Editorials
Wendy Carlos Pioneer of Horror Movie Synth Soundtracks
NOTE: Since the publishing of this article 2 years ago, I have been made aware of some major mistakes and misinformation that were in its original iteration. A sincere thank you to Charlie Brigden, a freelance journalist best known for their work talking about film scores. They have informed me of the errors in this article on Wendy Carlos, and helped me amend them. My gratitude to them for helping make this article better, and my gratitude to you for reading. Thanks!
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.
Carpenter’s Lasting Influence on Modern Horror Films
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 nothing but heat.
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 since 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. They’re the beginning of an exhaustive list of films with nostalgic synth soundtracks harkening back to his discography. So really, is there anybody who compares when it comes to his influence?
Wendy Carlos. The other some.
Wendy Carlos: Pioneering Electronic Music and Horror Scores
A brief introduction for the uninitiated: when it comes to electronic music, Carlos 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 Carlos was the captain who steered it into the great unknown. She returned with untold riches, encouraging others to do the same.
You know, without a John Carpenter’s The Fog situation happening.
Carlos’ Overlooked Impact on Horror Cinema
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 big inspirations, alongside bands like Tangerine Dream and the Italian horror mainstay Goblin. He is the way I found out about her in the first place.
After her work on Switched-On-Bach, she went on to produce the soundtrack to A Clockwork Orange, a film I would classify as psychological horror (but that’s a discussion for another day). Her cutting-edge reinterpretations of Beethoven and other classical musicians were the level of bold necessary for Kubrick movies. They perfectly engendered the horrors of Alex, his droogs, and the establishment around them. She built a soundscape that fit its mise-en-scene like a glove. And that was a feat she would replicate in another Stanley Kubrick classic she worked on.
Crafting the Iconic Sound of The Shining With Rachel Elkind
If scoring one of the greatest films of all time wasn’t enough, how about two? Proper respect is doled out in doses few and far between when it comes to horror, so let’s acknowledge her crowning achievement in cinematic scores: The Shining (1980), one of the greatest horror movies of all time.
This score was made in cooperation with her partner, Rachel Elkind, a classical musician, singer, and composer. In the original version of this article, I completely ignored Elkind’s massive contribution to the score, a failure of recognition that was unfortunately quite common according to Carlos herself. Rachel’s training as a jazz singer, her vocal range, and her style of musical composition complimented Carlos’ perfectly. It brought dynamism to their work in unexpected ways; her voice is even baked into the opening theme of The Shining, creating what Carlos described as the “sizzle effect” that permeates through the opening of the song.
The blend of music the two made is, frankly, inimitable. The Shining’s self-titled main theme is one of those songs that captures the tensest moments in the film. The piece 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.
A Symphony of Psychological Horror and The Lost Tracks of The Shining
It’s a neat reflection of the situation Stephen King penned and Kubrick adapted. 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 one-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 and Elkind’s 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. 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.)
Echoes in Modern Horror Scores
There are echoes of Carlos and Elkind’s work throughout modern horror film scores today. Take the acclaimed work of Colin Stetson in Hereditary, or Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow in Annihilation, or one of my favorites, Mica Levi’s unforgettable score for Under the Skin. All those soundtracks, and countless contemporaries, were touched by Carlos and Elkind.
And now here, in our new golden age of horror through the strange 2010s and roaring 2020s, the scores of a film are no longer a secondary aspect for your general audiences; 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.
Yes, You Should Be Thanking Wendy Carlos
Not every musician is a fan of Carpenter, but most musicians owe Wendy Carlos something for her influence on modern music production, and it shows through the currents of inspiration that she cut indelible grooves into horror movie history.
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 Wendy 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 we all owe her.
The United States spent most of this year celebrating its 250th anniversary. There have been parades, fireworks, and endless reminders of what the nation wants us to think are its founding ideals. Yet anniversaries are as much about what we choose to remember as they are about what we choose to forget. There is another anniversary this year. Five years ago this month, Candyman was released. The fact that both that film and America are sharing an anniversary this year may have been an accident, but that makes it no less significant.
Released amid another national reckoning over race, Nia DaCosta’s film asks a question that every celebration of America ought to confront: Is it possible to commemorate this nation without fully reckoning with the violence woven into its history? More than a sequel to a horror classic, Candyman is a meditation on the ghosts that haunt America because it has never fully reckoned with the past that created them.
How the Original Candyman Confronted America’s Racial History
The original Candyman understood this. Released in 1992 and set in the almost post-apocalyptic urban decay that was Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects, Bernard Rose’s film arrived only months after the L.A. Race Riots, a moment when this country was coming to terms with the way the country’s relationship with Black folks was shaped by decades of segregation and racism.
