CONAN THE BARBARIAN (1982)

Like many nerds, I met CONAN THE BARBARIAN when I was a teen-ager in the 80's. Wait a minute, let me rephrase that. I should instead clarify that I was introduced to the character, along with the concept of what an R-rated sword and sorcery movie looked and sounded like. Previously, I had only a passing familiarity with the CONAN novels and comics books purely from browsing the Sci-Fi & Fantasy section at book stores.  I'd never been motivated to fully investigate his specific world, created by author Robert E. Howard. Maybe the color-saturated muscle-bound cover art seemed too far outside my usual reading wheelhouse of space stations and starships. So, when the 1982 movie adaptation, led by Arnold Schwarzenegger, was selected by a friend of mine as a home video rental for a scheduled sleepover, I held only a vague idea of what to expect. I'd heard rumors its contents included plenty of blood and boobs, but by the time the main credits began the lasting impression for me was from the powerful, hypnotic and engaging music the film showcases, composed by the late, great Basil Poledouris.

The aforementioned sleepover was hosted by a friend of mine named Jeremy.  We'd first met back in the sixth grade while both attending school in Durham, NC and he was the only friend I knew who had divorced parents.  I'm sure if my family had remained in one location for more than a handful of years I would have encountered this scenario more often, since it became quite standard by the 80's. However, we'd been moving often up until then, leaving me to always start over with a clean slate in terms of peer groups.  From the outside looking in, Jeremy had all the surface advantages of two Christmases and two birthdays, thanks to the intermittently present father ever eager to please him with gifts, while only his mom played the role of disciplinarian.  I might've envied his extensive and shiny array of toys and games, but his life seemed chaotic to me. Packing up and moving houses with my own family every few years was already a dreaded occurrence and I couldn't imagine splitting time between two houses and both parents.

Soon after sixth grade Jeremy and his mom moved to Creedmoor, about an hour away from Durham.  We kept in touch by phone and planned weekend sleepovers when our respective parents felt generous enough to make the drive. It was during those subsequent years, grades seven though nine, that I really needed a consistent friend, as it wound up as a difficult time socially.  To be frank, rednecks and mullets were in vogue at my school, ruling the roost and kicking ass. I never successfully brandished the mullet look and thus for contrast I sported the perennially unpopular look of gawky, bespectacled nerd. It really just came to me naturally, don't be jealous. As expected, I experienced the exhausting extremes of being either completely invisible to the other kids or being mocked and bullied by them, with no real reliable friends for support.  A kid who accepted me one day might attempt to light my jeans on fire the next, the lighter in question smuggled in for smoking out in the school parking lot.  

It was always such a welcome respite to get a call from Jeremy.  Whether chatting on the phone or scheduling to hang out, I looked forward to it as an occasion with no judgments from someone my own age.  Our get-togethers consisted of the usual teen agenda of movies, video games and junk food.  And while Nintendo's "Castlevania" held my rapt attention, I never caught the gaming bug as so many others did of my generation.  Jeremy and his mom lived in a mobile home as part of a full-on trailer park community, with a yawning ditch and dingy creek as his backyard.  It felt a far cry from my home, a two-story ranch house cozily couched in a Rockwell-inspired neighborhood of emerald-colored lawns and white-trimmed window sills.  However, on the upside Jeremy owned a moped scooter which granted us the freedom of brief jaunts to grab pizza without needing his mom as chaperon. As an aside, I find it amusing now that at the age of thirteen most kids desperately wished to appear as if we had no parents whatsoever, oblivious to the fact that no one would be convinced we were self-sufficient.

On one occasion while awaiting our pepperoni-laden pizza, we visited the video store next door and rented CONAN THE BARBARIAN.  Since it was R-rated, I have a feeling the store clerk technically shouldn't have allowed this without a parent being present.  Regardless, it was our entertainment for the evening.  I recall being far more entranced with the movie than Jeremy and it was almost primarily all due to the music. Basil Poledouris's score equals the muscular screen presence of star Schwarzenegger, while also expressing the richness seen in its mountain locales, production design and oddball secondary characters. His music roars right from the main titles with an indelible main theme powered by brass and signing through the strings.  The opening twenty minutes of the film are nearly dialogue-free, leaving Poledouris to provide sole commentary to the action onscreen, as we witness the slaughter of young Conan's parents and village, followed by his capture and time in slavery.

The music accompanying one specific sequence I found beguiling enough to rewind the VHS tape and watch it again the next morning.  During the sequence, Conan infiltrates a strange, religious cult in their imposing temple stronghold.  The cue which colors his journey inside features a theme only heard here.  It isn't menacing, as one might expect, but instead it swaggers and sounds proud to the point of arrogance, confident in its ability to convert any outsider with its sweeping charm.  It's a cue that wasn't included on the original soundtrack album back in 1982, thus once more that frustrated grumble of the movie music aficionado emanated from me that day. I was quickly growing accustomed to this disappointment, yet it still boggled my burgeoning collector's brain as to why certain wonderful pieces of music were excluded.  Nevertheless, the album sported a stunning collection of tracks from the movie.  Unfortunately, it's single playback during a long family road trip failed to win over anyone else, with my dad quipping during the final crescendo, "Is this when Conan walks off into the sunset with his girlfriend?".

