Sometimes all it takes is a good mix tape to spark a new post. Granted, I'm using the term "tape" metaphorically, but yes, I still create what I nostalgically call a "mix tape", even if it is in digital form. I try to treat it as "side A" and "side B" or just keep it to CD length to maintain that illusion. What can I say, it's an old habit, hard to break, fun to continue. Recently I crafted three mixes devoted to science fiction and fantasy titles of the 1980's. Soundtrack fans of my age range can rattle off a dozen favorite films and scores from this decade, it's where the bug really bit for many of us. For young geeks there was much to absorb both at the cinema and on TV. I know I wasn't always the best judge of quality but in the end it was really the music that mattered most to me. At that time, critics bemoaned the surplus of these movies. However, I think there are number of aspects that make it unique and worthy of study, not the least of which is the sheer volume of wonderfully varied movie music composed for genre during the decade, still arguably unequaled since.
This was the era which saw the glut of new sci-fi/fantasy movies lean into STAR WARS as the springboard. Movies in its wake borrowed many of its attributes, from effects to production design and story structure, yet there was still a remarkable amount of imagination and boldness to be found. The approach to the score of STAR WARS taken by composer John Williams and writer/director George Lucas, that of grafting the sweeping, swashbuckling orchestral sound of 1930's adventure serials onto an unfamiliar, strange outer space landscape, unexpectedly set an orthodox that holds even to this day. Soon it became commonplace that any science fiction movie needed to feature a big orchestral score, when previously that hadn't always been the case. And I can't argue with the logic of this, as it's an understatement to label this a massively inspired choice by Williams and Lucas. However, even with this approach dominating the genre from the late 1970's and into the 80's, what's most impressive is the amazing diversity heard in the music throughout these years, often due to surprising choices of composer for each project.
DRAGONSLAYER heralded an example of one such musical surprise. This was a 1981 release from Disney, a fatalistic fantasy film populated by wizards, swordplay and (natch) dragons, yet interestingly more concerned with witnessing the passing of an age and of Christianity triumphing over magic. This was far apart from their lighter animated entry years earlier, THE SWORD IN THE STONE, and closer in spirit to 1979's moody THE BLACK HOLE, in which Disney rejiggered 20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA for deep space and added a killer robot with scissorhands. I loved it as a kid, then happily scratched its surface as an adult to uncover more to appreciate. Hired as composer for DRAGONSLAYER was Alex North, one of the most unique voices throughout movie history. His style could be angular and atonal, adopting the modernistic qualities of 20th century concert classical music, all while balanced against his tender, melodic side. His challenging sound, along with that of Bernard Herrmann and Leonard Rosenman, stood apart from the lush tonalities of the Alfred Newmans and Franz Waxmans of Hollywood during its Golden Age. North's scores for SPARTACUS, CLEOPATRA, A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE and his rejected music for 2001 (wait, you didn't know that there was an original score composed for Stanley Kubrick's 2001? Ask me about it!) all bore his personal stamp, helping to bolster the complexity into movie music and what it could represent.
I wasn't aware of any of this when I first saw DRAGONSLAYER at a young age. I didn't even know who Alex North was. I just knew that those powerful, declamatory low brass that open the film grabbed my interest immediately. I still swooned for anything close to the sound of STAR WARS and while this score was fully orchestral, it resided on the opposite side of the field tonally from the sound that shadowed X-wings and lightsabers. Regardless, I loved it and searched for the rare album release for years, finally snagging a copy in the late 90's (plus the official expanded edition from La-La Land Records not too long ago). In talking about this score once with my friend Mark, he commented that it nearly made him laugh out loud with its dramatics. I think he considered it overheated. I disagreed wholeheartedly. It could be that watching DRAGONSLAYER through the lens of today's muted movie soundscape only highlights its eccentricities. I understand how the music could be off-putting for some. It demands your attention, it isn't content to simply linger politely in the background, whether heard in the movie or separately on disc. I keep coming back to the word "challenging", but it's also undeniable brilliant and a score to which I'm quite partial.
