Editorials
Seeing Sounds: Wendy Carlos, The Modern Horror Movie Soundtrack, and a Long Overdue Thank You

Some musicians actively strive to be the ones brought up in every conversation and fought for in every debate. Some of them even succeed.
That some is John Carpenter.
You can’t walk more than five feet into a talk about synth music without tripping and falling face-first into Carpenter’s oeuvre, and the reason for that has to do with the outrageous success he’s had in his primary medium: film. Truly, Carpenter’s soundtracks are one of the first things that come up in any conversation about music in movies, let alone music in horror movies which he dominated. Go to even his least successful horror film endeavors, and you will find heater after heater.
For a good reason, I think there’s nothing quite like a Carpenter soundtrack, and many of the artists in the horror scene inspired by him would probably agree. Synth soundtracks emulating his style have become all the rage with modern horror movies that call back to the 80s and 90s. Terrifier 2, Psycho Goreman, Mandy, The Guest, and It Follows are just what come to mind first, the beginning of an exhaustive list of films with nostalgic synth soundtracks harkening back to Carpenter’s discography. So really, is there anybody who compares when it comes to his influence?
Wendy Carlos. The other some.
WENDY THE VISIONARY, ON AND OFF FILM
A brief introduction for the uninitiated: when it comes to electronic music, Carlos wasn’t at the vanguard, she was the vanguard. Her magnum opus, Switched-on-Bach, is a collection of Bach pieces recreated entirely with the then-mostly unknown Moog synthesizer. The album was met with explosive commercial and critical acclaim for its never before heard innovation, and the Moog became an invaluable studio tool for musicians across the world.
She also became the first transgender Grammy award winner for Switched and by extension, one of the most prominent queer artists of the modern era. If Robert Moog was the man who crafted the ship, Wendy was the captain who steered it into the great unknown and returned with untold riches, encouraging others to do the same. You know, without a John Carpenter’s The Fog situation happening.
Wendy Carlos has always been at the head of the line when discussing great modern composers. Still, I find that in casual conversation, she’s greatly overlooked and underrated for her influence on movies, particularly horror movies. Carlos as an artist, and the Switched-on-Bach album, has been cited more than a few times by John Carpenter as one of his primary inspirations. He is the way I found out about her in the first place.
She went on to produce the soundtrack to an AFI top 100 regular, A Clockwork Orange, a film I would classify as a psychological horror (but that’s a discussion for another day). Her cutting-edge reinterpretations of Beethoven and other classical musicians were the level of boldness necessary for Kubrick movies. They perfectly engendered the horrors of Alex, his droogs, and the establishment around them. A motif that would reappear in…
THE SHINING, THROUGH LIVING NOISE AND LOST SOUNDTRACKS
But I understand that these are much more mainstream acclaims, ones that aren’t always relevant to the out-group that is horror creatives. Respect is doled out in doses few and far between when it comes to horror, so let’s acknowledge her crowning achievements in cinematic scores: The Shining (1980), one of the greatest horror movies of all time.
The Shining’s self-titled main theme is one of those songs that captures the tensest scenes in the film. The composition has these inflection points that can send little noises into your ear and down your spine. The song is the voice of the Overlook and the first voice that speaks to you when you start watching.
The ghosts of the Overlook are a symphony of many players digging into Jack Torrance’s brain, and you are in the orchestra pit right with him. Carlos’ song embodies the gravity of being trapped in a horror that isn’t immediately apparent, becoming slowly and horribly aware of the overwhelming force you’re already standing inside. There is one particular sound around the minute mark, this reverberating percussive force that shows up in the theme, that makes me want to look over my shoulder; sometimes, I even give in. It’s a fascinating, living noise with its own spirit, just like the hotel, and it is masterful.
Though much of Carlos’ original work was shelved for the film and is hard to find outside of some very expensive CD copies, The Shining audio that is available will make your head spin. Carlos wrote the soundtrack to match the book before modifying it for the film, and its seamlessness is impressive.
