A Score To Settle - The Podcast! Episode 1: "Logan's Run" (1976)/Guest Neil Bulk, classic soundtrack album editor/producer

To anyone who reads or has read my blog, I wanted to let you know about a new feature I am adding. After almost four years of posting my thoughts and personal experiences here, I decided to try my hand at podcasting, wanting to share more about the music, through analyzing specific scores, overviews of composer careers and even guest interviews with individuals who work in the industry and also fellow fans. 

Below is my first episode, which should also be available soon on iTunes. In the first segment of the episode I talk about Jerry Goldsmith's score for the 1976 science fiction movie LOGAN'S RUN. After this, I start a conversation with Neil Bulk, who is an editor and producer of classic soundtrack albums, including archival releases of Danny Elfman's score for 1989's BATMAN and Michael Kamen's music for the LETHAL WEAPON series. Many of his albums are available from labels such as La La Land Records, Varese Sarabande and Intrada Records.

I sure hope everyone enjoys parts or all of the episode and forgives any technical and verbal gaffes I made. I'm still learning as I go in this endeavor, making mistakes and trying to produce something both fun and insightful! 

WELCOME HOME, ROXY CARMICHAEL (1990)

One of the many aspects I love and find fascinating about movie music is how many genres it can pull from to craft a specific sound for a film and still make it all feel organic, musically. It could mean incorporating a particular exotic instrument from a distant corner of the globe, such as the duduk from Armenia, featured in Jerry Goldsmith's score for THE RUSSIA HOUSE, or the serpent, the ancient wind instrument utilized by Bernard Herrmann in his music for MYSTERIOUS ISLAND. It might also be a particular style of music and not just restricted to the orchestral arena, but instead mixing in elements of rock, funk, country or electronica that could inspire a composer. This latter influence became more prevalent from the 1960's and onward, to the extent that scores performed entirely on synthesizers became more accepted and commonplace by the late 70's and into the 80's, and not only for low budget horror movies.  This brings me to composer Thomas Newman, who's synth-pop influenced film scores of the 1980's really drew my attention. 

Thomas Newman is film music royalty. Not only has he maintained a steady stream of high profile work and is considered among the most talented and lauded composers in recent decades, but Thomas also is kin to one of the main musical architects of the art form, that being Alfred Newman, a titan of the industry. Thomas Newman introduced a unique sound and idiosyncratic approach to film scoring, right from his debut, which set a fresh standard primarily for dramas and indies - see THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION and AMERICAN BEAUTY. His sound is now often imitated in a similar fashion as John Williams's sound is for space fantasy and Hans Zimmer's for action pictures. Check out Newman's opening piece for 1999's AMERICAN BEAUTY. Be amazed at how far-reaching its aural influence has been since its release, in movies, TV and reality shows, that sound of peculiar marimbas set against tablas, detuned guitars and mandolin. I imagine even Newman himself might have grown weary of hearing copycats in every corner.

Now, if we roll back the clock to 1985, it was the one-two punch of REAL GENIUS and THE MAN WITH ONE RED SHOE that made me a fan of Mr. Newman. Both movies are unequivocally representative of that flashy decade, a quality some might label as "dated", but I tend not to think of that as a negative. To me it simply means that they've become a sort of time capsule, even musically. At that time they would be considered current - electronic percussion and percolating synths all laced with jangly guitars in a style that melded well with vocal tracks sprinkled about, especially in REAL GENIUS. One can hear a synergy between the score and songs in this era, akin to how R&B and funk permeated movie music a decade earlier. As a side note, the fact that "Everybody Wants To Rule The World" by Tears For Fears closes out REAL GENUIS is probably why it became one of my favorite songs.

