Coffee At The Double R Diner
My Mixtape’s A Masterpiece is a weekly feature in which a guest compiles a playlist around some theme. This week, Vito Nusret assembles 12 tracks as a tribute to the recently deceased Angelo Badalamenti. Read Vito’s thoughts on each song and listen along to the Spotify playlist on top and/or the YouTube playlist at the bottom of the post.
“Refill?” The waitress’s query disrupts my staring at nothing in particular but I smell her before I see or hear her. She smells… sweet. Cutting through all the food and coffee, she exudes a redolence. Like some kind of intoxicating mix of fruit and baked goods. Is it cherry pie? Wow, she’s really beautiful. She’s wearing one of those old-timey waitress uniforms like you see in black & white movies. I muster a weak smile and nod. Steam rises up as the slightly bitter obsidian liquid fills my cup. She asks if I need room for cream and sugar or if I take it black.
“Black as midnight on a moonless night.” Why did I say that? She chuckles as she fills my mug to the tippy top and says she’s heard that one before. I pull the warm mug close and smile apologetically but she’s already gone back to the counter to tend to another customer here at the Double R Diner. I take a sip. Damn fine. Looking around I take in my surroundings as an ethereal tune plays on the jukebox.
1. “Falling” by Julee Cruise and Angelo Badalamenti
There’s a sweeping, dreamlike quality to the music specifically and the town in general. Definitely not what you would expect from a small mountain town in the Pacific Northwest but what did I expect? I’m not even sure why I’m here. My bus ticket could get me deep into Canada but when we stopped for gas at Big Ed's Gas Farm and I asked the flannel clad proprietor where I could get a decent cup of joe he pointed to the neon of the Double R with a self-assured smile of a father telling a child “Go ask your mother.” It was over an hour ago when I saw my bus drive out of town and I was onto my third cup. She looks sad, the waitress. She’s friendly and good natured to the customers but there seems to be something weighing on her. Maybe it’s just the music. The singer on the jukebox says they’re falling over and over again.
2. “Fire Walk With Me” by Angelo Badalamenti
The jukebox clicks as it switches records. This next song has an even more foreboding and somber tone. A forlorn saxophone reverberates through the diner as a teenage girl with long blonde hair bursts through the front door in a huff. I don’t think she looks like Rebecca per say but there’s something that reminds me of her. She calls the waitress Norma and apologies for being late. Norma just smiles and rolls her eyes ever so slightly as she retreats to the kitchen only to return seconds later with some cloche covered trays. The blonde teen grabs the stack of plates and bolts for the door, almost bulldozing a seemingly confounded U.S. Air Force major entering as she makes her hurried exit. The girl dropped something. A matchbook. Another teenage girl, a short haired brunette who was sitting at the counter, spots it too and dashes to pick it up and clutches it behind her back like a kid who has something she’s not supposed to. She skips over to the jukebox and makes a new selection.
3. “Audrey’s Dance - Instrumental” by Angelo Badalamenti
As the music plays the teenage girl dances along. It’s a jazzy number with a walking baseline and a haunting but still jaunty clarinet. The brunette snaps on beat and sways to the tune. I’m trying to keep to myself but I realize I’m staring when the girl’s eyes meet mine. I look down at the yellow formica tabletop, ashamed of my leering. I keep my head down as the girl dances past my booth and slides something onto my table. Still looking down I notice her shoes. They’re red high heels. An odd choice with the rest of her teenage schoolgirl attire but what do I know about fashion nowadays? With the brunette back in her seat I grab the matchbook she left on my table and it reads “One Eyed Jacks.”
4. “Rockin’ Back Inside My Heart” by Julee Cruise and Angelo Badalamenti
I pick up the matchbook and run my thumb along the edges. There’s a number I can’t quite make out. Looks like a phone number but some of the numbers are smudged and illegible so these couldn’t be the brunette’s digits could they? A wistful and retro piece of dream pop now emanates from the jukebox. Shooting a glance over to where the brunette was sitting I notice she’s gone. In her place is an older couple who seem to be on a date. The music could accompany a romantic afternoon at the lunch counter but this affair seems to turn sour in a hurry.
