Darkness is scary and things lurking in the dark is a big tool of many horror stories. However, in this list, I want to focus on horror movies where the dark is the key component to bad things that go bump murder in the night. Enjoy.
Lights Out – an entity that hunts in the dark
“Lights out” – in my point of view – is one of those horror movies that started with an amazing short film and then turned into a somewhat less amazing full feature. Now, don’t get me wrong, if an aspiring movie maker can get that movie contract, I am happy for them, but all too often, a short movie doesn’t necessarily fill out 90+ minutes.
However, of the many examples I am alluding to (namely Polaroid and Skinamarink), I think Lights Out keeps the scares and tension up in its movie that tells the story of a family being haunted by a type of demon/entity that can only be tamed by the mother but eventually gets out to haunt the children.
I also appreciate that this movie does play with some pretty intense themes and can be read as a metaphor for domestic violence or even drug addiction. It has layers. Does it always make sense? Absolutely not but it’s nice enough for a one- or even two-time watch with some pretty scary moments.
The older I get, the more I am astounded how many types of grief there are. First of all, everyone grieves in their own way. It can be loud and angry, it can be quiet and nearly invisible, it can be desperate, it can be tender, it can be pushed deep down or explode like a supernova.
But there are also so many things to grieve. You grieve people you lost, many of us grieve their pets. Some people grieve artists and scientists or politicians they never met. Sometimes, we grieve relationships or parts of our self. Or we grieve a time that is lost. We can grieve the state of the world. We can grieve thousands upon thousands of innocents getting shot, starved, imprisoned and violated. We can grieve humanity for how capable we are to cause harm to ourselves and to everything else on this planet. We can grieve our planet, or the animals that went extinct. We can grieve an old tree that was felled by two people or a small sapling that was watered lovingly until the city cut it down to make way for a construction site.
It is unfathomable, how much grief there is.
But quoting actor Andrew Garfield talking about his mother’s death in an interview with Stephen Colbert: “It’s all the unexpressed love that I didn’t get to tell her.”
So, even though it hurts so much. And even though so much of it never goes away. It also shows how capable of love we really are. And that everything we grieve was something we loved and still love.
“And after all, we’re free to fall, once all the pain goes. And how we stood, and what was good, could lie us all along in isolation, a transformation.”
“Killer Crane” was written for the album “Nine Types of Light” in 2011, the last album with bass player Gerard Smith who died of lung cancer that year. And it is a song about coming to terms (or trying to) with his death. An otherwise amusing idea for their music video for another album track (“You”) turns into a beautiful, bitter-sweet ode. The video depicts the band members meeting 10 years after a fictional breakup, talking about their fictional lives since the breakup.
One thing to learn about grief is that it never goes away. It changes, it ebbs away only to come back in waves but it never leaves. Because love like this does not end just because someone or something isn’t there anymore. And even if they can’t be there anymore, we can still love them forever.
Why, of all the episodes in Netflix’s “The Crown” do “Assassins” and “Moondust” struck me the most?
Centering aging, aggressive men with huge egos and little self-reflection in their low moments. Talking about greatness and avoiding their grief, powering through with what they think is strength but which can only be described as stubborn ignorance that walls off any semblance of introspection. And ultimately, (because this is fiction, where this is possible but even there only temporarily), accepting their age and their position in the world?
Am I really identifying with John Lithgow’s portrayal of the late Winston Churchill who lost his marbles over an unflattering (and brilliant) portrait that celebrated his 80th birthday?
I think what drew me to “Assassins” (aside from Lithgow’s marvelous performance of an achy breaky PM) was how one of the most influential politicians at that time was trying to impress artist Graham Sutherland, not a nobody but surely not such a juggernaut of historical impact. Because Churchill himself painted a little and therefore did not only see himself as a politician but also as an artist. And how this image of self was deconstructed over the course of the episode, how his urge to impress made him look foolish and even pathetic and later outright petty when confronted with the piece de resistance that he simply did not or would not understand.
