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Welcome to Back of the Napkin, musings from Serviette for the cultured world. The Shining: winter film or summer film? (N.B. it enjoyed a wide release on June 13, 1980.)
A small island dotted with trees. A placid lake reflecting white-tipped mountains. An aerial view of a car making its way down a meandering mountain road. A tranquil landscape outfitted in firs. By all accounts, the scene should inspire serenity. However, it is the droning, synth-laden rendition of “Dies Irae” that fills the viewer with a latent sense of dread—it’s clear that something is about to go horribly wrong.
Many readers will instantly recognize The Shining’s iconic opening sequence by words alone. While the film is often overshadowed by its surrounding mythology—Kubrick allegedly using the film to drop hints that he helped stage the footage of the moon landing, for any Serviette readers looking to don their tinfoil hats—it left a lasting mark on the trajectory of the horror genre and cinema at large, a marked shift away from scary monsters to a much more disquieting, psychological brand of terror (a hotel with poor service). The film is successful, in part, because of its soundscape, a hypnotic yet unnerving through line that creates a sense of panic that stays with you long after the credits roll.
For this (amongst a slew of similarly iconic soundwaves from the late 20th century), we have Wendy Carlos to thank. From a narrative perspective, Carlos is both a fascinating and formidable character: she was responsible for aiding in the creation of the original Moog synthesizer, the first commercial synth that would revolutionize the music industry writ large. She built her very own eight-track recorder for her at-home studio and pioneered a new musical frontier, ushering in a golden age of musical experimentalism.
For any readers looking for an entry point into the world of synths, try Carlos’ Switched-On Bach. An arrangement of Bach’s work performed entirely on Moog synthesizers (a true feat considering the Moog was monophonic, meaning only one note could be played at a time), the album made synth music accessible and underscored its mainstream potential. Carlos painstakingly assembled each piece one note at a time, hitting the synthesizer with a hammer when it fell out of tune—an unconventional approach that yielded harmonious results, long before the popularity of the “rage room.”
“A nice blend of prediction and surprise seem to be at the heart of the best art,” Carlos once mused. Hardly unsurprising given her frequent marriage of the classical and the eclectic, but Serviette would have to agree. Magic occurs when combining the familiar with the unexpected, as with rose and diesel exhaust (as found in Byronic Hero) or geranium and cannabis (Sour Diesel)—olfactory symphonies that weave between the conventional and the unorthodox with aplomb, one note at a time.
All work and no play makes Serviette... well, you know the rest. As always, we thank you kindly for taking the time to read this week’s newsletter.