I recently rewatched the indie cult-classic “Garden State” the other weekend. The air finally felt cold enough and the leaves yellow enough. Really, I wanted to hear the soundtrack, the same one that won a Grammy. It really is so special, full of perfectly timed indie rock needle drops. It popularized “The Shins” and features Imogen Heap’s one-off duo, Frou Frou. It’s a masterclass in East Coast depression. Zach Braff fought for the rights to these songs; so worn-down, high-topped Converse girls like me could write blog posts for their college radio station, and I think that is so beautiful.
Here are some of my abridged thoughts on the soundtrack as I watched:
Maybe one of my favorite scenes of the film is the first time we truly meet Zach Braff’s character, a lost twenty-something man living in the confines of a failed L.A. lifestyle. The split mirror cuts through the white of the wall while Coldplay’s “Don’t Panic” plays its refrain, “We Live in a Beautiful World,” echoing over the bleak, depressing, fogged-up presence of Andrew Largeman.
The Shins’ “Caring Is Creepy” slides in line with the sirens of the cop car pulling over Largeman on his forest-green motorcycle with a sidecar. Kenny, his old cokehead friend, pulls him over, representing the upside-down reality of his hometown that has emerged in his absence. The movie plays around a lot with the bittersweet tones of coming home to a place that looks the same but has also completely changed, like Alice returning to Wonderland.
“You feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist.”
“In the Waiting Line” by Zero 7 drops in like the ecstasy placed on Largeman’s tongue. A frantic, double-speed clip of a bunch of old hometown friends playing spin the bottle with some random girls flashes across the screen. The party whirls around while he sits stationary on the couch, trying to make sense of what his life has come to.
“New Slang” by The Shins enters the movie through a pair of headphones. Sam is our manic pixie dream girl, full of overly inviting energy and green Converses.
“Gold teeth and a curse for this town…”
The song sweeps back in as Largeman slides into the MRI machine. The song sounds like falling in love…or returning home when the leaves start to change.
“You gotta hear this one song—it’ll change your life; I swear,”
Sam promises Andrew. This song is best listened to with wired earbuds and a window seat on the Northeast Regional Railroad.
“Lebanese Blonde” by Thievery Corporation plays behind the trio as they tread through a string of poorly lit hallways on the way to retrieve Andrew’s gift. The harp streams in, soundtracking the mission. From a cinematic studies viewpoint, this is one of the classic movie tropes: your heroes on a time-lapsed adventure montage. This time, though, the mood is gritty and crude as the gang is thrown from displaced dollar stores to the back halls of a hotel with a bunch of peeping toms. The psychedelic, zany nature of the song is a wonderfully druggy ear-worm.
Trash bags equipped, the gang stands on top of the “infinite abyss,” a cavern on the outskirts of town. Paul Simon’s “The Only Living Boy in New York” accompanies the screams of three emotionally stunted adults. Andrew and Sam finally kiss, the rain plastering their hair to the napes of their necks—the feeling of emotional catharsis in the wastelands of the New Jersey suburbs.
Imogen Heap’s instantly recognizable voice chimes in with the ticking beat as Andrew and Sam reunite in the airport. Love saves the day.
“’Cause there is beauty in the breakdown.”
The screen cuts to black, and the credits roll.
Yeah, maybe this movie is imperfect. It’s heady, full of itself in the ways only young people are. Its craft has been reused again and again since its 2004 release. But “Garden State” is sort of the OG, and its soundtrack has outlived itself—becoming something of its own reckoning. Watch this movie on a Sunday night
when you’re feeling weird about college and growing up and the fractioning of your childhood and adult life. It’s a real East Coast treat.
Featured Image by Marley Hollister