Thus, while STAR WARS propelled the huge wave of sci-fi and fantasy films that swept through cinemas in the late 70's and into the 80's, there were still few rules set in stone for the genre then. To me it seems as if everyone was simply throwing all ideas against the wall just to see what stuck. Why else would we get the weird hybrid that is KRULL (1983), with lasers infesting a medieval setting? Or 1980's FLASH GORDON, which is such a loopy, pop-rocks-and-soda-on-celluloid trip? Musically speaking, the massive influx of these imaginative productions led to almost every composer working at that time, in and out of Hollywood, getting a turn at bat (or sword or laser pistol). The bonus for fans is that many were considered giants of the art form who subsequently poured their entire creative arsenal into their one sci-fi shot. Alex North is just one example, but there was also Henry Mancini scoring space vampires in LIFEFORCE, Ennio Morricone wrestling RED SONJA and Maurice Jarre trekking into both ENEMY MINE as well as MAD MAX BEYOND THUNDERDOME (all 1985). These guys had been movie music titans for decades, with inarguable legacies ranging from BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S to THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY and LAWRENCE OF ARABIA. Their respective idiosyncratic styles provided class and elegance to pictures in a genre once categorized only as "B", now receiving top billing and dollars.
Alongside the masters, there were some out-of-left-field assignments too, which brings me to the topic of DUNE (1984), directed by David Lynch. I was unaware then of Lynch in any other form before this movie. I had to enter his slanted perspective on life through the door marked DUNE in the sci-fi pantheon. In retrospect, it's not surprising that Lynch shunned mirroring the common sound of sci-fi then - his overall filmic style shied away from almost all convention. But he didn't even hire an established composer. Instead, he went after the rock band Toto to provide music for his epic. Now, you could argue that there was some precedent for this choice, seeing as how Queen amped up FLASH GORDON with their anthems four years prior. Yet here was DUNE, an accepted literary classic, being presented cinematically with a straight face. No doubt this rankled older fans of the book, but the resulting pop/orchestral fusion, while unexpected, was a score I immediately adored. Okay, the electric guitars might stand out against the sight of sandworms just a touch. As a kid, I loved Toto's songs, or more precisely the ones played on the radio, such as "Rosanna". My pop music knowledge obviously only extended as far as Casey Kasem's weekly countdown.
What I find incredible about this era is not just the motley crew of composers but the depth of talent and unique sounds they each brought. Vangelis with the all-electronic BLADE RUNNER, Wendy Carlos with TRON, Lawrence Rosenthal with the Richard Strauss-inspired CLASH OF THE TITANS, Bill Conti on MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE, David Shire on 2010 and Craig Safan hitting high brass notes on THE LAST STARFIGHTER. I could go on, but if wasn't for this confluence of a sweeping trend plus talent, I may not have discovered any of these composers. And in certain cases, their single contribution to this genre remains my single favorite score from their career. I'm not going to name names, but... well, alright, one of them might be Ennio Morricone. I like his score for RED SONJA and not much else, except maybe his weirdly wicked music for EXORCIST II. Maybe I just didn't grow up with enough of his movies. This probably seems rather myopic, but they can't all be a Goldsmith or a Williams, where I'm in tune with nearly every note they've put to paper.
Speaking of, you might be wondering why I have yet to mention specific scores by Jerry Goldsmith, John Williams (other than STAR WARS) and James Horner. Their names dominated soundtrack collections back then as they became the backbone of the genre during the decade. Goldsmith truly set new standards each decade of his career, as far back as the original TWILIGHT ZONE series. Sci-fi and action movies were his bread and butter, though not out of his own personal interest, just that his sound and sonic experimentation lent themselves naturally. Horner could've been among the "one and done" group with his initial entry, 1980'S BATTLE BEYOND THE STARS. Rather, his sparkling, joyful orchestration for that ramshackle movie rippled across both his career and the sound of sci-fi on into the 90's. Once this style cemented in STAR TREKs II and III, KRULL and BRAINSTORM, it emerged as a subset of the Williams standard - still rich and melodic, but maybe more easily applied to more movies since there was no expectation of another "Imperial March".
