they didn’t all quit immediately. A brief flirtation with Crypt Records nearly caused unparalleled disaster as, when the label sent across an engineer to assist with the recording, there was the very real threat of it sounding professional. Sent on his way, the album appeared as the bootleg “Fuck The Mummies” whereas the band re-recorded the material and released it under the title “Never Been Caught”. Further issues arose with Regal Select beer threatening to sue the band for the use of their logo on the “Shitsville” single whilst the band went on the offensive against Sub Pop, incensed that the toast of the season had approached them to release a single as part of their incredibly popular (and now valuable) Singles Club. The resulting two-fingered response consisted of a mock-up sleeve with Sub Pop’s label crudely drawn on. The label, helpfully, saw the funny side.

More singles poured out, including split singles with the likes of the horror-monikered but not be-clad The Wolfmen (packaged in a delightfully 50′s-style comic book), as did a tour with Thee Headcoats, with Childish later to declare them to be “the only garage band I like”. It wasn’t enough to save the band and they split before the release of their live album, “Party at Steve’s House”, which was neither a live album nor recorded at Steve’s house. Throughout their career they released nothing but vinyl, the British release of “Fuck CDs, It’s The Mummies!” doing the describing for me.  Even video footage exists – occasionally copies of their New York Loft Party gig in December 1991 appear . Much effort is given to attempting to play a full-size keyboard like an accordion, eat a microphone and generally alarm an audience who look a bit like they’re looking for means of escape.

Some ten years later a CD finally appeared, “Death By Unga Bunga”, the irony being that it sounds every bit as trashed and battered as their vinyl releases. Very occasional live appearances at garage festivals have occurred since but there’s every chance these every-living fiends will take to the stage once more. Two warnings – R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck’s recent cover of “You Must Fight to Live (On the Planet of the Apes)” – their finest moment – is a disgrace, as are the coattail-riding Here Come the Mummies who are not to be confused with the Pharaohs of Fuzz in any way whatsoever.

A final note from the band’s website:

The Mummies don’t tweet, twat, connect, share, like, friend or give a damn.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia. With thanks to Russell Quan. For all your Mummies needs, sorry you’re too late. Look at their website http://www.themummies.com/index.php

Probably the only song ever written featuring the word ‘chagrin’

Zombina and the Skeletones are a horror rock band from Liverpool, England, formed in 1998 around the nucleus of vocalist Zombina and songwriter Doc Horror. The majority of their tongue-in-cheek lyrical content deals with themes of horror and science fiction, yet their musical style is upbeat and pop oriented, with elements of garage punk, doo wop and hard rock. Due to their obvious obsession with B Movies and black humour their fanbase extends to the gothic rock, deathrock and psychobilly scenes. They have also toured the UK with bands such as The Damned, The Misfits, and The Meteors.

Zombina met Doc Horror at school in 1998. United by a love of Halloween, horror, 50s rock’n'roll, metal and punk music, they started a band called The Deformed, producing a demo tape; “No Sleep ‘Til Transylvania”, in early 1999. This tape featured songs that would later become Zombina and The Skeletones staples; “The Grave… And Beyond!”, “Braindead” and “Leave My Brain Alone”; and established a strong B-Movie informed horror theme recalling the early efforts of The Misfits and The Cramps.

The band has released the following albums: The Eerie Years (comprises the Love Bites and Silver Bullet EPs), Taste the Blood of Zombina and The Skeletones (2002), Monsters On 45 (2006) and Out of the Crypt and Into Your Heart (2008).

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Dracula Blood:

Evil Science:

Punk Rock Vampires: Destroy!

Show Me Heaven:

Fabio Frizzi (born July 2, 1951) is an Italian musician and composer.

Born in Bologna, Emilia-Romagna, Frizzi is best known for his film scores and work for television. A frequent collaborator with the director Lucio Fulci, his scores have become some of the most widely known in the genre.

Frizzi’s early years saw him as a guitarist in a succession of ever-louder bands, despite the protestations of his father who saw him as a future lawyer. A chance meeting with the music publisher, Carlo Bixio, saw the formation of his first ‘professional’ group in his early twenties, alongside the composer and conductor, Carlo’s brother, Franco, and Vince Tempera. As a group, known as Bixio-Frizzi-Tempera, they shared composition duties and Frizzi concentrated on the guitars, with Tempera covering keyboards.