The movie itself may have its shortcomings, but I've always admired its epic ambitions.  Director John Milius really swung for the fences in crafting a visually engaging and kinetic presentation of a fantasy/mytho-historical past.  The literary character of Conan, created by Robert E. Howard, could probably never escape or transcend his pulp origins, but it doesn't mean his filmic incarnations are any less enjoyable.  This particular 1982 adaptation wound up having long-lasting effects on the genre of fantasy films overall.  This is evidenced mainly through production design, costume and music, while subtracting most of the graphic violence and nudity.  Poledouris's rapturous score could not quite be equaled, though. Howard Shore's music for the recent LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy certainly measures closest on this scale, but the raw ferocity and power that traveled from the thoughtful, talented mind and spirit of Poledouris into the voices of the orchestra and chorus will always be the musical yardstick for the genre.

Contact between Jeremy and I dwindled when we both entered our respective high schools.  My family had moved yet again, further away this time, to Rocky Mount, meaning visits became more infrequent.  Plus. it was becoming obvious that as people he and I were no longer growing up in the same direction, instead emerging with different temperaments and interests.  Jeremy later learned I was headed to Guilford College after graduation. He decided to join me there as well for freshman class. Surprisingly, for a campus of only twelve hundred students we didn't see very much of one another. His dorm wasn't even very far from mine. It's not uncommon for any one of us to outgrow friends we kept as kids, but Jeremy had primarily been my only consistent friend during some lonely years.  It was an awkward and sad fact to acknowledge that we'd essentially turned into strangers as young adults. It certainly didn't diminish the value of the role he played during my teens. It was another reminder for me, however, about the impermanence of people in our lives and the fluidity of our respective roles to each other. Not to sound like a dour philosopher or 60's folk singer, but sometimes we're all just shifting around like loose stones in a nimble stream, our surfaces slowly changing while we gradually tumble in different directions.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onGWF8mz1Zw

WATERWORLD (1995)

It was the Summer of WATERWORLD.  Granted, this statement was probably not uttered by the general public during the latter half of 1995.  Regardless, the much-maligned, not-half-bad movie and its score unexpectedly turned into a totem for me and my roommate at the time, Mark.  It wasn't necessarily due to the film itself, a guilty pleasure if there ever was one, or the score by composer James Newton Howard, which we both loved.  Instead, the memorable WATERWORLD emblem emerged in the form of the soundtrack CD I purchased, which then subsequently broke Mark's stereo system... twice.

Mark and I both graduated from UNC-Chapel Hill that year.  In order to ensure that the fun times continued along uninterrupted with our happy group of friends, we decided to room together in an apartment not far from the UNC campus.  You know, because extricating yourself from college can sometimes be a slow process, only achieved in stages, similar to carefully removing a Band-aid from a hairy body part.  It was a two-bedroom apartment, granting us each our own personal space, plus there was a bullet hole in the living room window acting as a daily reminder of what a low-rent neighborhood we chose.  Early cooking attempts included the lesson I learned that burning ravioli on the stove resulted in enduring endless yet valid mocking.  Our sole television set was Mark's postage stamp-sized model.  Menial jobs included my stint at Blockbuster, during which time I was tasked with calling customers early each morning to politely insist they locate and return overdue videos, such as THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION and STREETFIGHTER (that's a double-feature God never intended). 

WATERWORLD was on our movie-going radar that Summer, as was other genre fare like BATMAN FOREVER and SPECIES, simply because our youth and newly acquired (yet paltry) disposable income allowed us to frequent the movies.  I wound up seeing several on my own in order to check out the music scores in context.  In some cases I dragged Mark along, later having to apologize to him for JUDGE DREDD.  I spared him from TANK GIRL.  This was also the age at which I could better handle midnight showings, as twenty-something stamina seemed to perpetually renew itself.  Those initial months into post-collegiate life felt like emerging from a sixteen year long slumber inside a classroom-shaped cocoon.  No longer being beholden to a syllabus and teachers filled me with such giddiness and sheer joy that I accepted almost every new thing placed in front of me.   I shake my head in amazement now at how back then I actually went clubbing, saw small-time bands at small-time venues, sledded on the nearby frozen highway and bought cigarettes.  Yes, I briefly was a smoker, but it'd take me a week to finish just one pack.  Whatever, I still bought them. 

Concerning WATERWORLD, Mark and I knew very little about it outside of its infamously ballooning budget and a MAD MAX-inspired look and feel set on the high seas.  In terms of its music, composer James Newton Howard had that task, the second such composer who had been hired on the film.  As examined in a prior post, I'd been following Howard's projects since 1991's THE MAN IN THE MOON. In the best tradition of Jerry Goldsmith, he'd shown himself to be eclectic and unpredictable, able to effectively tackle any genre and always create compelling music. Additionally, each score was infused with his own personal stamp - not an easy feat in the art and craft of film music.  By the mid-90's, his career trajectory gradually shifted from primarily scoring dramas and comedies over to becoming an A-list name for action, thanks in large part to 1993's THE FUGITIVE.

