Fall 2004

 

A Bridge for Tomorrow

Since my last writing, we have lost two of our dear colleagues. Fred Karlin, who left us in March, fortunately also left us with many wonderful scores and such beautiful melodies as For All We Know and Come Saturday Morning. Ironically, my friend and fellow Amherst alumni also created a definitive documentary on Jerry Goldsmith, our brilliant advisory board member, who passed away on July 21^st. The Goldsmith family unselfishly invited to his service, not only those who knew him personally, but those friends he never met, but whose lives were touched by his genius as well. I saw many of you there and we mourn the passing of this giant talent who inspired us all. The family’s willingness to share this difficult moment speaks not only to their generosity, but also to an inherent understanding of the dramatic impact that Jerry’s life and his music had on so many people.

Much more has been written about Jerry’s accomplishments than I am qualified to document, in fact I would direct you to the Film Music Society website where our friend Jon Burlingame has written wonderful pieces on Jerry and Fred Karlin as well. What I would like to touch on here is the legacy that Jerry has left to our profession. I would hope that we as a community could carry this legacy forward as a testimonial to his place in time and in music.

Jerry’s first film was Black Patch in 1957. It wasn’t long before Hollywood discovered his uncanny ability to find innovative approaches to enhance the films and television works that he scored. He was a composer’s composer in every way. From his haunting approach to the Twilight Zone series, to the lyrical folk imbued score to The River Wild to his early experimentation with electronics in such movies as The Reincarnation of Peter Proud, his technique was always novel, while masterful on every level.

Jerry’s agent, Richard Kraft remarked that each person had his or her own favorite Jerry Goldsmith score and they were rarely the same. I would submit that there was good reason for this; each was totally unique. The film noir sensibilities of China Town were 180 degrees removed from the chilling textures he employed in Poltergeist, which were far removed from the psychological dramatic underpinnings of Basic Instinct. But isn’t this versatility at the root of what we should be about as composers? Far too often we are inclined to take the safe way out. I know from my own career that if something has worked in the past, I am inclined to re-visit that same approach again when dealing with similar subject matter. Of course the temp tracks haven’t made our lives any easier in this regard, but Jerry refused to be drawn in to the easy path and this is part of the reason that his scores will forever be one of a kind gems in cinematic history.

In the last issue of The Score I wrote about such luminaries as Max Steiner and Bernard Hermann. Jerry Goldsmith has taken his rightful place as a prominent member of this royalty and it wasn’t by mere accident. He studied with Miklos Rozsa, himself one of the first generation of gifted composers for cinema. Jerry’s love for his craft was not only all encompassing, it was uncompromising as well. It was essential that he be the very best that he could be and not settle for less. It was important for him to keep up the high standards that were passed to him; it was important for him to be the standard bearer for our profession.

I found it fitting to be brought into a conversation with a young composer who was participating in a film music workshop. It was the evening following Jerry’s service and the composer was anxiously awaiting the first performance of his work by a professional orchestra. It was apparent that he took great pride in his composition and was excited about embarking on this great career path.

Jerry Goldsmith never lost his love for his profession. He was interested, even during his final bought with cancer, in continuing his life’s work. I believe it was not only as an act of self fulfillment that he refused to give up, I believe that it was equally important for him to pass this respect for his craft and his profession on to the future. He taught his son, Joel the art of composition, and he is ably carrying-on in his father’s footsteps. However, Jerry has become such a pillar of creativity and professionalism in our filed that it is beholden on us to carry on this legacy as well. Let us all be caretakers of the pride and excellence that he passed to us.

Growing up around my household, it was a tradition to gather from time to time to read poetry. We would pass the books of verse around the room and eventually, over the years, one or two would become favorites. I believe that my mother, Mary Lou’s choice, entitled A Bridge for Tomorrow by Will Allen Dromgoole is appropriate to share with you, as it sums up to me the love that Jerry Goldsmith had for his profession and so unselfishly shared with all of us.

An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head;
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth, whose feet must pass this way
This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be—
He, too, must cross, in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building a bridge for him.”

Jerry, you built it well.

