I’ve been listening to the soundtrack of Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver for the past few days. It’s the kind of soundtrack that makes you want to dance or go on a long road trip, with songs you’d expect to find in a jukebox. It is both energetic and comforting, fuelling scenes with upbeat tempos while
Baby never breaks a promise. His peculiarity is heeded early on. He’s strange; he rewinds the song he is listening to when his stream of consciousness is interrupted, records snippets of conversations to use as a foundation for the electronic music he records using analog synthesizers, and turns every midday stroll into his own personal
