Murnau’s Nosferatu, A Symphony of Horrors premiered on March 4, 1922 in the Marble Hall of the Zoological Gardens in Berlin, Germany. It was the first film to be based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The audience was small, but the premiere was a lavish affair which began with a discussion and ended with a fancy-dress ball. The reviews of the film were very favorable. In its advance announcements the Prana-Film Company said it was going to create a “Symphony of Horror,” and it completely succeeded. The film preys like a demon on the senses and envelops the moviegoer in its eerie vision…
Created for a modern Polish stage production of Bram Stoker’s classic vampire tale, Zorn has created a music filled with nostalgia, tenderness, violent power and a great sense of mystery. Featuring the dark ambient bass tones of Bill Laswell, the sensitive keyboards of Rob Burger, Kevin Norton on drums, vibes and percussion and Zorn on sax, this is a moody and menacing program of music for late night listening. Romantic ballads, ambient soundscapes and hardcore intensity!
Florian Fricke's soundtracks always added a distinctive dimension to the films of Werner Herzog and that's especially true of his recordings for Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (starring Klaus Kinski as the most spectacularly grotesque Count Dracula ever). This CD brings together Brüder des Schattens, Söhne des Lichts and Nosferatu: Fantôme de la Nuit, two 1978 Popol Vuh albums containing material for Herzog's film. The director drew initially on the first of these records but subsequently asked Fricke for more music conveying fear and dread. In response, Fricke raided his archive of unused work – this was the origin of the second record. Featured prominently in the film, "Brüder des Schattens, Söhne des Lichts" moves from a spectral choral beginning to a lighter, almost pastoral conclusion with piano, guitar, and sitar, echoing the chiaroscuro dynamic of its title ("Brothers of Shadow, Sons of Light").
By the time it was finally made available on CD, nearly three decades after its original vinyl release in 1970, Nosferatu's sole LP had entered the shady realm of cult appreciation; a strange state where an album's true merits and shortcomings are often obscured by the mists of time, ever-shifting popular tastes, and – since we're talking the late '60s here – seriously drug-faded brain cells…