Paris, Texas

There are some soundtracks that support the story being told. Then, there are some that define it. This weeks soundtrack falls fairly and squarely into the latter category and one that I was fortunate enough to be introduced to from a very early age.

It is musical score’s, like Ry Cooder’s quiet masterpiece, that really moulded my love for soundtracks. The ability for a 35 minute album to shape the way I see open vast spaces for the rest of my life is no easy feat.

So lets get a little more specific. Here is a 1984 film by the genius that is Wim Wenders that is set entirely in Texas. There are a fair amount of scenes in an urban setting, but most of the memorable visuals come when the story leads us in and out of a baron and parched landscape that seems to have been calling for someone like Wenders to create something stunning and beautiful from its vast isolation.

With scenes that imply that there are roads and train tracks that lead you onto endless possibilities, he obviously was looking for someone to compliment this film with a temperature of music that would also give the viewer the feeling of sparseness and solitude.

Considering it is set in Texas, it’s not a massive jump to think that the sounds of Ry Cooder, who is more traditionally considered a blues and roots kind of musician, was chosen to craft this score. But what I find most amazing is his ability to paint a scene with his music. I kid you not that whenever I hear this album, I feel like stopping, sitting down and taking a breath.

I am not going to be pessimistic and start rambling on about the lack of great arthouse films being produced, because that simply is not the case. I think we just don’t hear so much about them amongst the throng of blockbusters being pelted at us from every angle. So I will simply profess my love for film makers who create stories that allow for silence.

Lots of silence. Which in turn allow for music to speak. In the case of Paris Texas, this has never been more evident.

Ry Cooder’s slide guitar lays such a powerful platform for Harry Dean Stanton [this movie is literally the Harry Dean Stanton show] to craft the character of Travis into someone loveable yet tortured. There is a really amazing scene at the end of this film that translates to a 9min track on the album. Stanton speaks a moving monologue partnered at the latter stages by Cooder with a simple ‘South of the Border’ acoustic quality to it. [For those who care, he also was the composer behind ‘The Buena Vista Social Club’]

I could get into the tracks on the album and how they offer slight variations on a theme, but after listening to this album for nearly 2 decades now, it all becomes one long track. Apart from the HDS interlude mentioned above, there is also a beautifully nostalgic track called ‘Cancion Mixteca’. It’s a romantic ballad that is kind of a nice interlude from the haunting melodies that covet this masterpiece, with Stanton reciting 8 lines of Spanish accompanied by a finger picking Cooder.

If there was ever an album that you need to be listening to on your own, or even better with someone who is happy not to talk for half an hour during a 42° day with a beer by your side while rocking slowly in a hammock watching the breeze move slowly through the tops of the trees, this is it.

It somehow makes me love the heat […and I don’t usually like anything above 33°]. It sparks memories of places. Of people. For me, this one goes out to Christine Bauer and a small backyard in the middle of St.Kilda in the late 90’s.

…Another beer Chris?

M /