With Bixio’s publishing contacts, soundtrack work came easily, beginning with the western, And Now… Make Your Peace With God (Ed ora… raccomanda l’anima a Dio! 1968) and continuing successfully across nearly twenty further films, with Sella d’argento (Silver Saddle, 1978) and Sette note in nero (Seven Notes in Black/The Psychic 1977) being of particular interest. The first fully-fledged work by Frizzi and Fulci bore fruit in the violent western, Four of the Apocalypse (I Quattro Dell’Apocalisse). The close harmonies and gentle acoustics may be jarringly unexpected to those more familiar with Frizzi’s later scores.

As time progressed, the group began to work apart from each other, the Laura Gemser softcore frolic, Amore Libero (Free Love, 1979) saw only Frizzi and Tempera at work.

Perhaps the most influential aspect of Frizzi’s work for film is his use of vintage synthesizers and mellotrons, employed in such a way that they take on the qualities usually found with orchestras or more intimate instruments such as guitar or piano. They instill a disconcerting feeling in the viewer/listener, the sound being familiar but neither old nor modern. They also made it possible to use simple, repeated keyboard refrains whilst feeding in deep bass sounds and faux Gothic choirs.

The close-knit nature of the Italian soundtrack community was such that members of prog rock band Goblin played on several of Frizzi’s works. Frizzi and Fulci worked together throughout the late 1970′s and through to the death of the director in 1996. The key works in this period are Zombie Flesh Eaters (Zombi 2, 1979) and The Beyond (1981) both featuring grand, outrageous set-pieces onscreen, but matched by the richly textured sounds of Frizzi, which nevertheless featured simple and memorable melodies.

Frizzi continues to write for film and television (occasionally using the name Andrew Barrymore) and was recently fêted with a sold-out Halloween show at London’s Union Chapel (see review below). As well as influencing countless soundtrack composers his work has also been an influence on bands and artists such as Umberto, Zombi and Boards of Canada. His music has recently been reissued on vinyl by several labels, including Death Waltz Recordings.

Partial Discography:

• Carambola (1974)
  
• Carambola’s Philosophy: In the Right Pocket (1975)
• Dracula in the Provinces (1975)
  
• Four of the Apocalypse (1976)
  
• Get Mean (1976)
  
• Sette note in nero aka The Psychic (1977)
  
• Silver Saddle (1978)
  
• Cindy’s Love Games (1979)
• Zombi 2 (Giorgio Cascio) (1979)
  
• Contraband (1980)
• City of the Living Dead (1980)
  
• The Beyond (1981)
• Manhattan Baby (1982)
• Blastfighter (1984)
• Super Fanta Genio (1986)
• Cat in the Brain (1990)

Fabio Frizzi – Union Chapel, London, 31/10/2013

As Bernard Herrmann is to Alfred Hitchcock, Ennio Morricone is to Sergio Leone and Bruno Nicolai to Jess Franco, so Fabio Frizzi is to Lucio Fulci – one and all, to some extent, unlikely muses to directors whom, whilst prone to genius, were just as likely to bite your head off. Remarkably, it’s now the meatier end of twenty years since Lucio Fulci died and in that time there has been something of a shift to reappraising the director’s work. In fairness, it’s a barely perceptible shift, but The Beyond and Zombie Flesh Eaters have come to be regarded as bona fide classics, the latter now not only spoken about in the same breath as George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead but sometimes held aloft as the supreme imagining of the dead returning to life, an assertion that would have earned you 20 lashes in years past. Likewise, the much overlooked likes of Contraband and Four of the Apocalypse have finally received the praise they always deserved but rarely received.

As Halloween evenings go, an appearance in the beautiful and atmospheric  setting of Islington’s Union Chapel by Maestro Frizzi, a UK debut no less, is the stuff of dreams (or enjoyable nightmares), heightened by the projection of images from the films the composer duly reproduces the music from. Billed as Frizzi 2 Fulci, Frizzi is joined by violinists, guitars, bass, keyboards, percussion and a chanteuse, with the composer dividing his own duties between conducting, singing and playing acoustic guitar and keyboard. The show was a sell-out, the pews populated by those in fancy dress and those who had taken a more vanilla approach. Regardless, there was genuine excitement as showtime approached.

