Cinematic Rehabilitation

There are countless songs which become inextricably linked with a moment in film or television they're set to: "In Dreams" in Blue Velvet, "Ride of the Valkyries" in Apocalypse Now, hell, even "Born Slippy" in Trainspotting. In those and other cases, a bit of music we'd always enjoyed or had never heard was simply given a new context - more reasons to appreciate it. But what happens when the context of a film is so powerful that it alters the way you feel about a song you previously loathed? Here are a few songs which were rehabilitated forever for me via "the magic of pheelm":

"Paper Planes" in Slumdog Millionaire
If you've hung out in as many record stores as I have over the past three or so years, yr probably just as sick of M.I.A. as I am. Her beats are decent but too tinny for non club listening for my taste, and her near-monotone delivery drives me batty. But it's the fact that Arular and Kala are played just about non-stop in just about every sort of record store imaginable, presumably due to her supposed cross-over appeal, which pushed her from an otherwise unremarkable musician I'd have quickly forgotten about into a ubiquitous force of annoyance. How many times have you heard "Boyz" while trying to buy some jeans or renew yr driver's license? (how many, how many?) In any case, I've been content to grimace whenever any of her stuff came on and leave it at that, and "Paper Planes" was simply another Pavlovian stimulus (in all likelihood - I don't remember ever really paying attention to it, apart from possibly being irritated that she was jacking one of my favourite Clash tracks).

I watched Slumdog Millionaire while going through my second run of The Wire, which might've helped open my ears when "Paper Planes" began to lazily slide overtop of a montage of brothers Jamal and Salim hustling on the trains of Mumbai. The similarities between the brothers and the corner kids of Baltimore were obvious, which made me think about "Paper Planes" in relation to the innumerable hip-hop tracks which could score Bodie or Wallace's lives. Suddenly, "Paper Planes" didn't sound like another club track of the month so much as it did an anthem to the camaraderie that arises out of desperate necessity during the hustle, whether it's taking place in India or the US. Hell, you could tie it all back in with Dickens' cockney urchins as well: "Paper Planes" would suit the Artful Dodger just right. The grind may be different, but the game stays the same.

"Lookin' Out My Back Door" in The Big Lebowski
I'd never given much thought to CCR before watching The Big Lebowski. In all honesty, I tend to tar most country/folk tinged rock mega-groups from their period with the same brush: lazy stoner shit which didn't realise how quickly it would become irrelevant. Their political differences and feud aside, Neil Young and Lynard Skynard sound just about the same to me: boring.

It isn't so much the particular scene in which "Lookin' Out My Back Door" is playing that quelled my distaste for CCR, and it's not even about the song itself. More than anything, CCR seemed to fit not just the character of the Dude, but his entire ethos so well that the stunted nature of his taste became part and parcel of what made him such a lovable and memorable film character. At least he hates the fuckin' Eagles, man.

"Don't Stop Believing" in The Sopranos
Let's be honest, to anyone under forty with an iota of taste, Journey are a fucking joke: one to be trotted out at drunken karaoke, a ritual which itself becomes ripe for parody. I don't think I need to stress just how low the cultural capital of this arena rock cheesefest was before the final episode of The Sopranos aired.

David Chase knew all of this when he picked "Don't Stop Believing" (rather than, say, "Thunder Road" or anything else by the patron saint of Jersey): "in the location van, with the crew, I was saying, 'What do you think?' When I said, 'Don't Stop Believin',' people went, 'What? Oh my god!' I said, 'I know, I know, just give a listen,' and little by little, people started coming around."

Chase accomplished a miracle far above and beyond his accomplishments with The Sopranos itself: he forced millions of people to think about the lyrics to a Journey song. Does Tony delusionally imagine himself and Carm to be the hard luck couple in the song? If the movie goes on and on and on, does that mean the stunted, betrayed and warped American dream we breathlessly bore witness to for six seasons will simply repeat, with Tony always forced to look over his shoulder whenever a mook in a Members Only jacket gives him the hairy eyeball?

However you choose to interpret it, David Chase undid decades of associations between "Don't Stop Believing" and unfortunate hair and even more unfortunate decisions made in the back seats of Trans Ams, and replaced them with a fresh batch of far more provocative ones: family, doubt, alienation, and onion rings. Always the onion rings.

"Layla" in Goodfellas
Growing up when I did, Eric Clapton was never the inspired, wild-eyed shredder he was in his youth. He was that old blues man wannabe boomer who desperately sought credibility by leeching off of older, more talented bluesmen (seriously, Clapton, did you have to use both known pictures of Robert Johnson to establish your worship of him?). I'd listened to a couple of my dad's Cream records and liked them enough, but there was no way those records could overpower the AOR juggernaut of "Tears In Heaven", or the blues adaptation of "Layla" from Clapton's "Unplugged" disc, with audience members mewing their approval at Slow Hand the whole way through.

I might've heard the original version of "Layla" at some point previous to watching Goodfellas, but that's besides the point. Eschewing the "main" portion of the song completely, Scorsese jumps straight to the clarion piano chords (which might be playing on the radio of that bullet-ridden pink Caddy). Bittersweet, the refrain repeats and repeats as body after body is found, as Henry realises that his friendship with Jimmy is the only thing keeping him from the dumpster. Years later, it's impossible to hear the song and not imagine Carbone's body in the meat locker.

Hey, whaddaya know? Some quick research indicates that Clapton had nothing to do with the piano coda portion of "Layla", which was actually composed by Derek and The Dominoes' drummer, Jim Gordon. I guess in closing and with a clear conscience I can say: fuck Eric Clapton.