But my goal here was to highlight the unexpected, the fortuitous choices. I hesitate to call them "one-hit wonders" because the composers I mentioned here all excelled throughout their career, but it's their obscure sci-fi/fantasy efforts that often escape notice. Hopefully I don't sound too precious about this era. Sure there is some bias, it formed the bedrock of my soundtrack fandom. I like to draw analogies to the era when Westerns and religious-themed epics held sway over cinemas in the 50's and 60's and all composers in town added both under their respective belts, whether earning steady pay from it or taking one swing- even Bernard Herrmann scored a Western (and it's great!).
Today's screens are now chock-a-block with comic book confections. Among this current cinematic wave are the customary highs and lows and shifting degrees of depth, especially as this genre struggles to both be taken seriously and aim for escapism. Thing is, I don't find as much attention being paid to the accompanying music. To my (admittedly aging) ears, the scores tilt towards blandness. A more nondescript sound has been established, it's almost pre-programmed, and it's unfortunate. Comic book movies should be as daring as the heroes they essay, including the music. On a selfish level, at least I know it would provide me with strong tracks for a new mix tape.
Postscript: I'm attempting something new with the music clips chosen below for this post. With luck, everyone will still be able to play these as easily as the youtube clips!
Sometimes I think I could restrict my blog's focus solely to the two main pillars of my pop culture passions, STAR TREK and STAR WARS, and still be able to generate enough posts for several years. But of course, with so many weird and wonderful movie music gems to spotlight in all genres I keep it to a minimum; in fact the last time I wrote about a STAR WARS soundtrack was back in 2013, specifically about THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK. Seeing as how there's a new STAR WARS film, ROGUE ONE, being primed for launch this month, I figured I'd celebrate this with an appropriately themed topic. And considering the frequency, or lack thereof, of my posts, this might wind up as my closing thoughts for 2016.
I wanted to write about the final installment released in the series up until Disney, the new owners of all things Lucasfilm, inaugurated a new STAR WARS era with 2015's THE FORCE AWAKENS. In 2005, REVENGE OF THE SITH, otherwise known as EPISODE III, was released as the chapter that seemingly completed the saga's circle and it delighted, surprised and moved me in ways I hadn't anticipated. Along with this, John Williams provided the movie a masterful score that I've listened to more times than I count in the ensuing decade, almost more than any other soundtrack from the series.
On the day it was released, I wound up seeing it twice - once in the early morning on my own and then again in the evening with friends. From the opening space battle to the visually poetic closing moments, I was riveted. As a first generation fan who caught each film from the classic trilogy in the theaters, I'd found myself fascinated on many levels by the era being presented in this second trilogy, the prequels. It was akin to watching a "period piece" of our own history, when mannerisms, dress and behaviors might differ to the present, such as Elizabethan dramas compared to present day. Not to everyone's taste, but I was digging it. The world-building was imaginative and immersive, diving into other cultures and corners of the fictional galaxy previously unexplored or simply unknown. I plugged into the macro/micro level of parallel storytelling on display throughout, noting how over the course of the trilogy we witness both a democratic Republic and a compassionate Jedi Knight named Anakin Skywalker be manipulated and corrupted from the inside out, all by the same person, that being Chancellor Palpatine. Indeed, the fateful circumstances leading to Anakin's downfall constitute the component to which I unexpectedly connected.
As I've mentioned in a previous post (see STAR TREK GENERATIONS), my father passed away without warning back in November 1994, when I was twenty-one years old. This tragic event cleaved a solid demarcation in my personal history, between my life with and then without a father. Working through this in the years since has been a convoluted process, as the emotional and psychological ripple effects are not always evident until much later. And sometimes these unseen effects are uncovered by unpredictable means. And so it was when watching REVENGE OF THE SITH. I was struck by what was portrayed onscreen, the movie unmasking for me a truth that my fear of mortality and loss, stemming from my father's death, might negatively affect choices I make in life.