The downside of being a fan back then was that so little of Thomas Newman's music was being released on album. Also, for someone who mostly sought out film scores featuring a sprawling orchestral bent, I was surprised at how much Newman's sound connected with me. Other than owning some Duran Duran records, I didn't own much contemporary pop back then. Yet, it was Newman's use of guitars and synths that wound up influencing which indie/alternative bands I later followed, such as The Sundays, The Smiths, The Innocence Mission and Cocteau Twins. His music could be moody, reflective, then at turns both quirky and kinetic. It wasn't until 1990's WELCOME HOME, ROXY CARMICHAEL, a small-scale, forgotten drama featuring Winona Ryder and Jeff Daniels, that he finally received an album release all to himself, not sharing disc space with other artists or only getting one track. After catching the movie on HBO (it had cycled through cinemas pretty quickly), I was bowled over at finding the score in my local record store, picking it up on cassette, no less.

That was Summer 1991, same as my high school graduation and my initial stint as a busboy in a Mexican restaurant. Reflecting on it now, those three or so months between the end of high school and the start of college is kind of a sweet spot in life never again encountered. You're floating free from scholastic demands and expectations in both directions, nothing is yet weighing heavy on one's head, or at least mine felt unburdened. It was as if the next train carrying you further into life hadn't left the station yet, instead there was this respite allowing you time to mentally and emotionally unpack from those years, sort through it and then create space for the experiences that follow. Once you step foot onto that college campus as a freshman then you're on the way, pedal to the metal, forward motion has commenced and you're navigating that new terrain all while charting life beyond it. I'm not sure if I was aware of these thoughts that Summer, but I vaguely recall doing what I could to enjoy the brief pause before the "play" button was pressed again for the rest of my days.

Anyway, I brought that ROXY CARMICHAEL cassette into work with me on the day I purchased it. I placed it atop the ice machine in the wait station, the area where servers and bussers grabbed warm tortilla chips, watered-down salsa and soft drinks for the customers. Secretly I think I wanted someone to ask me about the cassette, just so I could share with them my fascination with movie music, especially seeing how this was kind of a contemporary title and sound. I remember how I was still getting accustomed to making friends outside of the school environment, figuring out what the hell do you talk about it if it's not homework, teachers and grades. One of the waiters spotted the cassette, noted the cover (same as the movie artwork seen at top left) and assumed it included some awesome bands. I of course exhaustively (for him) explained that it was actually the movie's score, there were no songs, no vocals included, all of which pretty soon made me into the "weird guy", the enigma on staff there. Oh well, everyone still respected my talents as a kick-ass busboy. And being considered weird there didn't result in any sort of ostracizing, instead it amazingly fostered closer friendships with co-workers.

There exists a wonderful variety in Newman's music for ROXY CARMICHAEL. It incorporates pop textures he'd displayed previously while embellishing this with his bourgeoning talents for purely orchestral tracks. The opening cue, "In A Closet", is led by a fragile, broken piano line, partnered with a plaintive saxophone, that's sweet yet sad. Thick guitars bring up the volume in "Little Black Bird". Heard elsewhere in subsequent tracks are nervous keyboard figures and quirky saxophones, sketching out succinct riffs. The climactic cue "Her Limousine" was always a standout, as it showcases a swelling string section that presages what would become Newman's primary sound a few years later, notably heard in THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION. He excels at this - bringing an emotional component that cuts through you, but in an oblique fashion, not saccharine or too on-the-nose. His music is often gorgeous in an unassuming manner.

Listen below for a sample track from ROXY CARMICHAEL, along with a dreamy cue titled "Day Grave" from Thomas Newman's score for 1987's LESS THAN ZERO. The latter was only recently, and thankfully, released on disc from La-La Land Records and has remained on consistent rotation for me since then. I couldn't help but share it here in this post, as it's swathed in the 80's sonorities I find still so magnetic.

RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK (1981), DUNKIRK (2017)

At a recent Hollywood Bowl concert I attended, I had a long time dream fulfilled.  Before you go imagining that I'm referring to seeing The Village People and Kool & The Gang together, know that you are incorrect, despite the level of fantastic achieved by that particular show. No, this dream of mine concerned a little movie you might have heard of called RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, It features a tuneful score by that unfortunately "obscure" composer, John Williams. OK, I'm just being cheeky, but to better color in the corners of this dream, I should mention that it originated when I was around 10 or 11 years old. I had the wish to someday see Williams' music for the famous truck chase through the desert performed live by an orchestra. Yes, my dream was that specific. Yes, the entire score is brilliant, even beyond the indelible theme for Indiana Jones, but that eight minute cue, propelling Indy from riding in the saddle of a white horse to furiously driving that battered German truck to a hideout, is a masterful, balletic mini-symphony. 

