B-Movie Soundtrack is a ragged collage of cultural detritus, where every note is an illicit nod to the kind of trash that makes you wonder if anyone really had a clue what they were doing, or if they just got drunk and stumbled into brilliance. 

Picture this: a wicked fusion of John Carpenter’s raw, dystopian synth waves from Escape from New York, laced with the sleazy, frenetic guitar licks of Krautrock— It creates a strange, hypnotic propulsion, like a runaway train of paranoia and delight. Throw in a dose of those shimmering, otherworldly tones plucked straight from the heart of 70s Japanese cartoons—a vibrant, almost dreamlike energy that feels like it’s been lifted from the opening credits of some trippy, half-forgotten anime. Picture a cosmic hero, clad in neon armor, battling seductive aliens with the fate of the universe dangling in the balance, all set to an over-the-top, electric score that pulses like a Saturday night fever dream.

And yet, despite this melting pot of influences, the album doesn’t just pay tribute—it becomes these things, as if it’s been bred from the very same cracked VHS tapes and scratched vinyl. You get the feeling that Tarantino, were he making films in the 70s, would’ve had a whole stack of these bizarre, nugget-heavy scores playing in the background while concocting his own twisted homage to the genre. A low-rent, Grindhouse remix of the Kill Bill soundtrack meets the psych-surf of a Japanese Tokusatsu film, served up with all the cool, off-kilter swagger of a Can album that never quite finished being made.

“B-Movie Soundtrack is chaotic, dirty, beautiful noise — a soundtrack for a movie that never existed, but you wish it did”