Anakin, as a young adult still figuring himself out, was plagued and emotionally crippled as a result of losing his mother in an unforeseen tragedy. Of course, his character's subsequent experience followed a much more severe path (cue the "Imperial March" here), but what hooked me was that his immense sense of loss over his mother had twisted over time into a need for control and an obsessive drive to prevent suffering any further loss. This pushes him into alarming and reckless decisions which lead to not only his own spiritual and physical destruction, but also ends the life of whom he most wanted to save. Akin to enduring Greek tragedies, Anakin echoes Oedipus by unknowingly fulfilling a haunting prophecy through the determined process of seemingly holding it at bay. There are also noted similarities to Shakespeare's "Othello", where we find good and kind qualities slowly overshadowed by hubris and greed, with a dash of a superiority complex from Anakin. This is powerful, deep stuff, not often essayed in sci-fi spectacles. Flawed, fictional heroes may tread on the edge of extremes, yet they normally refrain from fully falling in.
It dawned on me that I'd been struggling to keep from things changing in my own life. The further that time advanced into my father's absence, I think I unconsciously endeavored to control my surroundings, maintaining routines and who I was inside, even in small ways. It surprisingly didn't stop me relocating across states, from North Carolina to Illinois and then California, which on a surface level absolutely seems like a willingness to embrace big changes. Yet, if I lifted a corner and peeked below that surface, I found that the major moves fostered a distance away from what might affect me emotionally. Distance actually allowed me to preserve my inner self in amber, in a way. Instead of accepting and dealing with loss, I placed myself far from what would remind me of the absence of loved ones. (I totally understand why Anakin as Vader never visited Tatooine again.) Feeling loss and change penetrates too deep. I unknowingly led my life in directions that would safely keep me from experiencing any further loss or calamity again. In REVENGE OF THE SITH, when Anakin speaks to Yoda of his fears of losing someone close to him, Yoda advises him how death is a natural part of life and that he should learn to let go of all he fears to lose. While counsel from Yoda isn't exactly approved by the American Psychological Association, it held sway with me, I felt I should heed this lesson.
It's funny that I share these thoughts directly following my prior post on the TV series LOST. Deftly delivered in its denouement to its lead character is a similar sentiment, that of learning to let go. There, however, it's tied to less catastrophic choices as made by Anakin in SITH and expressed more as an integral, necessary component for successfully transitioning beyond corporeal existence. In LOST, Jack Shephard needed to learn to let go in order to forgive himself and grant his soul a sense of completion and peace. In SITH, Anakin never learned to let go of his fear of loss and instead was seduced down a dark, calamitous path. At a high cost, he'd been promised a power to prevent the deaths of those he loved and by extension, prevent himself from ever experiencing their eventual absence from his life. This revelation in Anakin's journey astounded me. Never in my fan's eye view of what triggered the transformation of Anakin Skywalker into Darth Vader would I have imagined something so human and so vulnerable, almost uncomfortably so. It endeared his character to my adult self, living on the other side of my father's passing. In the life I lived that included both my father and STAR WARS, I most connected to Luke Skywalker. Later, in the life without him, I seem most in tune with Anakin.
Regarding the music, Williams's score is an absolute treasure trove of gems, both major and minor. Bold new themes essay the tragic duel between Anakin and Obi-wan and mechanistic menace of General Grievous. Existing material, such as the love theme from EPISODE II, is often revived in melancholic tones. With this album, there isn't any interesting story about how I grabbed it, I think it was at the Borders on State St. in downtown Chicago. I do remember being surprised at its overall brevity, that there were some marvelous cues from the film not included on the album. And, vice versa, I was surprised at tracks heard on the album that went unused or partially used in the film, but this is all old hat for an experienced soundtrack fan. Williams' score for REVENGE OF THE SITH charts a varied path, from rollicking, 5/4 and quarter-time action material, to choral elegies, blistering brass fanfares and a 13-minute closing track that even encompasses the Throne Room music from the original STAR WARS. As soon as it wraps up, I want to listen to it again, but then I'm worried of wearing out its effect.
