The 40 greatest movie soundtracks of all time, ranked

There is no record more 1993 than , the soundtrack to a crime thriller starring Emilio Estevez, Cuba Gooding Jr., and Denis Leary. The concept for the soundtrack is simple and brilliant: pair alt-rockers with rappers, thereby cornering the market on two of the most popular sounds of the time. Rap-rock had been kicking around for a while—at least since Run-DMC invited Aerosmith to “Walk This Way”—but it had yet to be codified as lowest common denominator mook-rock, which means a revisit to Judgment Night can deliver some surprises. There’s some aggression here—witness the opening “Just Another Victim” from Helmet and House of Pain—but there’s a lot of thrilling weirdness coming from such pairings as Teenage Fanclub and De La Soul, Sonic Youth and Cypress Hill, Dinosaur Jr. and Del the Funky Homosapien, not to mention the gonzo bad taste of Sir Mix-A-Lot and Mudhoney’s “Freak Momma.”

is all about teenage rebellion so it’s a little amusing that the soundtrack masterminded by screenwriter Dean Pitchford skews so heavily toward adult-oriented pop. Apart from Moving Pictures, whose closing “Never” feels like a coda, every act featured on Footloose is a 1970s survivor, giving the album a curiously retro flavor that’s readily apparent in retrospect; Karla Bonoff’s “Somebody’s Eyes” is yacht rock by any other name. All these studio pros did manage to convey a sense of adolescence, though, an emotion that ties together the exuberance of Kenny Loggins’ theme song and Deniece Williams’s “Let’s Hear It For The Boy” as well as Mike Reno and Ann Wilson’s power ballad “Almost Paradise … Love Theme from Footloose.” Then, there’s the record’s masterpiece, “Holding Out For A Hero,” a Jim Steinman co-write that is more cinematic than the film itself.

In some ways, the soundtrack to the 1994 basketball drama serves as a testament to the power of Death Row in the mid-1990s. Supervised by Dr. Dre, Above The Rim expands the hazy sound of G-funk to smoother territory, relying heavily on R&B vocal groups while also finding space for the film’s star Tupac Shakur. “Regulate,” the Warren G and Nate Dogg track that turned into the record’s signature anthem, hits the sweet spot of smooth soul and gritty hip-hop.

Tim Burton used a couple of old Prince songs on the temporary soundtrack for his eagerly anticipated adaptation of , thereby opening the gates for the Purple One to write an entire collection of songs inspired by this big-budget version of the Caped Crusader. Burton already had a score from Danny Elfman in place, so Prince had the freedom to roam, which is exactly what he did: he swiped dialogue from the film, wrote “Partyman” as a tribute to Jack Nicholson, then assembled the album so certain songs were sung from the perspective of Batman or the Joker. The apotheosis of his mischief is “Batdance,” a collage of rhythms, jokes, and samples that only sounds stranger as the years pass, but the collection of fizzy funk and vibrant pop remains compelling.

Denied permission to use David Bowie songs in his glam rock fantasia, Todd Haynes opted to spruce up some glittery oldies with new covers by glam’s heirs, as well as a couple of made-to-order originals. Blending the past and present, authentic relics with canny replicas, turns out to be a masterstroke, emphasizing the sexy fluidity and kinetic kick of the glam era. It helps that the originals by Grant Lee Buffalo, Shudder to Think, and Pulp hold their own against vintage Brian Eno, Roxy Music, and Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel: it assists Haynes in his mission of blurring boundaries between reality and dreams.

Curtis Mayfield found poetry within Gordon Parks Jr.’s , riffing upon the film’s ghetto crime saga to address societal ills. Mayfield doesn’t sound enamored by the hustlers and drug dealers he chronicles: “Pusherman” and “Superfly” bristle with anger, while “Freddie’s Dead” carries a real undercurrent of sorrow. Mayfield tempers his disdain with sumptuous arrangements, bold funk and silky vocals, a combination that has all the lush allure of early 1970s soul while also suiting the grittiness of the film’s story.

Thanks to T Bone Burnett’s masterful curation and production, —the Coen Brothers’ Southern fried interpretation of Homer’s Odyssey—became something more than a hit. With its wiley, heartfelt resurrections of Depression-era folk, country, and blues, O Brother, Where Art Thou became a touchstone for a generation of Americana artists, helping bring old-timey string bands and harmony groups back in fashion.