How Film & TV Music Communicate - Vol III

BRIAN MORRELL
HOW FILM & TV MUSIC

COMMUNICATE
Volume III
How Film & TV Music Communicate – Vol. III – text copyright © 2015 Brian Morrell
“Any working composer or painter or sculptor will tell you that inspiration comes at the
eighth hour of labour rather than as a bolt out of the blue. We have to get our vanities
and our preconceptions out of the way and do the work in the time allotted.”
John Williams
HOW FILM AND TV MUSIC COMMUNICATE – VOL III

Text © Brian Morrell 2015
No copyright is intended on the musical examples transcribed. Copyright rests with the composers of
the music, all of whom are credited
INTRODUCTION
Of the correspondence I received following volumes I and II being published simultaneously last year, which
thankfully was entirely positive, one reoccurring theme was the benefit composers felt they had gained from the
attempt to debunk some of the myths and perceptions surrounding how we write or ‘create’ music. I had worried
that my attempt to uncover and rationalise the skill of composing and open it up to perhaps a more enlightened
and less obsessive and reverential perspective might itself be perceived as being demeaning to ‘the great
composers’. Far from it; what I wanted was simply to analyse how people write music. I wanted to analyse the
process, the skill, the talent, the cleverness, the expertise and discuss it without being preoccupied by discussing
people rather than the music they write. I didn’t want to be side-tracked into debating art or inspiration and feel
compelled to discuss things like genius. Genius is a word people sometimes use, either to try and articulate their
own respect and worship for a particular artist or composer, or sometimes because they do not understand the
process by which people produce ‘great’ music, in which case genius and art are sometimes the only words
which cover it. Genius, of course, means nothing; it’s an opinion, not a fact. It’s judgment, not a reality. It is an
individual’s point of view, not an accurate description; it’s used when ‘great’ isn’t enough. It has more gravity
than ‘brilliant’, sounds more authoritative than ‘awesome’ and it has more historical pedigree than, say,
‘fantastic’. But it is still meaningless; worse still, it sometimes prevents a more reasoned and rational
understanding of how music is created.
If we are to make proper sense of what music is and draw reasoned conclusions we need more than abstract
words; if we ask the right questions music will tell us the mysteries of its success. But if we’re looking for
secrets we may have a long wait because sometimes there are no secrets; no thunderbolts of lightning, no grand
unveilings and no fabulous surprises. There is only music and the way we all use and manipulate the structures,
harmonies, textures and rhythms it offers us. We rearrange what is there to make something which can be
considered, at least legally, ‘new’ and therefore ‘ours’. The trouble is that because of the way we are sometimes
taught in schools and by the mass media not to learn but to revere ‘great art’ and worship at the altar of the great
composers, we tend to personalise the concept of composing to the extent where we assume every crotchet and
every chord and every texture that breathes life into music is literally the product of one person’s greatness. In
reality we mix the existing colours of texture to create the sound we want and we plunder existing harmonies
and mix, match, alter, subvert and place them in an order which suits our piece. We are arrangers; we place
things, horizontally, vertically, texturally and rhythmically. Just as an artist cannot claim to have discovered
specific colours, composers cannot claim to have invented the chords they use. What they ‘invent’ is the
sequence, but this is not an invention; merely a decision.
Music and architecture
People see architecture as a technical skill more than an art; this is because they understand the process, to a
degree. We refer to architects conceiving and designing buildings. We do not literally imagine they create the
things from thin air. We know the bricks are there already, which is why we see their ability as ‘skill’ rather than
‘creativity’. We know there are only so many ways of building with bricks so we accept that this is more a skill
and less of an act of creative individuality. It is the design we appreciate, but we tend not to go ‘over the top’
with praise because we realise, if one is being honest, that buildings are functional and in terms of structure, one
is pretty much like another; this is something we would never say about music although in fact in terms of
structure this sentiment applies to music too, to a point. Also, we would never imagine authors literally created
words themselves; they create the order of delivery and therefore, to a degree, they are responsible for the
specific meaning and context. We have slightly more reverence for authors because for the most part, the vast
majority of people aren’t able to write books themselves (although, as many authors have attested to, what most
people who think they can’t write books actually lack, is an eye for organisation, design, method, structure,
assembly, arrangement, placement etc. The idea or the concept is only a small part of the plan). Most people
don’t write books not because they lack the great idea but because they lack the skill to design it, to build it, to
pull it all together and to finish it.
But still, most people understand the individual words in a book and the implied meaning they create because
they see, hear and interpret the meaning through the words. But because most people can’t see music and can’t
listen with heightened musical knowledge, they often don’t understand it to a great degree. They are
emotionally moved and manipulated by something they fundamentally do not understand on a deep level. I’m
not saying people who don’t read music can’t understand it, I’m simply saying that they can’t visualise it so they
are dependent on their aural cognition and are not aided by the liberating ability to see, to decipher, to untangle,
to decode; to interpret and to see new ideas and possibilities.
Some, particularly the refusenik composers who can’t visual their own music and therefore develop a mantra to
defend this lack of ability, sometimes interpret this as blissful ignorance, but it is not; ignorance is rarely bliss.
Because most listeners don’t possess the ability to visualise the music they hear, into the vacuum created by this
lack of context often come respect, reverence and veneration for the people who create music. With words or
pictures people can see and realise how they’re affected emotionally, but with music any ‘understanding’ is
purely aural.
People don’t usually deeply understand the structure of music and cannot appreciate it or see it or even hear it
outside the context of the finished article. Artists don’t release partial recordings or stems, so all people hear is
the wonderful finished article. Because of this sometimes people talk of composers ‘creating’ music, of them
creating something quite literally and utterly new, when usually all that is brand new is the specific complexion,
the precise order of the notes and chords (and these are often very similar) and the specific complexion of the
sound. Once again, as I have gone to great lengths to say before, none of this means composers aren’t hugely
talented people who do things very few others do. All I try to do is place skills in a realistic context. One of the
fundamental aims of the last two books was to try and get rid of some of the non-essential context that pervades
music discourse. In previous volumes we spoke of the ‘art’ of composing (whatever that might be) being subject
to myth and misunderstanding. The fact that we call it an art and not a craft or a skill is itself revealing because,
as we found out in volumes I and II and will discuss again in this volume, music composition is a creative skill.
If we call it what it is - a skill - then we can rationalise it easier. What composers make may be referred to by
others as art, depending on their opinion, but since art is a perception, not a reality, it is best if we talk about
composing music as a skill.
History and teaching
The way history frames ‘music creation’ as being almost godly does not help people understand it in any
meaningful way; it simply makes them revere it. Many teachers are no better, carefully and studiously keeping
the myth of genius alive and using it as the only explanation for ‘great’ music and a stick with which to keep
students ‘in their place’. From a purely personal perspective, as a lecturer, I have gone out of my way to remove
these empirical contexts from the lecture theatre. As a result students have learned on a level playing field
without some of the more reverential and flimsy context that often surrounds music. This does not mean that
learning music and learning how to become a film composer is easy. It is fantastically hard to grasp and achieve,
but to teach it as a skill makes it more achievable. Ultimately, film music is written by people like you. Several
students I taught recently are doing incredibly well in the industry, some of whom are now working in London
and Hollywood as film composers. Some current students are just as able and are completely ready for the
industry. They all work incredibly hard at something that is very difficult to understand and achieve, but along
the journey they always had the potential to do it and didn’t ever get bogged down with undue reverence toward
famous composers, over and above the obvious acknowledgement, where it is justified, of great skill, great
imagination, great creative judgement and an obsessive and fanatical work ethic.
Many of the pedagogical structures in place for ‘teaching’ music are inherently suspect because, as I have stated,
they sometimes teach us to revere, not to learn. They teach us about respecting the work of others and not about
reaching inside ourselves to discover the composer within. Worst of all, at many levels of education they teach
us that composing music must, at all costs, always be ‘fun’. Therefore learning how to compose must be
entertaining. The acquisition of compositional skill is linked to ‘having a good time’, and ‘feeling fulfilled’, as if
creative people are permanently happy and fulfilled people. If we examine the work and the craft of the ‘great’
composers, whether we’re talking about hundreds of years ago or more recently, ‘fun’ is not always a word that
comes to the forefront of one’s mind. Composers are sometimes anxious, worried, emotional people. Because so
few people write music, they are often solitary, introverted private people. By convincing young teenage minds
that music must be ‘fun’ all the time, and by trying to airbrush from education the need for music theory, we are
trying to make music seem easier than it is. I realise that educators are trying to make music ‘accessible for all’
but the subtext of this dumbing down is clear: making music must be fun. This attitude essentially runs the risk
of deskilling composers and relegating the writing of music to an amateur level. This is why so many people
think of music as a purely recreational activity and not something people might do professionally. It is hard to
think that in the first day of training to become a Pilot one would be told that the most important thing was to
have fun. Presumably the most important thing is to fly the plane.
Music has been made secretive and enigmatic over the past few hundred years by philosophers, poets,
academics and other thinkers. Some came heartbreakingly close to the truth by thinking of music, quite rightly,
as a language, but then sprinkled it with stardust by referring to it as a language ‘removed from any reference to
the real world’.
If only they’d composed music they might have realised that music wasn’t quite as unknowable as they’d