Now here’s the thing. The championing of Frizzi’s work is not kitsch or ironic – it’s because it’s brilliant music. As the lights dim, an initial projected sequence introduces us to some of the familiar set-pieces of Fulci and Frizzi’s partnership. The show proper begins with a somewhat plaintive rendition of “Silver Saddle” from the 1978 film of the same title. Whilst the film version was all jaunty elbows and playful pop, the reading here is reflective, even mournful, immediately a confirmation of the composer’s depth. Though his voice is somewhat fragile and the Italian twang of the pronunciation of the lyrics noticeable (rather like many of Guido and Maurizio De Angelis’ songs), this adds to the humanity and emotion of the song. Though listeners will be used to the vintage synths and mellotrons of his work, it’s still a surprise to hear the actual soul of the musician coming through.

An early comment from Frizzi referring to the time “music and cinema were better than today” is telling, the pride of the composer in his work matched only by his humility and infectious joy at his reception. The monstrous cascading, chiming chords to 1977’s The Psychic (Sette Note In Nero) are a real revelation, possibly because, on a personal level, I’ve never cared much for the film. Presented as a suite of music, strident keyboard and guitar more than hold their own against impressive military-like thumps from the drums, indeed in a live setting it’s not only stirring but thrilling. As the band begin to hit their stride, it’s Frizzi’s chanteuse, who really sparkles, the wordless, soaring notes echoing around the church’s mercifully yielding acoustics.

If there was one piece of music destined to suffer in translation, it was surely the faux Caribbean ‘gonk’ of Zombie Flesh Eater’s “Leaving Hell” – again, fears are quickly dispelled as a spritely Frizzi leads the musicians in livening up proceedings, the tropical images and the sight of Auretta Gay in that bikini brightening even a late October evening. The pace slows to a heartbeat of a drum signally perhaps his most recognisable theme, the main theme to Zombi 2.  It doesn’t disappoint and probably gets the biggest cheer of the night, the composer clearly both astounded and delighted by the reaction to a piece he wrote in his 20’s well over 30 years ago.

Frizzi and Fulci first worked together on the 1976 Western, Four of the Apocalypse (I Quattro dell’apocalisse) and the sequence of sound and image for this section of the show was particularly moving – the images of Tomas Milian terrorising all around him, see cast, director and composer all at the height of their game. It is, whisper it, Fulci’s best film and the tender rendition of “Movin’ On” should be enough to convince even the most stubborn viewer to investigate the film. From the period Frizzi was working alongside Vince Tempera and Fabio Bixio, the pre-synth acoustic performance is a reminder of how important Frizzi was and still is, the melody as strong as it ever was, a shameful slap to the chops for every hack churning out bombastic flotsam under the phoney guise of musicianship. Yes, I’m looking at you, Hans Zimmer. By the time a reprise of “Silver Saddle” concludes, I’m fairly certain someone’s chopping onions nearby.

By the time Frizzi’s female singer’s voice enters the stratosphere during the suite accompanying  1980’s City of the Living Dead, I’m fairly certain I stopped breathing, an annoying habit. For a film which, never less than enjoyable, is still hokey old nonsense, the reworking by Frizzi and his musicians is almost magical. By this stage, the urge to watch all Fulci’s films in one go is almost unbearable. Two much newer pieces of work, Beware of Darkness and The Weeping Woman show he has lost none of his deft touch. If ever you needed proof of the importance of a musical score to a film, this show was it. A composer largely ignored and unloved for the majority of his career has not reinvented himself. He and his talent were always there. Shame on all of us.

A pounding rendition of Contraband nearly raises the roof (and it was a substantial one), the cracks of Frizzi’s wooden blocks attracting audience participation, it not mattering much that I imagine a few were unfamiliar with the source. As the event reaches its old age, an inspired performance of Nino Rota’s theme to Fellini’s Amacord essentially seals Frizzi’s place in the elite of 20^th Century composers for film, let alone in the horror genre. His understanding of the medium he works in is something to be admired and cherished.

