For the past two decades, Harmony Korine has made a career out of writing and directing films that confound and offend—surreal and often violent excursions through the forever-teenage American id that explode the holy values so many (supposedly) hold so dear. And he’s often used extreme music, the type that would gleefully piss off parents, to help his graphic images rip through the screen.
In his 1997 directorial debut Gummo, the antagonistic sounds of grindcore and black metal are every bit as much a part of the film’s small-town milieu as kids huffing glue and killing cats. His biggest hit thus far, 2012’s Spring Breakers, drops wubby Skrillex beats while leering at bikini-strewn depravity. The film, which critics described as both “loathsome” and “dazzling,” stars James Franco doing his best impression of oddball rapper RiFF RAFF alongside Gucci Mane in an unforgettable role. Even Korine’s 2016 video for Rihanna’s “Needed Me” lingers shamelessly on strip-club flesh and bloody gun violence. Given this history, it should come as little surprise that the 44-year-old’s most beloved music includes a litany of “parental advisory” touchstones, one-of-a-kind outsiders, and profane geniuses.
Once a memorably wild-eyed recurring guest on “Late Show With David Letterman”—where the host happily mocked him as evidence for “why they invented childproof caps”—Korine now lives with his wife and daughter in Nashville, where he himself was raised by parents immersed in the counterculture. This month, he’s reportedly set to begin shooting a stoner comedy called The Beach Bum starring Matthew McConaughey as a man named Moondog. Though little is known about the film thus far, it seems safe to guess it’ll feature a soundtrack filled with songs that could lovingly be described as “completely fucked up”—the same sorts of sounds that have made an impression of Korine through his entire life.
David Allan Coe: Requiem for a Harlequin
I was born in a commune. We lived near a truck stop, with all these prostitutes walking around, and I basically lived off beef jerky back then. I remember everyone drinking moonshine and there was this one grown-up who wore what looked like a huge diaper and would play David Allan Coe’s Requiem for a Harlequin. In some places it feels like Funkadelic; in other places, it’s like Frank Sinatra. It’s this tripped-out, redneck-spoken-word, super-psychedelic kind of poetry.
Wild Man Fischer: Wildmania
My dad had Wild Man Fischer’s Wildmania, which looked like a novelty record, but then when you put it on, it was so much more. I couldn’t believe how it even existed, that people would pay money to record something like this. It was just a lot of Wild Man Fischer screaming over instrumental tracks—some of them didn’t even have instruments. They were almost like perverse nursery rhymes, but he sounded so happy to be yelling. He was just the ultimate outsider banging against the walls. I loved trying to imagine the type of person that would even buy that record. All the songs were about baseball. He had a song called “My Name Is Larry” that was just him going, “My name is Larry,” over and over again. One time, when my parents went to the shopping mall down the road, I listened to that for a couple of hours, and it messed with my head. I lit the yard on fire using a magnifying glass, and that album was playing while the yard was going up in smoke. Then the fire people got there. It was a weird scene.
Various Artists: The Dukes of Hazzard Soundtrack
I loved “The Dukes of Hazzard” as a kid. Sometimes I would pretend to be both Bo and Luke at the same time, doing their lines back and forth. That soundtrack was really great, with Waylon Jennings singing the theme. During that time, everyone in the neighborhood was sniffing glue and dropping Wite-Out in brown paper bags and just huffing until they passed out while listening to the “The Dukes of Hazzard.” My dad had some golf clubs in the barn that he never used, and we smashed the windows out of the car so that we could just hop in without rolling them down.
Philip Glass: Glassworks
Around the first grade, my dad was really into these headphones that he bought. They had this wire that I would use as a jump rope, which would drive him crazy. I used to wear these massive tube socks that went up to my thighs, and it always annoyed him that I would sleep with these tube socks that look like tights. So in the morning, to fuck with me, he would blast Philip Glass’ Glassworks record in my ear. It tripped me out. In some ways, I feel like listening to that record was like my first drug experience.
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Too $hort: “Freaky Tales”
Going to junior high school in Nashville, it was the integrated South. And even though Too $hort was from the Bay Area, I felt like he was Southern rap, and it spoke to all the kids at the time. The first time I heard “Freaky Tales” it just blew me away. I would ride the bus with all these kids with Jheri curls and red Lee jeans blasting “Freaky Tales.” It had that serious bass thump. It was the kind of music that you would play in class, and the teachers would suspend you. We were getting paddled all the time.
Geto Boys: We Can’t Be Stopped
I was reading The Anarchist Cookbook and spending the summers in San Francisco skateboarding, living on rooftops, running away from my parents, getting in fights. You know, girls. At that point I was just getting into movies, but the idea of making films happened later in high school.