presumed. Nietzsche believed it to be a product of ‘primordial intuitive knowledge’. Such descriptions and
plaudits are gifted to composers like confetti because they are a substitute for knowledge and understanding
about the actual process of how music is made. If there is something which appears to be wonderful and appears
to defy all known terms of reference when attempting to rationalise and describe it, into this vacuum come
supposition, presumption and hypothesis; essentially best guess. Wendell Phillips, a prominent American
abolitionist and advocate for Native Americans, said in a speech at Harvard in 1881: “Education is not the chips
of arithmetic and grammar,—nouns, verbs, and the multiplication table; neither is it last year’s almanac of dates
or series of lies agreed upon, which we so often mistake for history.” In doing so he paraphrased Napoleon, who
allegedly came up with the line that, ‘history is a lie that we all agree to’. Either way this is an important point;
often the teaching of history (in our case the teaching of the lives of the great artists, writers and composers) is
riddled with supposition and innuendo, which can become error, fabrication and inaccuracy. The desire to make
events or historical figures more exciting or relevant than they actually were is a well-known Achilles heel of
some history books.
How music is written
In the first book in this series we spoke of the myth of ‘linear creation’. The idea that ‘great’ music is written
from left to right, from beginning to end, fuels the notion of genius. But as we discussed, most composers,
including the ‘greats’, did not write in this way. They would write in sections; often they would compose a
melody first or sometimes a bass line first. Then they would fill in the harmony later. Or they might simply
write a sequence of chords first. This may ring a bell because it’s probably, to an extent, the way many of us
write. Or you may have your own particular hybrid system which works best for you. Sometimes the great
composers would swap sections around and end up finishing the ending first and the beginning last. The walls
of many composers’ homes were full of half-finished ideas, just as ours are. Only a small number would ever
make the cut. And then they snap it together and because we listen to it from left to right, in a given length of
time, we make the fatal assumption of presuming that this is how it was all created. Music is hardly ever created
in this way and our belief in these notions is an example of our desire to idolise, to revere. This is not to
denigrate the great composers; after all, it is humbling and sobering to know that Mozart wrote the overture to
Don Giovanni on the morning of the night of the gig – or I should say the Opera’s premier. One has to be honest
and say that this was amazing. But when analysed, it only qualifies as utterly mind-boggling if you assume that
everything he did that morning was the result of then; that is was all thought up in that brief period of time. If
ever an act was the result of profound skill and judgement learned over a long period - rather than something
that happened in a flash of lightning - that event surely was.
In praise of stress
I can remember when I first started doing TV that some producers would demand tight turnarounds. Sometimes
I would get a day or two. One of the worst times was when the TV station was responding to the death of
Princess Diana and called me saying they needed ‘eight minutes of mournful music, quick’. I asked how long I
had and they responded that the courier motorbike (which used to appear from time to time to get DATs from
me) had just set off. It took him half an hour to get to my flat. At 6 I began, at 6.30 the bike arrived, at 8 I
finished the mix-down and handed it over and at 11am I listened to it on the television. The pressure was
immense but strangely intoxicating. Also it was rewarding because you have the satisfaction of knowing that, in
all probability, nothing else you ever do in your life will ever be that strange. One time a colleague arrived at the
London theatre where I worked as musical director at 10pm, announcing that he was due in a town thirty miles
away the following morning at 9am where he was working as musical director for a Christmas show. He’d just
found out that the deal he signed included having all the music arranged for the show – something he hadn’t
done before and a skill he didn’t have. So we went back to Camden, listened to the songs they wanted and I sat
and arranged the stuff (by hand – this was the late 1980s). At 7a.m. I drove him to Caledonian Road tube station
where he, his equipment and the music, left. He arrived on time and the people who’d employed him never
knew. This was stressful but it wasn’t impossible. And what I did in the flat that night wasn’t the result of then,
it was the result of years of being involved with tight deadlines which makes speed as important as ability.
Another time in Europe I did a show where twenty nations were participating in an entertainment version of the
Olympics. Artists would perform over a two week period to live audiences, who would vote for their favourite
entertainer. At the end someone would come first, second and third. A day before the end, the organiser came to
me and said they’d forgotten ask me to write out every national anthem. I said they didn’t need all of them; all
they needed to do was tell me who’d come first, second and third. They needed only three, which would cost
them significantly less money and me less time.
They said the winner was a secret they couldn’t reveal, so the night before the final gig I spent researching,
collating and faxing publishers all over the world for the dots, which I then had to score out for a 15-piece band.
Another time I sat on the top floor of a Broadway theatre in New York frantically rescoring a musical due to
major changes that had taken place. Naturally the arrangers had been given a laughably short amount of time.
We had what amounted to that day to sort things before the rehearsal at 5pm and the show at 8pm. I can
remember a security guard coming to the door to remonstrate with me about the fact that I was smoking in a no-
smoking building. I told him that basically if I didn’t smoke they wouldn’t open.
How do we ‘make stuff up’?
Obviously these kinds of experiences, of which there were many, were abnormal even within the mad context of
the music industry. I am not for a moment comparing myself to ‘great’ composers at all, but there is no way this
can be done unless you plunder your existing knowledge, which sits within you, waiting to be converted into
something tangible. The idea that you literally ‘make stuff up on the spot’ is not accurate, whether we’re talking
about composing, arranging or indeed most things creative. We may think we do, but we don’t. You may
produce the goods on the spot but the knowledge, information and ‘raw data’ of harmonic, orchestration,
production and structural knowledge required to produce this plays a much bigger role, intellectually and
practically, than people imagine.
Content, structure and form
People sometimes imagine that the ‘art of composition’ is somehow separated from the much more mundane
possession of knowledge of structure that enables ‘creation’ to happen in the first place. This isn’t entirely true.
Composition is the result of an internal collaboration between different parts of your ability, different parts of
your knowledge and different parts of your memory, which distil to create music. The product may be now but
the constituent parts are accessed from a combination of intellect, memory and the skill it takes to access it
them. The ‘now’ element is tied up in how we specifically interpret our existing knowledge; but this is the
culmination of a process, not the process itself. To return once again to genuinely great composers; Mozart, like
all great composers, had his head permanently filled with an almost endless and permanently percolating
knowledge of structure and harmony and orchestration and placement and architecture. So for someone like that,
channelling his immense imagination and sculpturing it into something that could be played in a few hours was
just as much about how focussed he was, how dedicated, how resolute, how tenacious, obsessive and driven he
was.
One of the reasons people revere the art of composition is because they wrongly think it’s all about ‘content’ –
i.e. the stuff the composer thinks up. They think ‘form’ is a convenient ready-made shell into which the
composer pours his or her uniqueness. They imagine that form is a receptacle. The belief then is that form is less
important than whatever it contains. This is misleading; form has no inside and outside. Form is just as much a
part of what makes music sound unique or ‘great’ as the ‘content’ it accompanies. Form guides content. And yet
form is not something composers’ necessarily invent or create. Form is a template, a pattern, an approach or
methodology. When listeners react to the ‘exciting bits’ in music or the sections that really engage them they
could just as easily be responding to something which is more form than content. If, as a listener, you react to
the way an inversion really gives the piece a sense of lift, a sense of purpose and an element of drama, you’re
responding to something the composer decided to make use of, not something the composer can be said to have
created. Even the ‘stuff composers think up’ is itself heavily guided by the need and desire and propensity to
follow existing structures and forms. It’s highly unlikely and very rare that a composer can be said to have
thought up an entirely new chord sequence. And even if they had, they didn’t invent the chords so they can’t be
responsible for the fact that it works; they are responsible for realising it works, not for making it work.
The difference between the reality of music and the written and taught history of it
It’s important to realise that, just like today, only a fraction of great composers would have ‘made it’ into
mainstream recognition. Most classical music history books focus inevitably on one or more of a group of
maybe thirty or forty great composers; this gives the history of music a sense of structure, evolution, heritage
and tradition. It gives it a good narrative; it makes it into a ‘thing’. It gives students a set of names to focus on as
if that’s all there ever was. But we sometimes forget that there were many, many others. Today we readily
accept that being famous doesn’t neccasarily always equate to being the best; only to being successful.
But we accept without question the carefully choreographed narrative of music history which delivers a few
composers whose ability is now regarded as almost magical and beyond belief. But of course it wasn’t beyond
belief because it happened. These characters were people, not gods. If we had been around when Mozart was,
we might have realised that Mozart wasn’t writing for prosperity. Neither was Bach. They wrote for the
moment, the concert; the performance – the gig. Sometimes when we study music we impose on it a level of
importance that it sometimes did not have at the time. This doesn’t make it any less special and doesn’t mean
that Mozart and Beethoven weren’t revered during their lives, but it does mean that there is a fundamental
difference between the reality of music and the history of it. Few books offer ways of genuinely analysing the
music for the benefit of new composers; they mainly analyse to revere, to behold, to amaze. The same things
happen now; when I wrote the first two volumes and decided to publish online for free I made the book
available on my own website. They have so far been thirty thousand downloads. But one or two groups set up to
discuss film composers were incredibly snooty and asked me not to post links. When I enquired why they said
that a book that proposed to explain how film music was written wasn’t suitable. Instead they post pictures of
