One-Sided Relationships: Remembering James Horner

I didn't expect to be writing another blog entry centered on composer James Horner so soon after the most recent one.  However, the tragic and sad details of his untimely passing prompted me to put words to page (or internet), after spending some time processing.  By now, the film music community, both industry folks and fans alike, have been aware, in shock and mourning since the incident occurred in June.

Surprisingly, the news of Horner's plane crash wound up receiving far more attention than I initially expected.  Perhaps it was due to the mystery in the report of his small private aircraft suddenly going missing, when no one could confirm whether Horner had been piloting it at the time.  Another factor could be the long list of high-profile movies for which he contributed music, many of which were either commercial hits of their day (AVATAR, TITANIC, APOLLO 13), award winners (BRAVEHEART, TITANIC again) or perennial favorites that remain in the public consciousness (FIELD OF DREAMS, GLORY, STAR TREK II). Thus, there's been no shortage of retrospectives and remembrances in recent weeks from both colleagues and admirers. 

Horner and his music has been special to me since the early 80's.  I felt compelled to offer up some sort of "in memoriam" post once everything settled a little bit, primarily aiming to explore why it matters to me and others.  Several fans noted that his sudden passing affected them more profoundly than when they lost members of their own family.  In the world of movie music aficionados, we've been witness to many talented, beloved composers shuffling off the mortal coil in recent years.  Jerry Goldsmith was the first that affected me deeply, more than ten years ago.  Shortly after him, Elmer Bernstein passed, then Shirley Walker, Michael Kamen, John Barry, Maurice Jarre and Basil Poledouris.  All produced scores that I count as personal favorites, but not all I counted among my favorite composers.  I was curious to discern why it would affect me, why the loss of artists we love reach us on level usually reserved for people we actually know. 

While on a long drive south to Costa Mesa recently, it occurred to me how this could be characterized like a one-side relationship.   I'd become a fan of Horner's music when it was still early in his career and early for me as a film music enthusiast.  As he continued to compose new movie music each subsequent year, I kept track by seeing the movies, buying the soundtracks (when there was one available) and reading interviews when published.  I learned to recognize his style, discern his techniques and approaches, even as it would inevitably evolve over time.  As I grew up, so did Horner and his music, remaining a constant companion and providing such comfort and joy.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how losing this person and their consistent, maturing part of my life would be akin to losing a close friend.  This wouldn't be the same when delving into the works of composers already long gone, such as Mozart or Stravinsky.  I could immerse myself in their works at my own pace, I could even "binge-listen" to it all.  There was a finite amount of their music, too, nothing new was expected to emerge from their respective pianos or quills.  What sets this scenario apart was that these were living composers writing for orchestras, even if it was for movies and TV, and they produced wonderful new music almost every year.  Goldsmith alone was a powerhouse for decades, often scoring four or five films a year, which is astonishing.  In 1983, Horner composed music for seven projects.  And as a soundtrack fan, when you really clicked with one of them, there was always anticipation and excitement for these upcoming scores.

Of course Horner didn't know me. Nevertheless, he'd always been there for me, from my teens until now.  His introductory, rambunctious scores - KRULL, STAR TREK II, 48 HOURS - seem to represent those years when a new friend could be a bit of a hellraiser, an excitable troublemaker, maybe even prone to passing fads.  Later, this same friend settles into a comfort zone, finding their niche and maybe slowing down somewhat. This shift I equate to what we heard in Horner's scores throughout the 90's - LEGENDS OF THE FALL, APOLLO 13 and THE SPITFIRE GRILL, for example.  Now and again, you could glimpse flashes of that inaugural, fiery spirit inside them -  let's call out his music for 1998's THE MASK OF ZORRO - akin to how infrequent evenings of inebriation with old friends can draw forth their former rowdy habits.  And while new interests emerged in subsequent years, some seemingly far from where they started, that connection persisted.

Admittedly, so this post has veered into sentimental territory, no doubt, yet it isn't something I'd write for every composer I like.  There are some who I followed for only a brief stint.  They didn't stick around in my soundtrack wheelhouse, similar to friends of convenience who recede into the distance after one quits a job or departs a city.  For innumerable reasons, no matter the shifts circumstances of life, my connections to composers such as Horner, Goldsmith and Williams never waned.  As a fan looking back, it's fascinating to chart the ups and downs, what worked and didn't work for the artist during their career, having been witness to it at the time.  I think this experience bonds you to an artist in a unique way, as their development and maturation runs parallel to your own life.  I changed, they changed, but what they produced remained important to me.  A fresh score from Horner or Goldsmith always added an extra level of anticipatory fun and excitement from year to year.   So, part of the sadness stems from the fact that this artist and his music won't be continuing alongside us anymore as we journey forward to new experiences.