Now as fans and general audiences are being introduced to new stories and characters in the STAR WARS universe, the focus has returned to its origins, that being the tenets of the classic trilogy. I'm loving what's been presented thus far and am still in giddy awe of the simple fact that Han Solo, Luke Skywalker and Millennium Falcon populate the THE FORCE AWAKENS. It almost feels like a missing cinematic artifact from the 1980's catapulted through time somehow. Nevertheless, my passion for the prequels, and by extension the long-running "Clone Wars" TV series, hasn't dimmed. I realize I might be the oddball old-school fan. To me, it's like being a fan of the original STAR TREK series along with STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION - same universe, different flavors. Part of me enjoys delving into the fictional historicity of it, somewhat analogous to J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Silmarillion" providing background to "The Lord of The Rings". Another side of me ruminates on the symbolism and mythology present in the story's undercurrents. Then there is that other part that simply relishes seeing the adventures of young Obi-Wan Kenobi. Of it all, REVENGE OF THE SITH remains a potent distillation of everything I love about STAR WARS, while also embodying an emotional truth personally relevant to me.
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?
In STAR TREK V: THE FINAL FRONTIER, released in June 1989, there is a moment when Captain Kirk (William Shatner) says to a stunned Spock (Leonard Nimoy), "You look as if you've seen a ghost". Spock replies back to Kirk, "Perhaps I have, Captain, perhaps I have". That very same Summer, during a week when I was eagerly awaiting this movie yet was entrenched in a family trip to Texas, I had the very same experience as Spock. I was sure I had seen a ghost. I can still place myself to when it happened and the image remains clear while other memories from that time are starting to run like rain-soaked watercolors. I want to tell that ghost story here, as it's my only such story, along with a snapshot of me as the burgeoning STAR TREK fan that year. Being that 2016 is the 50th anniversary of this American pop culture icon, I can't help but add my voice to the chorus, though you could toss a bitcoin in any virtual direction on the internet and strike a blog post about STAR TREK.
Mom, Dad and my sisters Erin and Meri spent at least a week or more in McAllen, TX during the month of June 1989. The trip's motivation was somber as my maternal grandmother, who all of us kids called "Dear", had passed away just prior to Christmas, from emphysema. Rumors later looped through the family that her husband, called "Gramps", seemed resigned to let go his own mortal coil on any given day. My Mom looked to be losing both her parents in a span of six months, thus it became imperative that we visit soon. Once school wrapped up (high school sophomore year for me), the three-day road trip from North Carolina commenced. Is it just me or didn't it seem "de rigueur" back in the day that families more often than not drove to all destinations, no matter the distance, instead of piling onto planes? Sure, air travel would be quicker, but I think parents were far more stingy then. For us, time spent on the freeways between states provided my Dad hours in which to power through all his mix tapes, both new and old, from The Beatles to Bach to big band. It gave me the time to delve further into any and all STAR TREK paraphernalia I'd packed with me.
A word first about Dear, for some context. When comparing my two grandmothers, Dear was always second place. No other grandmother could match my dad's mom for sheer warmth, wit and fun. Alternately, my lingering memories of Dear involve me sitting quietly at her yellow linoleum kitchen table, drinking a short glass of Tang orange juice, while she smoked her cigarettes and grimaced in my direction. She was tall, very thin, with hair styled in the standard "high & tight" for women of a certain age. I remember her being very curt, sometimes gruff, but I wonder if now that I am older, would I have appreciated these qualities of hers. An elderly lady of her dapper stature, fingering a cigarette and heedlessly delivering caustic judgments of everyone sounds certifiably charming. However, for a small child and eventual teenager, Dear unsettled me.
When we arrived, the situation at their house in McAllen was a bit disheveled. Many of Dear and Gramps' belongings had previously been boxed up and their bedroom, which I so rarely dared enter as a kid, was the most cramped. This is when I learned that I'd been assigned to share the room with Gramps. And moreover, that I would be sleeping in Dear's former bed. It had been set perpendicular to his with a tall padded arm chair placed awkwardly between, facing his bed. It was clear that Dear and Gramps lived in real life as Rob and Laura did on TV's "The Dick Van Show", that is in separate twin beds. Do we yet know whether this sleeping arrangement was a case of art imitating life or did the depiction of chaste married life on television wield that much influence? My dad's parents had the same set up and I would wonder, inappropriately, did they ever share the same bed? Needless to say, I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of my room assignment. I was in fact spooked. No offense to Gramps, but I felt as if I was inviting spectral grimaces from Dear by sharing the space with him.