composers on their tenth birthday or composers smiling at cameras during recording sessions or pictures of
composers smiling at concerts or climbing mountains or eating Sushi. This is interesting to some but it doesn’t
explain anything or enlighten new composers.
In order to look at the issue of why people are happy to simply ‘revere’ and are sometimes happier without
context, we need to look at the evolution of classical music and in some ways also to something much closer to
home – the 20th century record industry. They were the undisputed gatekeepers; the prism through which all
recorded music was disseminated to its audience – us. And in carefully managing the process through which we
received music they were able to frame our understanding of it. If we ask ourselves, what is ‘classical music’
many people would assume the term refers to most orchestral music before the 20 Century. But it isn’t
neccasarily a particular style or a particular genre. It isn’t any of those things; it is a tradition; an idea that music
should be played and received reverentially. So essentially it is a dogma; a type of guidance on how to listen and
appreciate and revere. But classical music wasn’t always regarded by its original consumers as being ‘classical’
at all. It was regarded as music they responded to straight away. So in effect it could be argued that ‘classical
music’ was a term invented by the ‘early music industry’.
The 19th Century and the ‘sacrilisation’ of music
The sacrilisation of music is where it is plucked out of its recreational and representational context and elevated
to something which should be worshipped for ‘itself’. This is really where the idea of the ‘Classical Canon’
developed. Until then most music was regarded as music to be played once or twice and then forgotten. As I
said earlier a lot of Mozart’s music was written in that way; he wasn’t writing for posterity. Posterity came
afterwards; it was 19th Century music biz.
Shhh
In the 19th Century silence became important. People were told to be quiet; to listen. There is a perception that
classical concerts have always been that way; always attended by men in suits and women in gowns who all sat
in silence. Because this is how some people do it now, it is presumed that the music has always benefitted from
this unbridled reverence. But, again, this is the 19th Century music industry at work. At the time of many of the
famous works being premiered, many audiences did not sit in silence at all; they participated. They didn’t
neccasarily dress up. They drank, they shouted encouragement, they might ask the performers to play something
again; they might heckle - a bit like a pub gig. Some would take Opium (or ‘do’ drugs). But once the concept of
‘classical music’ arrived, ‘musical art’ became about passive reception, a bit like the 20th century record
industry. Is music about creating something to be viewed and listened to reverentially, or is it about ‘now’?
Some pop stars considered themselves to be a modern version of what they assume ‘classical music’ was. And
they had the perfect tools to justify this; they could be recorded; archived, captured for ever and poured over by
academics’ just the way classical music is.
Classical music and its modern counterpart - the music industry - produced not just music, but ‘special music’;
music to be revered. The irony now is that with the advent of the internet and the slow but inevitable painful
death of the corporate recording machine, the labels and the populist inertia they cultivated, many believe music
is achieving a kind of natural equilibrium; that is becoming more about the experience and less about the
artefact; less about the product and more about the experience; less about blind unadulterated reverence and
more about social enjoyment. Fewer people buy albums; iTunes proved that the natural unit of sale was the
single.
People don’t all want to buy physical products; they don’t want CDs; they want to have access, not ownership.
We are living in the last ten years of music being a physical ‘product’ at all. The death of the product pulls the
carpet from under the feet of the ‘majors’ in a way nobody thought could happen. In the 90s none of the majors
had technologists working for them. Record companies, famed for being able to see round corners, singularly
failed to see the internet coming. Their primary task, it could be argued, was to try and detect and cultivate
future trends – the next big thing – but they failed totally to see the future, even though it was there to be seen.
They were caught napping and didn’t see the future coming until it had already happened. So we ask ourselves,
rhetorically, was music ever meant to achieve such apparent greatness and reverence? Was it capable of
maintaining this level of praise and reverence? George Orwell, in a piece entitled ‘Politics and the English
Language’, written in 1946, said: “In certain kinds of writing, particularly in art criticism and literary criticism,
it is normal to come across long passages which are almost completely lacking in meaning.” before later saying
“…words fall upon the facts like snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details.” He wasn’t referring
to the way people are taught to revere and experience music in a certain way he might as well have been; there
is a great parallel between what Orwell was saying and the way some history books and the 20th Century music
industry chose to frame and deliver music. Words fall like the facts like snow, blurring the outline and covering
up the detail.
The 19th Century music industry essentially told people to shut up and listen, and so did the 20th century record
industry. Post-enlightenment history books told us music was all about the greatness of the individual. And then
record companies created products, became gatekeepers and told us what to listen to. This has left pop music in
a perilous state with no real idea about its identity as the post-record corporation era beckons. This is why more
and more creative artists and composers are becoming film composers; as a way of expressing musically and
commercially what they cannot achieve as under normal commercial conditions.
Innovation
Innovation has become a bit of a buzzword in recent times. Obviously it means ‘originality’ and is generally
associated with modernism. But the context in which the word is used has evolved. Academic institutions are
very keen on nurturing a sense of innovation; corporations pride themselves on being seen as innovative.
Academic institutions pride themselves on rewarding work which takes ‘creative risks’. But historically and
practically, innovation is a natural occurrence; it is an occasional consequence and by-product of the creative
mind. To presume that we can somehow force creative artists to be innovative merely by asking them, shows a
fundamental lack of understanding of what innovation actually is and when and how it can happen. It is
something which is so embedded in the creative process that trying to somehow separate it and ‘make it happen’
to order can be difficult and ill-advised. In some ways innovation has been turned from a concept, an ideal, to
more of a mantra and a refrain. Like words such as ‘genius’ and ‘art’ it is simply an opinion, not a fact. It’s
turned from something we can say, on reflection, about a piece which, with hindsight, might be deemed to be
innovative, into a something you can do now and know now. It also presupposes that innovation can be
recognised as such at the time of its creation. Many innovations weren’t recognised as such at the time, only on
reflection. Sometimes only the context of time tells you whether something was innovative.
Also, subtle innovation happens every day and in the most obscure of places. In film music it might be a
combination of specific harmonies, textures and production which allow us to think, long afterwards, maybe this
was innovative. I can remember analysing Alexander Desplat’s score for Zero Dark Thirty, with its evocative
harmonies and striking textures, and thinking that it was quite innovative in that it hadn’t been done before in
that precise way. But this doesn’t mean that something can be innovative simply on the basis of being new and
‘different’. The more we examine the traditional terms we use to describe music the more we perhaps realise
that many are opinions and not centred around ‘facts’. This is why in my books I try to avoid terms which are
too excitable or purely opinion-based. Sometimes innovation is subtle, delicate, restrained and sensitive.
Sometimes people would never know they’d listened to something innovative. Therefore the problem with
trying to force it or make it overt and italicised is that this can make it into a caricature. If we force people to try
and feel like they must innovate, it may, conversely, compromise such innovation.
What is skill and what is art?
The fact that we see writing as a skill and composing as an art is telling; skill is something we can identify with,
whereas art is just a word. We see writing as merely ‘clever’. We tend to use different levels of reverence and
reverential words to describe different creative abilities in direct ratio to how much we can understand them.
Composers are revered almost as Gods, not because they actually are Gods but because we don’t know how
they do it, so God will do. Most refer to the likes of Beethoven and Mozart (and subsequently in the modern
world Hans Zimmer and John Williams etc) as geniuses. When you think about it, genius is a handy word
because nobody knows what that means either. And so the great befuddlement continues. A great many books
which set out to shine a light on the world of composing only end up confirming just how terribly good
composers were and how terribly unlikely it is that you will ever match them, unless you happen to do it, and
then they’ll call you a genius too. And when people interview famous film composers mostly they continue the
hero worship game with gushing questions like “where do your ideas come from” and “how did it feel to write
the music for this film?” When composers do interviews they are to be forgiven for not ‘going off on one’ about
immensely detailed aspects of their music because most listeners wouldn’t understand a word of it. So there is a
tendency for the skill/art of music creation to remain unknown.
To read all this you may be forgiven for presuming a lack of proper respect or regard for composers and what
they achieve. This couldn’t be further from the truth; I am a composer myself and the last thing I want to appear
to do is denigrate what composers do. Great composers manage to manipulate and control the structures and
tolerances of music, imposing their own character in places, creating wonderful colours and sometimes dark
tensions through harmony, texture, arrangement and production. They manage to create great melodies which
stick in the mind of cinema-goers long after the film has finished. But being a composer, orchestrator and a
musicologist gives you a broader perspective from which you can draw more balanced and less hysterical
opinions. My point is that what the great composers do is, ultimately, magnificently skilful. It is the application
of great judgment, great organisation, great architecture and great commitment. To bury it in reverence and refer
to it all as genius is actually demeaning because it presupposes that composers are born with special powers that
weren’t the result of special effort. The same thing happens when we refer to composers as ‘gifted’ rather than
‘talented’. When one is called gifted it isn’t the accolade we imagine it to be because it almost implies that
ability is an accident of birth; something which is gifted to us rather than something we worked hard to achieve.
John Williams said “Any working composer will tell you that inspiration comes at the eighth hour of labour