THE FUGITIVE successfully blended together his groove-oriented licks from FALLING DOWN into a larger orchestral palate, crafting a propulsive "urban" sound at which he still excels, as heard in last year's NIGHTCRAWLER. However, it was the sprawling sonic landscape of 1994's WYATT EARP that demonstrated Howard's immense creative range with purely orchestral colors.  Here, his music was informed by the melodicism of his preceding dramatic works and the rural instrumentation of THE MAN IN THE MOON, married with an arresting, kinetic action style and solo woodwind and violin spotlights.  It proved to be an incredible symphonic work.  So with all of this as prologue, I was pretty eager to find out what type of scoring he would provide WATERWORLD.

Surprisingly, Howard's score emerged as almost a cross-section of the disparate styles he'd explored up until that point.  A nimble and spirited main theme accompanies Kevin Costner's begrudgingly heroic "Mariner" character, embellished by rousing brass and acrobatic orchestral flourishes.  Next, a lyrical and hopeful secondary melody provides counterbalance, representing the two female leads played by Jeanne Tripplehorn and Tina Majorino. Intermingling with this are ghostly synth elements, pulsing grooves, hypnotic chimes, a battery of exotic percussion and even a solo vocalist, all adding to the strange melange that is one of Howard's most enjoyable works.  The soundtrack album generously presented many of the highlights.  I rushed to grab a copy as soon as it was released.  Little did I notice, unfortunately, that a slight warping defect on the compact disc itself would cause equipment failure in Mark's stereo system.

His was our only proper stereo system.  My boom box, with its cassette-driven portable CD player precariously perched atop it, hardly fit the entertainment bill.  Mark's featured a front-loading cartridge capable of holding up to ten CD's, thus extensively increasing our "shuffling" options during parties.  I was dependent on his system for assembling my painstakingly crafted mix tapes and always treated it with kid gloves.  Imagine the pit in my stomach when I discovered that the WATERWORLD disc, once loaded into the stereo, caused the entire cartridge to lock up.  Prying it open proved impossible, even trying gently with a butter knife.  To boot, nine of Mark's albums were trapped inside along with WATERWORLD.  It cost $100 to have them all freed by a professional and that was probably my income for an entire week, no thanks to $4.25 an hour at Blockbuster.

And then, several months later, it happened again, inexplicably.  Specifics are hazy now, but I must have simply spaced and forgotten the lifetime ban enforced on the WATERWORLD CD entering Mark's stereo.  No doubt it was a mix tape of mine that needed updating.  The end result once more was $100 paid to the shifty guys at the electronics store plus a week-long wait while they milked the job.  By then I was at least earning an increased hourly wage after trading in Blockbuster for Waldenbooks (both sadly defunct now) and thus the dollar-shaped dent left on my checking account wasn't quite as cringe-worthy.  It also stressed, with nary a suggestive comment offered by Mark, that I should begin saving up for my own deluxe sound system and leave behind my days of stereo mooching.

I can't recall if I ever saw WATERWORLD again after that Summer '95 theatrical viewing.  Without a doubt the soundtrack album received more plays than I can count (by way of a cassette copy).  Twenty years later it remains a favorite from James Newton Howard's overall canon and he's continued to impress as a composer since then.  Now, in this all-digital era of music played on phones and streaming through the "cloud", it's not often that the album itself travels far from my CD racks.  It's usually only when I'm assembling a new, painstakingly crafted playlist for my iPod, a holdover habit of mine from those mix tapes days.  So, I always smile to myself when loading up this warped CD, the Stereo Breaker totem from 1995 and hope to heck that it doesn't choke up my computer.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0eCmPCBXV0

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.

BLADE RUNNER (1982)

Why do soundtrack fans keep buying the same score repeatedly?  Admittedly, it's a question no one but friends and family of those fans might ask, however it can indeed become an odd quirk of the collector's habit.  Sometimes it's all due to a simple format change - LPs to cassettes, cassettes to CDs, digital downloads and somewhere in this evolution are 8-tracks.  It's not that far-fetched for the average music fan, since most everyone has upgraded at least one favorite album of theirs over the years, especially once our cars stopped being built with cassette decks.   However, it might be only on a soundtrack collector's shelves where a curious person finds two, three or even four copies of the same score, represented in multiple ways, all for various reasons that make total sense to the collector.  BLADE RUNNER became such a score for me.  

When growing up, I didn't have any "sci-fi" mentors - a peer, a cousin nor crazy uncle - to help me navigate that expansive world of books, TV shows and movies.  Since there was no internet available, I was left to my own devices to explore what was out there, often relying on magazines with a science-fiction slant for guidance, such as Starlog and Cinefantastique.  I spent hours at the bookstore, sitting cross-legged in the far back corner where the staff decided the genre should be sequestered, randomly sampling chapters from any number of books.  Each cover crowded with brilliant starbursts and gleaming rocket ships promised such excitement and unimagined adventures, I wished I could have read them all once.

