Wes Anderson never saw the beauty of 

elevated surfaces until now.

While we all see the grimy, loud and 

humid basement of a fraternity palace, 
Wes sees poetry in motion. Crystal 
Palace flows into a line of Dixie cups like a 
fresh water fountain in Rome. Hawaiian 
shirts and basketball jerseys float past a 
large, Insta-famous American flag with 
the grace and elegance of a bull in a china 
shop that’s drunk off Natty Lite and 
fragile masculinity. The sweat and heat 
of the dance floor knock you into a state 
of reverie.

But if I’m being honest, “Closer” for the 

87th time and early 2000s throwbacks do 
not fit into Wes Anderson’s filmmaking 
checklist.

Swap out the current fraternity DJ 

rotation with matching outfits from the 
’70s, pastel lighting and tunes from every 
decade except the one we’re in now — 
that’s the recipe.

I’ve sat at home and in many theaters 

watching 
Wes’s 
quirky, 
symmetrical 

set designs and smooth camera work 
for years now, but the music he lays 
underneath his scenes is the punctuation 
mark of his films. It guides the emotion 
and often exposes hidden truths. So who 
can stop Wes from turning the hallmark 
of the University of Michigan’s Welcome 
Week 
into 
a 
carefully 
orchestrated 

Anderson 
classic 
through 
a 
killer 

soundtrack? No one, that’s who.

Enter: Matt, 19, slim build (more lanky 

than slim, but this is my column so I can 
afford to boost my ego a little).

As I walk past three Greek letters and 

into the mansion, pushing past huge, 
bouncers the color of traffic cones, a 
jacked fella in a Knicks jersey sits in the 
living room. He looks me dead in the eyes 
as he strums his first, out-of-tune chord.

A Frat Brother Covering a Top 40 Hit 

on His Acoustic Guitar

If Wes can get away with recording 

a Seu Jorge cover of David Bowie in 
Portuguese 
for 
“The 
Life 
Aquatic,” 

why can’t Newest Pledge Ben or Chad 

or Whatever perform Post Malone’s 
“Congratulations” for a crowd of two or 
three people in line for the bathroom? 
He’s clearly the most talented in the 
room. He can even do Quavo’s part, so 
you know he’s cultured.

Anyway, Wes would want an authentic 

sound for the opening of his pièce de 
résistance. Even though the original is a 
little too recent for his tastes, the cover is 
in such a poor key and the brother’s vocal 
range is almost nonexistent. Thus, a new 
breed of soundtrack is born.

Well done, Wes. You always one-up 

yourself.

My eyes slowly readjust to the dim 

basement. My shoes stick to the floor as 
if it were still-wet cement. The camera 
pans to show a sea of bobbing heads, some 
higher than others on platforms forming 
waves. Love is in the air — battery-acid-
flavored vodka-induced love for sure, but 
love nonetheless.

“Let’s Spend the Night Together” — 

The Rolling Stones or David Bowie, take 
your pick.

If you want a British Invasion rocking 

and rolling undertone or if you’re going 
for a glam rock vibe, “Let’s Spend the 
Night Together” goes perfectly with the 
back-and-forth cycle of modern collegiate 
romance. 
A 
passionate, 
love-infused 

bond that rivals the sanctity of marriage, 
dancing at a frat party is the pinnacle 
display of affection we have here. Wes’s 
lens glides over the multitude of couples 
in slow motion 
with 
Bowie 
or 

Mick’s heavy-handed vocals moving us 
along with him. His attention to detail 
focuses on one couple and how invested 
the dude is in this modern waltz and 
how completely uninterested his female 
counterpart is in the whole ordeal, her 
eyes darting back and forth, looking for a 
way out.

“Now I need you more than ever….”
The 
elegantly 
concerned 
woman 

breaks away, rejecting the sleeveless-T-
clad bro’s poignant offer to “get out of 

here.” Loneliness ensues.

“Whiskey River” — Willie Nelson
Poor dude. He just wanted to treat this 

woman to a lovely burrito buffet and have 
some harmless fun. Who is she to reject 
him like that?

As he wanders toward the bar, ready 

to drown his sorrows, Willie Nelson’s 
country twang fades in. A honky-tonk 
instrumental marks this man’s lowest 
point, a truly inspiring soundtracking 
choice by Wes. A scene chock-full of 
resentment and male pride, Willie’s plea 
to not “let her memory torture me” really 
hits home for the movie patron. A real 
tear-jerker, if you ask me.

The heartbroken bro grabs a handle 

of Kamchatka for himself. If you had 
looked at him, you would have guessed 
the bottle was filled with water. He 
lies on the ground, perfectly lit in front 
of the aforementioned American flag, 
symbolizing his true conservative roots 
(nice touch, Wes). Tunnel vision starts to 
grip him as a subtle vignette effect fades 
onscreen. Blacking out is inevitable at 
this point.

“Death’s Black Train Is Coming” — 

Rev. J. M. Gates

“I want to sing a song and while I sing, 

I want every sinner in the house to come 
to the angel’s seat and bow…”

A minor callback to his work on 

“Fantastic Mr. Fox,” Wes selects an 
a cappella gospel tune to signal the 
collective mission of the people left 

at 
this 
party: 

blacking 
out. 

He masterfully turns a Lord’s song 
about preparing for the Devil to catch 
sinners into a completely new song 
about preparing for off-brand cranberry 
juice mixed with vodka to catch sinners. 
Beautiful, as always. Gates’ preaching 
fails to reach the mob as students crowd 
the bar. A flustered new pledge attempts 
to quench these intoxicated requests for 
vodka shots and chaser. As the inebriated 
run around him, the camera locks him 
into place, directly in the center of the 

frame. Another breathtaking shot for the 
books.

Just then, the reverend’s sermon is 

interrupted by the two words no one 
wants to hear coming from behind the 
bar. The last two words you hear before 
you dive into mass hysteria. Two words 
worse than “the horror” coming from 
Conrad’s pen:

“We’re dry!”
“Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 60, 

B. 112, III. Scherzo: Presto” — Antonín 
Dvořák

Boom. A massive orchestra hits the 

crowd as couples break and everyone 
in the room makes a mad dash for 
alcohol. Wes’s montage speeds up the 
inebriated while keeping the guardians 
of the elixir stationary and stoic. As the 
camera moves behind the bar, looking 
out on the horde, we see clean-cut guys 
trying to barter with the bartenders 
for their “secret stash” of Kamchatka. 
Their failed attempts sync with the dark 
violin crescendos. The night can’t be 
over. It’s only 2 a.m. If you thought you 
could get through a Wes Anderson film 
without an orchestral selection, you’d 
better think otherwise. Dvořák’s drama 
marks the climax of our Greek cinematic 
experience.

The lights turn on. The DJ leaves his 

heavily-coveted post. Somehow, the 
room looks even worse when well-lit 
as opposed to brooding and dark. As 
the frat troopers file out one by one, a 
crackly acoustic guitar fades in.

“Dink’s Song” — Dave Van Ronk
“Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee 

well…”

A sentimental departure to say the 

least. There will never be a party like 
this again until next week’s “Beach 
Bums Blackout Banger.” Van Ronk 
supplies the music for the final shot of 
the humble frat abode exterior and for 
the following credits. ’Tis bittersweet 
but we shall all meet again at the huge 
rager in the sky or awkwardly in Angell 
for Tuesday lecture.

3B
Wednesday, September 6, 2017 // The Statement 

Soundtracking: A frat party, were it directed by Wes 
Anderson
BY MATT HARMON, DAILY STAFF REPORTER

PHOTO COURTSEY OF SYLVANA GROSS

DESIGN BY MICHELLE PHILLIPS