rather than as a bolt out of the blue. We have to get our vanities and our preconceptions out of the way....”
Arguably the greatest film score composer who has ever lived clearly doesn’t see things through a self-
reverential prism. He doesn’t seem to have much truck with fanciful notions of genius. He sees it for what it is;
incredible talent and supreme skill, matched with a fantastic imagination and a tremendous work ethic. If we
strip away daft metaphysical notion of genius we bring ourselves closer to knowing that composition isn’t the
closed circle we may assume it is. It encompasses structure, which we can understand relatively easily. It
encompasses arrangement, orchestration, texture, instrumentation, production. It is all those things to which we
then add the one thing music doesn’t itself have; choice, opinion, judgment, attitude, perspective. Then we have
music. It’s not impenetrable or unfathomable or indecipherable. It’s not about genius, magic or God; it is all
explainable.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. The reason only a few succeed is not because it’s impossible unless you’re a
genius; it is because it is so tremendously difficult to harness, reconcile and execute our imagination, creativity,
ingenuity, skill, talent, expertise, judgement, perception, discrimination and mix it with an innate sense of
structural and harmonic knowledge to make it into something which sounds new; not so new that it puts people
off and not so predictable that people see it as a copy of someone else’s work. This is why it’s hard. If you’re a
successful composer, this is what you’ve managed to do well. Composing is not impossible but it is difficult,
gruelling, challenging, arduous and tiring. So it requires a rather odd combination of, on the one hand, someone
who has a creative and imaginative free spirit, and on the other, someone who is focussed, dedicated, resolute,
tenacious, obsessive and driven and who has gallons of realism, pragmatism, logicality. That’s why not many
people do it and even less people succeed at it; not because it’s impossible but because it is hard. It requires such
an odd combination of characteristics in order to compose professionally. Many people can compose music
insofar as they can ‘think stuff up’. What makes composers into successful composers is the ability to close the
deal, to zip the project up, to finish. A great many would-be composers have acres of ideas floating round in
their studios or on paper. But it takes a different mentality to get it done and walk away. It takes a different
mentality to finish the project and be prepared to be judged. Many people fear failure; this is what sometimes
makes composers into terminal apologists for their own work when it is reviewed by their friends and
contemporaries.
They talk of it ‘not being quite finished’ or of it ‘needing a bit of tweaking’ or ‘needing a different mix’ often as
a tool to avoid the reality of a finished product. It is sometimes this inability to conclude that often separates the
amateurs from the professionals. There is often a perception of artists as scatty, absent-minded, eccentric,
dreamy, hare-brained individuals. Mostly this is untrue. They are often very strange people but if they were all
as scatty as they are often portrayed to be, quite simply they wouldn’t get things done, or it would simply take
too long. The one common denominator of successful film score writers is that they are all fantastically
organised and driven to the point of obsession.
How we listen and how we write
If you read a book, become interested but then lose the book, you will no doubt feel frustrated. Similarly if you
listen to a song on your iPod but it suddenly and unexpectedly breaks down, you may feel irritated. This is
because our involvement with music and literature is structured. The human mind desires form. Accordingly
form is a central requirement of most commercial arts, irrespective of the medium. Perception guides our
awareness of form, but perception is not a solitary act; it is a constant activity. The mind is never truly at rest; it
constantly seeks the reassurance and safe terrain of structure; of order. Music relies on this uniquely unifying
quality of the human mind; the need for order. I say all this because writing music is, ultimately a trade-off
between, on the one hand, preserving a sense of order and familiarity for the listener, and on the other hand,
trying to inject sufficient surprise into the equation for it to be exciting. A constant theme of this series of books
has been how to create something within film music that creates interest for the viewer/listener without
disorientating them too much. Fortunately the very nature of film music and its function in movies frequently
requires it to be anything but normal; if ‘normality’ (nice, safe and commercially accessible chord sequences
one might find in song) is used in incidental film music which, for example, accompanies complex scenes
and/or dialogue, it can sometimes be distracting. In normal environments listeners gravitate to normality; it is
safe and reassuring territory which is why many songs are usually written in this way. But listening to it in a
movie may pull listeners away from the film precisely because they recognise the shapes, the forms, the sounds;
they start to listen to the music not the film. In incidental scenes especially, film music has to immerse itself
deeply within the body of the film and make the film and its music into one experience. If music, for example,
features broken harmonies, Pandiatonicism, cluster chords and other devices for reducing the certainty of the
music, this can’t be rationalised as easily by the viewer so it sometimes becomes abstract and peripheral and in
so doing essentially merges with the picture into one whole experience. We may think we’re listening
independently and unilaterally to music in a film but we rarely are; what galvanises us the effortless way in
which the music appears to become the film and vice versa.
Music works sometimes not by duplicating the onscreen emotion but sometimes simply by adding to it or by
creating an emotion which might be needed but which isn’t present in the scene itself. Sometimes the specific
emotion or character or flavour the film needs is something only music can provide. Because listeners don’t
rationalise music literally or understand it in the same way they understand words and pictures, it manages to
convey character and emotion subtly in a way nothing else can. Sometimes, when it is done well, music really
does feel ‘at one’ with the film, as if part of the character of the picture is within the music that accompanies it.
As I said earlier, a common sentiment about film music from viewers is that they don’t remember it or weren’t
aware of it. Usually this means it is doing its job well. In such situations people obviously did hear the music
and were aware of it, but it gelled so well with the film that it became a part of it. Or even if it didn’t ‘fit’ in a
conventional sense and was instead there to contrast, what it did (e.g. its function) was so helpful that people
simply rationalised it as part of the film, not the music.
The illusion of the tune
Even film music which seems, to the naked ear, commercial, tuneful, overt and exciting – such as John
Williams’ magnificent ‘Flying Theme’ in the movie E.T. or his wonderful weepie music for the final scenes in
Close Encounters – often contains pockets of harmonic or textural friction and tension one would rarely find in
something that actually was as commercial and accessible as people think it is. In fact one of the aspects of
Williams’ greatness is his ability to create wonderful music which seems effortlessly simple and completely
accessible, but which in reality is forensically structured to deliver stunning moments of tension and colour. If it
seems simple, sometimes it just seems that way. People usually don’t notice these specifics in the Flying Theme;
all they know is that the music is fabulous. One of the reasons it is fabulous is because of the supportive
orchestration, harmonies and voicings that wrap themselves around the theme and immerse it in a juxtaposed
mixture of tension and beauty and abstraction that can only usually be achieved via harmony and texture.
Only when you unpick the compositional form of Williams and unravel the often complex harmonies, textures
and voicings in the orchestrations do you fully appreciate this. The point I’m making is that the success of film
music is a product of how well you deliver an idea into the existing artistic and commercial framework of a film.
The mind seeks order but also wants excitement, surprise, wonder; even shock. Stories, whether they are
delivered in a book or in a movie, try to embrace the need for order and excitement. So when music is added,
one of the greatest skills of the composer is the way they read the film; the degree to which they understand
what emotion the film has already delivered, before the music is added. Then they look for the gaps; the spaces
for music to join the film, for it to have a function. Also, understanding the way a film is supposed to be
perceived by the audience is one of the most important skills of a composer. It could be said that quite a few of
the most important skills and talents of a successful composer actually have nothing to do with writing music;
they are to do with initial perceptions and judgements. If your initial reaction and judgement is right, the music
will work. When movie goers refer to ‘great music’ what they’re really talking about, first and foremost, is that
the idea was right; the concept was good and the function the music provides is helpful, even critical, to the film.
If the concept (e.g. the idea, the style, the function you choose to provide, the orchestration you choose, the style
of approach and where you place it) is inappropriate, the music you choose to pour into that conceptual
framework might not work, no matter what you write; not because the music is ‘bad’, but because the decision
to use it in the way you did at the time you did, was bad.
How music leads us into temptation
In volumes I and II we regularly spoke about how composers manage to confound our expectations; about how
surprise is one of the most exciting musical experiences. Sometimes, when this is so subtle that it is not even
consciously noticed by the listener, the composer has succeeded in manipulating our listening, deciding when,
where and how we will enjoy the music. Musical expectation, like dramatic expectation, is partly learned. We
try to grasp structure and form in order to make sense of the world, and the way we interact with music is no
different. The fact that many of these structural expectations are not only learned but are also part of a shared
reality, makes it easier for composers to manipulate a great many people, rather than just one. If we all behaved
differently and responded to different things in radically different ways, society wouldn’t function and we would
live in a world of chaos. Similarly if we listened in radically different ways and responded to different individual
characteristics in totally different ways, music might end up meaning very little to most people; it would be a
sound and not an experience. Music is a shared reality that we enjoy in similar ways. Great composers are
people who, in addition to possessing an outstanding knowledge of music, have understood how music structure
works and how to use it to create music that people respond to. People are seduced into the presumption that
every piece of music is intrinsically different, but in truth most of what we listen to, when it is stripped of its
surface-level stylistics, is very similar. If we look at the vast possibilities and potentialities that even
conventional music structure offers us and then reflect on the diet of comparative similarity and resemblance we
