We’ve reached a tipping point in the appreciation of retro sci-fi music. Most of the original composers are gone (Bebe and Louis Barron’s Forbidden Planet, released in 1956, is cited by The Galaxy Electric & Droog Mulholland as an influence). Original fans, who received the music as futuristic, are dying off, while younger fans, who regard the same music as nostalgic, are replacing them like pod people. Only for the next decade will the two groups coexist, after which the first wave of fans will all be gone.
The Galaxy Electric (Jacqueline Caruso & Augustus Green) sunk into the comfort of classic films during the COVID years, “a cocoon of sci-fi isolation.” The music they heard inspired them to reach out to Drew Mulholland (amusingly billed as Droog Mulholland, referencing the droogs of A Clockwork Orange; the Korova Milkbar, also featured in that film, is a place where milk is spiked with drugs). One might also draw reference to Mos Eisley’s cantina in that the influences are so far afield. The album is both a tribute and an expression of joy, yet the title is tongue-in-cheek; the album should be no means be categorized as muzak.
The first sound is that of a laser, followed by a spoken introduction, a bank of bleeping computers and a Moroder-esque synth line. The 1950s-80s collapse into a black hole drone, phasing into six seconds of Kraftwerk rhythms before returning to the lasers. Already the listener is enamored; a single track sounds like a late night skipping through trailers. When Jacqueline starts to sing on “Red Ball,” she’s part Beth Gibbons and part Cindy Wilson; the woodblock and hip-hop snares at the end offer a further example of time-collapsing collage.
“Scherzo” sounds like deep space, a massive metal structure lumbering through the stars. “All I Can Do” features the breath of an astronaut launched into space with a frayed tether. Every track highlights the sense of fun inherent in classic sci-fi films, which wear well because of their wide-eyed wonder. The mash-up of genres means that none of these tracks could have come from films of any specific decade; instead they celebrate the way in which we enjoy films today, streaming by genre rather than date of release. Ironically, “Muzakorova” is the least muzak-sounding and most modern piece here, a blast of rustle and fuzz.
There’s great pleasure in hearing retro-futuristic music; these artists take it a step further, creating new sounds for old ears and recreating old sounds for new ears. But in “Watching Walruses from Outer Space,” they start to imagine their own future music, honoring the sonic vision of an earlier generation’s composers. Maybe when we reach the future, we’ll realize that it doesn’t sound as we imagined; but these musical prophecies are their own form of cosmic treasure. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 