With Halloween creeping up around the corner, all the monsters hiding under your bed, in your closet, are dusting their haunting grounds. Any good ghost knows that setting the mood is what really scares the daylights out of the living, and what’s a better mood setter than music? While most hapless mortals will prefer to listen to Halloween classics like “The Great Pumpkin Waltz”, “Spooky Scary Skeletons” or break a tibia in the process of dancing along to “Monster Mash,” the more discerning listener might prefer something more…macabre.
The Haunted Jukebox is Rolling Stone India’s collection of the most unsettling songs that crawl up your ear canal and inject terror directly into your veins. Listener beware: as is the norm with subject matter as dark as this, there is a strong trigger warning advisory for most of the tracks on this list. If any of the songs make you uncomfortable, please take a break. Featuring voices from Pink Floyd to Steely Dan to Billie Holiday to VOCALOID —without further ado, slot your coin in the Haunted Jukebox.
Steely Dan: “Everyone’s Gone to the Movies” (1975)
Steely Dan is one of those bands that have intricately precise tracks paired with obscure lyrics full of hidden meanings, each telling a story laced with equal parts irony and cynicism. “Everyone’s Gone to the Movies” is no exception. What we have here is a sort of musical version of Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita”. Everyone’s gone to the movies except Mr. LaPage who’s busy luring teenagers to his basement to watch 8mm pornographic films. It’s a cautionary tale featuring dark, unnerving, sleazy subject matter hidden beneath the bright upbeat tempo of Victor Feldman’s vibraphone. The oddly spooky triumphant percussive fadeout heralds the grim success of Mr. LaPage. Sometimes it’s the mundane that’s truly terrifying, and horror works best when you least expect it, which is exactly what this song does.
Suicide: “Frankie Teardrop” (1977)
This song should come with a strong content advisory warning that’s big, red and bright. It tells the story of a man driven to the brink of insanity by his circumstances, a helplessness fuelled by sheer desolation and desperation. Frankie slaves away at his gruelling ten-hour shift in the factory, supporting his wife and six-month-old child. But the fates are cruel, and often unfair because sometimes, no matter how much one struggles, there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. An eviction notice is the nail in Frankie’s coffin.
At the 2:42 mark of this 10-and-a-half-minute long song, Frankie’s despair reaches a tragic conclusion. What follows is his arrival in hell, because not even in death does he find peace. The hushed erratic narration, distorted and put through a digital delay, interspersed with vocalist Alan Vega’s bloodcurdling screams and choked sobs, puts the listener in the scene with startling clarity. The waves of the Styx crashing against the shore, the screaming of the damned, all framed by the mechanical droning of an industrial hell, ends on a chilling note —“We’re all Frankies, We’re all lying in hell”. The simple end to this disturbing sound makes you realise that the machine that’s life, continues to turn, manufacturing more Frankies on the conveyer belt. What’s more chilling is that Frankie’s story is real and inspired by a murder committed by a factory worker, who killed his wife and child when he was laid off.
Ethel Cain: “Ptolemaea” (2022)
Another song that requires a trigger warning due to its heavy themes. The concept album Preacher’s Daughter falls into the genre of Southern gothic horror. The album follows Ethel Cain (a fictional character who shares the same name as the artist) who escapes her abusive household, only to find herself in even more troubling circumstances. Within the dark tapestry of Preacher’s Daughter, “Ptolemaea’s” threads are dyed vantablack. The title derives its name from the third round of the ninth circle of Hell in Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, where the betrayers are trapped in the lake of Cocytus with frozen tears. The condemned share a common denominator they’ve all invited guests in, only to stab them in their back — a fitting parallel for the ninth song on the album.
The track opens with the buzzing sound of bees as Ethel slips into a drug-induced hallucination, while her captor speaks, eerily calm, about how he invited her in. It signals the start of one of the most disturbing songs on this list. Set in the Locrian mode, the most unnerving of the diatonic minor modes, and paced with a deliberately slow tempo, the song feels as heavy as the subject matter. It envelopes the listener in a suffocating embrace. To say that “Ptolemaea” is hauntingly disturbing is a vast understatement.
The Black Dahlia Murder: “Unhallowed” (2003)
If the name of this band doesn’t leave you feeling at least a little unsettled, then the opening track of their debut album, “Unhallowed,” certainly will. Named after the 1947 unsolved brutal murder of Elizabeth Short, aka Black Dahlia, The Black Dahlia Murder is a melodic death metal band. The self-titled opening for the album takes its lyrics from the ‘Gutting’ section from “Butchering the Human Carcass for Human Consumption” by the Church of Euthanasia. Fun fact: the Church of Euthanasia is reportedly the only anti-human religion in the world, so one can guess by their credo that their views on humanity are extreme to say the least. Listening to this song makes you feel as though you’re strapped to a dissection table in a dark murder basement while your killer gives an explicit play-by-play of what he’s going to do to you. The lyrics starting suddenly half-a-minute in to the two minute song, is meant to shock the victim (the listener). The echoey drone set against a backdrop of industrial static, ebbs and rises as though the victim fades in and out of consciousness.
