The allegory of the “rumble fish” (the story’s name for Siamese fighting fish) is that they’re violent because they’re trapped and they want to be set free.
With Anytown, U.S.A., its progeny grow and reside within its boundaries, sometimes too afraid to see what’s out there. Perpetual dissatisfaction with surroundings doesn’t warrant the potential loss of comfort that familiarity often provides and there are quite possibly towns upon towns of people willing to simply reside, seemingly unable to comprehend the largeness around them. Wall Of Voodoo vocalist Stan Ridgeway sings, “Over there at the end of the bar / This fish keep swimming in a jar / I feel / A tug on the line, which end / Will I be on this time?” The song is called, Don’t Box Me In.
If you haven’t seen 'Rumble Fish', Francis Ford Coppola’s 1983 film adaptation of S.E. Hinton’s book, the story was scored by The Police’s Stewart Copeland, a drummer whose insistent bass pedal and rapid taps signify time, not just the time it takes to listen to the album, but the time that ticks away in life and the opportunities that pass by unnoticed. In all the industrial noise of a small town existence (storefront door bells, typewriters, pool halls and breaking glass), Copeland’s vision is a grand experiment in the art of the day-to-day, a meditation on what you’ve come to take for granted with those unique seconds that make up your every move, breath or thought.
Most of the instruments were performed by Copeland himself - even the typewriter - and his music communicates exactly how much influence he had over The Police’s sound. As a percussionist, Copeland is determined to keep a backbeat - not so forthcoming with loud snare rolls or abrupt crash cymbals - but instances like 'Biff Gets Stomped By Rusty James', 'Hostile Bridge To Benny’s' and 'Our Mother Is Alive' intensify his presence, to some extent.
At the beginning of the album is the aforementioned Stan Ridgeway contribution, Don’t Box Me In. It being the only song with vocals, Ridgeway is there to tell as much as possible, using the obvious metaphors of fish and fish tanks, before Copeland delves into the incidental sounds of the everyday, a pool table and broken glass causing an interlude midway through Tulsa Tango.
Aside from Copeland’s telling of the story, a comment on American music lies within his construct, his decisions crossing genres but not in an obvious manner. He translates them, keeping the bare essentials intact while fitting them into his concept. It’s actually remarkable to hear something like 'Our Mother Is Alive', a howling nighttime jazz instrumental whose slow and crawling low end somehow fits into his hurried trance-like beats. Even in its most pensive moments, 'Rumble Fish' relies heavily on quickness. The folkish Brothers On Wheels, whose car horn embellishments accent an acoustic six-string, is set to a clock. 'Your Mother Is Alive' keeps a high pace despite its pensive disposition and its haunting piano demands consideration.
There is a necessary tension underlying the album as a whole, the lives of its characters at odds with each other, and self-doubt and insecurity breaking into each song. Father On The Stairs has lighthearted xylophone and readily breaks into a drunken reprise of the score’s theme. The carefree tone of Party At Someone Else’s House, laughter and party noise added for effect, still has an air of unease to it, especially once it breaks into Biff Gets Stomped By Rusty James, whose horn/piano coupling and fast percussion create an air of conflict. Personal Midget/Cain's Ballroom begins pleasantly enough and then transitions into a piano dirge that fades in and out atop a factory churn.
Though grand in most ways, this score is understated next to the orchestrated efforts of composers like John Williams and Howard Shore. Copeland is a rock musician first and foremost - his style wasn’t going to morph into that of stiff upper lip tuxedo-clad sophistication - and he gave Coppola a universal soundtrack, something smart but accessible and properly fitting into the world of Rusty James (Matt Dillon) and The Motorcycle Boy (Mickey Rourke); the world they’re both trying so desperately to escape.
In certain eras of filmmaking, trends influence how a movie is going to look and sound. In the '80s, for example, synthesisers seemed the way to go, monumental technology that powered many of the day’s “it” bands and communicated the plasticity and excess of the decade. Copeland’s music for 'Rumble Fish' was written more than twenty-five years ago, but it does not sound dated. Even though its industrial accents are run by old equipment and technology, Copeland’s music is integrated into a universal platform that many can appreciate and relate to. You can smell the air; feel the hard concrete under your feet. You can drink the water, breathe the dust and wash the mud off your hands. Most of all, you can be susceptible to its spell. As soundtracks go, this is one you listen to while watching the movie, almost being more affected by its tone than by its script.