Yet even when headed to bed in a slightly skittish state that first night, I never expected anything unusual. Even though when we're younger, we seem more inclined to believe in what we can't see and that strange, possibly supernatural occurrences have a real possibility of happening to us. Before carefully creeping into Dear's old bed, I ensured the closet light remained on. The closet doors were of the slatted variety so that light streamed outward across the dark room in parallel amber shafts. I recall Gramps was already sleeping fitfully in his twin bed. The padded arm chair still oddly demarcated the room, its back towards me. After eventually nodding off, my next memory is of waking suddenly.
I lay on my right side. As my eyes adjusted to dimly-lit room, I noticed something strange when focusing on the back of that chair. It no longer appeared empty. I felt I was looking at the back of someone's head, someone now sitting in that chair, someone staring in the direction of Gramps. To me, the hair on this head showcased the high & tight style sported by Dear. My stomach immediately twisted into a knot and dropped. Though I felt paralyzed with dread, I managed to slowly rotate onto my back, fixating on the closet light instead. I resisted turning back towards the chair to confirm what I glimpsed, I just eventually fell asleep again. In the morning I relayed the entire event to my Mom, who was fully onboard and never once doubted its validity. She even shared that the housekeeper made similar claims of seeing Dear walking across rooms. What I find funny now is how much fear I felt, as if I'd witnessed the ghost of Jacob Marley instead of my own grandmother. No matter how surly I found her in life, should I have been so frightened to possibly encounter her ghost?
Our Texas sabbatical continued without further apparition sightings, by me or anyone else. I wished I'd been able to take in a viewing of STAR TREK V that week, but I wasn't going to press the point or drag along unwilling family members. So as a suitable substitute, during a renewing excursion to the local McAllen mall, I raided their bookstore for copies of the official movie novelization, the special glossy interview magazine, the DC comic book edition and the audio book, read by none other than George Takei (his respectable vocal impressions of Shatner and the cast are highly entertaining). I then scoured their humble record store and thankfully found the soundtrack on cassette. In lieu of actually watching the movie, I inundated myself with all the ancillary material. I was enthralled by it all. Maybe it's because I was still a rookie Trekkie. Maybe I was still gathering context of what was widely considered "good" Star Trek, but regardless I totally grokked STAR TREK V. Funny enough, I never saw the film itself until a year later when it aired on HBO, which for better or worse granted me plenty of time to read what little praise it drew from critics, not to mention the negative response from most Trek fans. I remain a very forgiving fan to this day.
The score by Jerry Goldsmith was rightly and roundly lauded by many, however. It'd been ten years since his previous score for the series, that being 1979's STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE. Ironically, back then he also found himself singled out universally for acclaim against generally mixed reviews for the film overall. I eagerly awaited this album, imagining in my head what I hoped the music would sound like. By that Summer, I only owned six or seven Goldsmith soundtracks, so very far off from where I stand now, at somewhere around one hundred fifty. STAR TREK V became a lasting favorite. It sported energetic variations of his martial main title from THE MOTION PICTURE, a return to his pulse-pounding Klingon theme and a wealth of new material, even the shortest cues contained engaging musical ideas. For this film's story of an exiled, enigmatic Vulcan and his quest for the Supreme Being, Goldsmith composed varying recurring motives to score the wondrous, the dangerous and the personal qualities of the quest. It's a layered, ambitious work that even has notes to spare for a unique theme to musically paint the friendship between Kirk, Spock and McCoy.
Sadly, there would be another family Texas trip later in the Fall, another made under a sorrowful shade, as Gramps had passed away. I think we all agreed this was due to a broken heart. There wasn't really any evident medical reason for his death. Apparently, everyone who knew him closely observed the emptiness he felt deepening each day. It's one reason why I never scoff at the potency of such aching heartbreak and how we can crumble physically under its weight, to the point of our own passing. It certainly colors my sole ghostly sighting differently, now that my years have migrated beyond that initial spooked sensation. I've relayed this story often, highlighting my panic in the moment, but then I began imagining the purpose for why it took place. Dear was there to watch over Gramps. I realize this episode can be rationalized away by skeptics. I choose to believe in my memory, mostly because it seems right and good that Dear would continue to comfort her husband after her death. Gramps had felt his life become hollowed with her loss and maybe I witnessed a modest indication that she never really left his side. It seems like small scraps to hold on to, but it brings me comfort as I can envision my Dad's spirit continuing to look after my Mom, me and my sisters, maybe even sitting beside us as we sleep.
