Music

Burt Bacharach: “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” (1969)

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BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID follows the money-laundering exploits of two inseparable comrades at the turn of the 19th century. Viewers are treated to magnificent vistas of the Utah countryside, the ever-charming brotherly humour between Butch and Sundance, as well as curiously sparse musical accompaniment.

Scored by Burt Bucharach, the film is perhaps more widely known for its song “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head”, which Bucharach wrote with lyricist Hal David. A total of 26 minutes of music appeared in the film’s 112-minute runtime.

What merits discussion is how the music was spread within BUTCH, as opposed to a more recent film. In an equal situation in contemporary films—say, 20-30 minutes of music in a 100-minute runtime—the music is often broken up into extremely small fragments, sometimes lasting only a few seconds, such as smoothing a change of setting or even just scaring the audience with a single sting. Such films—sometimes deliberately, sometimes not—simply don’t allow any room for the music to breathe: there’s just too much trying to be crammed in. BUTCH, on the other hand, is a telling example of the far other end of the spectrum—where there’s just so much space and room for the plot to unfold, that hardly any music is needed. You know what the characters are thinking; you don’t need to be told by the music. You know when the characters are in trouble; you don’t need pulse-pounding action music to make your heart race. In fact, almost none of the action sequences have any music at all; on the contrary, Bacharach instead opts to focus all his strengths on character development, which is perhaps why the characters of BUTCH seem so grounded in reality, despite the somewhat over-exaggerated lifestyle of a criminal.

No, the music of BUTCH is as relaxed as the film’s cinematography; firmly grounding the characters of Butch and Sundance in the viewer’s mind before bringing them into tense situations, and then letting the viewer come to their own conclusions, rather than being told what to think by aggressively-placed music around every corner.

That’s enough of what BUTCH’s music is not, and onto what it is: an upbeat, bright meandering of the 60’s doo-wop variety; a solo accordion featured as the characters discuss their future; as well as the toe-tapping rendition of “Raindrops”, as heard throughout the montage of Butch showing off the newly-invented bicycle to Anna. The scene below is well-representative of Bacharach’s placement of the music in the film, often extended sequences with no sound or dialogue—not in short fragments like some of today’s productions, but in deliberately longer segments—leading to a superiority of music over other elements of the picture, at least while it’s playing. This is a far cry from some films today, where the music is turned down so low under character dialogue (or is obliterated by sound effects) that it might as well not be there. No, the music of BUTCH is intelligently placed within the narrative, and freely allowed to shine on its own. That’s enough of a rant about today’s films—enjoy the brief segment below.

EDIT: Here’s another clip, which occurs midway during the film; a montage of successful robberies in Bolivia.

Eric Whitacre’s Advice for Young Composers

Just a quick link to a recent article by contemporary choral composer Eric Whitacre, on the importance of submitting to competitions. The one point that stood out the most was: ‘never submit to a contest that requires an entrance fee.’ True, when you consider that most of these type of competitions are run by very well established groups, thus making the chances of being chosen very slim. Whitacre also has two other articles aimed at fledgling composers: one about notation and another referencing youngcomposers.com. Take a look!

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Two Theories of Writing Music

I’ve recently been reading a lot of Music for the Films, a hugely relevant book by the two German-American immigrant composers Hanns Eisler and Theodor Adorno. Even more striking than the book’s content and criticisms is the fact that it was written in 1947, yet it sounds like it was written yesterday. The 40s and 50s were the the tail end of Hollywood’s Golden Age, with a huge amount of new films being produced every year (Read: Film Music of the 1940s), featuring such industry giants as Max Steiner, David Raksin, and Alfred Newman. Unfortunately, it was also during this time that the studio system reached maturity, ever tightening its vice-like grip over the creative rights of all individuals involved. Absurd rules were in place: exact specifications on the length and form of opening titles, in extreme cases the inability to use any minor chord in said titles, to such nuisances as the inability to write music which didn’t stem from a source on screen (also known as underscore, which we now take mostly for granted.) It’s almost hard to believe that film composers didn’t walk off the job—until you realize that this was among the most profitable careers in the wake of the Second World War.