Published in The Score quarterly newsletter [Vol. XIX, Number Three, Fall 2004]

 

Summer 2004

 

Victor Young and Irving Berlin were two of the most prolific and gifted artists of their time. Jerome Kern once said that “Irving Berlin has no place in American music—he is American music”. Irving Berlin, whose career spanned eight decades and gave us such classics as “God Bless America,” “Always,” “Easter Parade,” and White Christmas” and Victor Young whose inspired scores for such movies as The Uninvited, and Around the World in Eighty Days and such standards as “When I Fall in Love,” will forever be a part of our cultural heritage and their timeless works will forever be a part of the American repertoire. I chose to write about their genius and their milieu because we owe them and their contemporaries a debt of gratitude for setting in place the high standards that we should all strive to maintain, and for making ours such a celebrated profession.

During the last two holiday seasons I have been involved with historic reenactments in support of the Heritage Square Museum off the Pasadena Freeway. In the role of William Perry, a businessman and lumber baron I help impart some of the early history of Los Angeles. During breaks from performances I had the opportunity to spend time at the Charles Lumis House, El Alisal, which is across the street. I found that Lumis had single-handedly saved the California Missions from deterioration and helped preserve much of early California heritage, including early sound recordings in establishing the Southwest Museum.

I believe that we, as composers and songwriters owe it to the legacy of our talented forefathers to keep their spirit alive in much the same fashion. I feel that a thorough understanding of the past can help us as we proceed into the future. Not only will it aid us creatively to understand what has come before, but also it may help in giving ourselves and our industry the respect it deserves.

Our profession unofficially began in 1895 in Paris. The Lumiere family presented one of their early movies to the strains of a solo piano at the Grand Café. It wasn’t long until ornate movie palaces were being built to showcase silent films accompanied by marvelous orchestras. The father of our esteemed advisory board member, David Raksin, was the conductor of such an orchestra at “The Met” Theatre in Philadelphia. Although the conductor wrote original compositions from time to time, huge libraries of concert pieces existed and were employed at the conductor’s discretion. The moods were generally indicated, and he had a great deal of latitude in choosing the music except in the instances where a specific piece was called for.

As of late, in my quest to save the historic Ambassador Hotel, where six Academy Award ceremonies were held, I have also become familiar with our own movie houses that miraculously still exist. Over the past three months I have found myself on Broadway in downtown Los Angeles on a regular basis. Seeing the absolute majesty of such landmarks as The Million Dollar Theatre, The Los Angeles Theatre, The State, and The Mayan leads one to only imagine what a special experience attending a movie was. These houses were filled with avid moviegoers, in fact it has been estimated that sixty-five percent of the American public went to the movies on a weekly basis in the years around 1938.

Recently I have been reading Roy M. Prendergast’s book Film Music, a Neglected Art, which I understand will soon appear in a newly revised third edition, and Elmer Bernstein’s Film Music Notebook, which is a Complete Collection of the Quarterly Journal from 1974 to 1978. The latter is published by the Film Music Society and I would encourage all of you to not only join this wonderful organization, led by our friend Chris Young, but to order your copy of this book, which chronicles the history of our profession through in-depth interviews by Elmer Bernstein.

Over the past few years the ever-evolving technology has enabled many to join our ranks with its ease of operation. In fact, a painter left my house a few minutes ago and was telling me how he has been working after hours writing convincing material at his computer without really understanding anything about music. Although I applaud his energy in pursuing a muse, I fear his cavalier attitude does not bode well for the perpetuation of a glorious craft.

Ray Colcord, my immediate predecessor and a believer in the tradition set forth by the founders of this organization, established our Hall of Fame Awards that we will continue, along with the SCL Ambassador program created during this administration. I think that it is good to remind ourselves of the time and preparation that some of these gentlemen brought to our craft. The triumvirate of Max Steiner, Erich Korngold and Alfred Newman certainly defined the “Golden Age of Scoring,” and for good reason.