5. “Blue Velvet: Main Title Theme (from BLUE VELVET)” by Angelo Badalamenti
The man on the date has black leather jacket, slicked back hair, and his mood shifts dramatically from moment to moment. He goes from laughing maniacally, to pounding the counter and ordering Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer (which they don’t have), to twisting the arm of the woman he’s with and growling at her through clenched teeth. I think he might actually hit her until he catches my gaze. Shit. “Don’t you fucking look at me!” He screams.
The woman calls him daddy and pleads with him to stop. He’s standing now and walking towards me. I can feel the entire attention of the diner is on us. “Hey fucker! You look like the kind of prick who might know the chicken walk!”
6. “Red Bats With Teeth” by Angelo Badalmenti
As the man with slicked back hair bears down on me I feel an intense sense of dread. Though not a big guy there’s a rage and ferocity about him that leaves me shaking in my booth. The song playing on the jukebox is dark and driving. Who keeps feeding that thing quarters? It seems inevitable that something seriously bad is about to happen to me until a woman cradling a log steps between us. She pulls a well masticated piece of gum out of her mouth and stickers it to the top of my table. She gives the man with slicked back hair a hard stare and says “You may be used to squashing robins where you come from but we have owls here in Twin Peaks and my log says you do not belong.”
The restaurant collectively holds its breath as we all wait to see how the volatile man in the leather jacket will react. After what feels like an hour the man with the slicked back hair lets out a sinister chuckle. His countenance shifts from killer to clown as a Cheshire Cat grin stretches across his face and he hisses “People are frightened by what they don't understand.” He then slams his hand on the glob of gum rattling my mug, peels it up, sticks it in his cheek, goes at it like chewing tobacco, and calls out to his companion. “Mommy!” The woman in a dark velour dress sprints to his side as the two strut out of the Double R.
7. “Opening (from A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3: DREAM WARRIORS)” by Angelo Badalamenti
Popping a fresh piece of gum in her mouth, the woman with the log slides into my booth across from me and asks, “Can you hear it?” I just stare back at her blankly, dumbfounded by what has just transpired. With some exasperation she asks again, “My log! Can you hear it? I shake my head. “It wants to warn you…” I try to heed the wood piece’s warning but suddenly all I can see is television static buzzing louder and louder. Blinking and shaking my head my sight returns only to reveal the brick and mortar of the diner melting into paste, newspaper, and popsicle sticks. I’ve been transported to some kind of chilling craft project! Dissonant synth keys echoing from an unknown origin only adds to the nightmarish milieu.
8. “Main Title (from A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3: DREAM WARRIORS)” by Angelo Badalamenti
Creeping through the craft house I soon get the sense that I am not alone. The spectral synthesizer symphony adds an organ and the flourish of orchestral instruments has me jumping at sound as well as shadows. I try to run but find my feet sticking to that viscous paste I’ve been smelling. When a kid on a tricycle rolls by another pair of children skipping rope and all three start chanting this eerie nursery rhyme, that’s when I know it’s time to pull up the brakes and blow outta here. I free one foot from the mucilage just in time to see some ghoul in a fedora giving me the hairy eyeball. I look for an escape and I’ve somehow backed myself into a corner as the figure stalks ever closer. Reminding myself this house is made of paper products, I pry out the other foot and run full steam at a wall. It’s only popsicle sticks holding this shack together after all and I eat popsicles for breakfast. I burst through the flimsy wall and find myself transported to a whole different horror scene.
9. “Blue Frank” by Angelo Badalamenti and David Lynch
I shake off the debris and scan my new surroundings. It’s some kind of anything-goes roadhouse situation. A band plays a dark and discordant dream pop number where the cellist adds some additional chills dramatically dragging a frayed bow across the strings. People are on the dance floor aggressively grinding up on each other. Their collective demeanor doesn’t suggest they’re acting of pleasure but rather with a desperate yearning to feel something… to feel anything. This debaucherous dance is bathed in strobing red light which only adds to the sinister soiree. I find myself almost magnetically drawn to a strange door near the stage. As I make my way through the throng of party goers I notice there’s something different about them. All the revelers have pale skin, sunken eyes, and black hair. Their gaunt and sinewy appendages begin to reach out for me as I make my way through. Soon they’re tearing at my clothes and even tearing at my skin! I reach the door but only barely but bloodied. I slam the door behind me and feel the mysterious mob banging against the other side.