Frizzi wonders aloud if there is something missing from the set as he returns for an encore, the crowd readying themselves for the score to The Beyond, a film of such grand ambition and outlandish set-pieces that it was only right that it should take the final bow. It doesn’t disappoint, a clearly elated Frizzi soaking up the moment. If the show makes only a few people take his canon of work more seriously, it will have been a success for the punters but the happiest person here is still without question il maestro himself. A kindly uncle-looking man, he is clearly moved by both the turn-out and reception. Whilst Fulci was always callous with the lesser organs and viscera it was always Frizzi who had the heart.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Phantom of the Paradise is a 1974 American musical film written and directed by Brian De Palma (Carrie, The Fury, Dressed to Kill). The story is a loosely adapted mixture of The Phantom of the Opera, The Picture of Dorian Gray and Faust. Initially, it was a box office failure and was panned by some critics but has since acquired a cult following. Its music was nominated for an Academy Award and a Golden Globe Award.

Winslow Leach (William Finley, Eaten Alive, The Funhouse) is a frustrated songwriter, who finally makes his big break when his support act for The Juicy Fruits is seen by mysterious rock ‘n’ roll svengali, Swan (played by genuine 70′s song-writing behemoth, Paul Williams) who pinpoints his music as the ideal debut act for his new mega-club, The Paradise. In a fiendish plot, he employs Arnold Philbin (George Memmoli, Mean Streets) to steal the music for his own gain. Leach visits Swan’s mansion, which also house his record label, Death Records, but is immediately turfed out, though not before witnessing an aspiring singer auditioning, Phoenix (Jessica Harper, Suspiria), whom he quickly falls for.

Swans soon realises that Leach remains a threat to his plans and has him beaten up and framed for drugs offences, leading him to be given a life sentence at the notorious Sing Sing Prison, and having his teeth removed and replaced by a metal plate. Part-way into his ordeal, Leach hears The Juicy Fruits playing one of his songs on the radio and manages to escape by hiding in a delivery container. Returning to Swan’s mansion, he tried to sabotage Swan’s plans but is soon rumbled, becoming trapped in a record press which burns his face and destroys his vocal chords. Leach retreats, donning a bird-like sliver mask and cape that will see him turn into his alter-ego, The Phantom, whose sole aim is to destroy Swan’s empire and seize back his music and Phoenix.

Swan eventually strikes a deal with Leach, supplying him with an electronic voice box so that he can complete his fabled track, “Faust”, with Phoenix as the singer. Swan reneges on the plan and instead selects gargantuan glam rocker, Beef (Gerrit Graham, Child Play 2, Chopping Mall) to open The Paradise singing Leach’s “Old Souls” – only for The Phantom to interrupt proceedings in true Chaney style. With both The Phantom and Swan now realising the true intentions of each other, the pair struggle to the film’s violent conclusion, with Phoenix trapped between them.

Pre-dating The Rocky Horror Picture Show by a year (though not the 1973 stage show), Brian De Palma’s rock/horror hybrid has long been viewed as little more than folly, something the director felt he had to get out of his system without considering how many people shared his vision. Packed with fantastic characters both in front and behind the camera (regular David Lynch production designer Jack Fisk was responsible for much of the film’s garish visual appeal – his girlfriend, Sissy Spacek, pre-Carrie, was his assistant) the film perhaps suffered for being too intricate – the plots twists endlessly and the music is elaborate and sweeping, far removed from the immediate, catchy pop of Rocky Horror.

The appearance of Paul Williams seems far more bizarre now than it would have 40 years ago. In the 1970′s he loomed large of popular music in all its forms, from penning numerous Carpenters tracks (including “Rainy Days and Mondays” and “We’ve Only Just Begun”) to tracks on the smash hit Bugsy Malone, the theme to the seemingly never-ending TV show Love Boat, to the terrific “Rainbow Connection” from The Muppet Movie. Undoubtedly a musical genius, his stature and appearance did not lend themselves to superstardom in front of the camera, though as the sinister and creepy Swan, he finds an unlikely role in which he excels.

