As time continuously coils, uncoils, then recoils tighter and tighter, there’s only one of the four seasons that provides peak atmosphere for all things darkly magical and macabrely melancholy. It’s not the oppressive humidity and strangulating heat of Summer, though that has its place, as does the freshness of spring, and the icy caress as a stab that can be Winter. Two out of the three feel like seasons you use art to cope with and Spring, while always a lovely reprieve from its mean, snub-nosed siblings, is a flaxen-haired princess whistling her way through fertility. Which is lovely and all, but there’s a darkness that is sorely lacking, making the time we get with our precious and shadow-laden Autumn all the better.
Whether it’s the sudden nip in the air, the days growing more dim, or the ghoulish sugar-laden bacchanale that is Halloween, Autumn is a season that gives us bright splashes of color amongst the purplish-black hues of a night sky. It’s childish glee with a wicked imagination and hints of very grown up danger all wrapped up in a tissue-thin wrapper of orange and black. So, it’s not like Fall needs any extra enhancements, but, like adding the right spice to boost an already tasty recipe, there are certain albums that just pair beautifully with the season.
As always with any Halloween-adjacent list I create, there will be intentional omissions of any of the obvious big dogs aka no “Thriller” or “Monster Mash.” And for goddsakes, The Eagles' “Witchy Woman” can right back to the tepid AOR hell from whence it originally came! You deserve better and hell, I deserve better. So, follow my lit jack-o-lantern as we enter the quixotic soundscapes that fit the Harvest season like a black leather glove.
Few musicians can capture something that is simultaneously enrapturing and looming quite like Nash the Slash. This multi-instrumentalist composer first came to prominence as a founding member, along with Cameron Hawkins, of the underrated Canadian prog/rock band FM, but would quickly carve out his own veritable aural plain as a solo artist. This one man force of nature created some of the most beautiful, powerful, and evocative music with one part electronic violin and mandolins, drum machines and all parts genius. If you’re unfamiliar, then his 1981 album, Children of the Night, is a fine alcove to explore.
The album’s opening track, “Wolf,” is an enchanting variation of Sergei Prokofiev’s “Peter and the Wolf,” that would be equally at home with Johnathon Harker’s carriage ride to Dracula’s castle than a Russian children’s tale. There are the playful covers of both the Rolling Stones’ “19th Nervous Breakdown” and Jan & Dean’s “Dead Man’s Curve,” as well as deliriously great permutation of Deep Purple’s classic rock radio staple, “Smoke on the Water,” here titled “Dopes on the Water.”
Things grow more sinister with the title track as well as the mournful side of hard rock with “In a Glass Eye.” Children of the Night as a whole piece is, like so much of Nash’s entire discography, a journey most enriching that is akin to tunneling through a phantasmagoric funhouse to the unknown. In short, beautiful and always demanding your proper attention and respect. While the man may have passed away from this physical realm back in 2014, his has left an everlasting mark upon the hearts and ears of the curious and worthy from conception to annihilation. Excitingly, there is currently a GoFundMe for a documentary titled Nash the Slash Rises Again. If it’s as good as the trailer, then the lord’s work is truly getting done.
If Children of the Night is old world meets unexplored world rock/electronic/classical music goodness, then the 2013's Mondo Zombie Boogaloo compilation is the dreamiest Halloween party soundtrack.
Featuring a plethora of killer no filler tunes from the terrifyingly terrific trio of Los Straitjackets, Southern Culture on the Skids, and one of my favorite bands in the history of popular music, The Fleshtones, Mondo Zombie Boogaloo truly has something for everyone. This terrific trio of artists brings everything from surf rock (“It’s Monster Surfing Time”), fun covers (“Goo Goo Muck”), atmospheric instrumentals (“Theme from Young Frankenstein”), garage rock madness (ALL of the Fleshtones tracks, but esp “Haunted Hipster” & “Ghoulman Confidential”, a lonesome country ballad (“Loneliest Ghost in Town”), and what is the only version of Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s hoary holiday chestnut, “Monster Mash,” that I can handle in the form of “Que Monstruos Son.”
Mondo Zombie Boogaloo gives you fifteen tracks of psychotronic musical delight in a delightfully spooky vibe. If you’re wanting to channel your inner House on Bare Mountain-style party, complete with twisting pin-ups and Frankenstein’s monster spiking the punch bowl, then look no further than this monastery mad charmer of a compilation.