The venerable Hollywood Bowl has booked the LA Philharmonic often in recent years for live performances of film scores, including popular favorites BACK TO THE FUTURE and E.T. THE EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL. played in sync to picture for the entire length. This differs from other concerts where only brief score selections are performed, main themes and highlights. For the live-to-picture events, the orchestra performs center stage with a sprawling screen above them and after a time an audience can really get lost in the experience, to the point of forgetting that the music accompanying the movie is right in front of them, playing live. This can be an incredibly difficult task for both conductor and orchestra.  There can be upwards of 80 minutes of music to perform, exact sync points that need to be hit to complete the illusion and if there are any flubs they can't repeat that scene again as a do-over, which would be the case when recording the score in a studio.

Experiencing a movie in this venue, in this presentation, can be revelatory, prompting another look at the movie in question with fresh eyes.  On this night in August, there was a palpable buzz in the audience, as when they're anticipating a legendary pop star's performance. Everyone seemed eager, almost moreso than at the similar screenings I attended of E.T. and several HARRY POTTER films. Once esteemed conductor David Newman (an excellent composer in his own right) bounded onstage to lead the orchestra, the audience expressed its excitement at joining together in this cinematic adventure.  I don't think anyone was aware of this, but having the orchestra perform the score live to picture strangely gives this endeavor a sense of unpredictability, of possible danger, as if this is all happening for the first time.  For me, it opened up a new avenue by which to explore the movie, even after countless viewings over decades.

One instance early on that became more pronounced by the presence of the live orchestra was the introduction of Indiana Jones.  He remains shadowed during the opening credits trek, only stepping into the light after dispatching by way of his bullwhip the turncoat member of his team. Indy's reveal is accompanied by menacing, descending chords voiced by heavy, low brass.  The Hollywood Bowl audience cheered at the sight of star Harrison Ford's iconic character however I realized that in a musical vernacular this didn't sound at all like the introduction of the movie's hero. If one didn't know any better, you might assume this was villain. If I hadn't already been so familiar with the movie, I might be unsure of whether this taciturn man with a whip should be trusted.  I consider it a pretty clever touch by director Steven Spielberg, along with Williams, as they could have easily just underscored this moment with a flash of the bright, heraldic theme for Indiana Jones, retaining instead that element of mystery to him, even for a short time.

Another aspect brought to the forefront in this presentation is how sparsely scored RAIDERS is, especially in comparison to action films of the past twenty years or so.  Early on, not only are dialogue-driven scenes allowed to play naturally but additionally, that chaotic firefight in Marion's bar contains no notes to compete with the gunfire and fisticuffs. Williams's music only ratchets up the initial tension, backs out and then returns once Indy and Marion are safe.  I find this could be a stylistic holdover from cinema of the 1970's, an era when filmmakers typically favored less underscore and a more natural ambiance and pacing, the advantage being that once music does appear to punctuate a moment its emotional affect is that much more powerful.  Even action movies of the 70's featured sporadic cues, often bowing out of chase sequences altogether. Granted, RAIDERS is more of a period-specific adventure tale than pure action like DIRTY HARRY, but I think it does represent somewhat of a bridge musically speaking from that decade into the 80's. For contrast, simply take a look and listen to its sequel, INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM, produced three years later. Now, I don't mean to cast aspersions on the follow-up, as it has its own charms and rollicking fun, but almost every sequence from start to finish, outside of the village and palace dinner scenes, is scored. And despite the fact that Williams provides brilliant, memorable accompaniment throughout, I think it can lead to a sense of exhaustion before even reaching the last third of the movie.