Geto Boys’ “Mind Playing Tricks on Me” was a game-changer. I was in high school, and I’d never heard rap music that was filled with such menace—but also self-doubt and paranoia. And hearing guys rap with Southern accents wasn’t really that common in the late ’80s. Bushwick Bill was my favorite. That album, We Can’t Be Stopped, is like a mini-movie.
2 Live Crew: As Nasty as They Wanna Be
I also loved 2 Live Crew’s As Nasty as They Wanna Be, which was my introduction to Miami bass. I couldn’t really relate to all the lyrical rappers people were listening to on the East Coast at the time. It bored me a little bit. But when I heard 2 Live Crew, it was all about the vibe, and the sex, and the party. It was exciting.
The Frogs: It’s Only Right and Natural
At 20, that was right about the time when everyone was snorting opium and committing crimes. That’s when I did Kids. I was living in New York right next to the Gramercy Hotel, getting into narcotics, making movies. I would walk into Kim’s Video on Bleecker Street or Other Music and ask for things, and they would go, “Oh, have you heard of the Frogs?” The Frogs’ album It’s Only Right and Natural totally blew me away. It was this weird gay concept record, but they weren’t gay. They were these brothers from Milwaukee who used to dress up in fairy costumes. One of the brothers would play a huge kettle drum and almost do these quasi-surrealist minstrels. The music was so good because it wasn’t really just conceptual, it was pop; once you got over the crudeness of the lyrics, the songs themselves were beautiful pop music.
Three 6 Mafia: Mystic Stylez
I was also listening to Three 6 Mafia’s Mystic Stylez, which is probably my favorite rap album. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before. You had the whole crew on it, including Lord Infamous, who was my favorite. When I heard Lord Infamous rap it was like he got completely in his own lane with this narcotic flow, super-violent. It had a real Tennessee vibe. It was like gothic hip-hop. It had this horror and beauty. Mystic Stylez invented an entire sound—young rappers like Yung Lean and Lil Uzi Vert and SpaceGhostPurrp are still influenced by it and might not even know it.
Magical Power Mako: Super Record
At that time I had just made Julien Donkey-Boy. I had been out to Denmark and I was wearing a shower cap on my head everywhere I went. At some point I moved to Mexico City for a bit. I basically stopped making films for a while. I just started mowing people’s yards. I was on a different path.
I got into this enigmatic Japanese character, Magical Power Mako, who nobody talks about. He had this one album called Super Record. He defies genre. He would do love songs and folk records and psych albums and electronic and he had the most beautiful packaging. Even to this day, I don’t know if he’s alive. It felt like it was coming from another planet.
Zilla: Grinted Teeth & Brawlsville
I started getting back into the idea of writing again. I was making artwork. I was putting together this movie, Mister Lonely, about impersonators living on a commune. I lived in London for a little while. At that same point is when I heard a mix, Grinted Teeth & Brawlsville, by this DJ called Zilla. I listened to that for a whole year straight. It was an early mash-up, like putting DMX on these strange electronic albums, and it was so good. It really seemed like the future to me.
S.O.B: “Click Clack”
We had just moved back to Nashville, and I was putting together Trash Humpers. A friend of mine in Atlanta told me there was a band of teenagers called S.O.B. It was like a squad of gangsters, but they do music. It was real nursery rhyme style. Super hood. I never even knew who was on it. If you listen to it now it really sounds like the predecessor to a lot of what rap is now—it sounds like early Migos. They had this song called “Teabag Dat Hoe” and another song called “Click Clack,” which is just these gun noises. I ended up using those gun noises in Spring Breakers.
OJ Da Juiceman: “Make Tha Trap Say Aye”
Then OJ Da Juiceman came with “Make Tha Trap Say Aye” with Gucci Mane on it, and that was a huge record for me. The two of them together—that shit went so hard. OJ Da Juiceman is super slept-on. And Gucci is probably my favorite rapper ever. The Gucci record “Icy” is probably the first time I heard him. That was probably what led me to calling him. Actually, when I first spoke to him, he was in jail.
DJ Taye: Move Out EP
It’s strange. I don’t even listen to that much music now. I listen to pop music, whatever my daughter is into. But there’s certain things you just pick up on. I mostly listen to electronic or rap music. I love DJ Taye. He’s my favorite footwork producer. His Move Out EP is so good. I also like this guy Russell Haswell, who has this song called “Tongue Dancer ’85,” which is like dance music made by a noise producer. And this ADR record, “Lost Ya,” is so good—it sounds like backing tracks from pop music from four years ago, with no vocals. But yeah, everything is just mixed up and integrated and becomes part of your life.
