John Waters' A Dirty Shame is a return to gloriously sleazy form from the purveyor of bad taste whose post- Hairspray period seemed to soften his notoriously raunchy touch. The soundtrack, however, continues in the vein of songs from Cry-Baby and Hairspray by relying on the same period in musical history, albeit to very different ends. If the Hairspray soundtrack was playing in the dance halls of yesteryear, the Dirty Shame soundtrack was playing in the strip clubs.

What's curious, and all the more effective, about this musical choice is its anachronistic nature. The film takes place in the here and now, but the soundtrack, for the most part, is stuck in the Fifties and Sixties. So for a film explicitly depicting every modern fetish (and then some), there's no sexually explicit gangsta rap or heavy metal to fall back on. It's all in the innuendo, which is much more fun.

The innuendos, mind you, are not always so subtle. Sometimes they don't even qualify for the term "veiled." Take the Connie Vannett charmer "The Pussy Cat Song." You probably already know where this is going, but just to clarify: " My pussycat was sittin' out on the front step/It started to rain and my pussy got wet/Wet pussy" You can imagine what else happens to that cat. And a guy selling snacks becomes "Tony's Got Hot Nuts," by Faye Richmonde . "My nuts/They are sweet/All the little girls/Like to eat." Just for added quirk, that's a woman singing.  

The placement of the songs adds to their impact. "The Pussy Cat Song" plays shortly after the main character, Sylvia (Tracey Ullman) has received her life-changing concussion and, if you take the metaphor, describes her frame of mind. She spies some lesbians coming out of a convenience store at the same time, just to complete the image. She works at the store with her husband Vaughn (Chris Isaak who, strangely, contributes no songs to the soundtrack), whom she tries to entice into having "funch," which she describes as "fucking after lunch." She tries to make good on this in a car with him while the aforementioned "Hot Nuts" plays on the radio.  

Other songs serve to narrate her sexual quest. Slim Harpo 's "Baby Scratch My Back," a harmonica-driven groove, plays under her introduction to a cult of sex addicts in a garage. The instrumental surfer groove of Jody Reynolds "Black Tarantula," which would feel right at home on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, plays as Sylvia goes from yard to yard, stealing clothes to slut herself up for her trip to said sex garage. Eager Beaver Baby," a number from Elvis sound-a-like Johnny Burnette , finds our heroine out on the prowl, basically offering herself to whomever she runs into.  

Some songs are able to convey the films' sexuality without lyrics, suggestive or otherwise. In addition to the aforementioned "Tarantula," there's Screamin' Jay Hawkins' "Moanin',Ôø‡Ôø‡Ôø‡"which is just that Ôø‡Ôø‡Ôø‡ Jay moaning as if in incredible pain over a bluesy strut. There are a few lyrics, but they are of no consequence. His incoherent babbling says it all and nicely underscores chief addict Ray-Ray's (Johnny Knoxville) sexual longing. "Hump-A-Baby," by Little Richie Ray , sounds like an early Elvis number minus the consonants. It effectively echoes the lewd urges driving what amounts to a sexual riot at the, um, climax of the film.  

Another interesting aspect of this soundtrack is the way Waters uses certain songs as theme tracks for particular characters. This is a tried and true method of signifying personas via a classical score, but not nearly as often a route chosen for films with songs not written for the movie. In fact, Sylvia's theme (titled "Sylvia," natch) was originally written for the campy 1965 melodrama Sylvia . Here the placid, choral strains of the song, courtesy of the David Raksin Orchestra , play over the opening credits which introduce us to the seemingly normal suburb of Hartford Road . It also plays whenever Sylvia receives a concussion. Which is often.  

Billy Lee Riley 's "Red Hot," serves as the theme song for Sylvia's sex-addict daughter, Ursula. Her fetish is exhibitionism, so she strips to this fast-paced proto-rockabilly number under the pseudonym "Ursula Udders," a reference to her mammoth mammaries (quite literally the size of watermelons). Ray-Ray, the Christ-like (if Jesus were a sex-addict) leader of the film's cult of concussion converts is introduced to the lowdown swagger of Don Gardner and Dee Dee Ford 's "I Need Your Lovin'," but his theme (and mantra) is the sax-inflected "Let's Go Sexin" by James Intveld who, it's worth noting, provided the voice for Johnny Depp's crooning in Waters' Cry-Baby .  

The "bears" of the movie (think big, hairy gay men) have their own theme, the Ôø‡Ôø‡Ôø‡Achy Breaky HeartÔø‡Ôø‡Ôø‡ parody "Itchy Twitchy Spot," by Run C&W . It would be a more fun song if it didn't have to so closely mimic the annoying melody of the song it parodies. On the other end of the spectrum are the "Neuters," the uptight folks in the community who want to run the sex addicts out of town. Their theme song is, among others, "Open Up Your Heart (And Let the Sunshine In)" as performed by The Cowboy Church Sunday School . Probably not the most creative choice, but it gets the point across and makes for a nice non-sequitor on the album.  

One film track sadly missing from the album is the Fred Campbell number "The I-95 Asshole Song," which is hilarious but perhaps anachronistic (for the soundtrack) as it was recorded in the 80's.  

The soundtrack and the film end with, naturally, "The End," by Earl Grant . A choral, string-inflected number in the same vein as Ôø‡Ôø‡Ôø‡Sylvia,Ôø‡Ôø‡Ôø‡ but with more of a Nat King Cole vibe, it acts as a restrained counterpoint to the film's graphic final frame, which can only be described as the ultimate money shot.  

Taken as a whole, the soundtrack seems like a cross between an underground American Graffitti score and an especially randy edition of the Dr. Demento show. It actually holds together better than the movie, serving as a sampler of very-old-school rock you'd probably never hear otherwise.