Max Steiner is widely recognized as one of the father’s of our craft. Born in Vienna in 1888, his first operetta was published at the advanced age of 16. Word of Mr. Steiner’s talent reached America and Florenz Ziegfeld brought him to New York City during World War 1, where he remained for fifteen years as the conductor of the Ziegfeld Follies. In 1929, one year after the advent of sound, he was invited to come to Hollywood to conduct the score for Rio Rita, a musical for RKO Studios. He became the Musical Director for the studio and continued in film for the remainder of his career. In 1935 he became the first composer to win an Academy Award; his achievement was for The Informer, directed by John Ford. Filmmaker and composer, Robert Rodriguez challenged our community to demand to be brought on during the formative stages of a project. This was just the case with the score to this film. Max Steiner imbued The Informer with Irish folk melodies that were planned out in pre-production meetings with Mr. Ford. From King Kong to Gone With the Wind to Casablanca to A Summer Place, Max Steiner’s contributions to our profession are legion. His melodies continue to move and inspire me and he will always have a place at the top of any list that recognizes the best.

Another of our Hall of Fame inductees was Bernard Hermann. Considered by many to be the master of macabre, he brought his own style to a business that theretofore had been steeped in the mid-to late nineteenth century idiom of Puccini, Verdi, Strauss and Wagner. Prendergast writes that when the early film composers were confronted with dramatic problems they merely looked to those composers who had solved almost identical problems in their operas. Hermann, on the other hand, incorporated unique combinations of instruments in his palate. Once again, in the case of Hermann’s first film, Citizen Kane, completed in 1940, he was brought to the project early and was present during the production of the movie, sketching much of the music as the movie was being shot. Mr. Hermann writes, “the film was so unusual technically, that it afforded me many unique opportunities for musical experiment. It abounded in musical montages, which were long enough to permit me to compose complete musical numbers, rather than do what is ordinarily done—cut the music to suit the film”. Of course his oeuvre is legendary, from the haunting, The Day the Earth Stood Still to his atonal masterpiece, Psycho in 1960.

There is hardly time within the confines of an article such as this to list all of the songwriters and composers that we should be forever indebted to, but as I have said before, we are all ambassadors of our profession and we owe it to our craft to know as much about who came before as we do to keep abreast of the new trends. We are all walking in the footsteps of these legendary talents and we must continue the tradition they so ably passed to us.

Published in THE SCORE quarterly newsletter [Vol. XIX, Number Two, Summer 2004]

 

Spring 2004

 

It was 9:00 a.m. I was stranding on the conductor’s podium at Stage M on the Paramount Studios lot in late November. Although I had previously composed music for a few scattered projects, this was really my entrée into the world of film scoring. I was nervous; who wouldn’t be with twenty-five of the greatest musicians in the world sitting out there preparing to play my music. Carl Fortina, contractor and legendary musician in his own right, had assembled the finest orchestra that one could have imagined that day for Howard Pearl and me. As I waited for the picture to be racked up on the mag machine and projected on a twenty- foot high screen I could hear the oboist playing fragments of the opening cue; even that sounded good. Then my preparatory clicks flashed out as quick bleeps of light at around a metronome marking of 120 beats per minute, known in the Knudsen lingo as a 12-0 frame click. Eight quick flashes later and I was on my way, reveling in a fantasy world that continues to this day.

That was the black and white of it. But what was even more moving and emotionally stimulating was the incredible sound that emanated from this wonderful orchestra. One or two players, such as Brain O’Connor and Gary Herbig, were just starting their illustrious careers, but far more of the chairs were filled by seasoned veterans, some of whom had worked with the likes of Bernard Herman and Alex North. The brass section was filled with the same personalities that had graced my favorite scores by Earle Hagen, Lee Holdridge, Bruce Broughton and Charlie Fox. Pete Jolly was on piano with several other legendary jazz greats such as Ted Nash sitting just beyond my baton.

This is truly what music continues to be about for me. We are fortunate as composers to be sitting in the center of the universe for world-class performers and the amazing thing is that we have total access to these talents to enhance, embellish and add life and breath into our creative outpourings.

Regrettably, our business has taken a dangerous turn since my career first started, particularly in the world of television music. It is a twist that does not bode favorably for the well being of our profession. As the orchestras began to shrink, so did the scoring budgets as well as our respectability within the film community. Unfortunately, with the disappearance of the live orchestra on our scores, our value as a community was diminished. In the worst case, the perception is that anyone can basically do our job, trained or not, and it has come to the point that that a company that we considered to be one our closest partners advertises that their technology can supply music without the cost of an expensive composer.

