filmmakers

There is a famous anectdote about film composer David Raksin, who challenged Alfred Hitchcock on his decision not to have music in his 1944 film, Lifeboat.  Hitchcock’s thesis was  “Out in the middle of the ocean, where’s the orchestra?”   Raksin, famous for his quick wit, replied  “Out in the middle of the ocean, where’s the camera?”.  Where indeed.

They both had a point.  Music in film is a tricky thing, because it’s a highly artificial element.  It usually works on an emotional level, and care has to be taken so that it doesn’t take the viewer out of the experience.

This Magic Moment…

Determining where to enter a scene is one of the more delicate challenges in film scoring.  The more subtle the moment, the easier it is to ruin with a bad, stumbling, or overwrought entrance.

The ‘moment’ is hard to pin down.  Beyond what you get in terms of ins and outs in the spotting session with the filmmaker, it’s a gut thing.  Sometimes, a few frames one way or the other can make all the difference, and I’ve seen cues nudged even on the dubbing stage.  There are different ways to enter, depending on the scene.  Sometimes it’s slow and building – the cue will edge in, perhaps with a single note, building from almost inaudible to it’s full statement.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, it might be a jarring entrance, shocking the viewer purposely – that one is much easier to deal with – no subtlety required!  Getting out also warrants attention, and might be the same in reverse.  The trick is to follow the emotional shifts in a scene – which doesn’t mean hitting the nail on the head – you might come in just in advance or just behind that moment.  At those times, you are doing a delicate dance with the onscreen action, carefully taking turns steering the audience reaction without giving away too much or feeling like a late starter.

Massage in a Bottle

One of the reasons it’s important to make these considerations is to not let the device of music and it’s function be noticed by the viewer, taking them out of the experience.  This is not to say the music should not be noticed!  There is a difference between the music being noticed, and the music being noticed as a device, just as you don’t want to see the grip step into frame, or the shadow of the boom mic in the background.

Imagine you are getting a massage.  One technique masseurs use is that once they make contact with you, they always maintain it throughout the session – one hand will always be touching your skin.  This prevents the sudden unwanted surprise of the touch leaving or returning, as you are somewhat visually impaired by having your head in that toilet seat cushion thing!  Music in film should work the same, except your head should not be in the toilet, your head should be in the story!  Once music is established in a scene, the audience should not be aware of the music departing (without reason of course), and music should normally depart only when the scene dictates that it’s requirements have been met (the massage session is over).  This might character driven – something will change in the motivation or apprehension of a character, and the music follows suit.  If the music suddenly disappears without clear motivation, the audience will try and rationalize it, which messes up the story-telling, or worse, they’ll just think it’s poor film-making (which it is).

Up next – Fades fades fades fades

What is film music?

When Emmy Award winning composer and educator Richard Bellis talks about a common error of new composers, he cautions that they should not score their impression of a scene, as this is redundant.   Rather, the music should say what the scene isn’t saying or cannot say.  This impressionistic tendency is also something which inexperienced filmmakers request.  If you have a sad scene, and you simply throw in sad music, or a funny scene and you have funny music aping the action,  the result will often be very amateurish and unsophisticated, because the music is not fulfilling a necessary purpose.  If music can be thought of as another character in a film, imagine an off-screen actor parroting the on-screen actor’s lines verbatim.  What use is that?  Does that further the objectives of the work?

Let’s go back, waaay back… ok, not that far…

One way to begin thinking about the sometimes complex and subtle function of film music is to consider it’s functional history.   Again, I have to credit Bellis for this concise way of looking at it.

The first role of music was fairly utilitarian – to cover up the noise coming from the projector in the theater.  Any music would do, and was performed by a pianist at the front of the theatre.  It had no relation to the action on screen.

Once projector was moved to the booth, music started to be used in silent films to fill in for sound and dialogue, and began to relate to on-screen action, though most of the music was either standard classical repertoire or even improvised on the spot.

When the “talkies” arrived, music provided color and scope for black and white films.  Once technicolor arrived, music stood in for all the sex and special effects that could not be shown, due to censorship or technical limitations.