Because I do think (too much) about how we see ourselves and how others see us. And I think many who have an important job or an important role to fill in life do have their moments where they yearn to be seen as something or someone else. And honestly, it doesn’t even have to be important, just make up a big part of your day, week, life and suddenly, it’s that one thing that’s you.
But then what if the thing you’re good at or that you’re famous for or that’s at the core of your daily existence is not enough? What if it simply cannot be enough because aren’t you so much more? And what if that thing fades? What is left?
And it’s so fascinating because I am now 40 years old and I always wanted to be a writer and technically I am, so if my 8-year-old self wants to sue me for breaching our life goals-contract, my lawyers will let them know that it’s a losing case. But even though I am writing daily and make my living from it, I am not writing novels as I always envisioned. I am not who I envisioned.
And I am well aware that “Assassins” isn’t even about this issue, because it’s about grief and growing older and losing your former strength and influence, yes, yes, Winston must have felt like a titan being struck down upon seeing the painting (that his wife burned, can you believe it?). And I loved seeing this powerful man feeling insecure enough that he needed to impress that artist because it’s riveting to see people who are used to be the center of attention, the voice of reason, the powers that be through the lens of their fickle, flawed humanity.
But in that way, it actually is about what others see in us, how we see ourselves and if we’re capable of more or if we lost what we thought was us (one of the most influential politicians of the 20th century) and turned into something else, less desirable (an old, ailing man). And thank god, I am not Winston Churchill but goddamn, I do feel like Lithgow’s version of him, where every movement is painful and exhausting and everything seems to float out of my grasp with only an unflattering portrait of myself at my side. Maybe not literally, but to get up with that unbridled sense of possibility that my younger self had is drifting further away each day. Trying to keep a sense of excitement about the future feels like throwing out my back over and over again.
And what about “Moondust”, you’re probably asking. What caused my self-centered whining in that particular episode? Well, dear reader, seeing Philip losing his sense of self when confronted with the moon landing on tv (and after the death of his mother which is quietly acknowledged in the show with her empty bedroom), might have struck a chord with me as well. How meaningless everything he did suddenly felt, how banal and beige in contrast to the grandeur of stepping up and out for mankind (or losing someone forever).
Of course, the show makes sure to deconstruct these “heroes” (and simultaneously make Philip look awfully arrogant and pathetic) by showing that they also simply did their duty and didn’t set out to change the world. And in the end, (spoiler alert) Philip breaks through his grief and asks for help (in the tv show, of course, I have no idea what happened in real life and if any of his thoughts, conversations and quiet moments ever actually occurred to him).
But here I am, remember, 40 and suddenly I get my very own midlife crisis.
And it’s even worse to realize that midlife crisis is not born out of an unhappy life but rather about the question if what you’ve build so far will be sufficient for the rest of it. Because 40 is just that kind of age where you have a career or job that will probably stick, where you have a family or a long-term partner, where you’ve mastered a skill or two and found or kept a handful of friends.
And you look around (and try HARD not to look at the news or think about the future of the world or doom scroll or just scream and never stop screaming) and wonder if ALL OF THIS (gestures around you) will hold your spirits up until you passed on, are no more, ceased to be, expired, gone to meet your maker, are stiff, bereft of life, rest in peace, pushing up the daisies, kicked the bucket, so to say.
And you wonder what your moon landing was or will be. Because I’ll be honest: I – and probably a lot of other people – have led and will continue to lead a very unremarkable life. I am not even the Duke of Edinburgh, and if he has a midlife crisis then what the hell am I supposed to do?
And so, I relate to the fictionalized version of the late Prince Philip, played by Tobias Menzies on the historically not quite factual tv show The Crown*. What a week.
*(Which I am watching for the first time in 2025 because I am an antihero who defies pop-culture moments until they’ve truly passed and nobody cares anymore).
You know how you sometimes have a favourite album from an artist but weirdly know nothing about the rest of their discography? I adore “Songs for Drella” by John Cale and Lou Reed, it’s absolutely gorgeous and the perfect amalgament of experimental music and pop music. But when “Spinning Away” graced the outro of an episode of “Loot”, I was surprised and humbled that it was a collab between Brian Eno and John Cale (I actually initially wondered if this was a song from Nation of Language I didn’t know, even though the lack of crystal-clear synths should have been a dead give-away that it wasn’t them).