The purpose of this article should in no way be construed to be an anti-technology treatise, but rather should be regarded as a realistic over-view, taking into account the evaporation of an integral component of our scores, without which our craft is being denigrated, and for good cause. Let’s take the case of one musician and look at the time, preparation and education that goes into making oneself accomplished enough to compete in this arena. The hours of practice and dedication over years to bring him or her to a place good enough to be called a studio musician is nothing less than staggering.

My guitar playing is adequate, but there is no way to describe how the talents of a Laurence Juber or Tim May enhance my final product. I’ll be the first to say that without the great Los Angeles musicians, my career wouldn’t have made it past my first job. Armin Steiner, engineer extraordinaire, says that the key to the emotion in music is a group of instruments that are physically moving air. As convincing as some of the synth orchestral sounds may be, they simply don’t move air. My piano playing is fine, but give me a break, or rather give me Jim Cox or Mike Lang. The rockability, sensitivity and over-all interpretation of these two, or an artist such as Ralph Grierson can simply not be summed up in words, and the over-all impact that these sorts of talents could provide to your work can not be over emphasized.

So as with everything else, it in many ways it comes down to the bottom line and the margin of profit. I can’t tell you what to do with your own budget except to tell you how I approached mine over the years. As cavalier as this may sound, I have rarely thought about the money as I was progressing through my career. My concerns have been foremost about my music and making sure that every score was as good as it could be. In virtually every case, I personally made the decision to put as much as possible toward the end product, and as those in the decision-making positions saw the pride I took in assuring the best sound possible, they were more inclined to hire me again and again.

Before the advent of package deals, the orchestral numbers were already decided and until fairly recently a situation comedy could justify a twenty to twenty-five piece orchestra, and dramatic shows even more. Thanks to certain producers and heads of music who have respect for the creative input and richness that an orchestra can bring, there are noticeable exceptions to the low-ball packages that have become far too prevalent in our industry.

We only have to look as far as the top composers within our community who are scoring films that employ huge orchestras to see the value they bring to the screen. There is no justification for the erosion of the live orchestra within the television and cable community except budget. The only way to turn this tide is for all of us to do what we can to stress the value of live players to our scores. My hat goes off to young composers such as Michael Giacchino, for continuing the fine tradition of scoring set into place many years ago. These scores, incorporating the fine talents of our local musicians will unquestionably stand the test of time and be fine representations of our craft for years to come.

The musicians union has recently put into place competitive rate schedules for areas such as game music and pilots that can work hand in hand in facilitating the use of live musicians. Nevertheless, as reasonable as these rates are, they won’t be low enough for some producers and that is why it is crucial for us as a community to do what we can to be advocates of employing these fabulous talents in our scores.

So let 2004 be the year of the musician; get to know as many of them as possible. I am going to personally make an outreach to Musicians Local 47 and RMA members to join us in our special friend category. It has long been a dream of mine to have an orchestra associated with our group to perform your works and further elevate the visibility and value of film music. Perhaps this isn’t too lofty an aspiration for sometime in the future. If we fail to take advantage of their unique talents, Los Angeles will no longer draw the best players in the world, as the motivation to locate here will no longer be driven by our great profession. My career certainly has been better for them and historically our craft owes them a sincere debt of gratitude.

Published in THE SCORE quarterly newsletter [Vol. XIX, Number One, Spring 2004]

 

Winter 2003

 

I know that inclusion in our organization has numerous benefits, in fact Ray Colcord wrote eloquently in last month’s Score about some of his personal reasons for being a member. One of the advantages, although somewhat less tangible, is the opportunity to discuss personal experiences with composers or lyricists who have successfully navigated this unpredictable and at times capricious career. I thought that this might be a good time to share with you some of my personal ideology in this endeavor. Regard it as a “pep talk” or my own locker room chronicles if you will.