Most audiences saw a supernatural slasher about a hook-handed killer summoned by saying his name five times into a mirror. But beneath the horror was a far more unsettling story. Candyman was about the lingering consequences of America’s racial history and the way white America has sometimes turned Black suffering into myth instead of confronting the systems that produced it.
The film’s true horror was never simply Candyman. It was the realization that monsters can be born from histories a nation refuses to face. That is exactly where the 2021 film expands the original’s vision.
Nia DaCosta’s Candyman Turns One Ghost Into Many
Bernard Rose’s Candyman explored the legacy of a single act of racist terror. Nia DaCosta’s film argues that the tragedy wasn’t confined to Daniel Robitaille, the man who became the monster. The 2021 film posits that Candyman is not one man but many.
Daniel Robitaille was lynched for loving a white woman. Sherman Fields takes on the mantle of the supernatural slasher because he was beaten to death by police after being falsely accused of harming a child. Anthony McCoy ultimately becomes part of the same legend. Their stories span generations, but they are connected by a nation that repeatedly produces the same injustice under different names at different points in history. The genius of the sequel is that it transforms Candyman from an individual ghost into a symbol of America’s recurring racial violence.
Candyman Shows How History Repeats Itself
History, the film suggests, is not something that happened once. It is something that keeps happening. That is why Candyman is one of my favorite films to teach in my Film and Philosophy course.
Students walk into class expecting a horror movie. They leave wrestling with questions about history, memory, and justice. We spend little time talking about jump scares or gore. (Because, let’s be honest, there is not much of that in the film.) Instead, we ask why some histories become legends while others are forgotten, what societies owe their victims, and whether a nation can ever move forward without honestly confronting the violence that shaped it.
The Horror of Remembering What America Wants to Forget
A good horror film reveals what we fear. What makes Candyman great is how it reveals what we would rather not remember. That is what haunted me the first time I saw it, long after the credits had rolled.
Five years after its release, Candyman remains one of the most unsettling movies in recent years because the history it confronts is not safely behind us. The original film understood that America’s racial violence could not simply be buried, while the 2021 film showed how easily that violence can be reproduced across generations.
Its Unquestionable Legacy in Horror
As America celebrates 250 years, Candyman reminds us that commemorating the nation’s founding requires remembering all this country’s history, including the parts that make the celebration uncomfortable.
We cannot exorcise a ghost by refusing to acknowledge why it exists. Perhaps that is the film’s most important lesson. The past does not haunt us because we remember it. It haunts us because we don’t.
Sometimes it feels borderline ridiculous to gush about John Carpenter’s The Thing as much as I do. It’s gotten to the point where when I’m asked about my favorite horror film by both friends and strangers, a little bit of embarrassment tinges my expression as I answer; it feels so obvious and rarely surprises anyone. Saying I love The Thing when people expect me to bust out an obscure foreign horror film or a cerebral thriller makes me feel like a rosy cheeked child with a propeller hat and a giant lollipop. “Wow, you love one of the most popular horror films of all time, congrats!”
But it’s just the truth. The first film of John Carpenter’s “Apocalypse Trilogy”, all three of its films are among my favorites. But The Thing has a special place in my heart. It shaped my taste in horror, my taste in most media in general, to be honest. It’s become the gold standard, 10/10 baseline test for the vast majority of my reviews; it is a perfect film, so I judge other films against it. And it’s one of the few movies I have to run back to and watch yearly like clockwork (usually when I’m spending a part of winter tied to the couch). It is, in all regards, the perfect film. If it isn’t the perfect film, then it is at the very least the perfect sci-fi horror film.
So, what exactly qualifies The Thing for literal perfection? It’s a high bar to clear. This article, as informal as it is compared to most of my editorials, is an attempt to explain it.
Even if Carpenter Isn’t the Goat, His Team for The Thing Was
As far as crews go, John Carpenter’s The Thing had the cinematic equivalent of the ’96 Chicago Bulls behind it. We’re talking about an amalgam of some of the most talented people to ever grace the silver screens with their work, boasting alongside John Carpenter two of the heaviest hitters in all of cinematic history: Dean Cundey, and Rob Bottin. Now, we can debate all day about whether John Carpenter is the greatest of all time when it comes to horror directors. Personally, I’m just as liable to say Cronenberg, Del Toro, or Hooper as I am to say Carpenter.
But the key factor to remember here is that Carpenter is the coach, not the star player; the Phil Jackson, if you will. Yes, he is the visionary who directed a near perfect cast of players and composed a tale of pure, apocalyptic paranoia. More importantly, he put together and coordinated the team that would make his vision manifest as reality. And if Carpenter is Phil Jackson, Rob Bottin is the team’s Michael Jordan here, the greatest of all time.
(And to all my Lebron fans, I love you, but you have to sit down for this analogy.)