Also, is it an issue that I get about 60-70% of my music discoveries from tv show and movie soundtracks? Yes, probably, life passes me by as I sit in front of the big or small screen. But this brings me exactly to the point of this song – which is a gorgeous song, a lovely, moving, beautiful ode to the world.
“Spinning away” is from the 1990 collaborative studio album “Wrong way up” (which I need to get immediately) by Brian Eno and John Cale.
This song is about artistry but not the artistry of writing songs or making music but instead of painting the world around you while you’re outside and how with every second passing, the world changes, the sky changes, and the pencil “moving further out in time” can barely catch up, can only ever grasp the memories and whatever it draws, its inspiration has already moved further, grown estranged from the painting. (I wonder if this song was mainly written by Eno, who is the more prolific painter of the two)
And then you have the whole structure of the song. It starts with this slightly off-beat beat, then a guitar and then other instruments join, almost like the sounds you hear in nature, how they accumulate the longer you’re sitting somewhere far away from cars and airplanes and other people. First, you think it’s absolutely quiet and then slowly you hear the birds, the insects, the wind and the leaves and they all sing together.
Oh, and then – and this is where this song can bring me to tears, the violins join in with the vocals, and you can almost see the sunny sky turning into a dark blue, stars piercing through and how the sounds of the day get replaced by the different sounds of the night because the symphony of day never stays the same.
“On a hill, under a raven sky, I have no idea exactly what I’ve drawn, some kind of change, some kind of spinning away” – because the world is spinning and so time is spinning.
Even though I risk sounding a little too whistful, that’s life in general, isn’t it? How often do we hear that we need to live in the moment when it’s barely possible to remember the past.
Things happen, and they happen so fast, whether good or bad, they wash over you and then suddenly someone’s gone and you can barely remember how it happened and you can barely trace the last memory you have of them, already, life pushes you forward again and so you see things change, and grow and leave and die and it’s all like looking out the window of a train or a car, hardly ever do you have the time to nudge whoever sits next to you and whisper “look, horses”.
But sometimes, in rare moments – and these will be happy and painful, so deeply painful both when you live them and when you remember them – you’re able to stop, take everything in, breathe, and know that this moment will pass so fast that it will almost feel like it never happened.
Look, I’d love to write about the whole new Gossip album that some of us waited 12 years for but what am I to do if the opener is such a strong start that I can’t even listen any further, it’s now on repeat to burn itself into my memory, so I can start dreaming about it (which I tend to do, anyone else?).
The absolutely gorgeous and weirdly not very common magic of “Act of God” is that it sounds like a cover from a 50s Motown bop. It has all the yearning, the pathos, the heartbreak and did I mention the yearning? But then it basically drove this cute little bop into the fight cage from Mad Max and so it flickers at the edges, is a little too sharp, too crass, too violent to stay in that sweet, smooth Motown corner.
I am honestly a little awed at how Gossip managed to do this but then again, this feels so much like this band’s brand that it seems natural as well (and yes, I can tell you that the second song on the album is a completely different beast, so this is not even a glimpse of what the entire album has to offer).
The song itself is about that bittersweet feeling of all-encompassing love for someone mingled with some anxiety or doubt that the other person might not feel as fiery anymore. The titular “act of god” is the beating of the heart which is a lovely sentiment, as it can mean different things, like the ongoing love the narrator has for their loved one or the fact that the heart is not yet broken (which would maybe, metaphorically stop the heartbeats).
And although I used the word “manic” to describe the song, the lyrics state that the narrator is not “losing control” but instead a piece of their soul. Now, digging deep into my literary academic past, I’d interpret this as someone who is aware of their love and the potential heartbreak but doesn’t see any of their feelings as out of control even though they feel the pain. It’s a nice contrast to the many songs about (unrequited) love that have the narrator tear out their hair and do awful (creepy) things.