In this particular post, I wanted to flip the topic from last time on its head. Whereas before I was exploring the concept of "deep cuts" within a film composer's canon, I now feel inclined to focus on those "big ticket" scores, the titles that catch the attention of general audiences worldwide. Precious few composers in the business attain that notoriety, however briefly, when the spotlight swivels towards them. Often it's due to the movie itself striking a chord with the public and as a result, the music, and by extension, the soundtrack album charts successfully on Billboard and winds up in the collections of people who don't normally seek out soundtracks. There was 1965's DOCTOR ZHIVAGO by Maurice Jarre, with its waltzing "Lara's Theme" emanating from radios and department stores everywhere. Elmer Bernstein's brawny theme for THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN raised the bar for all Westerns in 1960 and then accompanied the Marlboro Man on TV commercials, while Ennio Morricone's THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY set an expected new standard for the sound of the genre. Years later, John Williams' STAR WARS and James Horner's TITANIC albums sold millions. Then there is my target for this post, John Barry's score for 1990's Oscar-winning epic, DANCES WITH WOLVES.
Back in 1990, I owned exactly one soundtrack featuring music by John Barry. It was 1987's THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS, the first of two movies in the James Bond series starring Timothy Dalton. And it was on cassette. I hadn't yet ventured into tracking down more of Barry's music for 007 or even the other immensely popular scores of his by that time - BORN FREE, SOMEWHERE IN TIME and OUT OF AFRICA. I was still pinching pennies and selecting purchases very carefully. I also needed more time to truly plug into Barry, his unique sound and approach. I think a more mature mindset had to develop, an understanding and appreciation of how he incorporated jazz idioms early on before moving into his more lush, romantic stage. In THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS, I not only discovered a Bond film that's remained a favorite of mine, but also a fantastic score from Barry brimming with so much variety - three memorable songs, from which he drew melodies for danger, action and romance, a more pop-influenced rhythmic element and gorgeous music for the desert-set sequences. I'd found my first entry point into the world of John Barry.
DANCES WITH WOLVES became that quintessential, late-era John Barry score, attaining and even overtaking the heights he achieved with OUT OF AFRICA in 1985. Every major review mentioned its impact on the film, audiences everywhere fell in love with it and even radio friendly versions of the main theme hinged to a pop backbeat were produced. It became the second John Barry soundtrack I purchased. Barry's contribution proved to the absolute soul of the movie. It never simply filled the silence or existed as generic window-dressing. It was specific in its use and had a point of view, qualities evident in music from the very best film composers. The score eloquently speaks for the open land, its indigenous people and for John Dunbar's yearning to belong to something greater than himself. Without feeling overstuffed or haphazard, it's a multi-faceted work showcasing nearly a dozen themes and motifs, while maintaining a clarity of purpose behind each cue. The John Barry sound embarked on the 1960's as quixotic and jazz-tinged, later blossoming in the late 70's into a richer orchestral arena. It is this latter stage which reached its apotheosis in DANCES WITH WOLVES. What remained consistent throughout and what an interested listener can follow is Barry's song-like structure of his cues (verse/chorus/verse), his preferred harmonic and melodic intervals and the subtly bittersweet nature inherent in all his music.
I don't think I wound up seeing the movie itself until early '91, however. It was released in November 1990, during the era when popular movies stuck around in cinemas for months on end, allowing slowpokes to eventually catch it and even return for subsequent screenings. This was how my sister Meri and I went back to watch TERMINATOR 2 and JURASSIC PARK three times each. Nowadays, there exists instead a panicked rush by studios to quickly migrate every movie into homes and streaming networks. I think this simply results in a faster route to each movie becoming completely disposable and forgotten.
