Resident Evil: Bill Bada Bing
My Mixtape’s A Masterpiece is a weekly feature in which a guest compiles a playlist around some theme. This week, Vito Nusret assembles 12 songs to depict a background character living through a Resident Evil game. Read Vito’s thoughts on each song and listen along to the Spotify playlist on top and/or the YouTube playlist at the bottom of the post.
I’m not out here pwning noobs or anything, but I’ve long been fascinated with the mythos made around the many glitches, easter eggs, and idiosyncrasies that populate video games. The fan theories and fascination fostered for everyone from Error of Zelda II: The Adventure Of Link (1987) to Noob Saibot of Mortal Kombat II (1993) has always piqued my interest. Upon learning about the fan correlation and meme culture concerning an abrupt death in Call Of Duty: Black Ops 6 Zombies (2024) harkening back to the series finale of The Sopranos (1999-2007) coinciding with my own replay of the remake for Resident Evil 2 (2019) I concocted my own mixtape and mythology for a background character existing exclusively in found file notes and computer-generated character conjecture. I call him “Bill Bada Bing,” so naturally I based him and his sanctioned song stylings on the Skipper himself: Tony Soprano.
1. “Woke Up This Morning” by Alabama 3
March 22nd, 1998: What’s the process here? I don’t even know where to start but my court appointed therapist Dr. Lorraine Crane said I gotta journal in addition to weekly sessions to stay out of the joint so I guess I have to do it. I’m not really the emotional type but I do like music so she said I should share what I’m listening to so she can get a glimpse at my “inner world, emotional habits, and identity.” She could be quite a dish if she dolled herself up some and didn’t focus on all that hoodoo healing happiness horseshit. I keep trying to get her to call me Bill Bada Bing, like they did back in Bridgeport, but she insists on my government name: William Dellamorte.
Anyway, you can say it all started for me on January 21st, 1998. My pal Kendo and I were getting shitfaced at Jack’s Bar when some dorks in lab coats started talking shit. Of course, I can’t let that disrespect slide so I ended up sending them to the emergency room. Turns out they’re some bigtime Umbrella Corporation muckety-mucks so I got myself an aggravated assault and battery rap. Dr. Lorraine says I have anger issues but fuck that. I won’t stomach disrespect especially from some light in the loafers lab rats. So you’re a test tube jockey, so what? You want a Whitman's Sampler for it?
2. “25 or 6 to 4” by Chicago
May 7th, 1998: Dr. L. was pretty pissed about my lack of journal entries at a recent session. She reiterated that these are a mandatory part of my conditional release and need to be done more regularly so she asked me to talk about my bullshit childhood. We spent the last few appointments with me going on about growing up on the South Side of Chicago. About my old man who was a strong, silent type like Gary Cooper and my mother who was an angel like Lupe Vélez. I like old movies. Shit just seemed simpler back then. Nowadays everything is fugazi.
Anyway, I worked for a long time in the U.S. Steel Southworks. When they went belly up a buddy of mine who’s a desk clerk at The Apple Inn said the dollar stretches a whole lot farther down in Raccoon City so I moved here. Bought a little house for a song and if those douchebags in Umbrella keep making moves I’m gonna sell it for a mint in a few years. It's good to be in something from the ground floor but maybe I came too late for that. Lately, I'm getting the feeling that I came in at the end. Like the best is over.
3. “Janitor” by Suburban Lawns
June 1st, 1998: I started my new job today. Thanks for putting in a good word for me, Dr. L. I’m a master of the custodial arts, or janitor if you want to be a dick about it, at the Racoon City Police Department. Madon this place is fucking wild. Especially compared to the Homan Square police station back in Chicago. I heard this was an art museum but that doesn't explain why it’s a maze filled with cranks, cogs, and potted plants all just laying around. And these anal retentive bastards make me write up all kinds of notices, memos, and operation reports. I mean, who is ever gonna read this shit? And what form do I have to fill out to requisition some WD-40? All these doors are creaky as hell! At least they let me listen to my Walkman while mopping up since it’s pretty much just me and the pigs at night. They tell me the last guy got mauled by wild dogs! Lucky me, right?
4. “Dream Police” by Cheap Trick
July 25th, 1998: Shit was jumping off for the supercops today. The S.T.A.R.S. dudes, or what’s left of them came into the precinct today shouting about murder, monsters, and the machinations of shadowy cabals. What’s S.T.A.R.S. you ask? Don’t feel bad, I had to ask too. Here at the R.P.D., S.T.A.R.S. stands for “Special Tactics and Rescue Service” and I guess two days ago twelve of them went up to some swanky house in the Arklay Mountains and only five made it back. It must have been something big because they turned the whole complex into a smoldering hole just after daybreak.
Some babe named Jill Valentine and a beefcake called Chris Redfield caught the most of the flak. That cocksucker Chief Irons was really grilling those two with the questions. I’d be goddamned if I let that fat fuck chew my ass out like that.
5. “Dirty Work” by Steely Dan
August 14th, 1998: They locked up this guy Justin Hanson today. Seemed like a good enough dude but of course they’re out there psychoanalyzing him. Maybe he just wanted the shit he stole, not because he has kleptomania or some kind of rotten childhood. Seems like it’s nobody’s fucking business. And don’t get me started on those S.T.A.R.S. bozos! Marching in and out like they own the place. Taking tools and supplies and just leaving them wherever! You should see the state they leave these item boxes in! It shows a wanton disrespect for those of us working in maintenance and like I always say: those who want respect, give respect! I’m gonna hook that Justin guy up with something from the vending machines. The guy looks like he could use a bite and those onion flavored rings are damn tasty! Hmm, where’d I put my fucking work keys?
