Possibly the worst criticism a reviewer can give of a movie is to say “The only good thing I can say about it is that I came out humming the theme tune”, and it can definitely be true more often than not. Sometimes a movie is just so bad that the only thing that even slightly rescues it is the soundtrack. Now of course if a movie is good and has a great soundtrack too then that’s perfect, and naturally not every great movie will have a great score, which of course leads us to the bottom of the barrel, the movies that are terrible and have awful music. But the one I want to discuss does not fall into that worst category, although in fairness without the music that supports it it would most certainly be down there.
Yeah, I’m sure you all remember this classic! Stallone does his best (read, worst) to emulate Eastwood and comes off looking more like Duh!-ty Harry . It’s a truly awful movie, as can be said of the vast majority of Stallone’s cinematographic output. It did at least have a half-decent tagline, which got absorbed somewhat into the popular consciousness, though most people who use it today would probably be hard-pressed to remember where they heard it. To be honest, I don’t even know if it was an original line: maybe the writer stole it from somewhere else. But that’s not important.
Neither is the movie. It’s a pretty bargain-basement cop revenge thriller trying to masquerade as something of higher quality and failing utterly. Probably the only line I recall from it is Stallone, as Cobra, throwing a lighted match down on top of a suspect who had been doused in petrol and muttering “You have the right to remain silent!” Oh, hilarity ensued! And this man would later play my favourite of all crimefighters, the fascist totalitarian future cop Judge Dredd. And screw that iconic role up in a way that still has me occasionally waking up bathed in sweat and screaming “
He took his helmet off! Dredd never took his helmet off!”
But enough of such reminiscences. The thing that saves Cobra from being a total turd in all areas is the soundtrack. Peopled with the likes of John Cafferty, Jean Beauvoir and Miami Sound Machine, it’s a clear example of the adage, which I just made up and claim copyright to in perpetuity in all territories extant or to be discovered in the future, “Forget the movie, listen to the music” (Copyright Trollheart MMIII, all rights reserved). This movie has such a good soundtrack that you can almost --- almost --- forget how bad the actual film is. Of course, while watching it the one time I did, in the cinema, I was basically unaware of the music, as I tried to keep up with the plot --- bad mistake: there basically
is no plot! But afterwards when I saw the album I thought sure why not? In fact, if I recall, I bought it for the song that becomes the opening track and in fact if I remember (and want to) closes the movie.
“Cobra” Original Motion Picture Soundtrack --- Various Artists --- 1988 (Scotti Brothers)
Now I believe I still have this somewhere in my record collection, but in 1988 I was mostly still buying vinyl, and truth to tell this didn’t see the light of digital release until four years later, so the vinyl copy is all I got. Sadly I no longer have a turntable, and though I got a USB one for Christmas last year (or was it the year before that?) I am too lazy to even open the box and so have never used it. Ah, don’t get me started!
So I’ve searched for it online but have had no luck. I’m therefore reduced to trying to recreate it, track by track, via YouTube, so if there are tracks I can’t get we’ll just have to muddle through as best we can. I’m sure you’ll be able to contain your disappointment. As it goes, I’ve noted in passing most of the better tracks are available, so we might just be missing one or two, perhaps instrumentals, but we’ll find out as we go.
That track I bought the album for initially is there. John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band rock us in with “Voice of America’s sons”, with a sort of John Cougar Mellencamp vibe melded to some heavy AOR, blasting keyboards and growling guitars, Cafferty’s voice a raspy growl as he laments the state of America for the ordinary workingman. A great hook in the song, punchy powerful and rocky, and indeed a good ending song for the movie --- I seem to recall Stallone riding off, stone-faced on a motorbike as the song played behind him, his mirror shades hiding the conflcting emotions that weren’t playing across his eyes as he departed with a grunt. Great guitar solo but in many ways it’s the peppy keyboards that carry the song with a real sense of upbeat, er, ness, and a nice little sax break there near the end.
You’d think after a powerful opener like that the chances of getting a good followup would be small, but you’d be wrong. Jean Beauvoir, known for his association with the Plasmatics and Little Steven from the E Street Band, hits us with a menacing, smouldering rocker in “Feel the heat”, which was in fact a hit for him, and you can see why he is so sought after, with the kind of voice that just screams AOR and hair metal. Slower than the opener certainly, more restrained and with a sort of oppressive feel about it, it’s still powerful and retains enough of the acceptable face of rock to have made it a hit for him.
Of course, every film (well, nearly every film) has a love scene and where would the ballad writers be without them? The “Cobra” OST has two, but I prefer the second one more, even though there are some fairly heavy hitters on “Loving on borrowed time”, with both Gladys Knight and Bill Medley taking vocals on the song. I don’t know who wrote it and I don’t much care; it’s fairly standard ballad materal, with a big shimmering digital piano opening and a melody that seems to evoke that other sugar-sweet movie ballad, “Somewhere out there”, but there’s no denying the talent of the two singers, who have both been around for a long time and really know how to turn it on, even if it is only for a crappy movie nobody will remember in five years time.