Harper is a strange piece of casting but again, this is entirely fitting for a film which is all things strange. Her wide-eyed innocence adds a real feeling of pathos, in a film it’s easy to feel detached from. Finlay is sensational as Leach/The Phantom, and although he worked until his untimely death in 2012, he never achieved the plaudits he deserved. Similarly, Gerrit Graham throws everything into the role of Beef, sadly not lasting very long as a character.

Throwing everything at the picture, De Palma, hurls pop culture references at the audience from the start. Swan’s Death Records label is such a thinly veiled take on Led Zeppelin’s Swan Song label that it should come as no surprise that the original shots actually see the label named Swan Songs, an error which necessitated optically over-pasting Death Records in several scenes to avoid a lengthy court battle.

Elsewhere, Philbin’s character is named after Mary Philbin from the classic 1923 Lon Chaney film Phantom of the Opera. Spacek stayed behind the lens but only due to the fact that Harper beat her (and Linda Ronstadt) to the role of Phoenix. The musical merry-go-round of casting saw Jon Voight being considered for the role of Swan, Williams as Leach, Graham as Swan and Peter Boyle as Beef. Boyle went on to play is somewhat similar role to Beef in Mel Brook’s Young Frankenstein. Graham’s singing voice is dubbed by Ray Kennedy, the noted singer, composer and session musician.

The nature of the Phantom’s disfigurement references the Claude Rains version of the Phantom of the Opera rather more than Chaney’s classic, though other filmic nods include Faust, Frankenstein, The Picture of Dorian Gray, as well as nods to television – Rod Serling, host of writer of much of The Twilight Zone TV series supplies the opening monologue.

Phantom of the Paradise opened in the U.S. on October 31, 1974 and soon flopped.The film’s only successful major market during its theatrical release was Winnipeg, Canada where it opened on Boxing Day, 1974 and played in local cinemas over four months continuously and over one year non-continuously until 1976.The soundtrack album sold 20,000 copies in Winnipeg alone and was certified Gold in Canada. It played occasionally in Winnipeg theatres in the 1990s and at the Winnipeg IMAX theatre in 2000 and always “drew a dedicated audience”. The film was nominated for an Academy Award for Original Song Score and Adaptation and a Golden Globe Award for Best Original Score – Motion Picture. In more recent years, the film has attracted a loyal fanbase who organise ”Phantompalooza” events – celebrity fans include Sébastien Tellier and Daft Punk.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Buy Phantom of the Paradise on Arrow Blu-ray from Amazon.co.uk

More Brian De Palma on Horrorpedia: Carrie, The Fury, Dressed to Kill

Ghost (known as Ghost B.C. in the United States) is a Swedish heavy metal band, formed in Linköping in 2008. In 2010 they released a 3-track demo, followed by a 7″ vinyl titled “Elizabeth”, and eventually their debut full-length album Opus Eponymous. The album was widely praised and increased their popularity significantly. Their second album and major label debut Infestissumam was released in 2013, debuted at number one in their home country.

Ghost are easily recognizable due to their eccentric on-stage presence: five of the group’s six members wear hooded robes, while the vocalist appears in skull make-up, dressed as a Roman Catholic Cardinal. The nature of their identities is highly secretive and their names have not been publicly disclosed; the vocalist calls himself Papa Emeritus and the musicians are referred to only as Nameless Ghouls.

Allegedly formed around 2006, Ghost B.C. have succeeded in establishing a large and committed fan base, despite their songs, artwork and stage shows being bathed in all things dark and Satanic. Taking their influences from horror films and the Swedish metal explosion of the 80′s and 90′s, they honed their act supporting the likes of Paradise Lost, styling their songs very much in the metal tradition but melding the melodies and vocals much keenly than many of their contemporaries, with elements of psychedelia and progressive rock frequently indentifiable. By the release of their second album in 2012, their lead singer, Papa Emeritus had been apparently usurped by a new Pope, Papa Emeritus II – it is quietly understood that this is actually the same person taking the opportunity to update the make-up and costume and perpetuate the band’s mythology.

What the band excelled with in terms of image, they lacked in a name – Ghost was the name of at least two other existing bands with record deals in the United States, leading to a legally acceptable ‘B.C.’ being added. Touring almost constantly, their third album, 2013′s Infestissumam met with record company resistance, the band’s 16th Century orgy on the cover being a little too far beyond the pale. Though a compromise was reached, the album sold well by word-of-mouth, despite an inevitable lack of radio play.