To a lesser extent, modern film composers have to deal with these same problems. Probably the most deplorable stipulation in practice today is that, upon signing off their completed music, composers no longer own any rights to it—the studio does. This isn’t to say that composers don’t get any royalties—many mainstream composers could stop writing today and live the rest of their lives quite comfortably—but that the composer can no longer use their ‘locked’ music in ways that they see fit. I won’t get into many more details here, but do have a look at the article after the jump.

Anyways, the intent of this post was to relate two ‘new’ approaches to the composition of music, both of which appear in the introduction to Music for the Films. These may or may not lead to a higher quality of work, but are at least relevant to keep in mind while creating.

  1. The ‘camera’ analogy – music with focus, similar to a camera’s depth of field. You can choose to focus wherever you want—foreground, middle, back—but there’s always something out of focus; patterns or sonorities whose edges aren’t clearly defined. For example, the easiest way to define your focus might be with dynamics—as simple as having some elements come forward while pushing others back. Other possibilities could be the relative rate of new events—in this case the layer with the most activity becomes the one in focus—or something as simple as introducing the damper pedal on a piano. The amount of difference between what you define as ‘blurry’ and ‘not blurry’ determines the depth of field which your music will exhibit.
  2. Music that is appealing on all levels. This one’s a little more up in the air, so I’ll stick to the basics for now. The idea is that the composer writes with multiple perspectives in mind, taking care to make sure that each is satisfying unto itself. Take Bach as an example—the musically uneducated can easily acknowledge the complexity without explanation, while a theoretical expert can approach the same material from a high level of analysis and still walk away satisfied. What’s important is that during the writing process the composer is aware of what ‘layers’ are even possible, and secondly that each ‘layer’ maintains its own level of interest. This is where it’s highly subjective, as 20 people listening to a piece of music might walk away with 20 completely unique impressions of it. Can a composer anticipate for this? Should they care what people think? I don’t have the answer right now, but it bears importance to wrestle with this on your own terms and see if it affects your own process of creating.

More info:

Stuart Fox – The Composer Behind “COW”

You may or may not have seen the latest YouTube phenomenon, known as COW. It’s a staged documentary produced by the Gwent Police, a small division based in Cwmbrân, near Wales. The video depicts a graphic automobile crash, the result of texting while driving, and its ensuing emotional trauma. Only recently did I happen across information regarding the composer behind the short film, as the above video is only a shorter clip of the 30-minute runtime. Stuart Fox, a UK composer for TV and film, was in charge of creating transparent music that would heighten the onscreen action without going overboard, produced the music entirely out of his home studio. Poking around his site, I’ve found the most relevant quote was concerning what he tools he considers ‘effective’ for modern day multimedia composers: “the combination of Vienna Symphonic Libraries for melodic, natural and real sounding orchestral work, Omnisphere for warped, edgy but organic sounds and Play Libraries is the ultimate for producing modern TV scores.” Individual MP3 tracks from the YouTube video are available for download off the VSL site. It’s a real eye-opener for how simple, calculated music can infuse an otherwise emotionally-detached sequence of events with a frightening sense of reality.

Read on…

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John Williams: “Pre-Crime To The Rescue”, Minority Report (2002)

imageMinority Report: Steven Spielberg’s 2002 film is about as dense visually as its complicated plot and multiple twists. A modern day take on film noir, you’ll see a lot of shots contrasting light and shadow, mirroring the viewer’s sometimes unclear stance on the morality of what’s going on. In the year 2054, three ‘genetic mistakes’, the precogs, can predict murders long enough in advance to send a police squad to prevent them. But are they altering the future by stopping it from happening? Much of Minority Report leaves the viewer to take their own side on the issue.

This somewhat unique plot device was capitalized on by composer John Williams, by now his 19th collaboration with Spielberg. Most of Minority Report’s score is mixed atonality, with rare diatonicism coinciding with a theme for the protagonist himself and his family. Much of the writing is deliberately disturbing, matching Spielberg’s often dark sense of humour. Williams does well to maintain an overall level of consistency, permeating the film with rambling bass at one end of the spectrum, occasionally shrieking winds and strings in the other, all the while painting a bleak picture of the future despite the apparently ‘perfect’ system. Indeed, it’s when things start to go wrong that the plot gets interesting.