For those curious to hear, one of the tracks that did make it inside Vivian Kubrick’s documentary Making the Shiningas the closing number:
The teaser trailer for The Shining also contains the original “Clockworks (Bloody Elevators)” track that played during the infamous scene if you want a sliver of what could have been.
(P.S. I’m still miffed that it never made the final cut.)
THE COMPOSER THAT TOUCHES EVERYTHING
Carlos’ knowledge of classical music is the primary reason the rest of The Shining’s soundtrack is so terrifying. The late great Krzysztof Penderecki is the composer who takes the lion’s share of the runtime. Suppose we were to scratch off the list even Carlos’ input with Switched-on-Bach, A Clockwork Orange, The Shining’s main theme, and her touch being added to Carpenter’s and numerous others’ styles. In that case, we must acknowledge that she popularized Penderecki’s work and indelibly changed the entire sound of horror movie music.
Take, for instance, “Polymorphia,” a Pendericki composition that was cut from its inclusion in The Exorcist’s infamous ‘spider walk’ scene until the 1999 release; It’s those iconic, frantic, and staggered strings that sound like they’re moving at you that caught viewers, including myself on the first go-around. What was once a lesser-known gem was recontextualized by The Shining for a mainstream audience and is now the basis for a surprising amount of the music you see in mainstream horror today.
Take the acclaimed work of Colin Stetson in Hereditary (see: “Peter”), or Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow in Annihilation (see: “The Alligator,” “The Swimming Pool”), or one of my favorites, Mica Levi’s unforgettable score for Under the Skin (see: more songs than I have space to list). All those soundtracks, and countless contemporaries, were touched by Penderecki, and the average person got there through Carlos’ curating the music for The Shining. Carlos was the tastemaker before there was even a concept of having that kind of influence on horror movies.
Just a sampling of one of the best to do it like Penderecki.
A LONG OVERDUE THANK YOU
And now here, in our new golden age of horror through the strange 2010s and roaring 2020s, the soundtrack is no longer relegated to whatever fits in the background; it’s a deciding factor for many viewers. Bear McCreary for one, has lured me to many movies I wouldn’t have seen otherwise because his soundtracks are golden, and the fundamentals of what Wendy Carlos made run parallel to their works.
Not every musician is a fan of Carpenter, but most musicians owe Carlos something for her influence on modern music production, and it shows through the currents of inspiration that she cut grooves into horror movie history like rivers through the earth.
Carlos famously began her most-seen interview on the Moog Synthesizer with the BBC by saying, “You have to build every sound. And to start to build these sounds, you have to start with something very simple.” While Carlos’ discography was by no means simple in creation or consumption, it is undoubtedly one massive spawning point, a tree trunk that branches out into the history of music. And in terms of horror movie soundtracks, you’d be hard-pressed to find me another composer that deserves more credit.
So, consider this that long overdue thank you.
Editorials
The Evolution of Black Religion & Spirituality in Horror

Jobs for Black actors were scarce in the early days of Hollywood, but that didn’t mean there weren’t Black roles in the films being made. The silver screen had a ceiling for Black actors but not for our culture. White audiences got a gag out of the Black caricatures that white actors portrayed whilst the dehumanizing regurgitation of our culture was used for plot development. Thus, one of the very first Black tropes was born: the magical negro. The early media depictions of Black spirituality were a tool to villainize the community off-screen. Some could say we’ve come a long way since then. I would say we still have a ways to go. The progress is still worth reflecting on, though.
Christianity is one of the largest faiths practiced in the Black American community. But before the missionaries spread the good Lord’s word, most enslaved people aligned with West African religious practices: using herbs, charms, and other metaphysical tools. Tituba, an enslaved Afro-Caribbean woman, was one of the first women accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Trials— except they identified it as ‘hoodoo’ or Vodou. It was later demonized as the seed that sprouted the uprising of enslaved Haitian people. With these stepping stones (and American imperialism in Haiti), white screenwriters had fuel for a genre on the rise: horror.
White Zombie (1932) is one of the earliest examples of Vodou in horror and, considerably, the first zombie movie. It isn’t the most harmful, though. Black Moon (1934) made history for a few reasons: being violently racist and starring the first Black American actress to sign a film contract. There’s too much irony in that.
