LOST (2004)

As longtime readers already know, and mentioned in my initial post, this blog was inspired by a scene in HIGH FIDELITY, both the novel and movie.  The blog's focus was to trace my life in an autobiographical fashion based on the soundtrack albums I collected, like following stepping stones across a stream. The events and memories that surrounded them and how they each led to the other was integral.  So I disciplined myself to make sure each post centered on some personal episode tied to an album or movie, yet there are occasions when I'd like to talk about a score without a specific time and place context.  Sometimes I just end up casually buying several awesome albums at Amoeba Records on a Sunday afternoon and nothing else momentous happens (except maybe excellent street parking). And what I bring home with me, the music contained on the discs could actually be momentous enough to blog about.

Since reaching my thirtieth post and nearly three years writing on my blog, I decided that it's time for a bit of evolution.  First of all, now that I just wrote that opening statement it feels like that isn't very many posts to show for three years' worth. Feel free to judge, just do it silently. Granted, it can be a bear to carve out a stretch to devote to the blog amidst work and life.  Also, I usually spend weeks on each post simply sifting through my thoughts and memories before setting down to write anything.  I imagined my posts would be frequent.  I still hope to write more often than I do, yet my concern is whether or not what I publish is of interest to anyone else.  Today's post is certainly of a personal nature, not tethered to one incident but instead a span of six years.

Recently I attended a concert at the Ford Theater, here in Los Angeles.  It was a concert celebrating the music of the television series LOST, hosted by showrunner/writer Carlton Cuse and composer Michael Giacchino, the latter of whom conducted the orchestra.  The theater was packed with passionate fans, evident during the pre-show chat when they peppered Cuse and Giacchino with both adoration and questions. The main event featured some full cues from select episodes, some performed live to projected sequences, and also several ingeniously arranged suites. I've attended numerous film and TV music concerts since moving to L.A. nine years ago, but considering how often I listened to the soundtracks and revisited these episodes it was surreal to experience it all live.  I realize this seems an obvious aspect for me of all people to point out.  I mean, look at my blog for goodness' sake, yet during the LOST's time on air I buried myself in its music.  So often it existed between my ears on headphones as I walked to work in downtown Chicago.  And in terms of TV music, it became tattooed on my soul, along with the scores for STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, BATMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES and 1978's BATTLESTAR: GALACTICA.  

The series spanned six seasons and I was a fervent fan from the start.  I found it an intoxicating, potent mix of character, story, setting and music that kept me engaged intellectually and emotionally. Like the aforementioned STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, it wound up being a consistent companion during major shifts in my life.  While NEXT GEN paralleled my high school and college years, LOST trekked with me from living in Chicago to Los Angeles, through marriage and divorce and highlights and lowlights, some of which I find painful to recall.  Not all TV shows that I enjoy really get their hooks deep into me, though.  I think it's all due to the point in my life at which I'm exposed to the show, kind of like when NASA launches a probe into space at a precise moment in order to rendezvous with a planet at a specific point in its orbit.  If I'd been any younger, older or at another revolution in my life's orbit, LOST might not have made such an impact upon landing.

For better or worse, I connected with the lead character of Jack Shephard (Matthew Fox) immediately. Among my friends, he wasn't the popular choice. He was the obvious hero, he was willfully stubborn, often self-righteous, qualities which hopefully aren't quite like me. It was probably easier to latch onto more modest or humble characters like Hurley or Desmond. Yet Jack became my constant through the series, much in the same manner as the character of Data in NEXT GEN.  During my high school and college years, Data seemed to essay my own social awkwardness, the aim to fit in and belong while feeling apart and unlike others.  With Jack Shephard, it was watching him struggle with his estranged father's unexpected death, his own failing marriage, along with pressuring himself to always make the perfect, right decision and striving to repair what appeared broken around him, in people and situations.

