You know how Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon is said to sync perfectly with “The Wizard of Oz”? It may take an open mind, but it’s pretty amazing — and a little spooky — to see just how well the two fit together.

Sometimes, two unconnected works of art can complement each other so perfectly it’s as if they were made for each other. But if a film and an album can combine in this way, then why can’t an album and a book? There’s no denying that some records just seem to reflect the mood, themes and overall style of certain novels. Here are a few novels and albums that just seem to mesh with each other:

George Orwell’s “1984” with Radiohead’s Kid A
“1984” is Orwell’s grim dystopian vision of a future where the all-powerful Big Brother has complete control. And what would make a better soundtrack than the industrial, haunting murkiness of Kid A? The album’s dark and barren tones sound like they would be perfectly at home in Oceania’s bleak city streets. The Thought Police operating to the hums of “Kid A”; “Idioteque” blasting as the troops surround Winston and Julia in the house. It’s as if Radiohead purposely set out to score the novel.
Sync it up: Insert the lovely-yet-tragic “How to Disappear Completely” when protagonist Winston Smith first reads Julia’s love note.

Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” with Bob Dylan’s The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan
The best road novel of all time + the ultimate nomadic folk album = a wandering soul’s dream combo. Dylan’s experienced, road-tested warble is the ideal match for the restless adventures of Kerouac’s dying-to-live protagonist Sal Paradise and his free-spirited companion Dean Moriarty. As Sal wishes to experience as much of life as he can, he embarks on several cross-country trips and he hitchhikes and pinches pennies to get by. All the while, he absorbs the real-life nuances of ’40s Americana. Picture the bluesy song “Down the Highway” playing as Sal holds his thumb out on a rural highway, waiting for any ol’ ride to come his way (“well-ell I’m walkin’ down the highway, with a suitcase in my hand”). Dylan’s Freewheelin’ perfectly encapsulates Kerouac’s wide, rambling road.
Sync it up: Dial in “Girl from the North Country” over Sal’s wistful last lines: “I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty.”

Herman Melville’s “Moby Dick” with Mastodon’s Leviathan
This one may be a little obvious considering Leviathan is a concept album based loosely on the Melville classic. But Mastodon’s seething, altogether brutal sophomore album truly reflects the turbulent fury of Ahab’s open ocean. From the cetacean title to the graphic cover art, Leviathan supplements the symbolic masterwork “Moby-Dick” wonderfully.
Sync it up: Play the harpoon-sharp “Aqua Dementia” as Ahab desperately chases after his obsession – the Great White Whale – at the end of the book. Simply epic.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby” with Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue
Fitzgerald’s deconstruction of the American Dream, “The Great Gatsby,” is a wholly American novel. So why Kind of Blue? Simple. “Gatsby” explores the lifestyle of the “new rich” in the heart of the Jazz Age. And through the casual refinement of Davis’s seminal album, you can plainly hear what life was like in Nick Carraway’s West Egg. The upscale swing of opener “So What” provides the perfect backdrop as Nick dives head on into the superficial world of the “nouveau riche.” The carefree, aristocratic “Freddie Freeloader” sounds tailor-made for one of Jay Gatsby’s wild, opulent parties. With a little imagination, Kind of Blue can accurately recall some of the novel’s most affecting scenes.
Sync it up: As the pathetically attended funeral for Jay Gatsby is described, play the beautiful, forlorn “Blue In Green.”

J.D. Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye” with Vampire Weekend’s Vampire Weekend
For some strange reason, when reading “The Catcher in the Rye,” I’ve always imagined things playing out like a Wes Anderson film. So naturally, I first thought a Kinks album or some early Cat Stevens would do nicely. But then I thought about Vampire Weekend’s eponymous debut. Its contagious youthfulness and deep undercurrent of East Coast, Ivy League pretentiousness precisely echoes Holden Caulfield’s rallying call against all “phonies.”
Sync it up: Play “Walcott” as Holden walks aimlessly around New York, right before he meets up with his sister in the final chapters. But instead of the lyrics “don’t you wanna get out of Cape Cod,” insert “New York.”

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