Following college I could have tackled law and joined my father’s firm, but there was never a question in my mind that I wanted to pursue a career in composition, and as a side note, I never thought about not succeeding in that quest either. Many of you have had similar opportunities, whether it is family businesses or the fact that you may be multi-talented and have other options. Whatever your circumstances, I firmly believe that those of you starting today must have the same motivation and clear path that I did. The competition is far too intense for anyone to be undecided about whether a career in music is his or her calling.

I remember struggling for recognition when I first arrived in Los Angeles. Some time later I also recall the difficulty I had in convincing producers that I had the range to compose in more than one genre. Even now, the challenge of sustaining a viable career is a constant balance of creativity, salesmanship and quite frankly, “kick-ass” determination.

Nobody can give you a syllabus for getting started in this business, or even continuing a career once you’ve procured your initial job; every individual’s experience is unique. However, one thing that I have constantly striven for during good times or bad is keeping a positive attitude. This may seem basic, it may sound naïve or even contrived, but I can assure you that if you have that state of mind, you’re halfway there.

I recall arriving at the scoring stage to conduct my music to one of the final episodes of Happy Days. It was at the beginning of my career and I followed a composer to the podium that was completing another Paramount show. He was someone who I had long admired, however he was obviously unenthused, cynical and terribly bored with what he was doing. I told myself that if my attitude ever deteriorated to that point, then it was time to move on.

Now some might query, why this optimistic outlook when we are faced with such weighty issues? The answer is not cryptic. All the roadblocks aside, we are simply the most fortunate of all crafts persons to be able to write music and lyrics. What other discipline can have such a marked impact on the emotions of another individual. When one hears the opening strains to Max Steiner’s epic score to Gone with the Wind, what other art form could match the shear level of majesty this music inspires? How could another profession create the feelings that are elicited by Alan and Marilyn Bergman’s lyric to How Do You Keep The Music Playing?

As the chairman of our mentor program, I had the opportunity to meet and listen to the music of many young composers. As president, I am fortunate to have the chance to get to know even more of you. I can say without hesitation that our community, consisting of the established composers and lyricists as well as the new and evolving talents is the finest I can ever remember. Your creativity and unique perspectives are remarkable. So what will ultimately determine whether one succeeds or fails? I submit that it is as much a matter of how you perceive and present yourself, as it is a matter of talent.

I know that with very few exceptions, a director, a studio music head or producer will come back time and time again to a person who makes his or her job not only manageable but also enjoyable. Of course you must have the creative spark to deliver, but coupled with a positive attitude, which in turn enables the employer to have a positive experience, you can attain any goal.

As far as my own career is concerned, I have never enjoyed it at any time more than I am enjoying it today, primarily because of the great musicians I work with. (Read my upcoming president’s message: 2004 the Year of the musician). I would suggest watching BT, who will hopefully be the guest of this organization again in the future. Not only is he one of the most creative talents working today; he is absolutely passionate about his music and loving it all the while. I believe that this feeling of contentment is consistent with success in our field in more cases than not.

Following last year’s State of the Art conference I was approached by a fellow colleague who visibly didn’t share my undaunted optimism. It was apparent that my Pollyannaish perspective on our business was amusing to him. Although I make no concessions about my outlook, I also would not try to portray a career devoid of rejection and low points. Without going into specifics, my career has been riddled with episodes of rejection from time to time. However, by keeping a positive attitude—after some serious days of depression—I have found a positive way to change my perspective and rationalize these momentary setbacks. You will undoubtedly find these lows in your own careers; it’s the nature of this business.

If I’m looking at reality in rose-colored glasses, so be it. Perception is truly everything and I continue to deal with rejection in a fashion that allows me to shape negative into positive. In my opening caption, Johnny Mercer goes on to write, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative. I would encourage you to as well and to focus on the wonderful opportunity you have been afforded, which is the gift to create, and the fulfillment that you receive from doing what you do, which is ultimately commanding the magic and the power of music.

Published in The Score quarterly newsletter [Vol. XVIII, Number Four, Winter 2003]

 

Fall 2003

 

They can’t take that away from me. This classic Gershwin song finds itself in an ironic place during the opening days of my presidency. It seems that “they” will try and perhaps succeed in taking “that” away. Members of the SCL, along with Nancy Gershwin, with the aid of the Los Angeles Conservancy are currently attempting to save the Ira and George Gershwin house, where this song was written, from demolition in Beverly Hills.

