I wasn't a very cool kid.

Every day when I was driven to school (I only started catching the bus in Year 9), we'd play the same thing at full tilt: the 'greatest hits' of the enduring collaboration between Steven Spielberg and composer John Williams.

Rounding the corner from Bourke Road to the back-street route to Balwyn High School, March Of The Slave Children from Indiana Jones and the Temple Of Doom would rattle local window panes (and no doubt cause irreparable damage to my eardrums).

In other words, my formative days were spent marinating in the emotional blackmail of 'traditional' Hollywood film scoring, which is why I find it a little surprising to now be so thrilled by the increasing amount of film scores composed not by the old guard, or even the new guard, but people completely separate to the cinematic realm: electronic artists.

That is, not "getting them in" to come up with a corker for the end credits, or as part of an assembly of hip young things (shout out to the still-brilliant soundtrack to Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, which featured such an outstanding line-up of turn-of-the-century electronic artists it should be shot into space as a time capsule), but getting them to compose the score itself.

As a bit of backstory, here's an excerpt from a feature review I wrote for the Big Issue on the topic:

Once upon a time, you would have been lucky to find tracks by a band like The Chemical Brothers on one of those "music from and inspired by the motion picture" soundtracks, nestled in alongside various hits and misses of the day.

Electronic/dance music was, despite the success of films like Trainspotting, still considered strictly "soundtrack", not "score".

Fortunately, given that the electronic realm is where the bulk of popular music's most innovative creators are working, those days are drifting into the past.

Between Underworld and John Murphy's Eno-esque collaboration for Danny Boyle's Sunshine (2007), Daft Punk's providing the only good thing about TRON: Legacy (2010), Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross' Oscar-winning score for The Social Network (2010), and Steven Price working with Felix Buxton and Simon Ratcliffe (aka Basement Jaxx) for Attack The Block (2010), some of the best scores of the past few years have been composed by artists better known to the mega-club than the Cineplex.



In the case of Hanna, director Joe Wright got his start creating visuals for the UK rave scene, so it's arguably not surprising that he's turned to the giants of British electro for this film. However, I'd say it has more to do with realising that Ed Simons and Tom Rowlands, in spite of their big beat rep, create some of the most thrilling, cinematic music out there.

Last year's Further was comprised of tracks crying out to be utilised beyond the club; Hanna will no doubt introduce film scores to the dancefloor.

(I then went on to wax lyrical about the ins and outs of the Hanna score, which I'll spare you here, i.e. end excerpt.)

It's not just known electronic artists who've brought a metallic tang to the scoring booth, though: look at Cliff Martinez's Contagion and Drive scores, or the ever-encroaching synthesisers in the work of composers like Hans Zimmer (whose Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest score was basically electronic death metal for the blockbuster set) and Brian Tyler.



You could argue that it's a cyclical thing - after all, Tangerine Dream provided plenty of electronic squelches throughout the '80s (most memorably for the American theatrical release of Ridley Scott's Legend), Wang Chung were anointed by William Friedkin to score his To Live And Die In L.A., and even Eno himself got busy scoring the sublime For All Mankind (the score was released as his Apollo: Atmospheres And Soundtracks, arguably one of his definitive ambient pieces).

Klaus Doldinger's work on Neverending Story featured ample moments of German existential electronica amid the more traditional orchestral cues. (And no, I'm not talking about Limahl and Giorgio Moroder's theme song.)

Even earlier than that, you've got electronic precursors like Wendy Carlos' various works (A Clockwork Orange in particular), Philip Glass' readily-parodiable Koyaanisqatsi, and, arguably, Mike Oldfield's inevitable Tubular Bells (The Exorcist).



But where all those various scores felt occasionally anachronistic at the time, or can be handily lumped together in retrospect, it definitely feels like there's been a groundswell towards expressly electronic scores in the past year or so.

Is it because, given the composers' backgrounds in popular music, they can create a score that works on both a traditional level and as an album? Even the finest "classical" scores don't necessarily gel as standalone pieces, whereas - for example - Hanna and The Social Network can be played as records.



Looking at it in that light, perhaps it's a shrewd marketing move: get established recording artist = get fans = get album sales. I like to think/hope it's not that mercenary, but then again, you know, forget it Jake, it's Hollywood.

Whether it's a Sign Of The Times™, or the collective unconscious, however, it's safe to say that the "movement" was legitimised somewhat by Reznor and Ross' winning the Golden Globe and Oscar for Best Original Score this year; what was initially dismissed as gimmicky by some less generous traditionalists could suddenly cut it alongside the big guns.

(Despite my teenaged glee at seeing Trent win an Oscar, I do think The Social Network's triumph over John Powell's exquisite - and very traditional - How To Train Your Dragon score was the year's big upset. Whether or not it was symbolic as well remains to be seen.)

The move towards electronic scores doesn't seem to show any signs of dropping off: Reznor and Ross are hard at work scoring David Fincher's Girl With The Dragon Tattoo remake; The Chemical Brothers' contribution to the Black Swan soundtrack suggests Hanna won't be their last score; based on the strength of their TRON: Legacy, plenty of people would welcome another Daft Punk score.

As a committed film score nut, at least this trend towards the electronic allows me to get back in touch with that uncool 14-year-old me blaring Indiana Jones en route to school: at least now when I pull up pumping film scores, I can just say I'm playing The Chemical Brothers.

That's cool, right?