007 Quantum Of Solace Music
James Bond Movie Theme Songs, Ranked Worst to Best. And audiences knew just what kind of fun 007 had in store for them. (you try finding a good rhyme for 'Quantum of Solace'), but it was.
James Bond movie theme songs are the cinematic equivalents of paperback book-series covers — they suggest familiarity and course with the promise of a compelling new adventure for Western culture’s most unkillable pop icon. Bond’s first big screen adventure, 1962’s, Dr. No had no precedent to follow, and therefore no need for the bombastic title treatments that would come to define the franchise (it opted for a gentle calypso medley). By the time the franchise’s third film was released two years later, we already had Shirley Bassey roaring “Goldfinger”over the credits, and audiences knew just what kind of fun 007 had in store for them.Each Bond gets the themes he deserves, from the smooth and impenetrable tunes of the Connery era to the radio-ready offerings from the Daniel Craig years, as muscular and wounded as his iteration of the legendary spy. You don’t need to have seen Spectre to know that the song Sam Smith wrote for it taps into the unique pathos of the rebranded contemporary version of the character; when it comes to Bond themes, the writing has always been on the wall.With Spectre looming ominously on the horizon, we look back at more than 50 years of Bond themes, counting down from worst to best. A fitting theme song for a Bond movie in which the villain is largely defined by the fact that he has a third nipple, 1974's 'The Man With the Golden Gun' served as perverse proof that 007 was here to stay — if this laughable ode to Roger Moore's penis couldn't kill the spy franchise, nothing can. (Composer John Barry has even admitted that 'It's the one theme I hate most.'
) Performed by Scottish singer Lulu, and chosen over an from Alice Cooper, the song snakes a porno guitar riff through a driving horn section that's doing everything in its power to distract from the words. 'His eye may be on you or me/Who will he bang?/We shall see/Oh yeah!'
Those lyrics are real. You can Google them.
On paper, the series' first two-for-one theme sounded too good to be true: Alicia Keys lacing some pop R&B swagger over Jack White's crunchy guitar licks — what could go wrong? Less a duet than the sound of two people singing vaguely similar songs at the same time, 'Another Way to Die' may not share a title the film to which it's attached (you try finding a good rhyme for 'Quantum of Solace'), but it was just as disappointing.
White and Keys' voices fit together like 007 and celibacy, and the track quickly devolves into a screechy high-speed chase of runaway harmonies and staccato horn blasts. Like the master plans of the franchise's many nemeses, the idea here was strong — it was in the execution where things went up in flames. Credit where it's due: The first eight seconds of 'The Living Daylights' are absolutely perfect, a suspenseful gust of flutes delivering on that classic John Barry sound. And then 1987 happens.
Cue a wonky synth twinkle with all the grace of a Rickroll, as A-ha swoops in so violently that you can almost hear them locking everyone else out of the recording studio. The relationship between the Norwegian pop group and the Bond team eventually deteriorated to the point where the band claimed Barry didn't deserve a credit on their song, and the composer compared them to the Hitler Youth. It's a slinky enough pop jam, but so far removed from the world of MI6 that you're likely to forget what you're watching by the time the movie starts. The first Bond theme since 1983's Octopussy not to borrow the title of the movie, (and the first one not to appear on its movie's soundtrack), this alt-rock dumpster fire really can't be blamed on Chris Cornell. The fault lies with the Sony executive who — in the year 2007 — decided that the dude from Soundgarden was the right voice to introduce the most radically different, forward-thinking James Bond in the character's half-century history. (The singer wasn't even the voice of Audioslave at this point.) Its generic squall of chunky guitar riffs conveys none of the Craig era's style and raw pathos.
Bond theme songs have never exactly been on the vanguard, but seldom have they felt so far behind the times. The theme song for Octopussy was always going to have one job and one job only: Distract viewers from the fact that they're about to watch a film called Octopussy. By those standards, 'All Time High' is considered something of a success. Not the smuttiest Bond theme ever recorded, the track cut for Bond's 1983 adventure feels about as dangerous as a trip to the grocery store or an FM radio-show dedication. Rita Coolidge's smooth jazz ditty just sort of sits there, knowing full well that it would be a lot more awkward in silence.
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There's really only one way to prepare audiences for an action movie involving space lasers, invisible cars, and a henchman with diamonds encrusted into his face: Robo-Madonna. Declaring that James Bond needed 'to get techno,' the Material Girl cut a glitchy, awkward, and hideously auto-tuned chant that allows audiences to experience a degree of the torture that 007 endures in the opening scene.
Easily the weirdest Bond theme ever recorded (even before android Madge offers a spoken-word interlude that name checks Freud), the song was symptomatic of a franchise desperately trying to disguise the fact that it had sunk into self-parody. Space station silicon valley gamefaqs. Not even Sheryl Crow's best Gwen Stefani impression can save this forgettable cut, which was chosen over offerings from the likes of Pulp and Saint Etienne. In fact, the singer's contribution to the spy series is notable only for how it underscores the fact that most Bond themes — notably the ones performed by women — are sung from the perspective of a neglected lover, dolled up and desperately waiting by the door for 007 to come home. Crow's first words here are especially pitiable: 'Darling/I'm killed /I'm in a puddle on the floor/Waiting for you to return.' And return James Bond always does, but never to the same girl. Tina Turner's 'Goldeneye' has it all — even if that includes a lot of stuff you never really wanted in the first place. Bouncing on top of a smooth synth beat, the first Bond theme of the Brosnan era is both a nice throwback to the velvety sound of Shirley Bassey, and also an agreeable capitulation to the tinny production sound of movie scores of the mid-Nineties.
Its greatest attribute, however, is how its lyrics strain to represent every different type of creepiness that a Bond theme can: clumsy sexual come-ons ('It's a golden honey trap I've got for you tonight'); violent jealousy ('Other girls they gather around him/If I had time I wouldn't let him out'); and, best of all, allusions to a lifetime of stalking ('You’ll never know how I watched you from the shadows as a child'). This may not be a great song, but it has enough going on under the surface to keep a dozen therapists perpetually summering in the Hamptons.
Essentially a cover of the Goldfinger theme (royalties had to be paid to the writers of the original), the title track from 1989's License to Kill takes Shirley Bassey's classic and remixes it with the hold music from your favorite cable service provider. Fortunately, Gladys Knight goes a long way, and she's given free reign to flex her vibrato with the same indifference to song structure as James Bond has to the architecture of the buildings he blows up. Bonus points for some of the most homicidally covetous lyrics of any Bond tune: 'I've got a license to kill/and you know I'm going straight for your heart/I've got a license to kill/anyone who tries to tear us apart.' Given 007's track record, she's going to have her hands full. It's a bit unfair to stack the theme sequence from Bond's second big-screen adventure against all the others, if only because it was sent out into the world before Goldfinger had established that Bond title songs should be kissed with a go-for-broke vocal performance. John Barry's jaunty instrumental number is defined by its seductive funk and half-hearted exoticism (certain stretches sound like they were excerpted from a muzak cover of Maurice Jarre's Lawrence of Arabia score) — and just when it sounds like the tune has run out of steam, it segues into the classic Bond theme.
Future franchise installments wouldn’t be allowed to take such an easy way out, but From Russia With Love proved that there's simply no better way to set the stage for 007.