The music of Minority Report can mostly be classified into a few broad categories: the somewhat typical action content, the psychologically dark and uneasy material, and the family theme which instills a sense of longing. Often the line is blurred between the first two, and the level of tension created is formidable. This is especially prevalent in the first sequence in the film, where the viewer is treated to a demonstration of pre-crime in action.

“Pre-Crime To The Rescue” is a good representation of the album, starting with low bass meanderings accompanying the gathering of evidence. By the time the police officers reach the location, viewers are already tense with the clock ticking down, but the pace keeps quickening, building right up to the last instant. It is at T = 0, the moment where the future becomes the present, where a curious musical thing happens:

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(It’s impossible to tell exactly what notes are sounding, and which are overtones, due to the nature of the synth sound. The second example occurs later in the film, found at 4:55 in “Leo Crow… The Confrontation”.)

This phenomenon happens at multiple instances during the film, a musical representation of a time paradox. It’s quite effective; just when the pressure couldn’t get any higher, you’re treated with something even more mysteriously puzzling. Above are two examples of this phenomenon, the first of which appears in the excerpt below at 0:36. The following transcription accompanies a scene where the protagonist, a pre-crime officer, runs into a house and grabs the murderer literally in mid-swing. Afterward the suspect is taken away while the ensuing trauma is dealt with.

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(You can imagine the calibre of the players in that the string section stayed pretty much together. Notice how the phrases come across when heard quickly—a lot more clearly than the apparent mash of random notes on paper.)

A curious shift to diatonicism happens as the suspect is apprehended (bar 37). Why the change? This moment makes sense because attention is drawn to the emotional consequences, which up to this point have been absent. Rounding off the scene this way once again enforces the somewhat questionable morality of the whole premise. (As a side note, about 20 seconds of music is missing in the film version, likely a result of a last-minute editing decision. Thankfully, I was able to cut-and-paste the soundtrack version to match.)

Minority Report instills a healthy amount of creepiness if you allow yourself to be caught up in the story. It was generally not well received with critics, likely due to its slow second half. Nonetheless, the production values were as good as any Spielberg film, well-polished from start to finish. The concepts proposed in Philip K. Dick’s short story—which the film was based on—are as relevant today as they were in 1956.

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Wataru Hokoyama: “Afrika” (2008)

imageWataru Hokoyama gained international recognition last year with his overwhelming score for the PS3 game Afrika, which sees players take the role of a wildlife photographer in the African plains. Hokoyama delivered an impressive score—full of bustling rhythms and grand arching themes—which was recorded by a 104-piece set up of the Hollywood Studio Symphony. It’s spectacular, to say the least—Hokoyama wrote, orchestrated and conducted the 35-minute score himself. Not bad for a 34-year-old. Hokoyama studied at the Interlochen Arts Academy and the Cleveland Institute of Music, before taking the one-year Scoring for Motion Picture and Television program at the University of Southern California.

But what I really wanted to share was his website. On it, Hokoyama has an array of concert pieces (every bit as good as Afrika), with audio and the full score for each (this is a bit of a rarity for composers.) For anyone looking to learn more about orchestration, extended techniques, proper notation—this is a gold mine of information (Halloween Dance features some particularly strange percussion effects at the outset.) Once you start listening to a piece, it’s hard to stop because it’s simply so good. The full scores are available as PDF files, and the audio is available to be streamed from the same page. Keep up the great work, Wataru!

More:

  • See Wataru Hokoyama’s website
  • Watch Hokoyama record Afrika’s main titles
  • Read an interview at Music4Games
  • Read a review of the official soundtrack

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Writing for Listeners

I just came across an eye-opener while reading Art and Music, An Introduction (Cleaver & Eddins). While it seems obvious, I didn’t realize how important it is to put yourself in the listener’s shoes while writing:

Loudness, timbre, melody, texture, and tonality all help to create form, but our perception of music form ultimately depents on our memory, since the musical events take place within a time continuum. We compare what we hear at one time with what we hear at another, and we are led to expect certain sound possibilities yet to come, thus, proper timing is the very essence of musical form.

How much of a piece goes by unnoticed or unrecognized just because a person didn’t remember what you wanted them to? From now on, I’m going back over my pieces and making sure that what I want people to remember is actually memorable, or somehow stands out easily from the rest of the piece.