Rezső Seress: “Gloomy Sunday (Szomorú Vasárnap)” (1933)
The antithesis to “Easy Like Sunday Morning,” this song often goes by a more sinister name — “The Hungarian Suicide Song”. Originally titled “Vége a világnak” or “The World is Ending”, it was written during the Great Depression (1932) by Hungarian pianist and composer Rezső Seress. The song, set in the C minor key, explored the sheer hopelessness and dejection brought about by war. Seress faced difficulty in getting the song out due to it being seeped to the bone in melancholy. Publishers felt that no one would enjoy listening to something this dreary. Later in 1933, poet László Jávor, changed the lyrics to the despair faced by a man following his lover’s demise, and his yearning to be with her in death. Many musicians have since covered this song, but it gained notable traction after Billie Holiday covered it in 1941.
But there’s a reason this song is called the “Hungarian Suicide Song”. If urban legends are to be believed, this song was allegedly behind a string of suicides in Hungary in the 1930s. BBC radio had at one point even banned Billie Holiday’s cover, choosing only to air the instrumental track (this was lifted in 2002). While there is insufficient evidence for this dirge- like song to be cause for the suicides in Hungary, there is one death that is explicitly linked to the sombre song. In 1968, Seress himself died by suicide in Budapest, reportedly convinced he would never again compose anything as powerful, or as haunting, as “Gloomy Sunday.”
Black Sabbath: “Black Sabbath” (1969)
Prince of Darkness, Ozzy Osbourne himself admitted that “Black Sabbath,” from their debut 1970 album “Black Sabbath” is Black Sabbath’s scariest song. The lyrics speaks of an unsettling “figure in black”, inspired by an eerie encounter that the bassist and lyricist, Geezer Butler had.
At the time of writing the song, Butler had developed a fascination with the occult, moving into an apartment which he promptly painted black, and even adorning his walls with inverted crosses. Osbourne gifted Butler a 16th century occult book and the latter put it in his airing cupboard because something about the tome was unsettling. At night, Butler woke up to find a frightening shadowy presence at the foot of his bed. Figuring that the book was the culprit, Butler rushed to the cupboard to throw it out, only to find that it had mysteriously disappeared. This incident led to the creation of “Black Sabbath”. The main riff, inspired by “Mars, the Bringer of War” from Gustav Holst’s “The Planet’s Suite”, is followed by a dark tritone known as diabolus in musica (devil in music). This harmonic progression is what gives the song such an ominous and dark tone.
The Velvet Underground: “The Gift” (1968)
This is a morbidly funny short story in song form. “The Gift” was written by Lou Reed for a creative writing class while in college. Perhaps the best word to describe the song would be tart, and if this song were to be categorised as a fruit it would undoubtedly be a cantaloupe. For all those who’ve been afflicted with a certain malady called love, and those who enjoy performance poetry, this is a masterclass in storytelling. Waldo Jeffers longs to see his girlfriend Marsha. He fears their long-distance relationship could risk her fidelity and the thought of her with another man fills Waldo with great distress. Broke and paranoid, he makes a perfectly reasonable decision to mail himself to Marsha and surprise her. There’s a gory end to this story — Frank Zappa suggested they use a cantaloupe to add the effect of a knife slicing through a head. John Cale narrates this story in a deadpan Welsh accent in the left audio channel, while the instrumental track plays in the right. The idea was that if the listener got tired of the story, the instrumental could be heard in isolation. “The Gift” features one of the band’s grooviest tracks: – motorik drumming and a strong baseline remain steadfast and resolute throughout, with the guitar holding them together much like the tape sealing Waldo’s box (and his fate). One of the only songs where a fruit is credited as an instrument, “The Gift” has one of the most graphic, well-executed punchlines in any short story, meriting a place on this list. It hits you so hard because you don’t see it coming (lost as you are, listening to the funky backing track). The main lesson is probably that if you want to surprise your significant other, it might be prudent to place a ‘fragile do not pierce’ sticker on the package.
Billie Holiday: “Strange Fruit” (1939)
It might seem strange to have this song on the list, but it is an excellent example of how lyrics can be used to conjure the most vivid imagery. It is powerful, unsettling and oddly poetic. Abel Meeropol, a white Jewish high school teacher, initially wrote the poem “Bitter Fruit” as a response to the brutal racism faced by the African American minorities in 1930s America. In particular, the lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith. Colombia gave Holiday a one-session release from her contract to record the song at the label Commodore. “Strange Fruit” was Holiday’s biggest hit and had a negative impact on her career, but Holiday remained brave in her decision to sing it. Haunting would be the accurate adjective to describe this song. Chilling, horrifying and shocking would be some ways to describe the lyrics — “The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth/ Here is fruit for the crows to pluck.” While not scary in the traditional sense, the hauntingly evocative lyrics stay with you long after the final note lingers in the air.