Though the band itself are unknown musicians, they are allowed symbols – those similar to the sigil of Baphomet -  lead guitarist , bassist , keyboardist , drummer , rhythm guitarist actually representing fire, water, wind, air and ether. These five of the band’s members, called “Nameless Ghouls”, wear hooded monk-like robes and masks that cover their faces. The original version of the character, referred to as Papa Emeritus (later Papa Emeritus I), had a costume was a foam-latex mask of an older man with skull features painted on it and white or black Cardinal chasuble and mitre. His eyes are also different colours, the right one being a dark brown and the left one being a drastically lighter colour. Upon Papa Emeritus’s stage entry, he would swing a smoking thurible, a prop that was used to make his entrance to the stage known.

The second version, referred to as Papa Emeritus II, has a noticeably different appearance than the first; with the foam-latex mask for him being fitted more tightly than the first and a much sharper jawline and distinguishable brow ridge, giving him a younger and more vigorous appearance. Unlike the first Emeritus, Papa Emeritus II wears an exclusively black chasuble with emerald green or royal purple lining, and a white mitre. Papa Emeritus II has the same mismatched eye colour as the first; a darker right eye and a lighter left eye. In addition to this, Papa Emeritus II is seen to use a sceptre which adorns a metallic-looking Grucifix for his stage entry.

Daz Lawrence

Riziero “Riz” Ortolani was an Italian film composer. Born on 25 March 1926, he recently died in Rome, aged 87. In the early 1950s Ortolani began his musical career as a founder and member of a well-known Italian jazz band. His score for Paolo Cavara and Gualtiero Jacopetti‘s ‘shockcumentary’ Mondo Cane, whose main title-song was More earned him a Grammy and was also nominated for an Oscar as Best Song.

Director Quentin Tarantino featured Ortolani’s work in more recent productions such as Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003), Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004) and Django Unchained (2012).

Ortolani scored all or parts of over 200 films, including horror, gialli, spaghetti westerns, Eurospy films, exploitation films and mondo films. Notable horror films and giallo thrillers scored by Ortolani include:

Horror Castle/The Virgin of Nuremberg (1963)

Castle of Blood (1964)

One on Top of the Other (Lucio Fulci, 1969)

So Sweet, So Perverse (1969)

Web of the Spider (1970)

Seven Blood-Stained Orchids (1972)

Don’t Torture a Duckling (1972)

The Dead Are Alive (1972)

Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eyes (1973)

Death Steps in the Dark (1976)

I Am Afraid (Io ho paura,1977)

Red Rings of Fear (1978)

Brutes and Savages (1978)

Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

House on the Edge of the Park (1980)

Zeder aka Revenge of the Dead (1983)

Killer Crocodile (1989)

Killer Crocodile 2 (1990)

Wikipedia | Thanks to Wrong Side of the Art! for some of the poster images above.

(Agnes) Elisabeth Lutyens (9 July 1906 – 14 April 1983) was an English composer of classical music but is best known for her contribution for scores to horror films throughout the 1960′s.

Born in London, one of five children of the architect Sir Edwin Lutyens and his wife Emily, Elisabeth studied composition at the École Normale de Musique de Paris, before accompanying her mother to India in 1923. On her return she studied with John Foulds and subsequently continued her musical education from 1926 to 1930 at the Royal College of Music in London as a pupil of Harold Darke. 

Lutyens is credited with bringing the Schoenbergian serial technique to the world of film scores, not always employing or limiting herself to 12-note series; some works use a self-created 14-note progression. Schoenberg’s exploration of tonal and atonal music was a huge influence on Hammer’s early sound, the gloomy expressionism first evident in Benjamin Frankel’s 1960 score for The Curse of the Werewolf (1960) though it was Luytens who is credited with fully exploiting these avenues. Her rejection of the traditional lush, romantic scores often used in film, lead to her being viewed as ‘difficult’ and sometimes even ‘un-British’.

