I swear to God I did not pose someone in a creepy frock in front of the truck. They were standing there when I got there. Goths eat ice cream too, you know. Especially when summoned by the music of the dark overlord | photo by Elise Thompson for LAist
I heard it for the first time a week after moving into my new house — the jangly strains of the creepiest ice cream truck melody in the world. It was filled with a Danny Elfman-ish foreboding. It was happy and childlike, yet somehow brooding, like a melancholy, yet jaunty Irish folk song. I thought it was just me, that I was just imagining things, until the truck passed by one day while I had a visitor. My friend asked, "What is that? Hell's ice cream truck?"
The song continues to haunt me. I chased down the truck one day, but I didn't find the answer I wanted. George, the ice cream man, said the song came with the truck when he bought it and he has no idea what it's called. He said he keeps playing it because it is so memorable. Everybody comments on it. So, finally one day I ran outside and taped the music. I also bought an ice cream sandwich. Satan's ice cream truck does sell ice cream sandwiches; it's just your standard ice cream. Except for the the monkey's paw. I really don't recommend that one.
Here is the tune for your listening pleasure. Enjoy.