Concomitantly, the issue of performing rights and whether “they” will take those away from you has presented itself as of late. This isn’t anything new, but it is an issue that is so germane to our livelihood that it is worth revisiting on a continuum. Although the following may have some interest to the seasoned veterans among us, this article is primarily directed to those in our membership that are new to performing rights.

When I began composing in the mid-seventies, I was successful in procuring a job on a hit cartoon series. The fact was, that I was thrilled to be composing anything for money and when the deal was presented and it specifically excluded the payment of performing royalties didn’t think too much about it. That was around 1976. Recently I was contacted by an SCL member who was faced with a similar dilemma. It would have been hypocritical of me not to tell him the choice I had made many years ago. However, what I also told him, and wanted to share with you, are some of my experiences in the years since that decision.

Looking at my July statement from my performing rights organization, I see that I am collecting money from the shows that I am currently composing music for such as Seventh Heaven and 8 Simple Rules for Dating my Teenage Daughter. For those of you just getting started, there is separate money paid for theme, underscore and feature performance usage. The amount that is distributed on these performances is based on several factors such as duration, time of day, and sometimes, less understood, the size of the network. I.e. Nickelodeon would pay substantially less than NBC, for an example. The SCL will be having seminars to explain these nuances and representatives from the various performing rights groups are always available to talk you through the specifics as well. The important thing to understand is that this is a separate stream of income from your fee for composing songs or score for an episode or show.

Money is generated from a number of sources. Initially it is collected on current episodes.Seventh Heaven plays on the WB Network, and the money is distributed nine months after it airs. The lag time is due to the clerical time in collecting cue sheet information and the work associated with logging it. Money is also distributed on rerun or syndication play. In my case, Seventh Heaven was played on KTLA, channel five, here in Los Angeles for two years and now it runs exclusively on ABC Family, who has been airing the show twice daily since last September. Additionally, the show is playing in a number of foreign countries. These performances also generate income.

Now this may or may not be any revelation. However, what I couldn’t fathom twenty-five years ago concerns other items I find on my statement. My first credited show, composed in 1978 with Howard Pearl, theme by Fox and Gimbel, Angie, recently came out of mothballs and played on TVLand. That means for work I did a quarter of a century ago, I still am receiving income. The series, Bosom Buddies, which introduced a young Tom Hanks, was gone in thirty episodes. However, as Hanks’ career began to flourish, the show reappeared in syndication and is there every time I open my performance statement. Now that series played in 1980-81.

I was contacted by my friend, Gayle Maffeo in the late 80’s about an up and coming comic. My partner, Howard Pearl and I were less than enthusiastic about this entertainer’s abusive and raunchy style, but were happy to be working with Gayle again. The comic ended up being Roseanne Barr and the series, Roseanne, has been playing consistently and generating income for more than fifteen years in network, syndication, cable and foreign markets.

This brings me to my point. There is no way that anyone can put a price tag on your performance income. If a company is offering buyouts of your performing rights, it is referred to as a direct license. Accepting a sum of money that may appeal to you because of your present situation in life will, in my opinion, be a shortsighted and ill-conceived decision in most cases. To reiterate, this is not your creative fee. It is your performing rights fee, not paid by the employer but collected and paid to you here in the United States by BMI, SESAC, or ASCAP depending on your affiliation. It would be misleading to say that all shows will become Roseanne or Bosom Buddies, however, I would submit that in my own experience, a significant percentage of my shows have had a life down the line.

There’s a larger picture here. Following a Broadway performance, Victor Herbert walked into a restaurant where a pianist was playing his songs. The year was 1914 and he was outraged that his music could be exploited without his permission and without being properly compensated for it. The same year, Mr. Herbert and a visionary group of composers and lyricists formed ASCAP. To this day, we as a community are compensated for our creative contributions in the form of performance royalties. As Arthur Hamilton states later in this publication, “those are writers’ rights, and they are sacrosanct, inviolate, off-limits, non-transferable.”

