Winter 2004

 

Words to live, or build a career by

This article was conceived some months back while making my way around my personal version of Walden Pond, otherwise known as the Arroyo Seco. I originally had the idea to address a topic that many members queried me on. It was a subject that I had a great deal of interest in as I was starting my own career, that is, how to get from point A to point B. It was then that I had an idea. Why limit this issue’ s scope to my window of experience, rather, why not call upon a few of my esteemed advisory board members to pass along some of their thoughts as well? These would not only be words that I would personally be anxious to ponder, but words that would have been the Holy Grail to me when I was first exploring this precipitous career.

Well, what transpired was nothing less than inspirational. Four of the most distinguished individuals in our community were generous enough to share their thoughts with us. No more insightful and moving lyric has been written than Marilyn and Alan Bergman’s to The Way We Were. No more lyrical and moving melody has been composed than Alan Menken’s, A Whole New World, for Aladdin. No more electrifying, gripping and celebrated theme song than Lalo Schifrin’s Mission Impossible, and no scene was ever more ably scored than the sailboat sequence from Violets are Blue composed by Pat Williams. And so it is with great pleasure that I include their wisdom in this issue’s article.

My first entertainment attorney, Denny Bond once recounted a story concerning the venerable actor, Danny Kaye being cornered by an aspiring actress at a Hollywood party and posed the question, “Mr. Kaye, how do you get started in the world of motion pictures?” His somewhat flippant response was, “my dear, if you have to ask you most certainly will never get started.” Now his dismissive attitude concerning launching a career isn’t my style, however I think that too often one expects some hard and fast rules that somehow miss the over-all arc of what we should be about as aspiring composers and lyricists.

No one can say you will meet producer “A”, who recommends you to studio music head “B” who is impressed with your demo reel and hires you to compose music for x number of shows for x number of years at studio C. Nevertheless, that is how it happened for Howard Pearl and myself at Paramount Studios. However, the process is far more telling than the mechanics of the end result to my way of thinking, and in the long term it is twice as valuable. It was interesting that my talented colleagues mirrored my thoughts in the way they addressed my question. As this article evolves, I will share a few of my personal tenets, but let’s go to the top of the class, in alphabetical order, first the SCL’s great friend and ASCAP President, Marilyn Bergman. Ms. Bergman’s lyrics have captivated us all. I continue to marvel at her mastery of her craft. She writes:

“Alan and I are often asked to give words of advice and/or encouragement to “entry level” composers or lyricists. The point we are always sure to make at the outset is that given the difficulties that await (access, rejections, etc.) unlike most endeavors, this choice of one’s life’s work must be because one has no other choice but to write – because one has to. You have to need to express yourself through music or lyrics in spite of the sea of hardships you might be wading into. The rewards – both in pleasure and profit – can be great and certainly can keep you in pursuit. So, in answer to “which comes first, the words or the music?”. I’d say the dedication to the craft.

I’ve always felt that lyrics are not written, they are rewritten. So the ability to be ruthless with your work is vitally important. Often, you must labor through draft after draft to arrive finally at something that seems effortless, with one word appearing to follow another with inevitability. (The blood, sweat and often tears are then worth it.)

As far as any other “advice”: I know of no better words on the subject of lyric writing than the “Notes On Lyrics” contained in Oscar Hammerstein’s book “Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein.” (Published by Simon & Schuster, 1949). This book with these amazing 48 pages (to say nothing of the extraordinary lyrics which comprise the book!), has been like a bible to Alan and me. We re-read them every few years just to keep us honest! There are numerous books on writing lyrics, how-to books. Most of them we find wanting (to put it kindly). This short chapter of Hammerstein’s is worth all of them put together and then some in my opinion.”

I concur with Marilyn’s sentiment on having to write. I came from a family of attorneys and educators with no musical pedigree what so ever. Initially starting on a trip to Europe, collaborating on songs with a then unknown, Tom Shapiro, now one of BMI’s most celebrated writer’s, culminating in attending a James Taylor, Carole King concert a few years later in rural Massachusetts, there was never a moment of indecision from those years forward for me about the course my life was going to take.

Alan Menken chose to explore a number of points that he has shared in the past with his students. I know of no other person who has exemplified any more acutely the heights that are attainable with an inexhaustible work ethic and dedication to your craft. Of course few are blessed with Alan’s gift of melody, following in the footsteps of such craftsmen as Richard Rodgers. Mr. Menken writes:

“These are some thoughts I often share with students and young writers. Some may find these thoughts simplistic or ethereal. But they have sustained me throughout my life and career.