are subjected to, we begin to realise how narrow our diet of music is. But this same comparative
undernourishment is also what makes us so prone to being so controllable and malleable; because our diet of
music is, for the most part, relatively normalised, good composers know instinctively which buttons to press to
excite us, which buttons to press to confound us and which buttons to press to sadden us.
What is film music?
The very first quote that appeared in volume I referenced Irving Thalberg, an MGM producer from the 1920s,
who said, “There never was a silent film. We’d finish a picture, show it in our projection room and come out
shattered. It was awful. Then we’d show it in a theatre, with a girl down in the pit pounding away at a piano,
and it would make all the difference in the world. Without music there wouldn’t have been a film industry at all”
It’s easy to accept what an integral part of the process music is to film, but before we launch into volume III we
should once again take a moment to reflect on what a truly bizarre phenomenon film music is. Its inclusion is
massively at odds with the supposed realism of the photographed moving image. Our experience of film music
is radically at odds with our experience of the world. Why is it apparently natural and normal to have music
played to accompany scenes which, in the real world the movie is attempting to mimic, would sound absurd?
Our journey through life is normally not accompanied by an orchestra, so why does it work in film? As we
deduced in previous volumes, the reason music works is because it draws you closer to the film. Why does it
need to do this? In normal life we don’t need a soundtrack because we’re actually there, living it. But with film
we’re presented with a two-dimensional image attempting to mimic reality. Pictures and words are convincing
to a degree but music essentially creates an emotional bond between the viewer and the story.
One of film music’s biggest functions is to make the story believable. This is sometimes why music which
simply duplicates or emphasises often overstates and overcooks, turning drama into melodrama. Often, but not
always, music which offers ‘something else’ (something which mitigates or assuages) succeeds in making the
unbelievable believable; it softens us up to the notion of the story, often not by reinforcing it but by offering
subtle platitudes which bring us closer to the story. Viewers are largely unaware of this because they never see
scenes with music without music. These kinds of contexts are never seen or heard, similar to the unfinished
book or the part-written song. The public are presented with the finished article, not the constituent parts. They
experience the outcome, not the journey, which is another reason the whole thing can appear so bedazzling.
Film music’s function is to reinforce our emotional reactions, but because people love music but have no
understanding of the creative compositional process, ‘listening’ is a comparatively inexact process and
experience (compared to how we see and understand words and images). It is this uncertainty that makes people
curious and it is this uncertainty that almost forces listeners to attempt to interpret on a deeper, subtler level and
it is this that makes music such a great and natural accompaniment to the rather more defined world of words
and pictures. In short, we ‘get’ the pictures and we understand the words but music is different; the experience
of listening is something where we’re in our element but out of our depth. This subtle and beautiful confusion is
what can make music the most wonderful experience of all and it is why it works so well in film, because it
sometimes lessens the absoluteness of the images and the narrative and allows for more involvement and
personal interpretation. Music essentially aids our understanding and ‘reading’ of a film. But the fact that it
works ought not to be taken for granted, almost as if it is the idea of using music that works, rather than the
music itself. The reason it works is because it is fantastically well crafted by the composers and orchestrators
and mix engineers and of course by the director, whose vision the composers attempt to satisfy and embellish.
Why do people attach such importance to the wordless language of music?
Heinrich Heine, a German poet, journalist, essayist and literary critic (1797-1856), famously said, “Where
words leave off, music begins.” If he’s right, what does music ‘do’ that words or pictures don’t manage to do?
Words communicate fairly literally because they form a language we all understand; but, we might ask, do all
languages need words in order to communicate at a basic level? With music, peoples’ cognitive functions such
as observation, memory, attention and expectation, are all stimulated but by something most people
fundamentally do not understand and, most importantly, cannot see. Music is often spoken about and discussed
in abstract, easily digestible metaphorical language. Journalistic articles about film music in the music press are
perhaps sometimes the most laughable of all because you can feel someone trying to articulate and explain the
colour and emotion and meaning of music by mainly using terminology which isn’t up to the job. Sometimes it
is hopelessly general, vague, imprecise and ambiguous. Therefore we become accustomed to reading and
learning about music in bland, general terms and a kind of intellectual equivalent of pigeon English. The use of
music theory, a language that would shed real light on the subject, is rarely employed because people reading an
article or book would rarely possess the ability to understand and interpret in this way. One of the reasons why
music is not considered to be a literal form of communication is because most people can’t understand its
language.
Some have used various language analogies to underplay the role music theory knowledge plays in
understanding music. They say someone who can’t read written English would still benefit from a book that was
read to them regardless of the fact that they couldn’t see it. Of course this is true as long as the listener
understands the words. For some what follows is that ‘reading’ music doesn’t neccasarily give you a better
insight into music than listening to it. But this is where the analogy falls apart. It is likely that an illiterate person
understands words even if he/she cannot read them on paper but it is highly unlikely that a musically illiterate
person would be able to comprehend and understand harmonic interactions if he/she couldn’t read them. With
the exception of blind people who, regardless of their lack of sight, understand chord and note names and how
they function, I am yet to meet anyone who has a great knowledge of harmony but cannot understand the theory
behind it. Knowledge of harmony is a product of the theory. You can’t have one without the other.
As I stated earlier, for most, listening to music is an inexact process. For most listeners music lacks the
‘certainty’ of words and lacks the absolute concrete meaning inherent in most images. Words and images are
understood, interpreted and rationalised by most people but music is not. Therefore any emotion we feel through
music is generated without people fully understanding how and why it’s happening. The fact that most people
don’t understand music is its great strength, because it manages to communicate emotion and ‘meaning’ without
being understood. Being confronted with something that changes you but which you don’t fully understand can
be a wonderful experience.
Music works in movies because it gels together the clarity of pictures and the certainty of words with something
which lends them an extra, deeper context – one which contains slight meaning. If they were able to recognise,
classify and understand the relevance of the harmonies as easily as they do with pictures, the cat would be out of
the bag; the genie would be out of the bottle, never to return. For most composers this would be a different
world because most people would know what they did and how they did it. But if music’s effect (its ‘meaning’)
is imprecise and nebulous and subtly different in each listener, how does it manage to create often quite targeted
and specific responses in listeners. If listeners don’t ‘understand’ and music lacks the certainty of words or
images, how can it manage to articulate specific, almost forensically targeted emotion? The reason is that
although we are all individuals most of our responses are actually not hugely personalised. People generally
respond the same way to most things. Life and existence is a ‘shared reality’ – our responses to music tend, on
the whole, to be something great composers can predict with a high level of precision and create with relative
ease. To know how to compose is to know what you want to say, to have clarity about what emotion you want
to create, and to know which buttons to press to achieve your goal.
How does music create emotion?
To quote Leopold Stokowski (“A painter paints pictures on canvas. Composers paint their pictures on silence.”),
it is interesting to compare how composers create emotion with how other artists do the same thing. Playwrights,
novelists, poets, film directors, choreographers, comedians, magicians – their job is to create emotions within us.
Therapists, games designers, carnival operators and traffic engineers have good reason to study what engages
our responses and emotions, as have advertisers and politicians. The one thing all these have in common is that
they are generating emotions using things we all understand – language and pictures. Composers must create
emotion through abstract non-representational harmonies and textures. Where a comedian might find laughter
through parody, wordplay or absurdity, what does a composer do? Magicians evoke awe by appearing to
transgress the laws of physics, what does a composer do to create ‘awe’? Despite these difficulties composers
have demonstrated skill in evoking often quite specific emotion. Is that because of their greatness? Is it genius
simply because only a few have bothered to find out how to communicate with people through music? Is it
magic, or is it because there are an almost limitless number of pre-set harmonic and textural functions which
have been proven to evoke emotion in an almost limitless set of circumstances, a few of which the composer has
understood, harnessed and manipulated? The reason music is such a permanent and invaluable accompaniment
to film is because it is less definite, less understood and less comprehended. It takes the certainty out of a
situation and makes us think. It heightens our senses and our awareness. This process makes us enjoy the film on
a deeper level than we would have because the process brings us closer to the story. Wagner knew all this; he
said that the music of the future would be ‘closely linked to dramatic narrative’ adding that music would ‘bring
out those details of the drama that could not be spoken or shown’. Never a truer word was spoken.
A final thought in this introduction centres round how much of the process of creating great music is actually
about composing. We interpret composing as something we do when we create music. But actually, as most film
composers would tell you, composing music is often the culmination of a bigger process. Composition is often
the conclusion to a much bigger procedure. Composing film music is firstly about how we interpret the emotion
we feel from watching a scene or reading a story, and only then about how we turn this into music. It is
primarily about how we conceptualise and formulate our feelings and responses and turn them into plans; it is
about how we interpret the film and the story and decide what musical palette to use. It’s about how we decide
to colour the film in. Then we write music.
Film / TV music analysed in vol.3
SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY 16,248 words
A Perfect Sense (Max Richter)