Anyway, my senior year in high school was in full swing, chock-a-block with juggling classes alongside the Fall theater production. Of course, I suspect that when compared to today's high school students' stacked agendas, mine was pretty darn paltry, but I digress. My social calendar finally had spiked - dates, party invites, lunch companions - ever since the year before. I'd silently hoped this would happen throughout those turgid preceding grades. The theater geeks and band nerds welcomed me into their colorful fold. A number of us had formed a fairly tight circle both in and out of school, our own non-threatening posse of bright-eyed actors, singers and musicians, full of promise and light on angst. We never gave our respective parents much reason to pause and worry when we gathered together. No one returned home smelling of booze and cigarettes (that I know of). Maybe we were all collectively, unknowingly saving up those regretful adventures for college and beyond.
When we all assembled on a Winter day at the movies to see DANCES WITH WOLVES, our group occupied an entire row. I remember sitting next to Paula. She played trumpet in the marching band and orchestra for our theater productions. The reason I mention this item is due to a scene early in the film when Kevin Costner's character, John Dunbar, is being ferried by covered wagon to his new assignment in the wilderness, that of Fort Sedgwick. The centerpiece of this sequence is an incredible wide shot, pulling back, of the tiny horse-drawn wagon meekly cutting through the middle of a vast valley. As the camera keeps retreating further back, John Barry's underscore continues to soar upwards. It's a unique cue in the score, constructed from a new theme composed only for this sequence and not referred to again. Its led by a vaulting melodic line for the French horns which plays fully several times before climbing an octave and at that moment, I recall both Paula and I sitting forward in our seats, lost in the tune and each playing invisible horns with our fingers. I still mimic playing brass instruments as I listen, when not air-conducting, but back then I wasn't sure whether or not it was strange until I spied Paula doing the same thing. I didn't feel so odd anymore.
Several months later, one weekend afternoon, Paula and I were chatting on the phone, the old handheld variety, of course. We'd decided to attend prom together, even though we weren't really dating or romantically involved. I think it seemed like a natural decision to both of us; we had such easygoing fun together. In addition, there was a tendency in our immediate circle to couple up, possibly for safety and familiarity. In our case, the friendship wasn't capable of progressing past platonic, though. The fuel that launches a close friendship isn't always the same propellant which can fire up a romance. Maybe unconsciously neither of us wanted it hard enough. So on this particular phone call, she said she had something to share with me and, following a few silent moments, I heard her playing "The John Dunbar Theme" on her trumpet. I was so damn impressed. Here was a girl I was taking to the prom, playing a John Barry-composed theme on her trumpet over the phone for me. I've listened to this score far too many times to count over the years and I can't help but be reminded of this memory each time that solo trumpet opens and closes the album.
Returning to my main topic, when I'm talking soundtracks with most people, often the initial assumption is that my personal favorites align with high profile popular titles, the aforementioned STAR WARS, TITANIC, DOCTOR ZHIVAGO, THE LION KING, etc. As stellar as these scores are (sidebar - even as a major fan of James Horner, I never felt that TITANIC approached his best work), I normally lean towards the "deep cuts", the under appreciated gems. Maybe I could chalk it up to a "too cool for school" mentality, akin to how in a hipster cliques there might be pressure to prefer only bands that no one else has heard of. Maybe I'm just aiming at unpredictably or showboating my vast movie music knowledge. Honestly, I can't help what I love (or don't). And in the case of the very well-known, award-winning, top-selling DANCES WITH WOLVES, I unashamedly list it among my personal favorites.
A dozen more projects for John Barry trailed after this, some quite notable like CHAPLIN (1992), however it was becoming sadly apparent that his distinct musical voice and viewpoint was less in demand, while ironically still sorely needed in film. I think DANCES WITH WOLVES represents major turning points both within the context of its story and also professionally for its composer. We as the audience witness the turning point of one man's life into significance, juxtaposed against the turning point to diminishment of an entire Native American tribe. Arguably, the film represents the last major highpoint of Barry's career in film scoring. What DANCES WITH WOLVES portrays onscreen, that of the passing of an era and way of life, both by its visuals and observed narratively by the character of John Dunbar, could almost parallel how Barry's musical gifts became hemmed in, dismissed and pushed aside by the progression of a homogenized modernity.