And of course, there were new discoveries when simply perusing the soundtrack section at any record store.   Exotic titles such as LADYHAWKE and THE ROAD WARRIOR, movies I'd still not yet viewed, might alternately showcase either an immediate beloved score or perhaps instead a dull listen.  Great potential at higher financial risks - paperbacks were still cheaper than records.  But if a top ranked composer of mine scored a sci-fi or fantasy film, it was a sure bet I'd rent it or scan through TV Guide for any broadcasts.  Persuasive and intriguing mentions in a magazine was another method of nudging me to take a chance.  Into this mix appeared BLADE RUNNER.  It continued to appear in article after article, noted by some as an unheralded masterpiece and simply waiting to be appreciated during the ensuing years.  The director, Ridley Scott, had already provided me with persistent nightmares thanks to his previous film, ALIEN (1979).  The composer, Vangelis, however was new to me, as his biggest feature to date, 1981's CHARIOTS OF FIRE, failed to enter my spectrum of interest.  Nevertheless, I felt I had to see this film and hear its music.

BLADE RUNNER has been and always shall be a strange, entrancing and sometimes frustrating film.  Up until 1988 when I rented it on VHS, science fiction for me consisted of STAR WARS, STAR TREK, LOGAN'S RUN, BATTLESTAR GALACTICA and maybe THE BLACK HOLE.  Yet BLADE RUNNER presented me  with something set quite apart - an urban, downtrodden setting in the near future, a "film noir" story transplanted to the year 2019, inhabited by androids and colored by neon and flying cars.  An astoundingly immersive world was portrayed onscreen, stuffed with detail and such verisimilitude, all shrouded in hazy plumes of smoke.

The extreme violence and adult content jolted my developing sci-fi mind.  Nevertheless, the movie provided rich fodder for ruminations on big questions of immortality, the value of experience, the sadness of memory and whether androids crafted to emulate humans could ever be counted among humans.  Yes, my pensive, fifteen year old mind often pondered these questions.  My initial introduction was the infamous version sporting narration by star Harrison Ford, added late in production due to studio pressure.  I never really minded this narration.  It seemed to bolster ties to the "film noir" genre and its world-weary, hard-boiled gumshoes.  Oddly enough though, seeing the non-narrated version several years later resulted in diametrically opposing reactions.  Lacking the narration, the film becomes more inscrutable, leaving the viewer without a navigator through the myriad details of replicants, Voight Kampff tests and "gutter speak".   On the flip side, I found that there was new freedom to connect with characters other than the protagonist, detective Rick Deckard (Ford).

The music by Vangelis might have been the first all-electronic score that I fell for.  Strangely, it evoked the past in its dreamy, ethereal textures, but through a "future lens" of sorts by way of synth instruments.  And the sounds Vangelis crafted didn't simply attempt to emulate acoustic instruments, the electronics provided their own tonal mass which bathed the movie in a unique wash.  Synths sounds dominated many movie scores in the 1980's, but those from Vangelis couldn't quite be matched.  Now, picture if you will the disappointment faced by so many fans when we all separately, yet collectively, found that the original music from the film was not available anywhere.  What we all instead purchased on LP and cassette from our respective record shelves was a re-recording of the music performed by The New American Orchestra.  To clarify, orchestral movie music is most often my jam.  In this instance, though, any orchestra would be hard-pressed to reproduce a score with such sonic properties as BLADE RUNNER.  Additionally, a disco backbeat had been layered into several tracks.  Kitschy now, annoying then. 

For fans, it was all we had.  Over a decade passed before two original score tracks, the love theme and end credits, appeared on a compilation CD of Vangelis's various music projects.  Following this were several expensive, illegal bootlegs of mysterious origin that floated among collectors.  Then in 1994 news of an official release made waves and we all rushed to purchase this album as well.  What we were presented, though, was an amalgam of some original score cuts, often laced with dialogue from the movie, partnered with multiple "test tracks" composed by Vangelis back in 1982 which were never utilized.  It was alternately thrilling and frustrating.  There was still more music we wanted to own on disc and were denied.  Plus, if there's one item all soundtrack fans can agree on (and we can be a maddeningly fussy crew), it's that dialogue from the movie doesn't belong on the accompanying album.  If I want to hear the dialogue, I'll watch the movie.

So, by 1994, some fans had already owned three, if not four, copies of the BLADE RUNNER soundtrack, although the aforementioned Vangelis compilation includes many other excellent tracks.  Then, in 2007, another set was issued to celebrate the 25th anniversary and you can bet your Apple products that I sought this out on day one of its release.  I mean, come on, there had to be additional music from movie actually included this time, right?  Well, yes, finally more music was represented, but I began to perceive this endeavor as akin to a music cue scavenger hunt.  Or perhaps maybe it was a movie music jigsaw puzzle, where I had to collect the different album releases to piece together a somewhat complete picture of the score.  But so help me Jerry Goldsmith, I did just that.

Ironically enough, there's been as many versions of the actual film released as there are versions of the soundtrack.  From the 1982 original, studio-edited and narrated, to the International cut and both Director's and Final Cut editions, BLADE RUNNER unexpectedly kept evolving and morphing in the years since following its introduction to audiences.  I doubt anyone involved imagined one film with no sequels could generate and sustain such a level of interest.  For me, the production held as much mystery and interest as the fictional world displayed onscreen.  From the music angle, I wonder if the perennial screenings to mainly hear the score helped further endear the entire movie to me.

