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Biometallica

In Cronenberg’s Crash, that perfect cinematic essay from JG Ballard’s novel on the desperate search for desire in a dead relationship, composer Howard Shore doesn’t score plot: he scores states of Ballardian desire. The music seduces our minds and selves by holding us hostage inside a sonic world of forbidden freedoms, some kind of ‘aural zone’ where erotic curiosity and the risk of damage become the same fused current.

Howard Shore takes an approach to scoring this film that is unique both in his output and in scoring in general. To express the core nature of the film, its Crashness, there are several roads in: instrumental texture, the use of motif, harmony, and musical production.


Instrumentation as argument

First, Shore’s instrumental ensemble (six electric guitars, three harps, three woodwinds, two percussionists) carries the score’s thesis, its attitude and dramatic goals. These acoustic ‘bodies’ are wired, processed, and spatialized so that ‘human’ and ‘technological’ sonically coalesce. The instrumentation becomes a metaphor for the core meaning of Crash.

Rather than an acoustic guitar, Shore precisely chooses the electric guitar, which functions as a fetishized metal/flesh hybrid: an electrified version of a wooden instrument, as if someone were picking and strumming the front grille of a car.

Shore foregrounds the score’s technological becoming (written, performed, recorded, processed, synchronized) so that the method of making sound is part of its meaning. The music becomes a technical object among technical objects, as constitutive of the film’s machinery as the camera and the edit.

Motive, not theme

Unlike leitmotivic filmscores, where many characters or ideas are identified with many tunes, in Crash no character owns their own tune. One shared musical figure, call it Crash music, circulates through Ballard, Catherine, and Vaughan. This Crash music expresses their global destinies of desire, rather than specific identity tags. The score signals a present psychic state, whoever is onscreen.

This primary figure rocks, back and forth, around a central note, on either side of safety, slowly, like breath held, or desire unfulfilled, or a mind unsettled.

In the cue ‘Triton’, the motion tightens, keeping us locked between sanctuary and fall, even more intensely unable to find fulfilment. The electric guitar’s upper register here carries a half-scream, half-pleasure vocal signature, while intervals of open fifths, unresolved by design, leave the self exposed and vulnerable.

Beneath that upper tremble, we hear fragmented lower figures cranking like a reluctant starter motor. Spader’s notion of the crash as ‘inner ignition’ finds its analogue here: the music doesn’t simply accompany desire; it becomes the dimension through which the film’s desires move. Musical sheets of stuttering, rocking metal arouse the system and keep the characters from satiation.

Harmony as trap

Rather than moving through various modalities, minor and major, Shore keeps us within a fixed minor key center. The result is an emphatic circularity that rarely permits escape. Our core figure in this minor-key world refuses to mature into some full-blown ‘melody’ or an ‘accompaniment’.

Musical Production

Shore produces the score so that it sounds like the electric-human world it emerges from. The metallic timbres of the instruments float in exaggerated, unnatural reverbs. Ideas echo and repeat endlessly. We can hear loudly how artificial that reverb is: it doesn’t really come from being in a real space.

The score seems to sound from within the imagination behind the diegesis, as if within the characters’ psychic rooms. The musical space itself becomes eroticized, a dark pool where the suspension of ‘motivic safety’ feels luxuriant. Like the characters, we feel we can risk anything in this space. We can even try to cheat death.

Form: vertical looseness, horizontal caprice

In terms of the relationship between image and sound, vertically, Shore avoids tight synch; the music does not bob-and-weave around dialogue or gesture.

Horizontally, in terms of the placement of the score during scenes, the music’s arrivals and disappearances are unpredictable and varied. Shore’s cues do not loudly point or pay off, but form a weaving, intermittent current that tracks the starts and stalls of meaning onscreen. The camera’s own gliding dream-state finds its musical twin. Sound and Image fuse.


Overall Function: seduction and anesthesia

Ultimately, the score’s textures soothe as much as they derail. Without its languid vibrations the film might be an unbearable open wound. With the score, the viewer is sweetly seduced into its between-space and disarmed enough to be deeply affected, even changed by it. There is no other music or film music like it, and its uniqueness goes deep inside both us and the characters onscreen, who seem affected by its sounds in a dreamlike and impossibly fused manner. The score is an erotics of the irreparable, Ballard’s novel uniquely transposed into sound.

The result is a score that literalizes Crash’s psychic mechanics: instrumentation as thesis, production as ontology, texture as touch, harmony as trap, form as drifting current. This is music not about desire but made from it.