This brings me to the recently released feature DUNKIRK, from writer/director Christopher Nolan, out this Summer, and the other focus of this post.  I happened to see this new film the day after seeing RAIDERS at the Hollywood Bowl. I was thoroughly engaged in the movie, as I have been with all of Nolan's cinematic efforts, from its twisty, staggered-linear narrative to the impressive flying sequences. However, one element of its construction stood out to me during the viewing, naturally regarding the score, composed by Hans Zimmer. I noted that once the music is introduced after the opening minutes it never lets up for the remainder of the movie. Not to sound hyperbolic, but honestly, I can't immediately recall any break in that sonic wall. I don't want this to be interpreted as a criticism, but instead an observation. Its effect is subjective, of course. Personally, I kept expecting there to be a scene when I could settle further into the movie, or that the movie itself would settle down for a moment to emphasize a point. There is a particular scene containing the unexpected death of a character and as it unfolded I thought to myself, why is the music still chugging through all this without acknowledging it in the slightest?  Or, why doesn't the score at the very least pause so that both me and the other characters can feel the weight of this unforeseen loss?

Live at The Hollywood Bowl

At the time, it annoyed me. Later, I reflected on this aspect a bit further. This may not be a case of just clumsy spotting (the process of deciding which scenes in a movie will or won't need music) by the director, attempting to plaster over every scene and treating the score as simple sonic wallpaper, for fear that silence would be perceived as dull. This is a familiar criticism among cine-files and aficionados. I've even made the same judgment myself on current filmmaking trends. However, Christopher Nolan crafts his movies carefully and thoughtfully. There normally isn't any superfluous or random element included, even when the length approaches three hours. I had to allow for the fact that this was entirely a purposeful creative choice.

Music's presence can compress how we experience time while watching a movie. The omnipresent prevalence of music in DUNKIRK could be tied to the three-pronged, staggered timeline of its story, displayed onscreen during the opening sequence as "one week", "one day" and "one hour". With no lapse in the score, that sense of time compression constantly accelerates the spiraling orbits of all three story lines. An intersection, or even collision between all three, feels inevitable, with music and editing as the driving engine. Any interruption in one would seem to increase its importance over the other two. If the music had shifted to acknowledge that one character's death I mentioned, then the audience's attention is pulled too far into that specific subplot.  I think Nolan needed the music to maintain an objective distance. Yes, this also results in the audience being kept at a distance emotionally, but we thus accept more easily slipping between the various plot threads and timelines. Only in the closing scenes is there a release musically when we can experience the elation and victory of the players in the film.

RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK and DUNKIRK occupy opposite ends of the spectrum in the category of World War II genre movies, as well as filmmaking styles overall. I considered the thirty-six year gap that separate them and the changes that have occurred during that range; then, as I often do with movies, turned that same number of years around and compared RAIDERS to what populated cinemas in 1945.  Our perception can be so skewed with movies - we might feel that RAIDERS doesn't seem like an "old movie", yet back in 1981 we certainly might have labeled movies from 1945 as "old". In that year, cinema-goers enjoyed OBJECTIVE BURMA!, starring Errol Flynn, and BACK TO BATAAN with John Wayne, both well regarded, venerable classics of the same genre. In comparing DUNKIRK against RAIDERS, the latter now appears more in line with films of the mid-1940's than it does to the new Nolan wartime epic. One might conclude, based on this observation, is that by 1981 the way films were constructed hadn't really altered too drastically, whereas the cinematic evolutions since then have been vast, like listening to music on LP versus streaming it via Spotify.  If we imagine movies as living things, they breathed differently in the analog era than in the current digital age. It's even more evident when enveloped by the sound of a living, breathing orchestra accompanying RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK live.

THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS (1957)

When I was just a young, burgeoning movie music fan during the 80's and 90's, delving into the scores from the earlier era known as the Golden Age of Hollywood seemed daunting. For one, my focus then was on what was current, especially since all my favorite composers were still engaged in numerous projects.  Every year I could look forward to hearing new music from John Williams, Jerry Goldsmith, James Horner, Alan Silvestri, Danny Elfman and others, so my soundtrack coffers were full, so to speak. Also, looking back through decades of movie history, hundreds of titles, I didn't know where to begin. And sadly, due to my own unfamiliarity with classics from that era and the folly of arrogant youth, I already assumed that I wouldn't connect with any of it.  Objectively I understood that gilded age as the foundation for what I loved in film scores, but there was no subjective insight, no personal link.  This changed when I was introduced to 1957's THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS, directed by Billy Wilder, starring Jimmy Stewart and featuring music by Franz Waxman.  