The depiction of voodoo in Black Moon, like many other common Black tropes, reinforces black inferiority to their oppressors and makes a monster out of Black men. It wasn’t until 1941 that audiences saw an authentic portrayal of a different Black religion: Christianity. The Blood of Jesus (dir. Spencer Williams) stars an all-black cast and follows a woman on her journey between heaven and hell. It was a turning point for Black cinema as a whole.
Narratives such as this, Def By Temptation (1990), and, most recently, The Deliverance (2024) depict the liberation that Black Christians often find in their religion. They draw a direct connection between identity and virtue. Ganja & Hess (1973), however, takes a different approach. Director Bill Gunn doesn’t offer the Christian God as an entity of power capable of salvation. The ending is representative of the religious guilt that weighted Hess Green (played by Duane Jones). Neither vampirism nor religion can save him from the trauma he’s running from.
Almost any Black film that I’ve seen, Tyler Perry included, involved Christianity to some extent. 2023 was the first time I saw a Black religious practice given proper respect on screen. Stay with me here– The Exorcist: Believer (dir. David Gordon Green). Rarely have I seen a positive opinion on this extension of the franchise. Unfortunately, DGG left a bad taste in horror fans’ mouths with his Halloween films. I don’t think it’s so much of his style rather than the loyalty that fans have for these franchises. They have high expectations that very few people can meet. I admired the way he represented the beauty of Haitian culture, though. Particularly, hoodoo was an integral part of the story in a way I haven’t seen in mainstream horror. It wasn’t evil nor was it dramatic. The rootwork healer isn’t crushing bones or conducting blood sacrifices. Its authenticity was commendable compared to the genre’s predecessors that have demonized this very spiritual work for decades.
The late, great Tony Todd added to the list of authentic Black spiritual horror films this past year with The Activated Man (dir. Nicholas Gyeney). Todd stars as a lightworker, named Jeffrey Bowman, who helps the main character defeat an evil, fedora-sporting spirit. He’s dripped out with a rose quartz bracelet and a mala necklace. Though the movie suffers in its respective areas, it’s a tick in the timeline. It’s one of the few times that a Black character has helped to defeat evil with a spiritual practice and faith that isn’t Christianity. Like The Exorcist: Believer, its depiction of Bowman isn’t an unstable practitioner leading with dramatics. It’s easy to get lost in the fine details– some movies won’t live up to our expectations. However, even the most disappointing watch can shift the trajectory of cinema. Where Black characters were once monolithic religious apostles, modern cinema is more willing to diversify Black characters beyond those tired tropes.
Editorials
The Art of Politicizing a Dumb Killer Clown Movie

“Horror is not political” is a recycled firestorm on the internet. The smoke smells the same as it did before, the burn isn’t that bright, and the outcome is always the same: we’ve done this dance before, and we will do it again.
Damien Leone has joined the club of Joe Bob Briggs and dozens of others who have voiced that very hollow opinion that “Horror is not political”. Because I do, I think above all else, above the very clear negotiation with the part of his audience who got angry, the very clear fear of backlash for actor David Howard Thorton’s admonitions of the current Trump administration and his support for the LGBTQ+ community, is…
Hollowness.
“Horror is not political” is not an opinion.
It’s an absence of opinion. It’s a platitude; it’s meant to appease people. It’s a free dessert for the person raging in the restaurant that their soup was cold and that they won’t stand for it. It’s bargaining.
Are the Terrifier films Political?
Hopefully I never have to bring up politics publicly ever again but this desperately needed to be said on behalf of the Terrifier franchise 🙏 pic.twitter.com/b7soIj9P33
— Damien Leone (@damienleone) February 3, 2025
Mind you, this is not a call-out of those people angry at the concept of political horror, and I doubt you could call it a call-in post either; chances are you’re not reading this if you feel that so strongly. The goal is to do what I always do: talk about movies and what they mean, and this current firestorm is a very convenient way of doing that. It’s a well-timed way to toast my analytical marshmallow (promise, that’s the last fire metaphor).