Contagion (Cliff Martinez)
K-Pax (Edward Shearmur)
Limitless (Paul Leonard-Morgan)
The Mothman Prophecies (Tomandandy)
Naked Lunch (Howard Shore)
The 13th Floor (Harald Klosser)
Pleasantville (Randy Newman)
Signs (James Newton Howard)
The Adjustment Bureau (Thomas Newman)
The Core (Christopher Young)
The Village (James Newton Howard)
Volcano (Alan Silvestri)
The Event (Scott Starrett) Super 8 (Michael Giacchano)
THE NAME’S BOND 5,586 words
James Bond Theme (John Barry / Monty Norman)

Bond Theme (Moby)
The James Bond Theme (variation - David Arnold)
The Spy Who Loved Me (Marvin Hamlisch)
Die Another Day (David Arnold)
Kiss Me (David Smith)
Tomorrow Never Dies (David Arnold)
Live and Let Die (Paul McCartney)
Surrender (KD Lang/David Arnold)
Tomorrow Never Dies (Sheryl Crow/David Arnold)
You Only Live Twice (John Barry/Leslie Bricusse)
Nobody Does it Better (Marvin Hamlisch/Carol Bayer Sager – from)
Thunderball (John Barry and Leslie Bricusse)
We have all the time in the world (John Barry/Hal David)
DOCUMENTARIES
PBS Space Shuttle Disaster (Gaël Mange/Rodolphe Perroquin/Arnaud de Boisfleury)