Granted, my father and I hadn't been estranged before he passed away. Nevertheless, it was a powerful thread for me to follow, especially in the early, surreal scenes of Jack chasing his father's ghost on the island and then stumbling across the splintered, empty coffin.  Much later, the closing sequence of the series finale left me raw.  It's not often that I shed tears with such abandon.  Not only did I imagine myself meeting my father again in a similar fashion as Jack, but the guidance he shared contained lessons I sorely needed.  Hell, I probably still need to take heed.  The advice to Jack was to "let go", which I interpreted as letting go of how we attempt to control all aspects of our life.  It can create a sense of panic, an anxiety, when we seem unable to control all facets.  In addition, another shade of letting go is forgiveness - to forgive others, yes, but also to forgive oneself.  Forgiving others allows one to move forward or move on, both emotionally and practically. Learning to forgive yourself can help break down the bars in our self-made cages, those cages we sometimes create out of fear or shame and which keep us locked in place, developmentally speaking.  Hearing such sage advice at the close of a favorite show, reframed it all for me and it felt as if I was hearing this spoken by my own father.

To discuss the LOST's music specifically for a moment, composer Michael Giacchino devised a wonderful way to provide the show its own unique soundscape. In the best tradition of film composing greats Bernard Herrmann and Jerry Goldsmith, he eschewed a standard symphonic orchestra set up and instead limited his palate to just strings, four trombones, piano and varied percussion (timpani, boobams, drums, things that clang, etc).  No woodwinds, no supplemental brass.  It was a sparse and spare sound that mirrored the characters' living conditions on a (seemingly) deserted island. Herrmann and Goldsmith set the bar as far as changing up their "band" for each movie, the former famously for PSYCHO (1960) with its "strings only" approach and the latter on CHINATOWN (1974) by relying only on strings, piano, percussion and solo trumpet. Sometimes the project demands its own sound and sometimes, I think, this is done just for a creative exercise.  With LOST, Giacchino achieved his goal brilliantly, notably in this current age of television scoring landscape clouded interchangeable drum loops and drones.  He never wavered from this instrumental grouping, even though I half-expected him to expand it for the series finale, maybe as a powerful send-off.

But it wasn't only the particular sound of the score that elevated each episode. Giacchino was composing and displaying a multitude of distinct themes and motifs, for characters, for places and situations, themes that were often laid bare on the soundtrack to the exclusion of all else.  The first season brought forth themes for Jack, Kate, two for John Locke and even a jaunty tune for traveling across the island.  That same season's finale also announced a soaring theme, bursting with hope, for the launching of a ramshackle raft out to the open sea.  When first seeing this sequence as it aired, I was floored at how openly expressive and emotional the music was allowed to be, breathing such life and soul into the images, surprising for television in the 2000's.

I've always loved the fact that Giacchino cut his compositional teeth in television, before moving fully into motion pictures. Those years of smaller ensembles, tight deadlines and no time for second guessing on both ALIAS and LOST lays a groundwork similar to where Jerry Goldsmith and John Williams began.  Goldsmith once described how it helped him solve problems quickly on the scoring stage and to make the most of minimal resources, such as only 10-12 performers on an episode of THE TWILIGHT ZONE. I imagine Giacchino gained a similar skill set, along with honing his own personal style. The two strongest qualities inherent in all his music is a sense of play and a direct, emotional sincerity.  The sense of play is front and center in his scores for Pixar and the revamped STAR TREK and MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE film franchises. The emotional sincerity underpins throughout, only migrating subtly into the spotlight subtly at select moments.  Even when scoring something menacing, especially in scenes in LOST, there is an enthusiasm in the music, as it discovers new ways to jolt.  In a way, his music simply feels pleased and proud to play a part in the overall experience enveloping the audience, without a trace of cynicism or irony.

Continuing with LOST, Giacchino added fresh melodic ideas each season, culminating in the sixth and final season, which I find showcases the richest musical treasures, including a heartbreaking theme used in only one episode, "Ab Aeterno". LOST is the TV equivalent of what John Williams has accomplished in his seven STAR WARS scores and Howard Shore in his for the LORD OF THE RINGS and THE HOBBIT film series. In these rare cases, a talented composer first unpacks colorful and memorable ideas onto the page. Then, embellishment to the work progresses over many years, as unheard themes meet the original thematic inhabitants, blending into unique relationships.  The layering and enriching of the music is akin to the weaving of an intricate tapestry.  I find that this brilliantly reinforces the most memorable, indelible aspect of LOST itself, that of the characters. We're introduced to the survivors, then watch this group expand and adjust each season to new players, all mingling and interacting in fascinating combinations.  I wonder, was it all so that they could learn from each other to "let go", to forgive?  Is this what people in our own lives are there to teach us?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrjs93NIaJY