Pink Floyd: “Careful With That Axe Eugene” (1969)
“We often pick titles that have nothing really to do with the songs” was Richard Wright’s explanation when asked about the song’s unnerving title. Nevertheless, it is most fitting. This was written during the height of Pink Floyd’s psych-rock era and can be considered one of the band’s quintessential songs. Mostly instrumental, the song builds up slow dread as you progress through it. In the beginning, it is quiet with Wright on the organ taking centre stage along with Nick Mason softly hitting the cymbals. This dread culminates in a hushed whisper of the only lyric in the song — the title — before Roger Waters unleashes a horrific scream. That’s the cue for David Gilmore’s guitar to cement the hysteria, signalling that something has gone terribly wrong. Then, the sound ebbs to its previous softly ominous tone. Implied dread is a powerful thing compared to in-your-face horror. There’s much debate about which version is better, the “Ummagumma” or the “Live at Pompeii” (the latter features additional hushed lyrics shedding more light on the situation). Regardless of which version is superior, both are equally unsettling. The fact remains: don’t let Eugene near an axe.
Tom Waits: “What’s He Building?” (1999)
The anthem of every nosy neighbour. Listening to this will either make you close your blinds permanently or eye the one next door with suspicion. This is a song straight out of a snuff film — if it were directed by Renfield from Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 film Bram Stoker’s Dracula (who Tom Waits played in the film). Waits’ very distinct gravelly voice is what really makes this song unsettling. “What’s he building in there?” asks the narrator as he outlines everything he knows about his neighbour. The question is an eerie refrain giving way to paranoia, the tone of voice becoming increasingly unhinged. It’s not without reason that this question is posed to the listener. In the background, we hear the mechanical rumbling and strange suspicious sounds of a man pottering about his home. “What is he building in there?” you ask yourself as the same tendrils of paranoia sink into your skin. Who is more terrifying? The suspicious neighbour or the overly nosey, increasingly schizophrenic narrator?
Leonard Cohen: “Dress Rehearsal Rag” (1971)
Trigger warning once more for mentions of suicide. “Songs of Love and Hate” is one of Leonard Cohen’s darkest works, and “Dress Rehearsal Rag” is one of its most emotionally devastating tracks. It captures a moment of despair with aching precision.
Cohen’s voice takes on a darkly mocking tone, accompanied by dirge-like strumming as he outlines a day in the life of the unnamed protagonist of the song. Throughout the song, Cohen juxtaposes bleak imagery with flashes of bitter self-awareness. One chilling line — “That’s a funeral in the mirror and it’s stopping at your face” — distils the song’s sense of reckoning. By the final verse, Cohen lists the small, ordinary reasons one might cling to life, only to close with a haunting refrain: “It’s just a dress rehearsal rag.” The final performance, as he implies, is yet to come.
Steampianist, morbid-morsel: Secrets of Wysteria (2014)
Another very strong trigger warning for this song, the strongest on this list. VOCALOIDS have been used to create some pretty disturbing songs, thanks to artificial vocal cords that let them hit inhuman notes. There are any number of terrifying songs with pitch dark subject matter, but “Secrets of Wysteria” is the one that truly makes the listener sick to the stomach. Based on a real-life serial killer, it features Oliver, a British VOCALOID whose soprano voice is that of a 12-year-old, making this song even more terrifying. “Secrets of Wysteria” plays like a disturbing music box with a rhythm akin to a school-yard rhyme. Oliver’s childlike vocals paired with the disturbing lyrics is what really makes this song a nightmare, considering the subject of the song — The brutal murder of ten-year old Grace Budd, who was cannibalised by one of America’s most horrifying serial killers, Albert Fish (whose long list of crimes require a separate warning of their own). “Secrets of Wysteria” is not a song for the faint hearted.
The Doors: “The End” (1967)
The Doors may not be strictly goth, but it is undeniable that “The End” is gothic rock. Jim Morrison is a poet, and “The End” is his epic. Nihilistic, dark and moody, it bids adieu to childhood innocence. Robby Krieger made use of open guitar tuning to make his guitar sound like a sitar, adding an otherworldly sound quality to the song. It isn’t scary in the way the others on this list are, but it is haunting. It also concerns a subject that most people are often frightened about: death. According to Morrison, “Sometimes the pain is too much to examine, or even tolerate … That doesn’t make it evil, though – or necessarily dangerous. But people fear death even more than pain. It’s strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah – I guess it is a friend.” A modern Orpheus, Morrison takes the listener on a stygian journey after bidding farewell to his only friend — Death. The song then takes on the form of spoken word poetry before delving into a rock and roll retelling of “Oedipus Rex,” finally culminating in a violent burst of “fuck”s and “kill”s.