Now that we can show sex scenes in living color while talking CGI dinosaurs stomp through the ruins of a city with no projector noise to ruin the fun, the role of music has become very subtle.

Play it against, Sam…

I like to think of music as being an emotional alchemical substance.  It’s the medium that can translate emotion and also turn it to gold – something bigger than the mundane; profound and powerful.  It can also be whispering the secret lives of the story and the characters.

I recently had a great conversation with a filmmaker after a panel on music in film.  She wanted my advice on what kind of music to have to support a specific scene in her film.  The character had just undergone a hugely traumatic incident, and suddenly runs out of the apartment and into the streets, as if to escape events, even life itself.  She imagined a very powerful drumming, something huge and driving to underscore the events.  I wondered if this was the best approach – wasn’t that simply a re-statement of what was already on-screen?  I argued instead that the music should speak to what the audience cannot see or hear – that this is a very personal, emotional moment, but that to one person, it will feel like the biggest thing that has ever happened.  The music might then, instead, be intimate and tragic.  This would contrast against the violent physicality of running away, and connect the audience to the emotional story of what is happening.

I like this example because it shows how music can change the way a visceral scene is perceived by the audience by playing against the action, and getting to the ‘heart’ of the story.

Whatchoo talkin’ bout, Bruce Willis?

The question that is asked, in order to really understand the problem, is: “Who or what is the scene really about?”.  Again, if music is another character in the film, then the spotting session is like a table read for the actors.  You are finding the motivation.  It’s thematic, story and character driven.  In a chase scene, you don’t tell the actor “Ok, this is the chase, so act like you are being chased!”.  No – the director and actor determine the reason they are running away and that’s what drives the action of the chase.  Music does the same; while you see the actor running, the music (for example) might give the audience a look into their mind, motivation, emotions.

In the next installment, I’ll explore ‘the moment’ – when and how music can successfuly get in and out of a scene.

Classy Chassis Car Show – Photo by Jay Lee (baldheretic)

Recently, I had a meeting with a composer friend who had recently set up a drum kit in his studio.  We wanted to make a casual night of experimenting with mic placement, to see what kind of sounds we could get with his set up.  For non-studio geeks this all sounds pretty academic and dry, so while I was explaining to another friend what I was up to that night, I realized I could use an analogy based on her interest in photography: “It’s like lighting a scene”, I said, “the drum kit is our subject, and we are experimenting with different mic positions, just as you would have different lighting setups in a photo shoot.”  It then struck me that you can actually draw pretty compelling analogies across the board between Film and Music.

Lighting = Microphones: moving microphones around changes the ’scene’ and how it’s perceived in a similar fashion to lighting in film.

Camera = Microphones + Mixing board/Recording device: the mic’s act as the lens of the camera, and the film stock/digital capture is like the recording device that captures the performance, be it analog tape or digital.

Set/Location = Studio/Reverb: the set is the environment which is captured, in which the performances live, and so it is with the recording studio.  Alternately, ’spaces’ can be created using reverbs after the performance is captured.

Actors = Musicians: Actors interpret the screenplay, musicians the musical score.  Actors use their bodies and voices to create the performance, musicians use their bodies and their instruments.  Similarly, Voice/Dialogue = Instruments/Music.

Script = Musical Score, and Screenwriter = Composer

Director = Composer/Conductor: the analog of the director’s job may get split on the scoring stage, where the conductor may not be the composer.  However, the conductor is working to realize the composer’s vision, and thus might be seen as an Assistant Director.

D.O.P. = Scoring Engineer: the D.O.P. controls how the scene will be captured and how it will look – the Scoring Engineer provides the same service using microphones, a mixing board, and recording medium.

CGI = Samples/Synthesis: both are simulations of reality, but are intended to elicit the same emotion from the audience as would an ‘organic’ source.

And here we come to an interesting point.

There is a problem with my last analog.