Perhaps it goes without saying that Lutyen’s ability to break into territory inhabited almost solely by men is little less than remarkable, paving the way for future female composers such as Nora Orlandi and Wendy Carlos (born Walter, of course). Lutyens was no shrinking violet though – striding through upper class London society amongst such company as Constant Lambert, Francis Bacon and Dylan Thomas (for a time, her lodger) but posturing as a radical left-winger, even joining the Communist Party, all the while living in something approaching squalor – a real paradox. This, combined with her often outrageous anti-Semitic outbursts and homophobic ranting (I may have forgotten to mention her alcoholism) did not make her an ideal dinner guest.

Lutyens once said, “film and radio music must be written not only quickly but with the presumption that it will be only heard once. Its impact must be immediate. One does not grow gradually to love or understand a film score like a string quartet”. She was the first female British composer to score a feature film, her first foray into the genre being Penny and the Pownall Case (1948) but her work on horror films, undertaken for financial reasons, are where she made her mark. Her work in the genre began in 1960 with Cyril Frankel’s Never Take Sweets From a Stranger for Hammer, an alarming film even now. Her distinctly anti-romantic treatment is wistful but still angular, leading you down, disturbingly apt strange paths.

This was followed in 1963 by a score for Freddie Francis and Jimmy Sangster’s Paranoiac, a marvellous work of grating textures – it sounds like a gnashing beast having a conversation with itself under the film. Lutyen’s score is mixed with diegetic music during some of the murder scenes, seagulls and running water mashing with her grim tones.

The following year saw her working on The Earth Dies Screaming but perhaps her most famous work was to appear in 1965 in Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, the well-regarded anthology for Amicus. The rather scattershot approach of instruments combating each other in random blasts is typical or her minimalist though very purposeful manner of phrasing. It’s almost rioutously unjoyous, about the most depressing, upsetting and jarring thing you could marry to images on a screen – of course, it works perfectly. It should be noted that the Roy Castle jazz section of ‘Voodoo’ is the work of the musician Tubby Hayes, not Lutyens.

Continuing her work for Amicus came her own particular favourite score, for 1965′s The Skull. Employing harsh, irregular percussion, it is one of the elements which differentiates Amicus from Hammer, despite the obvious similarities of theme and often cast. As if being one of the lone females composing for film, it says much about her deep-felt belief in the power of the structure of her works that she was confident enough to submit this for what essentially was a major work for the studio. Whereas Italian composers at a similar period were also willing to be challenging in their composition, this tended to veer far nearer to jazz than obtusely challenging avant garde classical music.

As time progressed her work became no less-challenging - The Psychopath and The Terrornauts were tonally slightly more fun but still deliberately exactly the opposite to any other British composer for film at the time. She concluded her forays into the world of horror in typically unexpected directions – 1967′s somewhat obscure Theatre of Death, the evocative of the era educational short, Never Go With Strangers and finally the as raunchy and absurd as it sounds Dutch effort, My Nights With Susan, Sandra, Olga and Julie.

Her mark on the world of composition for horror film cannot be overstated – her complex, though often sparse pieces are hugely atmospheric and challenging yet give every film they appear alongside that extra something that would be sorely missed in their absence.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

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As The Exorcist was to the US, an invasion of the American home by outside forces unknown, so was The Wicker Man to Britain. Suspicion, lack of faith and becoming lost in a world you thought you knew, struck a chord with audiences coming out of the hope of the sixties and into the grey reality of the seventies. The major difference between the two is the blockbuster, attention-grabbing headlines created by The Exorcist versus the tortoise cinematic crawl of The Wicker Man.

Robin Hardy’s unique film never strutted with the posture of a film destined to become a classic. Though immaculately sketched out by Anthony Shaffer, fresh from penning both Hitchcock’s Frenzy and the remarkable Sleuth, and starring both Edward Woodward, an established star in Britain and Christopher Lee (as Lord Summerisle) whose reputation went before him, the film is so resolutely British that finding an audience overseas seemed doomed. This is to the filmmakers great credit; without bowing down to foreign markets and distributors, the film still hits upon themes which are relevant around the world. The Wicker Man‘s mesmeric music plays no small part in this.

Shaffer’s original screenplay always stipulated that folk music should play a key part in the film, as much as anything to say what it would take several thousand words more to, particularly in terms of Lord Summerisle’s bizarre-sounding philosophies. Lyrics from Victorian-era folk songs were implanted into the text to give a feeling of tone and it was these that were initially felt would be fleshed out and used – director, Robin Hardy, had other ideas.