I also love the irony of the lyrics vs. the absolutely wild intensity of the music which might hint at some sort of loss of control after all but who am I to judge.
I am not too much on the nostalgia train which mainly has to do with the fact that I dared to rewatch and relisten to a lot of things I thoroughly enjoyed as a kid and realized that some things work in their little time bubble and not so much outside of it. Not to open a big wasp’s nest but have you watched the original Ghostbuster movies? They are not that funny, to be honest!
However, there has been one thing that was true then and that is true now and that’s the un-refutable fact that Polaris, the one-off band dedicated to providing a soundtrack to the short-lived but amazing Nickelodeon series “The Adventures of Pete & Pete”, has created one of the best albums to ever grace the 90s.
It’s a gorgeous, picture-perfect album that felt like lightning in a bottle, a reprieve from teenage angst.
Well, the new album by Ducks Ltd tells me two things:
Nothing is truly unique
Thank god, because that way, you don’t have only that one thing to enjoy for the rest of your life but can discover something that makes you feel just like you did when you first heard “Hey Sandy”
“Harm’s Way” is a lovely album. Its release date feels both fitting and like a betrayal because it sounds so summery and light that it clashes with the grey oppressive Berlin Winter that I am currently suffering through.
Ducks Ltd are from Canada, they consist of two people (Tom McGreevy and Evan Lewis) and “Harm’s Way” is their second album. Music journalists call their music “jangle pop” which I immediately want to throw in the river because “jangle pop” sounds like whatever a brass orchestra that only is made up of clowns sounds like and not this airy breeze of melodic joy.
It is the kind of album that merrily flows like a little mountain river, it has those very catchy but not overpowering choruses that you’ll hum and that make you a little happier. Given the strength of the guitar and bass arrangements, this feels like the cheery cousin to any Smiths album. It’s so strong on melody and just “mood” but instead of mopey dreariness (which is not criticism but Smith praise, of course), you get a tender peaceful sigh.
Whereas “On Division St” basically had me in a chokehold in Summer, it was a near seamless transition to “Weak in your light” from Nation of Language’s most recent album “Strange Disciple” that held me tight in the last couple of months. I don’t know why, there’s something about this band’s songwriting that reaches right into the core of my being and draws me into a somber melancholy that I can’t escape.
But, dear readers, “Weak in your light” is actually no reason to be melancholic at all (however, I will explain why it is after all later) because the song is a gorgeous hymn to being in love and how overwhelming this can feel. Because yes, we all love those rose-tinted glasses and the butterflies and whatnot but let’s be honest – for many of us, it’s also slightly terrifying to feel so drawn to someone that they have so much power over you to completely break you (and as science has taught us, a broken heart is not just in your head, it’s a physical ailment).
It’s thus quite fitting that those love-infused lyrics contain phrases like “something so bright and blessed that I’m all but crushed” or “I can feel myself come undone, yet there’s more”.
I especially love the sentiment “staring down a simple something that’ll shape my whole life” because even though we all feel like we’re the most unique special someones who experience love like no one else, we’re all just twisting, dancing snowflakes next to each other, experiencing all the same trajectory, yet occupy space and movement that no one else can take.
But let’s also look at the lyrics in combination with the music. Oh, those lyrics would fit any genre (which often indicates amazing songwriting) but this flurry of emotions caught in the clear synth tunes, clean beats and oh so tender vocals can be an outright metaphor how we’re seemingly fully functioning human beings interacting with others, doing chores, going to work, making dinner while all our thoughts are caught up with this other human being, circling around every single word and gesture of theirs. A tornado contained in a beautiful porcelain vase, in a way.
Oh, but where’s the melancholy in that? Alas, it cannot last. To forever be bound in those throes of love would probably cause us to loose our minds. So aside from someone experiencing this for the first time, most of us know that these feelings are to be cherished and savoured because they will be replaced – not necessarily by something worse, mind, because after these debilitating tendrils of desire lies the tender embrace of companionship and comfort.