My dad led the introductions between me and this movie. I don't recall my exact age then, but I remember living in the house in Rocky Mount, which meant I was in high school. With a  myriad of towns and homes dotting the landscape of my life, it's starting to look a little blurry from this distance. Anyway, he'd recorded it on our reliable Betamax machine, from a local channel airing, with all attempts made to cut out commercials during the broadcast using our wired(!) remote with one single pause button. I wish I could remember if he said there was any particular reason to show me the movie. Before this, he had shared PATTON and THE BLUE MAX so that I could hear great examples of what Jerry Goldsmith composed prior to STAR TREK in 1979. Upon watching THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS, I understood exactly why he loved this movie, same as THE BLUE MAX - it was all about flying.

Of course, there is more to the story than that element. It essays the historic achievement of Charles Lindbergh's non-stop transatlantic flight from Long Island to Paris, in 1927, piloting a small single-engine plane called The Spirit of St. Louis. I was surprised to learn later that the movie wasn't a box office hit, mostly due to how production costs had ballooned as a result of the complicated flying sequences, far exceeding what they could gross in theaters.  I found it a riveting film. James Stewart confidently, effortlessly owns every frame, same as always. And directly from the opening bars, the music by Waxman courageously soars, with a gorgeous and noble melody that persistently climbs and powerful brass chords announcing success.  The theme elevates every sequence it underscores, whether it's the first test flight of The Spirit or Lindbergh's elated sighting of Ireland after many tedious hours crossing the Atlantic. It's a melody that seems to embody the daring and persistence of Lindbergh, but not in an aggressive fashion, while also echoing the untethered sensation of flight.  I hoped that there was a soundtrack available on record.

Eventually, following a measure of patience and effort, I stumbled across a copy of the soundtrack album. I can't recall exactly which brick & mortar store, unfortunately. For sure it was at least ten years later, probably once I moved to Chicago and checked out the downtown Tower Records. I wasn't likely to find such a older, out of print niche title in a North Carolina record store - sorry, North Carolina, but the truth hurts. So, this album held the distinction of being the first "golden age" era film score in my collection and Franz Waxman emerged as my gateway composer into Hollywood's movie music of yore. Listening to the THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS apart from the movie allowed me to better appreciate its expansive orchestral textures.  Approaching it from the vantage point of what I'd been exposed to musically thus far, I felt it had a kindred spirit in Jerry Goldsmith's THE BLUE MAX, both themes charting an exhilarating acoustic flight path. Waxman's ST. LOUIS could be heard as the possible precedent for BLUE MAX, which followed along only nine years later, in 1966.  This is a topic I wished I could have hashed out with my dad, to be able to A/B the two themes, to play the soundtrack albums back to back on a long road trip... I'm still interested in hearing his thoughts and opinions on stuff I like.

In delving further into that bygone era, I discovered many wonderful musical treasures, or at least discoveries that were new to me but well-known territory to soundtrack fans who preceded me. Of course I developed into a fan during the years when the sonic palette for movies was expanding, when synthesizers bolstered the orchestra and when challenging, avant garde techniques from the classical concert world had been integrated. This was my milieu, colored with the asymmetrical rhythms of Alex North, unexpected percussion from Jerry Goldsmith and unearthly electronic sounds by Christopher Young. I initially doubted whether I would connect with music that seemed conservative by comparison.