In order to understand this, we have to understand how a sample works.  Sampling is primarily used in the world of film/media scoring to re-produce the sounds of instruments which a production may not have the time or money to afford.  The most common are used in place of the symphonic orchestra, and lately to replace performances of rare/unusual or so-called ‘ethnic’ instruments – such as the Duduk, which has become very popular, but for which competent players are both hard to find and expensive to hire.  Instead, a sample library is created by a company, which hires a player and/or ensemble to be recorded playing individual notes through all dynamic ranges, with as many effects and nuances as possible.  These are then programmed for one or more commercially available ’samplers’ – devices (hardware or software) used to trigger these sounds using a keyboard or other MIDI device.  There are often layers to each note,  so if I load a brass section sample, and hit the key softly, it will trigger the sample of the section playing that note softely.  If I hit it harder, the corresponding louder, fuller, brassier sounding sample is triggered.  You can see the implications – with a professional rig and sample libraries I can create, for a much smaller cost, a score consisting of a full orchestra, 100 person choir, and a Taiko drum ensemble, which will sound very much like the real thing.  Almost.

So whazza problem?

Since we are looking at analogs, imagine this.  A filmmaker is creating a CGI set for her film, so she accesses her ’sample library’ of set pieces.  She looks at an apartment block, a rural scene (with an option ‘gently flowing river’ plug-in), and from a more exotic location package, the ‘Downtown Tokyo’ sample.  Drag and drop, bam – there’s her scene.   Then, it’s to the ‘Actors’ folder, where she finds ‘Hollywood Hunks’ and chooses number 6  of the set a 8.  This one is a brilliantly recorded sample of Brad Pitt, and has 168 facial expression layers and 97 ‘physical actions’, and a full range of syllables and consonants, allowing for the construction of any dialogue, in a range of emotional states (Brad-mad, Brad-sad, and Brad-glad).  She continues this way until she is ready to start ’sequencing’ her film, adding in her script with it’s dialogue and actions.

If every film was made this way, we would eventually be looking at the same ’samples’ of everything.  There would be no nuance, no dynamics, no edge, no life.  It would be a pre-packaged, slickly packaged and homogeneous mass – the same Pitt-sample with the same Tokyo-background sample saying it’s dialogue with the same pre-determined range of inflections.   Sure, many films use the standard stock footage of the New York fly-over to establish location, but we are talking about what amounts to an entire film made only of stock footage and stock acting.

No filmmaker I know of would accept this, and yet, more and more, music made of  ’samples’ is accepted as fulfilling its important role as an emotional alchemical substance in film and media.

The Challenge

There are, of course,  reasons why this situation exists, primarily having to do with time and money.  But is this good enough?  I think that we all need to begin to think more creatively about how we work, and what we produce.  We need to begin imagining situations where it is both financially and within the constraints of time, possible to make supporting musical products which fulfill and exceed their requirements, and which have a real, tangible, unique, and effective signature.  Everyone is copying everyone elses copy of something – we need to do better.  Not every film needs a gigantic orchestral score that it may not be able to afford – can the same emotional goals be achieved using a different method?  I strongly believe they can – and it will be to everyone’s advantage.  There are ways of working quickly and cost-effectively to deliver music which will add tremendous value to the production – a unique proposition to the filmmaker who receives a score that works, and sounds unlike any other.

Photo by Craig Elliott

Don’t be ashamed of your own ideas. Most musicians get applauded for sounding like someone else. People try something out that they think is exciting, and everyone looks a little unsure. Then they play an old James Brown riff and everyone’s saying: ‘Wow! That’s what we want!’ Most of the time musicians are being encouraged to sound recognizable. What I’m doing [as a producer] is encouraging them at the points when they’re not.
- Brian Eno

Who Are You?

An aspect of being an artist is the path to finding your voice. Your ‘voice’ is your signature, your ‘thing’, that which you get known for, something to which you become associated. Sometimes, even, it’s a schtick. If you think of any successful artist, someone who stood the test of time, you’ll note one particular trait – they had a unique voice. They did something no-one else did, or they did something far better than anyone else. This is something you want to cultivate, for a number of reasons.

Karma Chameleon

Composers working for media have a special challenge in this area. Generally, you are expected to be aware of, and be able to compose in, any style imaginable – NOW. I’ve scored an episodic show where I went from comic opera to Joe Pass jazz, then to purposely cheesy PSA music to porn, 50’s bubblegum pop, to copping Prokofiev ballet, then to afro-cuban, and even more. To have these styles in your arsenal, and to be able to say ‘yes’ when asked to genre-hop, is a necessary skill especially when you are getting established.