The Legend of Rob Bottin
Bottin’s story is borderline unbelievable, but it’s the best way to explain how abnormally skilled he is and what he brought to the table for Carpenter. At age 14, Bottin became an apprentice to the at-the-time GOAT Rick Baker after sending him a letter seeking an autograph while sharing his creature designs. He was a quick study under Baker, joining him on the ’76 King Kong and Star Wars, before bouncing to Carpenter’s The Fog and then iconic werewolf picture The Howling.
When he reunited with Carpenter in 1982, he now had 6 classic films under his belt and was moving like an FX bullet train. From ages 22 to 23, he worked on The Thing for 57 weeks in both pre-production and on set. Nearly 24/7 for 400 days, Bottin’s all-gas no-brakes work ethic made The Thing at the cost of his own health, and it resulted in him being hospitalized with pneumonia. He survived and went on to make Robocop. And at least one of your favorite films.
Because no conventional disease or weaponry can kill Rob Bottin.
The Thing Still Features Horror’s Best Practical Effects
Okay, that last bit might be hyperbolic, but the man sincerely put his life on the line to make special effects that haven’t been topped since. Not the best effects in just horror history, or science fiction history, but effects that haven’t been topped in any genre for over 44 years. Not by his mentor Rick Baker, not by Screaming Mad George, not by Alec Gillis (though shoutout to him for his criminally scrapped work on The Thing (2011), and even more criminally ignored work on Harbinger Down). I love Dawn of the Dead, believe me, I do, but he certainly isn’t being beaten out by Tom Savini’s body of work. And that isn’t to disrespect and say that all of the artists that I just mentioned are bad, they’re the best in the game! But Rob Bottin was just that much better.
This inevitably invites the counterpoint: “But it wasn’t just Bottin! Stan Winston and his people were the ones who worked on the Dog Thing to give Bottin’s crew a break, and that’s the best monster in the movie!”. To which I say: look me in the eye and tell me the Dog Thing sequence is better than the Palmer Thing sequence. That’s not even counting the Norwegian Thing, both Norris Things, and the absolutely masterful final creature work that was the Blair Thing. The only reason Bottin and his people didn’t win Academy Awards for their work was because they got jumped by E.T., The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, and Blade Runner all at the same time at the Oscars. It’s just a consequence of being released during the best year for movies ever.
Okay, Now We Can Talk About Dean Cundey
But of course, these effects are then supported by another true legend: Dean Cundey. Selling people on Rob Bottin being the greatest effects artist of all time, isn’t nearly as difficult as advocating for Cundey, who despite an impressive catalog of filmography, slowed down in the back half of his career. He’s often overshadowed in conversations when it comes to The Thing; it’s always talk of Carpenter’s directing, Bottin’s effects, and Ennio Morricone’s incredible soundtrack up front, and rarely any of Cundey’s work. He isn’t spoken about in the same breath as John Alcott or Michael Ballhaus, cinematographers whose work is associated with prestigious cinema because of their proximity to great directors.
Cundey might not be the director of photography your Martin Scorsese’s or Paul Thomas Anderson’s went running to, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most important cinematographer in horror history, just for his work with Carpenter and Spielberg. He helmed three of the most influential films in all of horror with his lighting and camera operating: The Thing, Halloween, and Jurassic Park. The man’s fingerprints are automatically on the cultural DNA of all slashers, most practical effects-driven horror films, and the biggest gateway horror franchise in film history.
The Dream Team That Made The Thing Perfection
Cundey has gone on record saying that despite Carpenter’s input, he was effectively given free rein to light and frame The Thing. The man didn’t just know how to shoot effects to make them evoke true disgust from the audience, he was able to manipulate every aspect of the shot to terrify. His sixth sense cinematography wasn’t just for lighting and playing with shadows, but for the speed of camera movement, the power of his blocking, and for having a complete grasp of communicating texture and temperature.
And temperature is the soul of The Thing. John J. Lloyd’s production design of the research station and the great white expanse around it feels just as bone chilling as the film’s antagonist, thanks to Cundey. There isn’t a single flat shot in the thing, not a moment that doesn’t feel dynamic, and it’s because of Dean Cundey.
Now, all this being said about Bottin and Cundey, they are far from the only ones who synthesized this structurally perfect organism of a movie. Every bit of Todd C. Ramsay’s editing splices the film’s scenes together to move perfectly in-time. David Lewis Yewdall’s sound design and how it gave a voice to the horrors on screen will be etched into people’s brains forever. The point is that everyone, every single person who had a hand in making the film, helped make the movie flawless.
Like the cells of the thing from another world, each crew member on John Carpenter’s The Thing moved in concert with the next, in unison, to create the greatest sci-fi horror of all time. So, is it any wonder why 40 some years later, the film still has us all captured?