10. “A Real Indication” by Thought Gang
Once the banging multitudes subside, my eyes are immediately drawn to the floor tiled with a peculiar alternating off-white and dark-brown chevron pattern that cuts a dramatic zigzag leading to thick, red, velvet curtains that act as walls. Brushes bang on drums until the keys and strings kick in. I hear a voice prattling on about sewers and asphalt. It’s not making sense but I follow the voice as I navigate through the soft crimson curtains. Stumbling through the sanguine fabric dividers, I come upon a section with a few chairs, a couple of lamps, a marble statue, and a little man in a red suit. As he dances over to me in sync with the jazzy tune in my head he speaks in a halting, backwards way. “ɪt ɪz jɔːr ɪlɛkˈtrɪsɪti.” I cock my head like when you give a dog an unknown command and the little man repeats himself. Somehow I understand he’s saying “It is your electricity.”
“bʌt juː dəʊnt bɪˈlɒŋ!” He’s telling me I don’t belong while still doing his odd dance. He seems kinda funny in a confusing way until abruptly his expression changes. This strange little man yells something I understand even less than all the backwards talk. Garmonbozia? What could that even mean? Then he gestures to the face of the marble statue. I almost don't recognize her at first but after a beat of studying the features of course it’s her. It’s Rebecca and she has the same sorrowful expression as the last time I saw her. It’s a hurt and devastated visage and it’s the reason I’m running. The little man begins to laugh and the lights start to dim as a white light strobes in my eyes. I shut my peepers tight. When I reopen the random dot pixel pattern of transmission, static returns to my periphery. First quietly over the cackle of the small man and then louder and louder until it engulfs everything I can hear or see. I can’t take it anymore. I scream.
11. “Old Ways” by Tim Booth and Angelo Badalamenti
Ah! “Oh geez, sorry to wake you. I was just seeing if you wanted a refill. I didn’t know you were sleeping. “ I look up and see Norma with a concerned expression standing over me with her ubiquitous coffee pot. I’m still sitting at my booth in The Double R Diner.
“I wasn’t… I, um, I was having a bad dream anyway.” Norma says something to me not sleeping here and I readily agree awash with a fresh coat of embarrassment. What is it about beautiful women that accentuates my utter ungainliness? A decidedly more upbeat alternative rock song plays on the jukebox. It starts with prominent bells and keys accompanying a drum beat not unlike “Build Me Up Buttercup” by The Foundations. The spirited tune serves to snap me out of my stupor and I think of the time. I reflexively check my watch only to spill a splash of hot coffee in my lap from the mug gripped in my right hand. I leap to my feet, thudding my legs on the underside of the table.
12. “Wild At Heart: Dark Spanish Symphony (from WILD AT HEART)” by Angelo Badalamenti
I slap at the scalding wet spot the spilled coffee leaves on my jeans and toss an indeterminate amount of bills on the table that should cover my tab with a tip. I dash to the jukebox and start searching through the tracks. I mutter how it’s gotta be in here but I have no earthly idea as to why that song should be available. I can feel the eyes of the diner once again all on me. Judging and rightly so. Scanning through the tracks I audibly gasp so loud as to startle a diner into dropping their silverware clanking to the linoleum floor. Miraculously, the song is here. I produce a quarter and play “Dark Spanish Symphony.” From the opening strings I feel like dancing just like the brunette girl who gave me the matchbook but I don’t know the steps so instead I just outstretch my arms and look back at the Double R Diner to see if anyone else can sense the profundity of this afternoon. The confused expressions of the customers turns to concern as the patrons are suddenly awash with the red and blue lights of police cars. I put my hands up and fell to my knees as insisted upon me with guns drawn. My hands are cuffed behind my back and I’m read my rights. I am under arrest for the murder of Rebecca and I’m going to go away for a long time, the officer says, but I take some satisfaction in the fact that I still got to hear the crescendo of my song.