It’s your thing – do what you want to do

Being versed in many styles is great for your musicianship and breadth. However, this is not your ‘voice’. It’s unlikely you’ll get very far specializing in ALL styles – it’s a bit of a contradiction in terms! What you want is for people to think of you as the person who is the go-to for “X” , but also a capable and professional expert who is also able to adapt and stretch to meet any demand.

You need to differentiate yourself from all those people who are doing the stuff everyone else is doing!

Right now, there are thousands of emerging composers out there, who are trying to emulate the heroes du jour – John Williams, John Powell, Danny Elfman, and Hans Zimmer, to name a few. Some argue that if a producer or director want John Williams, they’ll call him. WELL… yes, and no. No, if they don’t have 1/2 a million in their budget for John’s fee. So yes, the guys who can do ‘that sound’ will get calls.

However, there are two problems with this scenario:

1. The only way to compete in this area is to be THE BEST at it.

2. This is a limiting way to build a career. You might become known as the person who can do Zimmer, and when that goes out of vogue, or worse, when someone wants something original, you could lose.

It’s a short term career move.

Don’t imitate it, don’t abandon it – FILTER IT

This will happen naturally anyways – but try to cultivate your sound when you work. Create a mental environment condusive to this – this means that you have to stop judging your work when it really starts to SOUND LIKE YOU, and instead, recognize it as a good thing and push forward in those crazy directions! You have to develop an awareness of what you do that makes you unique. It doesn’t have to be the most insane thing ever, either – it can be simple. My thing is the guitar – I want to create scores using the guitar in unusual ways. Even if no guitar sounds appear in the final recording, I will use the guitar to compose – and THAT will end up helping to give the score it’s signature – because it’ll be different had I done it another way. I ‘own’ the guitar as a tool, it is part of me and my process.

Do Something Different

Be a little more daring. Try something you think might not work. Pick up a new instrument. I’m getting into instruments from around the world – the Bansuri is my current favorite. This year I plan to learn how to play violin, and eventually I’m going to get a Guzheng. Getting into a different way of playing can really open some doors to different ways of working, new ideas, and a unique path. Study a different style of music, study different composers. Open up – and filter what you learn. Don’t get too bogged down in details – it’s not an academic excercise. Even if you can’t play well, you will come up with some ideas that are unlike what you’d normally develop. Learn fast and take what you learn and make it your own. Each instrument seems to naturally lend itself to doing different things, which is why sometimes you can break out of a rut by composing on an instrument different than what you usually use.

The Devil is in the Sampler

One of the weird things about being a composer these days is watching a film or TV show, and hearing a sample you recognize. I KNOW that one “Thunder Ensemble” hit with the singing bowl ringing overtone from StormDrum2. I even know what velocity level it was triggered at. It’s a damn good sample, too. That’s a little disconcerting when I’m using it for another project – makes it feel a little… cheap. Like cheating. Now, I’m not against samplers, libraries, sounds, and effects, etc. But it’s worthwhile to invest some time into how you can differentiate, even in this area. How your sound, is… well, your SOUND – like a guitar player has their particular sound. Stevie Ray Vaughn, Jimie Hendrix, Al Di Meola – these guys play different and they also SOUND different – it’s the TONE. Experiment with your samples. Tweak them. Use them “incorrectly” – play instruments out of their compass or pitch range. Use effects.

A Balancing Act

The one caveat in all of this, of course, is that it is important to stay current. Like the ability to compose in any style, you will be asked to sound en vogue. But it is possible to balance this with a striving to be unique, different… memorable. One of a kind. A Go-To.

All things under the Sun

This kind of thinking naturally extends to your whole music business, aka your BRAND. How you present yourself – visually, personally, the myth or legend, or story you create about yourself. This all gives a context to the music and how it is perceived, and can add to your value as a composer. It’s how well you can sell yourself and your ideas, the kind of music you produce. If you build yourself to be a special kind of composer, then people will see you that way and will look to you to deliver your specialty. I will be looking at the idea of ‘myth building’ in a later blog.