I love that Royal Thunder – who can raise hell if they want to – start their new album “Rebuilding the Mountain” with a slow beast of a song that sluggishly wanders into a stagger and finishes off in a run. It gives you a glimpse into why this band is one of the best metal bands out there: you never know what will happen, you’re being brought along a dark, slightly witchy ride that can veer into hallucinatory landscapes but never really lets go of you.
After the apparent end of the band a few years ago, Royal Thunder are back as a trio. There have been hard times and some things take longer to heal than others. But “Rebuilding the Mountain” seems to be less about a clear-cut change but rather the process, the push and pull that goes with a going forward, going through and the many ugly things that show up and go away and show up again.
The magic that Parsons brings to her singing and almost like a gift, her vocals are much more front and center in this album than they have been previously, is the rawness, the authenticity and willingness to go places that can hurt and can be a little too vulnerable (on that note, I recommend this great interview that Parsons did with Big Takeover).
It’s why I always felt like Royal Thunder had a nearly spiritual edge to it that was able to swallow me whole and leave me swirling until the last note. Combined with the incredibly percussions and melodic familiarity to psychedelic/prog bands, “Rebuilding the Mountain” is as modern as it gets by showing its roots.
I am absolutely obsessed how “Sinner” combines Abba, Florence and the Machine and the bonkers chaotic Sparks in one single, magical bop that feels both like it came out of the 2nd Britpop wave of the early 2000s and like something that could only have been conjured up in these pre-apocalyptic times.
I initially only wanted to write about this song and how it feels so luscious and generous but also fun and light but then I listened to their EP “On your side” and (fae) folks, “My Lady of Mercy” is a math pop whirlwind, I am in love because it starts like a little nerdy song but then it falls down, arches its back and out of its torso bursts a 80s goth metal chorus that has to be heard to be believed. This song is shorter than 3 minutes and feels like an entire rock opera.
Now, there is a little bit of juicy gossip surrounding this band, specifically their rocket-like ascend in all music media. They actually supported the Rolling Stones last year, even though they had not even released a full LP (let alone more than a few singles) yet.
My blog often features the whole range of pop – from massive stars like Miley Cyrus to indie darlings like The Black Tones. So I am not discriminating a band that got probably a major push from a big label.
However, back in my youth (when I dropped the necklace in the ocean), when I worked for a local radio station, it severely miffed me how much money was wasted in producing polished high-quality material, promo parties, and other bullshit to push a specific music act when all that money could have gone into supporting a wider range and number of artists.
That’s not to say that we can’t enjoy this kind of music because honestly, I like their music a lot and I will look forward to their album.
I am a sucker for indie pop that has a lazy yet melancholic vibe. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs can nail these lazy, hazy epitaphs to the world and to relationships and whatever else has to say goodbye at some point, when they’re not busy ripping out our bones and guts with their manic dancefloor bangers.
“Spitting off the edge of the world” is the intro song to the long awaited 2022 album “Cool it down” and features Perfume Genius who along with Karen O and some gorgeously sluggish drums mourn the state of the world. According to Karen O, the song is about … climate change, I guess.
“I see the younger generations staring down this threat, and they’re standing on the edge of a precipice, confronting what’s coming with anger and defiance. It’s galvanizing, and there’s hope there.” (Source)
The Genius user interpretations are a little too literal (for my tastes) based on the quote by Karen but that’s because I am big on whatever my head visualizes when I listen to a song, so I wondered about the weird beauty of the end times that is also described in the song and that is somewhat reflected in the entire mood of the song, which feels sluggish, yes, but also grand and epic, a gold-bleeding sunrise that’s about to bring a deadly day.
And so, “Cowards, here’s the sun, so bow your heads” turns into a massive desert landscape, full of red mountains to spit off from, the vast nothingness that feels like the end of the world and high above, this giant, merciless god hanging over our heads.
I’ve read that many astronauts who’ve been to space and saw earth felt a distinct melancholy because they realized, how small and fragile all life on earth really is and how wreckless we treat it. And still, at least for me, there is also something soothing about the thought that we are not everything there is, that there are planets and suns and universes and galaxies that will surpass us, that are eternal like gods compared to the finality of our lives.
I lost my panties in the moshpit! 