1. If you want to compose, compose. If you want to write lyrics, write lyrics. Make it your first priority; your only priority. Don’t take other jobs thinking they’ll lead to your ultimate career goals. They seldom do.
2. Think of your composing or writing career as you’d think of the priesthood. It’s a calling. Whether you make $1 or $1,000,000 doesn’t matter. Don’t take jobs for the money. Ironically, in the long run, you’ll end up making more money.
3. Write what you’re passionate about. Music is not logical or reasonable. It’s a medium for feelings that defy logic and reason. A great song is like falling in love. It should sweep you away, regardless of whether it makes sense or appeals to your literal mind.
4. At the same time, don’t be afraid to write in a recognizable or derivative form. Music is a vocabulary, as specific as any language. You may think you’re copying the style or even the content of another piece of music or a lyric. Chances are you’re not. Celebrate specific forms, past and present. Your unique voice as a writer comes through more than you know. And when the listener gets what you’re up to, they enjoy it more.
5. You, as a listener, are most likely what motivated you to become a writer. Use that part of yourself to judge the quality of what you’ve written. If you love it, chances are there’s an audience that will love it too. Don’t give up on your material. Don’t allow second-guessing what others might think to block your creative flow. Be patient and wait to find the listeners who respond to what you write.
6. We, as creative artists, are mediums. Artistic expression is what we do with the life force that flows through us. Think of music or lyrics like the water that flows from a spigot. We can only turn on the spigot and catch and shape what flows through us. And if you use the force of the stream, the unique personality and power of your creative talent will assert itself. If, however, you dam up the flow or hold back the stream, it damages you and it hurts your art.
7. Don’t fall so in love with your work that you lose the ability to rewrite or even throw it away entirely and start again. Rewriting is an incredible tool. It either proves you right or leads to a better outcome. In the end, it’s not really about any individual work, it’s about you and your talent.
8. Think of writing as digging for hidden treasure. Your early work, as good as you may think it is, represents the dirt you clear away to find the gold. If you don’t “dig” a ton of “dirt” you never get to the gold. And the gold is worth the wait.
9. Writing music and / or lyrics is something many people can do. The difference between a mediocre song and a great one may seem very slight and very subtle. But it’s very real. Don’t become discouraged and allow yourself to compete with other’s material just because it’s “successful”. The only success you want is one that’s uniquely yours and one that will stand the test of time.
10. A successful song or a successful piece of music reveals itself nearly immediately. Don’t overvalue anything that only reveals itself through repeated exposures. Music and lyrics are meant to be viscerally powerful in the moment; to make you cry or laugh or dream. Anything shy of that is a waste of a very powerful medium.
11. Collaboration is an absolute necessity for effective writing. Use the “listening” of your collaborators to motivate and shape your writing. Write to please them. Write to surprise them. Write to show off for them. The better they listen, the better you’ll write. Listen to and respect their criticisms. If you disagree, go ahead and write what they suggest anyway. You never know; maybe you’ll prove them wrong and maybe they’ll prove to be right. Either way, you win.
12. Be aware that you never really know in advance what the result of a writing assignment will be. Often, the most important work comes from assignments you weren’t really excited about. The important thing is to always move on to the next assignment, the next project, the next collaborator, the next idea. And write write write write write.”

Lalo Schifrin has led a celebrated and charmed life, and for good reason. From his early days as one of jazz’s true innovators to his success in television and film, he exemplifies the best of the best. Mr. Schifrin writes:

“The following is my advice to young aspiring composers:

1. Study formal music composition from its foundations: Harmony, Counterpoint, Fugue, Form, Orchestration and Analysis. Investigate the scores of the great masters
2. Explore the techniques and procedures of 20th Century music: from the French Impressionists through the national schools of different countries in which composers exploit their traditional music. Also, study those composers who transcended this nationalism and created a universal idiom out of their roots (Bartok, Stravinsky, Ives, Copeland, etc.). Investigate the secrets of 12-tone and Serial music. This is going to prepare you for the post-Webern school in the second half of the 20th Century (Boulez, Berio, Stokausen, etc.). Olivier Messian’s compositions deserve a thorough analysis. Get acquainted with Aleatory procedures, especially of the Polish Schoo
3. Carefully avoid becoming a diatonic cripple.
4. Study the different techniques of electronic music.
5. Become familiar with Minimalism and related schools.
6. Listen to Jazz, Blues, Rock and the contemporary and alternative tendencies, including Hip Hop.
7. If you want to become a film composer, get acquainted with plays, operas, and Broadway theater music in order to get a sense of drama, tragedy and comedy. Try to understand the problems of actors and stage directors. When you see feature or television movies, try to analyze the nature of the composer’s contribution, but also become aware of the audiovisual counterpoint. The work of Directors of Photography should not be ignored.
8. Don’t be afraid of chromaticism. Once again, avoid becoming a diatonic cripple!”

Mr. Schifrin seems to suggest a discipline that I ascribed to early in my career, and should probably re-visit today. I learned from my great teacher, Albert Harris to allocate a portion of every day to a number of tasks. I would schedule two hours a day to dissecting scores, in fact reducing orchestral scores down to three or four lines. That allowed me to get at the spine of the composition or orchestration. His next assignment was to have me compose in the style of whoever’s work I might be perusing, “so if someone were to find this manuscript, they would think it a lost work of Debussy, Gershwin, Tschaikowsky, etc.”

Pat Williams’ has created some of pop and jazz’s most beautiful arrangements. One would be hard pressed to find a greater exponent of mood and texture. He has also composed some of my favorite television themes over the years. I was pleased to be able to include his thoughts in this article. Mr. Williams’ writes:

“In terms of thoughts for an entry level person, the longer I am in this business, the more difficult of a question that becomes, but I’ll give it a stab.

It seems to me that success is part of a process, rather than a goal. The learning process never stops and the composers I most admire all understand that. Viewing one’s career in this light helps to soften the blows of rejection and frustration that we all encounter and it also contributes to a more rewarding and emotionally fulfilling career. I think we can always remember there is the “music business” and then there is the “music” and it’s very important to stay in love with the latter so we can handle the former.”

There is a common thread in Pat, Marilyn and Alan’s ideology that I deeply share. That is, do it for the love of the art and financial reward will most certainly follow. If your goal is to make a lot of money at the expense of our craft, then please, for the sake of your colleagues and those who came before, do it somewhere else. As I wrote in the last article for The Score, ours is a distinguished profession that I feel is at a crossroads. I would hope that all of us could band together as a community. It is only then that can meet our challenges, united in an uncompromising love and passion for what we do.

As far as your own careers, I will make a prediction. Absorb these words of advice, never stop learning and keep a positive outlook and we’ll be hearing from you one of these days as well. I’ll leave you with the great Erol Garner’s words to me many years ago at the St. Regis in New York, “write what you feel and feel what you write.” Good writing to all of you.

Published in THE SCORE quarterly newsletter [Vol. XIX, Number Four, Winter 2004]

 

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]