But in recent years, I've enjoyed a multitude of scores by Waxman, Erich Wolfgang Korngold, Alfred Newman, Max Steiner, Hugo Friedhofer and more, often thanks to many newly released, contemporary recordings of the music being performed by stellar orchestras and soloists.  This is the bedrock for the art form. There is a straightforward quality to it, like listening to rock and roll from its embryonic days, along with an unselfconscious nature as well. This was before there was a definable "film music" sound, although usually Max Steiner's KING KONG (1933) is credited as being ground zero for the template. And prior to Korngold's bright fanfares, no one knew what a Robin Hood or pirate film score should sound like. There didn't yet exist cliches to avoid or homages that were required, other than hewing close to a post-Romantic classical idiom. Movie music following this era, from the 1960's onward, either consciously shifted in an opposite direction (contemporary pop or classical styles) or referenced back to it (for nostalgia or a conscious homage).

Franz Waxman

Of course, there is a greater degree of theatricality to the Golden Age scores, more than what modern audiences are accustomed. The greater the sense of realism that today's movies achieve, the less they need evocative music to help elucidate a point, in fact they seem to avoid it (unfortunately). But in the early days of the industry, the best artists and craftspeople had often honed their talents beforehand in live theater or on the concert stage. This included the composers hired. Newman, Steiner, Waxman, Korngold and their peers brilliantly applied their sonic skills to movies in a similar fashion to how they would write for Broadway or a symphonic tone poem. As artists they seemed to treat movies no differently than the concert stage, it was just another forum for their music. I think this is why there is a specific exuberance to scores from this era that is difficult to match. They traded the proscenium stage for projected images on a screen. What they wrote was allowed to actually be realized as fully-formed pieces of music. The constant among the various forums was the rapt audience awaiting entertainment.

So, as the real-life aircraft, The Spirit of St. Louis, was the sturdy vehicle that transported Charles Lindbergh across the Atlantic Ocean, THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS as both movie and score, helped me journey into the landscape of Hollywood's past. Lindbergh's odyssey essentially carried him from the New World, that of New York, back to the Old World, that of Paris, France. If I keep this metaphor flying, I could equate a parallel that the music Franz Waxman composed for THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS ferried me from the "New World" of what had been my modern movie music at the time (the 80's and 90's) back into the "Old World" of classic Hollywood cinema. It was new ground for me. But now I could explore its established, "classical" musical avenues and enjoy alongside the "neo-classical" and post-modern avenues on my current film score shores.

THE FINAL CONFLICT: OMEN III (1981)

I remembering waking one morning several years ago and realizing that I had stopped wrestling with God. Or to frame it less metaphorically, wrestling with the general concept of God, and by extension, spirituality and religion. This doesn't equate to mean that I had acquiesced and accepted God (or some form of Him, Her or It). Instead I simply realized that ruminating and examining had ceased at some unnoticed point before that particular dawn.  My theory is that it was due to plain mental exhaustion. This proved a bit vexing for me, though. Cogitating on God had remained of fervent interest since I was a pre-teen, following the requisite family viewing over Easter of 1956's THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. Subsequently, and kind of like the Burning Bush speaking to Moses, this lit a fire of excitement in me to crack open the family Bible and uncover all the backstory. I wanted to figure out whether God had a place in my life. It was a decision I could only accomplish after having collected as much data as possible, because in all honesty, I really never felt comfortable with God.

I began with Genesis, with The Word as it declares, and determinedly plowed ahead, at least up through either Joshua or Judges.  I spent weeks (probably months) reading the Old Testament as if it were "Gone With The Wind" or "War and Peace" - a long, expansive narrative parading a massive cast of characters.  The thing is, and this shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, I don't imagine the Old Testament was intended to be absorbed in such a linear fashion, even though all those varying tales and lists had been arranged in a semblance of chronological order. Years later, I would compare reading J.R.R. Tolkein's "The Silmarillion" to this biblical undertaking. Both weighty tomes chart our history from the beginning of the world and continue to drive forward inexorably through millennia, all without a recognizable, conventional story arc or structure and with characters who drift in and out of the action. There's no sturdy, center spine unless you count God vs. Man in one and gods vs. elves in Tolkein. Nevertheless, I found it mostly engrossing - wondering about the historicity of it all and somewhat unnerved by God's seemingly fickle nature and vengeful demeanor.