My viewings of BLADE RUNNER have diminished in recent years, whether due to changes in myself or changes in my life.   I'm still very fond of it, of course, but like many of my favorites I tend to make more time for the music than the movie.  What prompted me to essay my thoughts on this was that I randomly ran across a previously unknown French bootleg of the score.  I took a chance, bought it and ended up disappointed overall, as what I wound up with instead showcased terrible sound quality and content that matched what I already owned.  It could be that the habits of a soundtrack collector align with fervent Beatles or Grateful Dead fans, both groups seemingly seeking out all manner of early recordings, studio tracks, different mixes, often all of the same songs.

Mood is the essential to BLADE RUNNER, both the movie and its music.  It conjures up a unique, immersive mood that has yet to be duplicated elsewhere, even while elements of the film bled into the nooks and crannies of the cinematic science fiction genre during the ensuing years.   In terms of visual influence alone, it stands shoulder to shoulder with STAR WARS in affecting the entire genre.  It's interesting that its most powerful effect was primarily the look and feel of its world and that its story and character aspects didn't seem to resonate in such far-reaching terms. 

And as for Vangelis's score, it wound up being almost a singular accomplishment.  Maybe in some alternate universe, Vangelis has composed music for a string of sci-fi flicks, much as how John Williams, Jerry Goldsmith and James Horner followed up incredible initial entries with further trips into space-set sagas.  But alas, this was his only musical sojourn into the Fantastic and the what-if scenarios posed by futuristic films.  BLADE RUNNER can then be categorized under the "lightening-in-a-bottle" heading for all involved.  Yet with those multiple versions of the film now all available, each of us can choose to experience this "lightning" in presentations that suit our own mood and mindset.  Trouble is, how do I make time to watch any of those versions, when I have about five ways I can listen to the music too?

  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EV95Yu6gZSY 

GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL (2014)

After listening to what seems like thousands of hours of film scores during the last thirty years and change, it now requires quite a unique feat of compositional acrobatics to gain my attention.   Perhaps it's due to my advancing age or the fact that, objectively, much of the music composed in film and TV these days just isn't intrinsically as interesting.  At some point during the last ten years or so, I crossed over into simply enjoying what I already have and discovered I wasn't as eager to invest in what was new.   Of course, I can't help but remain informed on the latest movie music, but I often hesitate to recruit many current composers or their scores into the ranks of my favorites.  That being said, 2014's GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL and its composer, Alexandre Desplat, knocked me over with the power of a cimbalom and immediately bounded into my list. 

I'd wager that by my mid-30's, my core cast of treasured composers had settled into place.  Speaking musically yet in a comic book context, my super-heroic "Justice League" had solidified.  I had my Superman and Batman in the form of John Williams and Jerry Goldsmith, respectively.   Danny Elfman might be considered the hyperactive Flash, while Bernard Herrman exhibited the brooding, loner traits of the Martian Manhunter.  Filling out the ranks were John Barry, James Horner, Elmer Bernstein, Elliot Goldenthal, Shirley Walker, Ron Jones and Alan Silvestri.  Feel free to imagine which other superheroes they each could correspond to - for the life of me, I can't think of one that oozes as much sensuality as John Barry does in his music.  Maybe that's for the best, though.

These giants of their art all made their distinct impressions on me in the years prior, their music carved into my being.  I've never tired of their company.   New members could be added to the team periodically, however, such as when a discovered classic film and its score won me over or I simply took chances on unknown names seen on the record store shelves.  The key was to find myself affected greatly, connecting to a unique sound, style or approach.  For a long time, these fresh experiences were eagerly sought after, in the same manner as needing to meet and connect with new people.  Eventually, akin to aging classic rock fans who checked out of their genre around 1983, the modern styles soon felt strange and cold.  Yes, this can happen even to soundtrack fans.  Sometimes I wondered whether I should be worried about this change in me or instead just resume listening to every amazing score Jerry Goldsmith wrote in 1982.

 

I went into GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL already a Wes Anderson fan.  Since 1998's RUSHMORE, I made it a point to catch all his movies, even if it wasn't always at the cinema.  His attention to detail appealed to me, how each of his movies appeared like finely crafted frescoes presented in ornately gift-wrapped packages.  The scenes and sequences were often staged in a mock proscenium style, lending a more traditional theatrical feel to the events and we the audience subconsciously might sense we're attending a live stage performance.  Yet interestingly enough, the actors deadpan much of their delivery and reactions, instead of leaning towards a grander, theatrical style to match their carefully curated surroundings.  This, plus the mercurial and mischievous nature of his work and the thoughtful choices in music, lend a unique quality to all of Anderson's movies, akin to the  consistent style and themes running throughout Steven Spielberg's or David Lynch's career.