They’re well matched, and indeed Medley contributes to the other ballad, taking another female partner this time. More of that later, but right now all I can say about this song is that it doesn’t suck, but it’s not something you’d listen to much or put on any special playlists. But, you know, as I said, it doesn’t suck. Totally. And if there’s a ballad, you can be sure there’ll be instrumentals. And there are. The thing is, some of them are really good, like Sylvester Leavy’s (yeah I don’t know who he is either) “Skyline”, which just plods along at the right pace while still retaining enough suspense to make it something you want to keep listening to. Even a few touches of “The Wall”-era Floyd in there, if you listen closely, though mostly it’s carried, again, on some pretty super synthwork. There is, it has to be said, a pretty searing guitar solo near the end.
Gary Wright is, according to Wiki, one of the members of sixties group Spooky Tooth, and whether he’s the same Gary Wright who pens “Hold on to your vision” or not I don’t know, but it’s the first point where the album diverts from what I would call rock and hits into electropop territory, and even the presence of some decent guitar can’t take from the lighter feel of this song, not helped by the whistling keyboard that runs though it. Sounds like something you’d hear on the soundtrack of a really crappy mov ---oh, wait…
Yeah, about the first time I felt the quality of the album, such as it was, began to slip, and while I can certainly listen to Gloria Estefan, I’ve never been a big fan of her work with Miami Sound Machine. “Suave” is not the song that was ever going to change that stance, with its upbeat salsa rhythms, boppy brass and overall sense of fiesta. Pass.
That’s the last low point, for me anyway, of the album, the second of Sylvester Levay’s instrumentals recalls the dark tension of “Terminator”, grinding along on swishy wind sounds and a growling, menacing synth. It’s probably the one that opened the film credits, as it definitely has the sort of introduction sound to it, and I think I can remember this being the case. Things keep rocking for Robert Tepper’s superb “Angel of the city”, with its industrial, mechanical rock themes and its weary vocal somewhat reminiscent of Joe Cocker punches its way in on the back of some almost Genesisesque synth and then just takes off with some really nice female backing vocals. Interestingly, Tepper’s first big hit was from another Stallone movie, released in the same year, and which you’re all more likely to know: “Rocky IV”, so 1986 was obviously a good year for him. This is certainly one of the better tracks on the album, and it’s followed by the second, and final, instrumental. Our friend Mr. Levay, who holds the dubious distinction of having the same first name as the star of the show, returns to hit us with “Chase”, which turns out to be the only track I can’t find online, but with a name like that you can guess how it would have gone. All squibbly keyboards, screeching guitars and a sense of pursuit and capture. To be honest, I can’t remember myself how it goes but I’m sure that’s close enough. Probably some fiddling around with siren-like sounds too, I'm sure.
We end then on a high note, with the second ballad which, as already mentioned, features a return for Bill Medley, this time duetting with a lady by the name of Carmen Twillie, though who she is or was I couldn’t tell you. I do actually remember this one, as it did play over a love scene and I remember thinking what a good song it was. It may also have been a factor in my decision to buy the album when I saw it included, I don’t know. Again it opens with the dreaded digital piano, but somehow it’s more restrained this time, less as if it’s taking over the song. When Twillie’s voice joins the song you do have to wonder what happened to her, as she really has a nice voice, one that complements Medley’s well. Which is not to say that Gladys’s didn’t, but she’s a well-known and legendary figure in music. This lady, to my knowledge, is not, and bearing that in mind she does a great job.
There’s some real passion in the song, which makes me wonder if there was something between the two vocalists, though maybe not. Absolutely mind-blowing sax break then, which the piano works with very well and it all builds to a crescendo, but sadly fades out and rather too soon, but still it’s a great ending to the album.
TRACKLISTING
1. The voice of America’s sons (John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band)
2. Feel the heat (Jean Beauvoir)
3. Loving on borrowed time (Bill Medley and Gladys Knight)
4. Skyline (Sylvester Levay)
5. Hold on to your vision (Gary Wright)
6. Suave (Miami Sound Machine)
7. Cobra (Sylvester Levay)
8. Angel of the city (Robert Tepper)
9. Chase (Sylvester Levay)
10. Two into one (Bill Medley and Carmen Twillie)
I suppose I should in some ways not slag off the movie so badly, because I’m pretty sure that had I not endured --- sorry, watched it, I would most likely have passed this soundtrack by, and thereby missed a lot of really good music that should in fairness not have to be associated with such a turkey of a movie. But if sitting through an hour and a half of watching Stallone play tough and trying to struggle with his limited lines is the price I paid for getting this album, then it’s one I’m happy enough to have paid.
At least I can confidently say that something good came out of that movie for me, which is a claim I fear most others who went to see it can’t make.