So, what are the politics of the Terrifier films that Damien Leone wants to put away while the irate hotel guests are here? The Terrifier movies are political beasts by their nature, and their killer, the beloved jewel of the Terrifier franchise Art the Clown, is just as political as his actor’s commentary on current-day America. Because through and through, Art the Clown is a monster carrying with him the shadow of sexual violence, a harbinger of how truly despicable that kind of violence is, and shows how the world is not set up to help its victims.
And Leone has said as much to support that.
After all, he believes he’s tackled sexual violence quite well in the films. In an interview with Rue Morgue, he goes on to elaborate why he believes just that:
“I think I’m just so comfortable [tackling sexual violence] because I was raised by all women that I don’t think about those things when I’m doing it. […] I’m not trying to offend, so there’s really nothing I’m not afraid to show. There’s things I won’t show; There’s lines that I try not to cross, believe it or not. No matter how grotesque and intense these scenes get, I always keep it in the back of my head like, ‘How far can we push it [..]?’
And I find it fascinating, because no matter how much negative space Leone leaves in terms of explicit sexual abuse on Art the Clown’s part, that negative space speaks just as loudly as if it was actually on screen.
The Politics of Clownery
On a meta-textual level, the extremity, the explosive and sensationalized nature of violence in the Terrifier films, the draw that most people go to see at the theatre, puts sexual violence on a pedestal of shame. It makes it untouchable. Horror is the genre that explores the violation of bodily autonomy, the violation of human life, most freely. In making a spectacle of the wildest and most nauseating kills most filmgoers will ever see, turning the killer into a Bugs Bunny-esque monster that’s always pushing the envelope alongside the filmmaker orchestrating him, and then setting boundaries on what Art won’t do, Leone has made a political statement about the truly reprehensible nature of sexual violence.
Art the Clown is bad, but he’s a surreal type of evil. He is jokes and gaffs at the expense of chainsawing couples and bashing people with spiked bats, not the mutants from The Hills Have Eyes, or the hallway scene from Irreversible. He is not the sobering, disgusting kind of evil most people run into in the real world. He is evil incarnate, sans sexual violence. Because if it’s too far for Art, it has to be a special kind of unthinkably cruel.
On a textual level, I think the enduring and surreal violence Sienna and Jonathan endure throughout the series is a perfect metaphor for continuing through life after an assault of that magnitude and cruelty. The aftershocks of violence that permeate your whole being, long after society expects you to have just “gotten over it”. To walk through life, afflicted by paranoia, self-doubt, and self-hatred. To navigate being around other people after having experienced that, and more importantly, living without justice for the crimes done to you, is unthinkable.
True Crime and Horror Collide
And the way that the Terrifier franchise mocks a true crime culture that trivializes that suffering, something a lot of horror fans have to decry as the space tries to worm into the horror genre at large, gives another layer of credence and reality to the misery of Arts victims. Victims who have to see their pain commodified and treated as a tool, something many victims of sexual assault themselves have been forced through thanks to true crime.
And despite each film seeming to end off worse than the last, Leone highlights the grace of a victim escaping that pain and trauma by giving Sienna the means to fight back. Supernaturally granted or otherwise, it is a perfect encapsulation of victims’ desires to overcome seemingly unending suffering, that will to live, to thrive, that burns bright in all victims. It’s a glimmer of hope in a mostly hopeless franchise, and it serves as a mirror to the light at the end of the tunnel many sexual assault victims strive to reach.
At the end of the day, artists don’t really get to buy in or buy out of how political their art is, the same way you don’t get to buy in or buy out of living in a political system. Much like Art’s random and unpredictable violence, it sort of just happens to you. It happens whether it’s the high concept art film horror, or what most people see as a bog-standard dumb killer clown movie. But to embrace that political nature is one of the most important things you can do as an artist.
To leave that meaning behind, to try and void art of the political messaging people might find in it, is to do a great disservice to the people who found comfort and joy in that message. Because once that vessel has been emptied of the love people can find in it, the hate people had isn’t going to stay inside of it for long.
That hollowed art won’t be overflowing with a new audience of people. It will simply be empty.