Angelo Badalamenti

Angelo Badalamenti knows how to create atmosphere. The composer, whose haunting soundtrack work is as much a signature of director David Lynch’s films as is Lynch’s recurring theme of banality set horribly adrift, is adept at stretching a veneer of disquieting normalcy to hide those teeming maggots underneath. As usual, Badalamenti juxtaposes mournful, cello-driven washes of sound with obscure early-’60s teen jukebox fare and the kind of bent stripper-bar jazz workouts found on Crown Records reissues sold only in finer liquor stores circa 1962 to achieve the kind of deliciously creepy vibe some trick-or-treaters might kill to achieve. Add three utilitarian guitar pieces by Lynch and John Neff, which owe a bit to John Lurie’s minimalist textural grooves à la Mystery Train, and an exquisite a cappella cover of Roy Orbison’s “Crying,” in Spanish, by Rebekah Del Rio, and we’re talking hubba hubba.