When Julee Cruise died last year on June 9, David Lynch fans lost another of the essential, even inextricable collaborators who became a part of their lives as a result of being part of his art. Her ethereal singing is synonymous with both “Blue Velvet” and the many incarnations of “Twin Peaks,” the latter of whose title theme she performed. If Cruise’s absence from the physical plane runs the risk of dimming her star in our collective memories, Sacred Bones’ vinyl reissue of her 1989 album “Floating Into the Night” offers a welcome opportunity to restore it to its full luster by letting listeners experience her work anew — carrying the legacy of her and Lynch’s historic collaboration, but unencumbered by the images he paired with her music.
Her death after being diagnosed with systemic lupus preceded the December 2022 death of composer Angelo Badalamenti, a third and equally vital member of Cruise’s musical partnership with Lynch. Badalamenti composed the music for “Floating Into the Night” and Lynch the lyrics, creating a singular combination of girl-group doo-wop and gothic romance — the precise juxtaposition explored in Lynch’s work between small-town innocence and the mysterious secrets lurking beneath that wholesome veneer. The “Twin Peaks” theme “Falling” appears as the second track on the record, and her voice (absent from the broadcast version) sounds as much like Lynch’s fallen heroine Laura Palmer as the spirit of the mythical, virtuous White Lodge hidden in the eponymous Northwestern town’s arboreal enclave.
Although the instrumental version of “Falling” is more famous, her vocal version serves as a vivid reminder of how distinctive her contributions were to Lynch’s work, and integral to the ambience that especially was created on “Twin Peaks.” It’s immediately followed by another song used frequently on the show, “Rockin’ Back Inside My Heart,” but one that wasn’t included on its official soundtrack. The gently swinging track professes exactly the kind of love that was shared by the show’s teenage characters; “I want you, you want me,” Cruise sweetly sings, which is why Lynch literally put it into their mouths during several key sequences. Together, they’re a reminder of the desperate yearning — for love, and for hope — that is an underpinning of Lynch’s work, making the darkness bearable.
“Into the Night,” “The Nightingale” and “The World Spins” also appeared in the series, in some cases in both lyrical and instrumental versions; they’re part of the fabric of its world, so to get to listen and revisit them separately deepens the nostalgia they elicit. They also showcase Badalamenti’s unique, sometimes odd-seeming personnel combinations, utilizing live drums to perform jazz rhythms, electric guitar and then synthesizers for everything from atmospherics to filters (or even replacements) for live instruments (the saxophone on “Rockin’ Back Inside My heart,” for example).
Lesser-known songs on the album that provided a soundtrack for Lynch’s projects, such as “I Float Alone,” which appeared in his “Industrial Symphony No. 1,” are just as astonishingly beautiful as the others, featuring more of her haunting voice, combined with orchestral flourishes from Badalamenti that conjure beautiful, unspoken mysteries that may or may not ever have been specifically realized with hallucinogenic imagery. That this dream pop feels effervescent without seeming frivolous exemplifies all three of their talents — Lynch’s as a writer, Badalamenti’s as a musician and hers as a vocalist.
But by the time listeners get to the album’s final track, “The World Spins,” Cruise has long since transported them beyond the imagination of Lynch and the mood-setting of Badalamenti. For better or worse, “Floating Into the Night” will always be tethered to the audiovisual work of her collaborators and indebted to those partnerships. But a little more than a year after her death, this rerelease puts a spotlight on the particular significance of her sometimes under-appreciated contributions to the trio — as a mysterious, gentle and warming voice, putting into words sensations that otherwise transcend language.