Senna (Antonio Pinto)
PBS Jonestown – the life and death of the people’s temple (Tom Phillips)
Aircrash Confidential (Unknown)
The Falling Man (Dario Marianelli)
Inside the Twin Towers (Per Kihlborg)
9/11 Phone Calls from the Towers (Avshalom Caspi)
Man on Wire (Michael Nyman)
The Day Britain Stopped (unknown)
Inside Job (Alex Heffes)
HORROR
Candyman (Philip Glass)

Let the right one in (Johan Soderqvist)
Monsters (John Hopkins)
Devil (Fernando Velazquez)
The Ring & The Ring 2 (Hans Zimmer)
Mirrors (Javier Navarrete)
Twilight (Carter Burwell)
The Howling (Pino Donaggio)
Scream (Marco Beltrami)
DRAMA
Pierrepoint Harry (Martin Phipps)

Let Him Have It (Michael Kamen)
About a Boy (Damon Gough, as Badly Drawn Boy)
The Ides of March (Alexander Desplat)
The Impossible (Fernando Velazquez)
The Shawshank Redemption (Thomas Newman)
Too Big to Fail (Marcelo Zarvos)
The Last Days of Lehman Brothers (Kevin Sargent)
Prime Suspect 7 (Nicholas Hooper)
Olympus Has Fallen (Jack Kramer)
The Newsroom (Thomas Newman)
HISTORICAL DRAMA
Last of the Mohicans (Trevor Jones)

Zero Dark Thirty & Argo (Alexander Desplat)
Saving Private Ryan (John Williams)
Schindler’s List (John Williams)
Titanic (James Horner)
Argo (Alexander Desplat)
Dr Zhivago (Maurice Jarre)
The Elephant Man (John Morris)
The Killing Fields (Mike Oldfield)
IN SPACE EVERYONE CAN HEAR THE CHORD CHANGES (part 2) 13,389 words
Gravity (Stephen Price)

Avatar (James Horner)
Man of Steel (Hans Zimmer)
Alien (Jerry Goldsmith)
Armageddon (Trevor Rabin)
Prometheus (Marc Streitenfeld)
Solaris (Cliff Martinez)
Deep Impact (James Horner)
Sunshine (John Murphy)
THRILLERS 8,423 words
Jack Reacher (Joe Kramer)

Buried (Victor Reyes)
Enemy of the State (Harry Gregson Williams & Trevor Rabin)
The Fugitive (James Newton Howard)
Catch Me If You Can (John Williams)
The Firm (Dave Grusin)
Shallow Grave (Simon Boswell)
The Siege (Graham Revell)
Unstoppable (Harry Gregson Williams)
The Sweeney (Lorne Balfe)
The DaVinci Code (Hans Zimmer)
The Conspiracy (Darren Baker)
TEMP TRACKS, FILM MUSIC AND THE CLASSICAL TRADITION 10,981 words
Platoon - Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings

Gallipoli, Welcome to Sarajevo - Tomaso Albinoni Adagio in G minor
28 Days Later / Endeavour - Gabriel Faure Requiem ‘In Paradisum’
Ocean’s 11, The Game - Claude Debussy, Claire De Lune
Chapter 1
SCIENCE FICTION & FANTASY
This chapter deals in detail with the sci-fi / fantasy genre and analyses the music for a number of films where
music plays an integral role in articulating the story and the underlying context and narrative.
Films and music analysed include A Perfect Sense (Max Richter) Contagion (Cliff Martinez) K-Pax (Edward
Shearmur) Limitless (Paul Leonard-Morgan) The Mothman Prophecies (Tomandandy) Shore) The 13th Floor
(Harald Klosser) Pleasantville (Randy Newman) Signs (James Newton Howard) The Adjustment Bureau
(Thomas Newman) The Core (Christopher Young) The Village (James Newton Howard) Volcano (Alan
Silvestri) The Event (Scott Starrett) Super 8 (Michael Giacchano)
A PERFECT SENSE Max Richter

A Perfect Sense is a story about two people who fall in love just as an epidemic begins to gradually rob the
world’s population of their senses, one by one. The epidemic sweeps the globe, gradually rendering the public
unable to function. First, people start crying for no reason. After drying up their tears, they notice they have lost
their ability to smell; this is followed eventually by a loss of taste, hearing and finally, sight.
The epidemic itself is not given a major part in the movie. The film focuses instead on the two lovers and the
rest of the people dealing with the situation. This in part explains the functionality of the music, which is meant
to underpin the emotional context of the movie, rather than the science fiction. The main protagonists are a
scientist (Susan) and a chef (Michael). Susan is part of a scientific team trying to understand the epidemic.
The movie is helped by Susan’s regular voice-overs which provide a running narrative and context behind the
on-screen chaos. Described as a ‘post-apocalyptic reality check’, the movie provides moral and ethical
questions, the most poignant of which appears to be, do we make the most of our existence? Do we appreciate
life? Stephen Holden of the New York Times defined the film as ‘a solemn sci-fi parable set in present-day
Glasgow, whose deepening sense of foreboding is sustained by the enigmatic, pseudo-biblical reflections of an
unseen narrator.’ The music chosen to accompany the film is composed by Max Richter.
Blending classical, electronic, and rock influences into a style he calls ‘post-classical,’ composer/programmer
Max Richter’s music is an inspired choice for this movie. Richter has a habit of ignoring traditional boundaries.
Born in Germany but brought up in Britain, he was listening to the canon of classical music, as well as modern
composers including Philip Glass, whose sound was a major influence on Richter. The first track to examine is
called ‘Luminous’, which essentially bookends the film. People described this track variously as ‘beautiful’,
‘enchanting’ but also ‘monotonous’. This underpins the important point that sometimes words take on a
different meaning when used to describe the emotional impact of music. Monotonous is not normally a word
which one would want describing one’s own music, but in context of music that is not neccasarily designed to
entertain or be consumed in the traditional music industry sense, but instead provides emotion, expression and
depth, ‘monotony’ sometimes works well, creating a trance-like mesmerising feel.
Fig.1 Movie - 00.04.40 / 01.19.47 Audio – ‘Luminous’