The air has grown colder as you and your friends approach an old Victorian style house that, judging from its outside shell of peeled paint and blankets of overgrown ivy, hasn’t sheltered the living in a very long time. What a curious structure to find out here in the woods and at least thirty miles from any proper signs of modern civilization. One cautious step inside the house and a copper-colored oil lamp coated in a thick dust is suddenly aflame. The walls start to move while the floor feels like it is undulating as an unholy sound shrieks down to your very core. All of you know down to the marrow waiting within your bones is that you are not returning home.
This could be the lead up to only one of the finest musical masterpieces ever with Mercyful Fate’s 1984 album, Don’t Break the Oath. King Diamond possesses this one-of-a-kind voice, often sounding like a black-eyed seraphim whose slender claws will grasp the nape of your neck and drag you straight to the inferno. In other words, beautiful, eerie, and bubbling with blasphemy. The rest of the band, including guitarists Hank Shermann and Michael Denner, bassist Timi Hansen, and drummer Kim Ruzz, meet him note by note, creating one of the most evocatively gothic black metal albums ever.
Autumn moves all around as you warm your hands over the small bonfire your best friend’s girlfriend started right as dusk began to creep upwards…wait…or was that downwards? Regardless, that was hours ago as the sky now is the bluest shade of black without a visible moon or town lights to offer any illumination. Staring up above, you see an eerie green light among the stars bleed in. Feeling your throat tighten up, unable to make a noise yet you’re even more afraid to look away. Behind you, the sounds of best friend and her girlfriend squealing and horsing around makes it all the more discomforting. We are surrounded by the unknown from cradle to the grave.
Long Island’s own Blue Oyster Cult has been making their own distinctive mark in rock & roll dating back to their incredible self-titled debut album in 1972. Their blend of heavy riffs, pitch-perfect melodies, and subject matters that ranges from forgotten loves to aliens to vampires to the darker sides of outlaw bikerdom, are all the groundwork that have established Blue Oyster Cult as one of the greatest (and underrated) rock bands. No matter what, Blue Oyster Cult have never ever lowered themselves to being typical. Also, one of their biggest fans is Stephen King, which says a lot right there.
In other words, if any band had a discography primed and ready for spooky season, it is Blue Oyster Cult. This time around, I’m focusing on 1981’s Fire of Unknown Origin. This is one of my personal favorites, between the title track that promises “...death comes driving down the highway, in its Sunday best…” to the exquisitely bleak point of no return atmosphere of “Veteran of the Psychic Wars,” this whole album is a dark kiss of a masterpiece.
Also, for all the true BOC fans, we know which song should really be on everyone’s Halloween mixes. “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” is, of course, fantastic, but if you really want to bring the creep factor, switch that out with “Joan Crawford” and enjoy the glorious bad vibes.
Some say that the first chill of Autumn can seep into your bones like a lover's caress, sweetly pulling your still living flesh into the cooling soil of an awaiting grave. The magic of Fall is its thrall, enchanting us with vivid colors of gold, orange, and red as everything around starts to shed and die. It is a seduction with a velveteen undertone of doom, which is exquisitely matched by Type O Negative’s 1996 album, October Rust.
Vocalist, bassist, and core lyricist, the late and eternally great Peter Steele, alone nails all the tangibility of the beauty, melancholy, and mesmerizingly macabre of the season. His deep voice possesses this resonance that matches the equally strong rest of the band, including keyboardist Josh Silver, guitarist Kenny Hickey, and drummer Johnny Kelly. Together they create a soundscape that is heavy and bewatching. Tracks like “Wolf Moon,” which, by the way, might be the most tasteful ode to a man getting his “red wings” ever, and especially “Haunted” demand to be listened to at the Witching Hour.
Seasons, like so much in life, come and go. Every beginning, for better or worse, has its sibling named ending. Yet, music, like all art, is our connective tissue to all balms that our battlescarred hearts need. So, whether you’re wanting to revel in Autumn when it is gracing us with its phantasmagorical presence, or wanting a taste of it during harsher months, these five albums with undeniably grab your hand, put a shawl around your shoulders, and walk you through an overgrown cemetery in the wee hours of a looming Harvest Moon.
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