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, an entity that would ask you, as a creator, to sign away your rights is starting a wildfire. It can either be stopped at the source or, given room to build; it could eventually overtake the community–our community. The situation, left unchecked, could lead to an environment that soon would affect all of us. Soon there would be writers who not only give away their performing rights, but who would accept less and less to create music. We cannot let this happen. On an individual basis, I want to see that you are generating income twenty-five years from now, in 2028, on material that you are writing today. On a more universal scale you owe it to your colleagues and to the memory of Victor Herbert to say, They Can’t Take That Away From Me.

Published in The Score Quarterly newsletter [Vol. XVIII, Number Three, Fall 2003]

 

Spring 2003

 

As the new president of the Society of Composers and Lyricists, I follow in the footsteps of some of the most esteemed members of our community. I do not take this responsibility lightly, and I will attempt to continue the forward motion that Ray Colcord and his predecessors so ably put in place for me.

In preparing this inaugural president’s message, I contemplated on the vision that I wanted to set forth to you as a member of this organization. Perhaps the most important concept that we all should keep ever present in our minds is that we are members of a fortunate and select group. Regardless of the challenges that we are confronted with, we should all marvel at the talents that we possess to allow us to call music our profession. To be able to compose a piece of music or write a lyric is a gift that must be treasured. The fact that we can make a living at something so artistic is nothing short of remarkable. I can think of no other aspect of the filmmaking process that has such a profound result on the final product. A simple phrase or a chosen chord can alter the entire impact of a scene. A song crafted for a specific moment can add an element that is so profound that it transgresses any other aspect of filmmaking. These are unique talents that we should protect and not diminish. As we go out into the community, each one of us is an ambassador to our profession. I can guarantee that respecting your abilities will help you achieve the confidence that it will take to succeed.

Currently we are at a crossroads that presents challenges that I personally haven’t experienced during my twenty-five years in the business. There are numerous aspects of our profession that I intend to explore as my tenure evolves. One of my goals is to continue to stress the value of what we do to the community at large. As we accept assignments for little or no compensation or if we are inclined to give away our performance rights as a condition of employment, we are lessening the value of our creative services. Although our organization has frequently explored the topic of performing rights, I feel that there are still those who have little or no clue as to the worth of our copyrights. This must be a high priority of mine. I will do what I can to lend my expertise to those starting in the business, and perhaps through my own experiences, many of you can avoid some of the pitfalls that I have encountered over the years. Although I have the greatest respect for those who have mastered electronics, and fully appreciated the artistic vision it takes to execute a electronic score, I feel that the lack of live musicians, particularly in television scores, has had a detrimental impact on our profession. I have said many times before that the contribution of incredible musicianship to my career is impossible to put a price on. Artistic interaction between the composer and the performer adds a dimension to your work that nothing else can achieve. I hope to have more programs to expose you to the endless wealth of talent that currently exists here in Los Angeles. Unless we nurture and support these great performers, the talent pool may diminish and I assure you that our profession will suffer.

Ray Colcord started a great tradition last year of honoring the genius of those who preceded us. Ray’s and my ideology are totally in sync in preserving the legacy of those wonderful creators whose work is the cornerstone of our profession. I urge you to become more aware of their contributions as we continue to pay homage to them. I am so proud to have those of you among us who, although not songwriters or composers, are invaluable to our organization and will benefit from many of our activities and have an opportunity to join with us on many common goals. You are artistic in your own right and we welcome your support and applaud the important role you play in our careers.

Our organization has elected the finest board of directors that could have been assimilated. Each is an expert in his or her own right. I am proud of their willingness to serve and will call upon them to lend their knowledge, particularly in areas in which I am lacking. Laura Dunn will continue her service to our group as the executive director. I am excited about the prospect of working with her in the new offices we share with Chris Young and the Film Music Society, a wonderful preservation group that I encourage you to find out more about. Finally, my biggest hope is that as we face the challenges before us we can garner a sense of camaraderie. I truly believe that through this we will achieve a unification of purpose that will make us stronger and more effective as we continue to do what we do–create music. Over the coming months, I look forward to meeting with many of you, either at one of our exciting events or privately during office hours that I will be establishing at our new headquarters.

Published in THE SCORE quarterly newsletter [Vol. XVIII, Number One, Spring 2003]