Having heard his slightly modern use of folk music in an American stage production of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, Hardy approached composer Paul Giovanni, a US citizen. Giovanni was a friend of Shaffer’s brother, Peter, which doubtless didn’t go against him. His method was to meld the lyrics Shaffer had suggested and weave them into something that was uniquely his own. For example, the lyrics to one of the signature songs, “Gently, Johnny”, is an amalgam of three seperate lines melded together to create something that though perhaps familiar to some, had never existed before. The performance of the songs were also key; there was no point depicting an isolated, bleak, insular Scottish island on the screen but getting the perfectly formed songs performed by a full-scale orchestra; the effect would be of Hollywood running riot in the Highlands. As such, just six [though proficient in multiple instruments] players , rechristened as the group Magnet, were chosen from the Royal Academy and their weapons of war were duly Celtic harps, pipes and assorted percussive charges.

Giovanni continued to tinker with existing texts to embroider into his own work; the lyrics to “The Landlord’s Daughter” were ‘borrowed’ from an 18th Century poem, “The Public Harlot”, whilst perhaps the most famous piece, “Cornrigs and Barleyrigs” is a straight steal from the Robert Burns poem of the same name. Musically, all was not plain sailing. The backers, British Lion, were somewhat nervous of such a leftfield score, especially with an American at the helm; funds were not lavished upon them. This led to awkward studio incidents at Shepperton, the recordings of the brass for the Mayday parade were distinctly ropey and yet, ironically, this lent the sound an even more authentic feel. Giovanni was, though enthusiastic, unskilled at controlling so many instruments; given that the songs were often performed by characters in the film, the again gives an entirely believable quaintness and rustic naivety.

The film also makes use of the environment to great effect. The locals are often heard to sing and laugh in unison, at once reverting to one of the oldest of all effects, the Greek Chorus. The lilting Scottish accent balanced against Lee’s robust English laird’s tones are musical in themselves. Beyond Britt Ekland’s dubbed accent we aren’t labored with cod-local language, there is no effort to Americanise, or even Anglicise the actors vocal offerings. Everything from the crashing of the waves against the rocks and the ‘clack’ of the hobbyhorses mouth reminds you that you are rooted in the real world; there will not be a denouement of dragons coming to eat people, helicopters scrambled to Woodward’s rescue or, even worse, ‘it was all a dream’ – the film reaches its own conclusion on its own very peculiar path.

Though championed by a select few at the time, it was fully twenty years before most critics and audiences fully re-appraised the film and the music. Like so many innovators, Giovanni never truly dabbled again with music, preferring to chance his hand at directing on the stage, receiving a Tony nomination for The Crucifer of Blood in 1978. Never really able to experience the plaudits his work on The Wicker Man eventually received, he died from complications from the AIDS virus in 1990. It was inevitably back in Britain that work went on the rescue his lost masterpiece.

The eventual wielder of the musical Excalibur was Jonathan Benton-Hughes, renamed Jonny Trunk after the record label he continues to curate. The sourcing of the original tapes proved to be a nightmare, as did tracking down who owned the musical rights, so often the stumbling block as to why soundtracks aren’t released – it either simply isn’t possible to locate who owns them or is prohibitively expensive. The twelve sacred reels were eventually sourced at Lumiere, who had previously owned the rights to the film. Three years of detective work and battles against bootleggers and nosey distributors, and the soundtrack finally saw the light of day commercially in 1997, initially in limited vinyl formats – first black, then red – with a map of the island included. You can now only purchase these on auction sites for the price of the computer you’re using to search for them!

Mysteries still remain – the identities of Magnet are unknown, as is the singer of “Willow’s Song”, as mimed to by a nude Britt Ekland. Except it wasn’t Britt Ekland. Oh, never mind. Lyrics for the songs are cobbled together, no definitive text exists; other fleeting pieces of music have not been able to be located. It is likely they never will. The soundtrack to The Wicker Man is a fine example of how, standing back from a film, the beauty and importance of the score and sound effects can really shine. What was once lost and unloved has become one of the most coveted soundtrack albums ever released.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Purchase here, at once: Trunk Records