When I started writing fiction in high school and throughout college, whether for a class or for myself, my stories inevitably preoccupied themselves with religion, yet in a cynical and disillusioned manner. They were populated by isolated, broken characters struggling to reconcile with God and often outright digging in their heels against the concept. Tales I recall penning included one of Jesus returning to Earth only to find himself committed for mental disorders, one of souls drafted into celestial wars between angels and another about a prostitute named Nickel transported through time to the tomb of Jesus after he'd been laid there to rest. Frustratingly, I rarely had endings for these stories when I set them to paper. I felt compelled to start them nonetheless. I'm suspected that my creative writing teachers tired of my obsessive circling on the topic, though they never complained, and just offered friendly critiques.  It's as if I wanted a place for spirituality in my life yet found I was incapable of accomplishing this by way of belief in a higher power.  I attempted many times - church-going, praying, befriending those of strong, outward faith. Sadly, it always felt akin to wearing someone else's ill-fitting overcoat. Or, on reflection, like faking my way through a relationship for the benefit of the other person.

In college, I signed on for classes focused on the Old and New Testament, along with detours to cover the Gnostic Gospels, studying it all from a historical perspective, not a spiritual or dogmatic platform. I needed to learn truths about what I read, the actual origins. I must have been searching for irrefutable reasons to not subscribe to a faith, a way to "logic" my way out of believing in anything. Some part of me wished there to be more to our visible life, a supernatural realm and destination for our souls, but I was unable to accept blindly what religion presented. I was told by some that I already owed Jesus my faith as his cruel death on the cross abolished my sins.  Well, I never asked for that, I would reply, it was a debt I never consciously volunteered for.  It was comparable to receiving a jury summons for court in a different city and being forced to show up, no way to opt out. To boot, I instinctually recoiled at being folded into organized groups, which makes it pretty tough to count myself among members of a church, any church, whether Christian, Jewish, Quaker or miscellaneous. I can't pray or sing hymnals with others.  Of course I wish I could.  I hate that my chest would tighten and I rejected the open arms offered.  Then I worried that God, in whatever form, would be offended by this, wondering why I can't allow the stubborn stones of my own personal walls of Jericho to simply tumble.

It might appear to be a long road from that beginning to reach 1981's THE FINAL CONFLICT, the film score focus of this post. This was the second sequel to THE OMEN, from 1976, with 1978's DAMIEN: OMEN II sandwiched in between, all three scored by Jerry Goldsmith. In fact, Goldsmith won his only Oscar for THE OMEN, a well-deserved honor for sure, although he really should've won for almost everything he was nominated (PATTON, anyone?). This unplanned horror movie trilogy depicts the biblical character of the Anti-Christ, born as a child, named Damien, unknowingly raised into a normal life and the tragic deaths that surround him as he discovers his own apocalyptic purpose. What's the connection? Why wouldn't I instead choose to write about THE TEN COMMANDMENTS since that seemed to spark my religious exploration?  The quick answer is Goldsmith's music, but this isn't to draw any comparisons to or cast aspersions on composer Elmer Bernstein's score for THE TEN COMMANDMENTS.  I adore Bernstein's music yet this never became a favorite and the film itself I only revisited whenever it was broadcast during Easter.

Now, I've never been one for horror movies.  I can't stomach the gore or have fun with the tension and usually the terrible ways by which characters are killed give me nightmares. However, add in a score by a favored composer? Bonus points. Remove any masked, slashing stalker?  Double bonus points, my interest is piqued. Hence, THE OMEN series, along with THE EXORCIST (1973), POLTERGEIST (1982), HELLRAISER (1987), THE RAPTURE (1991) and others, were movies I found both intriguing and terrifying. The subject matter was presented in a deadly serious manner, for better or worse, with often literal interpretations of biblical prophecies intruding on present-day life. This was far different than watching a religious-themed epic set in the distant past. This was God and the Devil inserted brusquely into modern times, enacting a fierce struggle that allowed for no gray areas, no uncertain terms, ending in horrible consequences for everyday people. I really don't know why I tortured myself, other than for simply checking out the music. If I wasn't going to believe, why give myself anxiety over depictions of Armageddon?  Back then, as essayed in my earlier post on NIGHTBREED, there was a magnetism to these dark topics, a dangerous allure, threaded into my sense of isolation and confusion.

