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The tracks aren’t all ‘60s surf and speaking though. Jackson’s famous monologue – that cold-blooded embellishment of Ezekiel 25:17. The record is capped off, of course, by Samuel L. Vince and Jules discuss those ‘little differences’ between Europe and America and then the hygienic principles underlying eating pork all in that brilliantly casual Tarantino dialect. The soundtrack is bejewelled with other interlocutory gems from the film. The scratchy sax blasting in Comanche by The Revels, for example, provides the musical backdrop to pawn shop basement sodomy, the album version of the track featuring at its start a threatening bit of dialogue from Zed: ‘Bring out the gimp’, he demands. The images that accompany the tunes in the film, though, are not always so tranquil. 2 by The Centurions rumbling along with him, the deal is sealed. I think it’s the inherently cruisy nature of that kind of music that makes the soundtrack seem so apt for the road, and when a high John Travolta drifts down a night-time highway in his convertible, the foreboding blues of Bullwinkle Pt. In addition to the aforementioned Misirlou, the album is brimming with other ‘60s surf masterpieces.
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The disc has never strayed far from whatever automobile is getting me around, and just as my folks had the record on high rotation for family trips, I have spun it relentlessly since I got my license – ad nauseam if you ask some of my friends. I’ve been listening to this sequence, which opens the soundtrack to Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, since roughly the day my parents acquired a car with a CD player in it, years before I was old enough to actually watch the film. ‘Any of you fucking pricks move, and I’ll execute every motherfucking last one of you!’ shrieks Honey Bunny, and with that, Dick Dale, the king of surf guitar, launches into the exotic rapid fire plucking that pervades the perennial Misirlou.