As Halloween approaches, ditch the “Monster Mash” for a much more disturbing playlist: murder laments from another age, hallucinatory psychedelic trips, macabre rock or haunted blues… These tracks cultivate fear with lugubrious elegance.
Rediscover the 25 scary songs for Halloween. If you put them out while the kids are knocking on your door, expect to save all your candy for the next day.
Robert Johnson—Hellhound on My Trail (1937)
Barely a year after singing Hellhound on My Trail, Robert Johnson was dead—probably poisoned by a jealous husband in the summer of 1938. He was only 27, but left behind a handful of chillingly dark acoustic tracks, from Love in Vain to Come On in My Kitchen.
His legend, born in the Mississippi Delta, was that he traded his soul for his talent with the devil himself. Hellhound remains his most terrifying moment: on this track recorded during his last session, he moans, implores and growls — “I can see the wind is risin', leaves trembling' on the tree”. In his slide game, you think you can hear each leaf quivering. Bob Dylan would later say: “His words made my nerves vibrate like piano strings. »
The Louvin Brothers — Knoxville Girl (1956)
Arguably the most famous murder ballad in Appalachia. It follows, in the first person, a man from Tennessee who, for no apparent reason, beats his beloved to death on the banks of a river.
Ira and Charlie Louvin sing this atrocious crime in a cheerful and relentless waltz, from their first album Tragic Songs of Life. The contrast between the perfect harmony and the barbarity of the story chills the blood. Inspired by events dating back to the 17th century in England, the song has crossed the centuries and continents, proof that there has always been, somewhere, a man singing about the murder of a woman.
The Doors—The End (1967)
Nearly twelve minutes of hallucinatory hypnosis. With The End, Jim Morrison symbolically buries his childhood and plunges into dementia: “This is the end, my only friend”.
The piece stretches like a bad trip, between surreal poetry and incestuous impulse, until an apocalyptic finale where Morrison recites, in a trance, his own Oedipal drama: “Father, I want to kill you… Mother, I want to…”. Born from an improvisation under LSD at the Whiskey a Go Go, this twilight song got the group kicked out of the club. But it remains one of the peaks of black psychedelia.
Pink Floyd — Careful With That Axe, Eugene (1969)
On Ummagumma, this track becomes much more than a jam: a sonic descent into madness.
The murmurs, the quivering cymbals, the spectral organ of Richard Wright create an unbearable tension. Then comes this whisper: “Careful… with that axe, Eugene”. A shrill cry from Roger Waters then tears the silence, before everything falls back into morbid calm. We don't know what happened — but we know it was terrible.
Exuma — Séance in the Sixth Fret (1970)
Despite its appearance of a voodoo ritual, this session by Exuma (aka Tony McKay) is not simple folklore.
Recorded in a room invaded by candles, the piece sees musicians and singer sink into a collective trance, literally summoning the spirits. Screams, tears, bells and drumbeats: seven minutes of real enchantment. A capture of the beyond.
Bloodrock—DOA (1971)
A macabre hit banned by several American radio stations. Over eight and a half minutes, the narrator recounts his own death after a plane crash.
“I see something warm running down my fingers…”he sings, before seeing his missing arm. His girlfriend lies nearby, her face bloody.
The title ends with ambulance sirens so realistic that motorists were panicking while driving. The FCC would eventually ban the song.
A sonic nightmare between rock and ambulance.
Leonard Cohen—Avalanche (1971)
In Songs of Love and Hate, Leonard Cohen becomes a prophet of darkness.
Over flamenco guitar arpeggios and mournful strings, he plays a reclusive hunchback at the bottom of a gold mine, defying morality: “Your laws do not compel me / To kneel grotesque and bare. »
Then comes the metamorphosis: “It is your turn, beloved / It is your flesh that I wear. »
Cohen's deep voice does not tremble: it fascinates and chills at the same time. Nick Cave, a great admirer, has continued to take up this title for three decades.
Alice Cooper—I Love the Dead (1973)
Alice Cooper, pope of shock rock, signs here one of his most macabre anthems.
On the gothic finale of Billion Dollar Babies, he sings about the love of a corpse with disarming frankness: “While friends and lovers mourn your silly grave / I have other uses for you, darling. »
On stage, the song precedes his execution by guillotine; on record, it retains a scent of chilling necrophilia.
“We can no longer really shock the public today,” Cooper confided to WECB. “But if I cut off my arm to eat it, then, maybe. »
Neil Young—Revolution Blues (1974)
A thriller inspired by Charles Manson. Neil Young, who encountered the guru via Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys, channels his murderous madness here on On the Beach.
The voice is possessed, the words delirious: “I hear Laurel Canyon is full of famous stars / But I'll kill them in their cars! »
Even David Crosby begged him not to play this song live. Young, of course, refused.
Suicide—Frankie Teardrop (1977)
A descent into urban hell with no way out. Frankie, a 20-year-old worker, loses his footing, kills his family then commits suicide… before waking up in hell.
Alan Vega's screams, Martin Rev's electronic loops, everything evokes the claustrophobia of a sleepless apartment.
No catharsis, no escape: just the sound of humanity short-circuiting.
Throbbing Gristle—Hamburger Lady (1978)
Clinical terror incarnate.
Inspired by the testimony of a nurse from Vietnam, the song describes a woman burned alive, treated in a burn unit.
Genesis P-Orridge repeats, coldly: “Hamburger Lady…she's dying. » Around, a mechanical whir imitates the breathing of a machine.
The result: an unlistenable — and unforgettable — piece of industrial art.
Joy Division—Day of the Lords (1979)
Ian Curtis asks: “Where will it end?” » over and over again. In the industrial Manchester of the late 1970s, Joy Division transforms despair into sonic architecture. On Unknown Pleasures, Day of the Lords mixes heavy bass and restrained howls.
“I’ve seen the nights filled with bloodsport and pain”Curtis sings — war, drugs, memory: everything is mixed up there.
A desperate prayer in a world without redemption.