6. “Zombie Zoo” by Tom Petty
September 21st, 1998: It all began as an ordinary day in September... an ordinary day in Raccoon City, a city controlled by those fuck faces at Umbrella. Kendo’s daughter Emma had a little field trip to the zoo today so I joined him to help chaperone her class. We put some Johnnie Walker Black in a thermos and hopped on the bus with the kiddies. I like the zoo. Zebras and gorillas especially. Just when I was about to buy Emma a churro the sky grew dark like some kinda solar eclipse or big black poison cloud loomed over the whole place. Suddenly we were swarmed by thousands of these squawking and flapping fucked up looking crows who pecked at the animals and even some of the kids! These birds were all gnarled and deformed! Emma seemed okay except for a few scrapes and scratches but we’re all freaked out. I’ve never seen anything like that! It’s a murder, right? A flock of crows is called a murder.
7. “World Destruction” by Time Zone
September 23rd, 1998: You’re not gonna believe me after my last entry, Lorraine, but shit just went from bad to world fucking destruction over here! My buddy Harry and I went to catch a football game at Warren Stadium. Harry is a cop but we go way back as drinking buddies at Jack’s. Anyway just when the Raccoon Sharks beat the spread everything goes sideways. People start puking all over each other! The sight and smell of it turned my stomach, something fierce. We got up to leave but people started going crazy, scratching and clawing at each other to get out. It was a fucking riot! It must have been mass food poisoning like bad mussels or something. Luckily, Harry was packing his heater and that got us the fuck out of there before we got sick too but it makes me queasy just thinking about it! I had a fucking C-note on that game! Why me? I'm like King Midas in reverse. Everything I touch turns to shit!
8. “City Of The Dead” The Clash
September 24th, 1998: I was gonna call in with how fucked up yesterday was but something told me to go to work. They found all those incasinato crows beak down in Victory Lake. That’s our goddamn drinking water! People are getting sick in the streets like at the Sharks game and there’s constant 911 calls about folks attacking each other like wild animals. Route 419 is gridlocked with everyone trying to get out of town. Hopefully you made it out already Lorraine because Lt. Branagh at work says the military are coming to quarantine. Good thing he’s here because that nimrod, Chief Irons, ain’t doing shit. He’s just locked himself in the east wing. Fuck that rompicoglioni. Looking out the windows I don’t recognize this city anymore. It’s not ours anymore. It’s theirs.
9. “Zombie” by The Cranberries
September 25th, 1998: We converted the station into an emergency shelter for this epidemic of mass murder. We funneled in as many people as possible and are doing our damnedest to make everyone comfortable as we tend to the wounded. The main hall looks more like a makeshift military hospital with all the cots and blood. Branagh teamed me up with my old pal Harry and this cop Ford and we passed out food, water, and clean clothes amongst the people. The point is, I'm getting a lot done. I'm supervising. I got a crew working for me. I’m trying to be positive and put on a brave face for the women and children but lately, things are getting to me. I find I have to be the sad clown: laughing on the outside, crying on the inside. I really want a fucking drink!
We radioed Kendo who’s holed up with Emma at his gun shop across the street. It didn’t sound like his wife was with them. Just after we went lights out some jerk in the cot next to mine starts freaking out. I try to hold him down but he bites my fucking arm! This other cop gets pushed down in struggle and ends up busting the back of his head on that big ass marble statue. That sobers up the guy freaking out really quick. He says he’s not sick, that he just panicked but the damage is already done. That cop he knocked down is dead. The guy who freaked is locked in the interrogation room. Not a great start to quarantine. I hope I don’t get sick too.
10. “Living On A Thin Line” by The Kinks
September 26th, 1998: I started this journal entry today to tell you in all seriousness, Dr. Lorraine Crane, that I’m done. I did what you said. I gave it a lot of thought and I decided that once and for all it’s over. We got swarmed. Whatever is wrong with those people outside is getting inside. Our locks and barricades didn’t hold strong and those people got in and started biting and clawing at everyone in sight. The wound on my arm hurts like hell. We ended up pushing those psychos out and getting the steel emergency shutters down but the phones, computers, and radios are all dead.
Officer Rita Phillips is getting a crew together to lead any unbitten survivors out through Chief Iron’s secret sewer passage. Those of us who remain will cover their backs here. I went to start sweeping up glass and Branagh told me it was pointless. Call me crazy but it felt good to try and maintain the place. It gave me some semblance of purpose and future but now that all the toilets are backing-up, almost all of the first floor windows are smashed, and everything is broken I guess there really is no point anymore.
11. “Don’t Stop Believin” by Journey
September 27th, 1998: I went ahead and ordered some for the table. I toss the last few bags of Funyuns from the vending machine in front of the remaining survivors. With Rita and Harry escaping with what few townsfolk left unscathed it’s just Lt. Marvin Branagh, Detective Elliot Edward, Office David Ford, and me. We’re all bitten and/or banged up but I hope Rita and Harry got those people out. The chief comes and goes like it’s any other day. Like the whole city isn’t burning with those things out there. He’s even got some reporter locked up in the jail like we’re still a fucking police station. This ain't a police station anymore or even an art museum, it’s a mass grave. Ammunition and medical supplies were already lean but after a few more of those gaba-ghouls got through our barricades we’re down to pretty much nothing but what we can scavenge out of this wreckage. The power keeps flickering on and off. The constant moaning and groaning from outside is driving me crazy but the good news is that the bite on my arm doesn't really hurt anymore and my Walkman still works. I’ve found a couple of CDs around the station so I’ve been telling the guys what I’ve been listening to, just like I did with you Lorraine. With each day this feels less like a journal and more like my last will and testimony. I hope you’re still around to read it, doc.
12. “It's Bad You Know” by R.L. Burnside
September 29th, 1998: Itchy. Tasty.