Goldsmith's music for THE FINAL CONFLICT is, for me, the standout from all three, though I absolutely acknowledge that THE OMEN initially set both the musical template and a trend, for this series and for horror movie music overall. His score for THE FINAL CONFLICT showcases remarkable new material, the highlight being the first glimpse of hope after the two preceding entries in the form of a major mode, exultant theme for the Second Coming.  Alongside this resides a new theme for the now adult character of Damien. It is powerfully voiced by brass and full not just of menace but also tinged with a smug, arrogant quality. This dichotomy of melodic material culminates in a glorious finale of orchestra and chorus, musically painting the arrival of Christ (yes, even a mostly mediocre movie like this earns stripes when the Son of God glowingly appears to cap things off). Surprisingly, there is a good deal of beautiful string-led passages, carrying a pious, humble tone, specifically to underscore the cadre of monks who track down Damien in an effort to kill him.  This contrasts against yet another element - a threatening, persistent, steady ostinato, heard often in the basses, harp and pizzicato strings.  This uncomplicated figure provides a motor which propels the scenes of death and destruction like the measured, assured pace of fate.

In a larger context, what's also fascinating about THE FINAL CONFLICT is that by the time Goldsmith worked on this project, his sound had modified since the original.  In the mid-Seventies, when the THE OMEN had been composed, his style was sparser and leaner, with more transparent orchestrations evident in smaller instrumental groups. Even with the additional mixed choir, THE OMEN score feels exposed, unsympathetic. Advance six years later and Goldsmith had entered the lush, post-Romantic period of his career. This seemed partially owed his own developing interests as an artist coupled with movies to which he signed on.  Big budget, handsomely produced films such as STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE, THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL, LOGAN'S RUN and THE GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY called out for sumptuous accompaniment and he responded brilliantly. Interestingly enough, this period persisted and evolved, coloring his music throughout the 80's, even through subject matter as diverse as action (FIRST BLOOD, THE CHALLENGE), war (INCHON), fantasy (LEGEND) and animation (THE SECRET OF N.I.M.H.).  THE FINAL CONFLICT's grandiloquent orchestral/choral landscape paved the way for both POLTERGEIST and THE SECRET OF N.I.M.H. in the following year.  Delving into Goldsmith's canon, it's fun to imagine how different each score would sound if it had been composed just five years before or five years hence.

THE FINAL CONFLICT, along with multiple soundtracks composed by Christopher Young, Elliot Goldenthal and Danny Elfman, underscored much of my writing and thinking back then. However, out of all those horror-themed scores I once listened to, this one remains in rotation. I'm not sure what happened with all the rest, they're still great scores, but I just don't seem to need them as much anymore, if that makes any sense. I think they reflected a part of me that has diminished over the years. THE FINAL CONFLICT remains simply because of the Goldsmith factor, it's one of his top achievements from the 1980's.

My writing eventually shifted away from the tortured, conflicted tone, away from being treatises on loneliness, anger and isolation. By my thirties, writing fiction ceased altogether. Did I age out of it? And did I age out of wrestling with God? I then made less space on my reading list for books on religion. Emotional and intellectual investment waned. It began to feel as if I was studying curriculum for a course that had long since ended. At times I miss it - that grasping for meaning and a sense of the divine to each day. Even with no resolute answers unearthed, it endured as a vibrant part of my younger life. Upon reflection, I recognize that the endeavor to contemplate God, religion, its historicity and one's own spirituality is what keeps it present and alive. While I once struggled over choosing a faith and having that define me, I now consider that the act of searching for belief can be just as fulfilling as living with it.    

Listen below for music from THE FINAL CONFLICT. The first track underscores the fox hunt sequence (Damien's theme heard at :50 into the track) while the second track is the final cue of the film. The latter is a recent, wonderful recording performed by The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorus.