Dead Man’s Bones

Before Ken. Before La La Land. There was the haunted mansion. A Magic Kingdom fan favorite.

Ryan Gosling rode it at twelve and walked away with an idea stuck in his teeth. Death didn't have to be scary. It could be fun. Parades. Costume parties. The spaces where the dead and the living just happen to share a border.

That's the whole album, really. Gosling and Zach Shields set out to build a "ghost musical," two worlds divided by kids in Halloween masks working the checkpoint between them. Then the checkpoint goes on strike. The worlds collide. Somewhere in there the songs stopped being sketches for a stage play nobody could afford and became the record itself.

They played every instrument whether they knew how or not. "The goal was to figure it out," Gosling has said, and you can hear it. Nothing here is polished. It's not supposed to be. It's what he calls spooky doo-wop sung half by two guys who'd never made a record before and half by a children's choir in halloween costumes.

They took it on the road with a different kids' choir in every city and a local talent show instead of an opener. Years later, asked if there'd be another one, Gosling has simply commented "Never say never."

Just a door left open.

Found this record probably 10 years ago when our best friends introduced us to it. When September 1st rolls around we start spinning this one to kick off Spooky Season.

Saturday at our house was dedicated to adorning the exterior of the house with skeletons, spiders and pumpkins. Dead Man’s Bones is always the perfect soundtrack. There is a subtle creep to this record that rides the line between life and death. That’s the goal.

Children singing can be something as disturbing as it is innocent. The chorus backed “My Body’s a Zombie for You” will find its way into your soul and you will hunger for it. Maybe it’s calling you.

Pa Pa Power works the same trick into a plea. A children's choir chants the title like a spell, asking to be made better, and the bridge answers with thunder and rain breaking into sunshine. It's less horror movie than incantation, the sound of asking for help and getting it.

Buried in Water goes the other direction. A drowned town stands in for everything that got left behind, ghost thin vocals over a steady drum, the same kids singing like they already know how the story ends. It might be the saddest song here. It's also the most beautiful.

Young & Tragic strips all of it down to one line, repeated until it sinks in. “I wish that we were magic, so we wouldn't be so young and tragic.” No plot. No twist. Just the particular ache of being young enough that it can still catch you off guard.

Decorate early. Spin this one in the background. Pumpkin Spice Everything.