Alexandre Desplat is a name I've been aware of for at least ten years.  I knew he was very talented and had been providing surprising, sophisticated scores to a variety of films, including two HARRY POTTER entries.  Admittedly, I hadn't seen many of his movies.  Additionally, I was less frequently taking stabs in the dark on current soundtracks without any foreknowledge.  As in the early days when I was a rookie, a cautious fan, it would require a cinematic bonding, where both the film and its score impressed themselves upon me at once.  Just like Stan Lee once mused that every comic book is someone's first, any particular work from a composer is some curious listener's introduction to their sound world.

GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL eclipsed THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS as my top ranked Wes Anderson film.  I was held rapt by its characters, settings and structure, especially how it gently and subtly guides you backwards in time, from one storyteller to another, and then effortlessly circles around the block again to where you and the movie first met.  Certain sequences even left me a grinning, giddy fool, such as the snow mountain slalom escape and the unexpected gun melee.  Every line delivery by Ralph Fiennes is perfect.  That weirdly obscene erotic art used to replace the "Boy With Apple" painting still makes me chuckle.  And all during the adventures, Desplat's music uniquely colors every detailed corner of the film.  His idiosyncratic use of cimbalom and balalaika reminded me of 1960's Maurice Jarre film scores.  Meanwhile, the melodies themselves welcome you warmly yet seem noticeably tinged with melancholy, in concert with F. Murray Abraham's character, Zero.

I've since sought out more of Desplat's work, finding myself entranced by BIRTH, energized by THE MONUMENTS MEN and its jaunty, chin-up military march worthy of Elmer Bernstein's THE GREAT ESCAPE and awed by the sheer orchestral power displayed in his GODZILLA score.  There's a transparency and clarity in his music that I appreciate.  Too much current movie music sounds muddied and directionless, but I don't become lost or overwhelmed by Desplat's scores.  I trust he'll retain these qualities throughout subsequent projects.  His approach supplies needed fresh air to an aspect of cinema that can often be considered art and yet has recently dissolved into mere product.

Maybe in some way, the art of movie music can be considered kin to the legacy of the fictional Grand Budapest Hotel, in that there are far fewer stewards and patrons now who can care for the once lustrous and opulent establishment.  Its fading qualities are seldom appreciated or noticed except by those strange folk who seek it out, wishing to learn its secrets and history and wade through the overlooked treasures.  Or I'm possibly just allowing nostalgia and sentiment to stay far past checkout time.

Regardless, I'm happily including Desplat's music into my hours of listening, while simultaneously inducting him into my film score "Justice League".  Though I have no clue what superhero persona would fit an erudite French composer. 

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

   

WILLOW / THE LAND BEFORE TIME / RED HEAT (1988)

I have a theory regarding ardent movie music fans and collectors, those deep in the folds, and that is the eventual habit of "buying blind".  Once your "listening wagon" is hitched to specific composers, purchasing soundtrack albums without having seen the movie or TV show it accompanies becomes the norm.  No different than an R.E.M. fan who picked up all of their records without first hearing a track.  I reached this stage in 1988 at fifteen years old.  Considering my meager earnings then, when the part-time jobs consisted of mowing lawns and teaching swim lessons to kids at the YMCA, these blind buys posed some risks.  I couldn't just grab every album that appeared intriguing.  I couldn't afford to see each new movie that featured music by a favorite composer.  Dollars earned versus dollars spent proved to be quite a balancing act.   And in that year, the motto of "two outta three ain't bad" applied to this early experience.

Initially for spending cash I solely relied on the small allowance from my dad,  which amounted to around four dollars every other week.   Of course, this can be a fairly typical scenario for teens both past and present, though I bet inflation has now adjusted that amount upward somewhat.    The result is muddling through the character building exercises of waiting and saving funds, possibly the financial equivalent of eating your vegetables at dinner.  At the age of fifteen, patience and pinching pennies could be akin to brussel sprouts. 

When Summer school break began in '88 this changed for me.  I started getting paid to mow lawns, both our own and the neighbors'.  In addition, I was hired at the local YMCA, where I competed on swim team, to teach swim lessons to kids under ten.  To be honest, my dad managed that YMCA, as he did in whichever town we lived, so I didn't face much of a rigorous interview process, due to being the boss' son.  The downside was that being the boss' son meant I couldn't really suck at the job and remain invisible.

Now, mowing lawns can be a strangely enjoyable Zen activity, sort of how I find washing dishes or vacuuming.  I put my gangly limbs to work and soon viewed the in-arguably successful results after a few hours.  However, the prospect of teaching small children to swim and survive in the water carried with it more pressure and expectation, not the least of which was keeping their tiny faces above the water.  I wasn't sure I could manage it.  Swim team competition bolstered confidence in my own aqua-abilities, but I was less positive about my ability to impart the necessary strokes to kindergarten kids.  Nevertheless, I accepted the job, aiming to justify my dad's assuredeness in me along with finally earning disposable income. 

So, I'd had my collecting eye on several recently released albums with the label "Music by James Horner" printed on their respective covers. Since being captivated by his music for STAR TREKs II and III and ALIENS, I decided to unquestioningly pick up whatever soundtracks featured his name (money willing, of course).  First up, I noticed his credit in small print on the posters for WILLOW, a movie set to be released that Summer.  It purported to be an epic fantasy adventure, starring the fresh-from-TOP-GUN Val Kilmer and written and produced by George Lucas.  Granted, I could've bouught a ticket to see the movie itself in the theater.  Instead my grass-fed and water-logged cash went to the soundtrack, on cassette no less.  My "listening wagon" had been securely hitched to Horner.  It was more important to hear new music from him, hopefully in the same vein as the aforementioned scores.