Speakeasy

How do you differentiate? Do you have some great examples of artists making it work for them? (one of my favorites is Carter Burwell). How do you strike a balance between doing it all V.S. doing one thing?

Photo by Roger Do Minh used under CC liscence

In a recent article, I detailed the journey I took with a director, crafting a cue through several versions to arrive at the final product which worked with the scene just the right way. More than knowledge of music, talent, or ability on an instrument, very important is your ability to effectively communicate with the director, and your ability to analyze, understand, and translate their vision and story into musical ideas which work to picture.

Don’t even say ‘crescendo’!

You should be able to do this without speaking one word of musical jargon.

The language of film music is primarily the language of emotion, and when speaking about how the music can/should work in a scene, you want to use these terms as descriptors – laymans terms, non-academic speak. Words like afraid, stubborn, furious, joyful, mysterious, distant, dark, hopeful, etc. Words that describe the film, the themes, actions, characters… not the music.

This isn’t a dumbing down of musical concepts for someone with no knowledge of music – the director may well be versed in music, even to a high degree. The point is that you are there to serve the vision of the director, and the director is telling a STORY. You have to set up a framework for talking about the story, and I have found it makes it easier, more efficient and consistent, and pleases directors, if you speak in their language – the language of emotion, character, themes, and story. It’s your job (and happy challenge) as a composer to turn those ideas into music.

“He really GETS me, you know?”

The other aspect to this complex relationship is trust. If you can watch the film, read the script, and accurately analyze it with an attention to detail and passion that shows you really GET the film and care about the project, you will be on your way to earning the trust of the director. Try to see it from their point of view – it’s their baby – they love the characters, they believe in the story, the message, the themes. They know the work inside out. If you demonstrate a sophisticated understanding of the themes, make connections between a characters actions and what that means to scene 237, if you see how a camera angle or a prop has a deeper meaning that connects the film together, they will be more apt to trust your musical instincts and ideas.

Sorry, what was that again? I said, learn to be a GREAT listener

I try to get directors to talk about the film, their motives for making it, what they love about it, and the characters, themes, and story, before anything else. I want to discuss and analyse their film, to make sure I really understand their vision. Only after this, once I have established some basic trust and rapport, do I say, ok, let’s talk about the music. What did YOU have in mind? What my ideas are, what I want to have happen, this comes pretty much dead last. Again, this is a part of the business that you have to be ok with – I love the collaborative process, and I love having parameters, a framework within which to work. I absolutely ADORE analyzing films and literature. And, I almost always find a way to satisfy my own artistic desires within this process. But don’t forget, you are there to serve someone elses vision – it’s not a servile position – you are an expert, but your own desires take a back seat.

Literally speaking…

Knowing the story, the themes, the characters and their motivations inside out can be a great help to actually writing the score, especially in terms of overall structure. Shorter forms are easy to deal with, but the score to a feature film can be likened to a symphony, where as much as 60 minutes of music and more might be required. How do you ensure a consistent, balanced, and thematically connected work emerges? One thing I like to do is look at what is happening in the film and apply it quite literally to musical ideas. There is a micro and macro aspect to this – scene by scene, in moments, and also in terms of the story as a whole, the arc. Once you have written a theme for a character, for instance, it may be that the character becomes more broken, alienated, hollow as the film progresses. Think of the musical theme – can you write a variation that will sound this way? Can you ‘break’ the theme, and alienate it from it’s harmony? Can you orchestrate something which sound hollow? Of course! Now you have a simple framework for creating something quite quickly, which will give the audience a subliminal insight, a deeper emotional understanding. This particular example might not work in all cases – sometimes, you play counter to the action or theme, so a different tack might be needed. But consider it – work out some descriptors for characters, themes, storylines, and see if you can’t find a sophisticated way to incorporate those.

Capisce?

When you return with your first cues in hand, you can impress a director and solidify their trust by actively demonstrating that you’ve been listening, that you understand what they are doing – especially if you talk in their language. It’s the same as when you visit a foreign country – the people that are native will be very impressed and happy when you demonstrate a knowledge of their language and customs – it’s simple – it shows respect and a desire to communicate.

Do you have some interesting ways of working with directors? Do you use the story in interesting ways?