There was a time, presumably, before the clothes started to come off but the films were still racy and sexy and the soundtracks matched. Piero Umiliani had the best of the best for Smog, and featured Chet Baker and Helen Merrill, both of whom had fled personal and career issues in the U.S. This album is simply magic. It doesn’t even bear talking about. The music speaks for itself. This one is so damn good actually that I’m going to enthusiastically seek out the film. If it’s only half as good as the soundtrack…

This binge is lasting longer than I thought it might. My squirrelly brain hasn’t been called away on other errands yet and late last night I found a treasure trove of classics with links to the music on Youtube and Soundcloud. Oh bless the internet and all its possibilities! There are always book really but it’s the internet that’s carried me through lockdown. That stack of books on my nightstand will be attended to, but probably not today.

The aesthetic of these Italian films intrigues me. I’m not really ready to put down any thoughts but the steamy mix of glamour and grime is fascinating. The whole library seems to be an homage to the sweatier instincts and the accompanying music moves it along like an extended sex scene. Passion. Seduction. Lust. And probably love too, however that’s going to be defined. It’s not the wholesome Doris Day flirtations of American cinema. It is, in that sense, a lot more honest.

It does all make for an interesting backdrop for pandemic, quarantine work days, and speaking of which…