WILLOW emerged as an immediate favorite of mine, that opaque cassette looping its way repeatedly through my scuffed red Walkman, the notes tattooing themselves onto my musical memory.  It showcased a lilting choral element, heraldic brass themes and exciting, adventuresome set-pieces, everything I hoped for from a score in this genre.  Yes, I was left to imagine the matching onscreen action, gleaning details from pictures and articles in magazines, but it mattered little, the music was its own reward.  Months later, I actually received the movie on VHS as a birthday gift from my parents, an impressive feat when one considers how expensive first-run home videos were priced back then.  Trust me, it wasn't cheap.  And yeah, I kinda liked the movie too.  Kilmer ported over his smart-ass and smart-alack persona from REAL GENIUS and TOP GUN, flavored with a dose of swordplay.

The second Horner soundtrack blind buy was from the animated film called THE LAND BEFORE TIME, released in November that same year.  It was only his second animated feature, the first being 1986's AN AMERICAN TAIL, resulting in an Oscar nomination for the rising composer.  I'd seen this latter album on the record racks, but it looked to feature too many songs and not enough score, so I hesitated to purchase it.  However, THE LAND BEFORE TIME included only one song (by Diana Ross) listed among the tracks thus I felt secure I'd get my money's worth in a wealth of Horner's orchestral music.  Upon the initial listen, I decreed it another home run - a surprisingly expressive and powerful work, memorable and in the mold of Prokofiev's "Peter and The Wolf" concert ballet.  The man could do no wrong in my early estimation as a developing movie music fan.  But to this day, I still haven't seen this movie.

The third blind buy happened in December.  Unfortunately, I felt as if my listening wagon had struck a speed bump, a speed bump entitled RED HEAT.  I'm not sure what kind of score I expected for an action thriller starring Arnold Schwarzenegger and James Belushi, but a jazz/funk/synth fusion didn't occur to me in the slightest.  I could only shake my head confusedly as I heard music so diametrically opposed to WILLOW.  Only afterwards as I eventually worked backwards through Horner's career did I discover that this style emerged first in the films 48 HOURS, GORKY PARK and COMMANDO.  At that time, I couldn't see past large-scale orchestral compositions, my tastes and interest didn't allow for much beyond it.  I kicked myself for a failed blind buy, glumly realizing that not everything composed by James Horner hit my movie music sweet spot.

Yet it didn't diminish his star status for me.  Weirdly, I grew to love the moody RED HEAT and all its wailing sax solos, just not as much as those previous two '88 Horner scores.  Why place expectations that a new experience can only be good if it mirrors what's already happened?  RED HEAT never intended to be WILLOW, so why even compare the two.  Interestingly, WILLOW and THE LAND BEFORE TIME were later eclipsed once I was introduced to the James Horner magnum opus that is 1983's KRULL.  That one still ranks as my overall top favorite from his entire output, it's a god-damn powerhouse.  Anyway, appreciating the broad range of a film composer gained momentum here and I feel I owe a slow clap for the red-headed stepchild that is RED HEAT.  Soundtracks to movies yet unseen continued to stack up near my stereo, so obviously I was undeterred.

Regarding my time teaching swimming, after six weeks all the kids in my class successfully passed their final hurdle, jumping into the deep end wearing floaties and paddling out to me.  I recall not being able to visualize that last day on my first day.  I never thought I'd remember everyone's name, yet I did.  Each small stepping stone of just having them blow bubbles in the water or kick their legs really constructed a path to that deep-end achievement.  No step could be skipped, there was no rushing into eight feet of water for them.  As the kids garnered these skills I learned how to shepherd a group and methodically and patiently bestow knowledge I possessed.  Funny enough, my current job of training software to media buying agency groups can feel like teaching at a public pool populated with restless six year olds whom I have to corral.   Tell that to my fifteen year old self!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Df-a0Bl0b74

BATMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES

When it comes to favorite incarnations of the iconic comic book character Batman, the one presented in BATMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES from the 1990's ranks at the top of my list.  Prior to this I had of course been exposed as a kid to the Adam West-led series from the 60's, along with Michael Keaton's portrayal in the 1989 feature film.  The latter kick-started my great admiration for the music of Danny Elfman, while the former motivated me to wear blue tights and tie a sheet around my neck... only when I was 8 years old, I swear.  Anyway, BATMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES captured the interest of both me and my younger sister Meri in the Fall of 1992 and it's been my personal benchmark for the most compelling version of that fictional hero and his world.  It's also a show that's a special touchstone for me and Meri.  Lastly, and it wouldn't be my blog without mentioning this, the show features some of the best music composed for any TV series, live-action or animated.

This was during my sophomore year at Guilford College and I was back home for Christmas break.  I anticipated several indulgent weeks of junk food, TV and movies, Christmas shopping and decorations, plus time with the family.  For spending cash and peer socializing, I took some shifts at the Mexican restaurant I initially began working at periodically during high school.   I carried a particularly notable reputation as a stellar and fastidious busboy then, if I do say so myself, so I knew I'd be warmly welcomed back.  And I had the bolstered confidence of a second year college boy, meaning it was back to high school senior level and I might have been comfortable enough to ask a girl out.

In all honesty, though I'd found some great and weird friends at Guilford, I really missed hanging out with Meri.  We might have grown beyond recording our wacky home-made STAR TREK radio shows on cassette tapes, but we still clicked on everything, just as best friends should.  Even as I stepped into my 20's and Meri entered high school, our interests remained fairly synced (can't say I had any interest in the TV show "Blossom", however).  I try not to take for granted when I'm on the same page with someone, when there's no judgments or ridicule and the same things crack you both up.  I can't even begin to count how many times we watched GHOSTBUSTERS, BACK TO THE FUTURE and THE NAKED GUN on VHS and never tired of any of them.

So, I'd heard there was a new animated Batman series airing on Fox that Fall.  Meri and I were fans of the two Tim Burton-directed movies, especially the recent sequel from just that past Summer, and planned to catch the premiere episode once I was back home on break.  At college, the only program I was committed to watching was STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, thanks to my roommates tiny television, so this would be a new series for me.  On the music front, I was aware that Danny Elfman had provided an adaptation of his movie theme for this, while his conductor and orchestrator, Shirley Walker, composed the episodic scores. Appropriately enough, the introductory episode for us that December was titled "Christmas with the Joker". 

Immediately the show had us hooked.  We watched and recorded on VHS each episode that aired during that Christmas break, amazed at the quality from the stories to the animation.  Meri and I emerged as bigger fans of the Bat than we had been previously.  It could be due to the ongoing nature of a weekly series.  The characters and that universe more easily become a fixture in your daily life than as a two-hour movie.   Plus, there was such variety displayed by the show - moody, heartbreaking, witty and adventurous, you never really knew what experience to expect when you tuned in, but it was always engaging.  Thinking back now, I'm glad I shared this series with Meri as it aired.

Two aspects that most impressed me were the music and the voice talents. In terms of the class-act cast, Kevin Conroy, Mark Hamill and David Warner are the definite Batman, Joker and Ra's al Ghul for me now.  The orchestral scores, composed either by Ms. Walker or another of the talented members of her team, were sonorous, dynamic and memorable, always anchored by strong themes for Batman and his Rogues Gallery and colored by styles evoking dramatic music from the Golden Age of film.  An alert listener could discern elements of Danny Elfman's active brass writing alongside Bernard Herrmann's low woodwinds, harps and vibraphones and Franz Waxman's broad melodicism.   As with STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, I often revisited specific episodes on tape simply to hear the music, hoping one day some enterprising record label might release it all on disc. 

The following Christmas saw the theatrical release of BATMAN: MASK OF THE PHANTASM, a motion picture based on the animated series, from the same cast and crew.  Amazingly, it played for maybe one entire week nationwide.   Incredibly, Meri and I actually caught it at our quaint local theater in Rocky Mount, of all places.  It felt like 1986 and the animated TRANSFORMERS: THE MOVIE all over again.  Each time I revisit this movie, I smile at the fact that we saw it together on the big screen.  Those are memories I consider pretty special.  And to boot, the film is excellent.  Up until BATMAN BEGINS in 2005, MASK OF THE PHANTASM topped my list as the best of all the feature films based on the character.  And thank goodness there was finally a soundtrack album available that showcased Ms. Walker's music.  That disc spun around inside my CD player more often than most.

It wasn't until years later that I finally delved into the Batman comic books.  There's such a voluminous amount of over seven decades of his adventures in the printed format that a rookie can't understand where to begin.   I soon discovered that the 70's and 80's era was my jam, especially once I learned how stories and characters from these years influenced the animated series.  I was impressed at the wealth of material originating in the comic book that found its way into the show, yet not in a fashion that excluded the uninitiated. You didn't need to be schooled in the comics to enjoy the animated series.

When the topic turns to favorite long-running pop culture icons, we all have our individual entry points, akin to jumping onto a lengthy, moving freight train by way of the next open boxcar.  Part of us perfectly aligned with a specific presentation of that series or fictional figure.  It could be a case of "right time, right place", when our age at that moment allowed the icon to leave its imprint on us, just as initials carved in wet cement.  It could be due to the person we were then, whether more shy or more angry, that allowed us to bond with it.  Or perhaps a unique feature of the incarnation, maybe an idea or concept, an actor's performance or another artistic flourish, appealed to tastes we already favored.   I realize it's heady stuff to determine why we each like what we like, but I tend to ruminate on things of this nature.   STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION fits the first category for me, the books of Clive Barker the second and Batman the third.  Neither the live-action show from the 60's nor Tim Burton's films converted me into a fervent fan, instead that distinction falls to the special melange of evocative music, colorful casting and bold animation presented in BATMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES.

Please enjoy a suite of music from the series in the clip below, composed by Shirley Walker, and thanks to La-La Land Records for making this available on CD:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GufAHzhNcS8