One of the most important characteristics of ‘Luminous’ is it’s occasional hazy feeling of harmonic vagueness
and opacity. Although it is arguably difficult to conceive of something which is harmonically ambiguous having
a discernable sense of identity, sometimes the this is true; indistinct and hazy harmony is sufficiently different
from the norm to create its own colour. Into the realm of indistinctness comes a disproportionately higher level
of inclusion and engagement from the listener. Every time we listen to music to varying degrees we
subconsciously work to categorise and classify the harmonic flavour of what we’re listening to. We do this by
comparing it to other music we’ve listened to. These experiences gradually conspire to create what could loosely
be termed as ‘listening abilities’. With music that is less defined and doesn’t fit as easily into our preconceptions
we are forced to work harder than normal to distinguish and distil its characteristics.
I don’t mean to suggest that ‘Luminous’ is full of baffling dissonance, more that there are tiny, subtle harmonic
oddities which, when listening to it, can account for the slightly hazy feeling we get. I mention this because
when we experience music which seems ‘hazy’ invariably we usually assume this is down to texture and
production.
Fig.2
Bar four of fig.1 (notated separately in fig.2 – left) is interesting in that

although the chord on the lower strings is clearly a C#m, there are tiny
splashes of colour which imply a different chord. The descending quavers on
the top line feature G#, E, A and E. Over and above the slight clash between
the top G# and the lower A (highlighted with arrow), the horizontal harmony
created by the first four quavers suggest an Amaj7/E. Add to this the F# on
the third stave down, which functions as an add4. This is more than an idle,
geeky theoretical point; although non-musicians would not understand the
theory behind the point, they hear it happening and are beneficiaries of its
effect.
Fig.3
Similarly in bar twenty of

fig.1, and highlighted
separately in fig.3 (right),
there is a B chord (maj 3rd
D# on violin) playing at the
same time as the descending
piano line which contains to
add4s (Es) which serve to
make the chord a little
muddy and vague.
The textures and production of the instrumentation does play an important part; there is a deliberately grainy
textural quality to the production which occasionally comes across of distortion but which in reality is an
interesting and effective part of the sound.
The second track to analyse is ‘A Lover’s Complaint’, which comes twice in the film. The first time we hear it is
during a scene which shows a bus pulling up abruptly; passengers disembark abruptly and the camera moves to
show the bus driver crying uncontrollably, accompanied by off-screen narration from ‘Susan’. As the scene
develops we see other random people in the street breaking down in tears for no reason. These scenes are
powerful and are made more effective by Richter’s music, which has a captivating mesmerising monotony,
created by the regularity of the piano movement and the gently descending chords. There is, however, a subtle
strangeness to the piece which makes it penetrate: the phrases are interrupted; the ‘4/4 followed by 3/4’
sequence is repeated four times during the first time round the repeated section. The second time bar features 7/8
bars, which, again, manage to punctuate the sense of monotony, ensuring it penetrates the scene.
Fig.4 Movie - 00.13.00 / 01.23.55 Audio – ‘A Lover’s Complaint’
CONTAGION Cliff Martinez

Contagion is a medical thriller directed by Steven Soderbergh. The story documents the gradual spread of a
virus and the attempts by medical researchers and public health officials to identify and contain the disease. The
film portrays the inevitable panic and loss of social order but ends with the introduction of a vaccine to halt the
spread of the virus. Soderbergh makes use of a ‘hyperlink narrative’ (where we follow several interacting
plotlines), a style used in several of Soderbergh’s other films. Soderbergh’s research was extensive; to devise an
accurate picture of a pandemic they consulted with representatives of the World Health Organization as well as
other medical experts.
The film was well received by critics, who praised the narratives and the performances of various actors. It was
also well received by scientists, who praised the realism and accuracy. The music is composed by Cliff
Martinez, who has been Steven Soderbergh’ main composer ever since the director started out and has scored
Traffic and Solaris. Contagion features an astute blending of tones, textures and harmonies that create a world of
fear, apprehension and suspense. Martinez’ approach delivers music that evokes a feeling of technology and
science, which makes it work well in the film. The score suggests ‘science fiction’ and ‘thriller’ and the dark,
brooding, menacing and ominous music works extremely well with both the pictures and the underlying
narrative of abject fear. The score creates a distinct and unique voice for the film and creates a musical and
textural world for the story to be told in. This is an extremely atmospheric score, filled not so much with tunes
or tradition but with modern textures and evocative harmonies which are brilliantly sculptured.
As ever our analysis poses the question ‘what is the music doing’? What is its function, emotionally? The
gloomy and ominous tone of much of the film is at least partly down to the tone the music sets, which isn’t dark
in an overt way but nevertheless conveys a deeply disturbing feel. Looking at a track entitled ‘the birds are
doing that’ (below, fig.5) we can see that it has, like many pieces we’ve looked at, a sparse delivery style, thanks
to a minimal arpegiated line; the harmony is ‘spread’ horizontally rather than vertically in the shape of chords.
This means the harmonic flavours and colours the music suggests are delivered gradually, cumulatively, not at
once. The marimba / vibraphone sound has a soft, muffled quality thanks largely to the specific EQ. The point
here is that, as I said earlier, the music in itself is not overtly dark but the combined effect of the slightly frantic
arpegiated quaver movement, with the muffled quality of the textures, combined with the narrative of the film
overall, is dark.
Fig.5 Movie – 00.21.57 & 01.09.00 Audio – ‘The birds are doing that’
Marimba /
Samples
Brass
Marimba /
Samples
Music is rarely about one chord; it’s about the relationship between chords. This is what we respond to as
listeners; the sonority between two different chords. With this in mind, the Bb (minor 3rd) from the Gm chord
(bar four) bleeds over and ‘becomes’ (in the mind of the listener) for the briefest of moments, the b5 (#4) of the
subsequent Em chord (bar five). This is what creates the strange ‘out of key centre’ feel in the sequence and
adds to the unnerving affect the music has.
This piece also does something interesting in that it juxtaposes the use of brass over an otherwise modern /
minimalist ‘production’ sound. This happens at bar twenty-five. The brass chords alone are not particularly dark
or menacing but put alongside the other textures and lines the strangeness of the combination leaks over into the
music. The same thing happens in John Powell’s United 93 in a track called ‘2nd plane crash'.
Fig.6 Movie - 00.41.50 Audio – ‘2nd Plane Crash’
These are important points because they prove that music which often sometimes foreboding or portentous or
menacing often contains sounds or textures which traditionally are not heard together. Although there is a
tendency to always assume that there needs be a specific harmonic blueprint for creating these types of emotions
in music, often we find that the harmony itself is quite ‘normal’, as are the individual textures; it is the
combination that is unnerving.
Another thing worth mentioning in ‘the birds are doing that’ (fig.5) is the extent to which the harmonic colours
presented in the brass movement are actually a result of the odd, chromatic shift between chords. In the top stave
of bars twenty-one to twenty-four (of fig.5) there are root-based tied semibreve voicings of the Gm chord. From
bar twenty-five this becomes an Em chord. Normally if one were voicing these two chords, which lie outside
each other’s key centres, we would re-voice, altering the movement to make the transition from one chord to the
next more smooth. However, in this piece the movement is made starker because the voicings are parallel,
which heightens the sense of ‘abrupt key shift’ in the sequence.
Also in ‘the birds are doing that’ we have the concept known informally as ‘a bar for nothing’. This is when
composers insert an extra bar (or bars) in a sequence which lets the end of the phrase ‘sit’ for longer than usual,
deliberately extending the sequence to accommodate extra time. Between bars twenty-five and thirty-one there
are six bars. The brass play for the usual four bars but then there is a two-bar ‘tag’ on the end which simply
features the arpegiated synth line. This acts almost as a pause between sections which mitigates the otherwise
relentless flow of information and allows listeners to better rationalise and enjoy.
Finally on ‘the birds are doing that’ there are two more ‘moments’ which we will look at; one gives the piece a
beautiful sense of resolution and completion: at bar thirty-nine the piece moves from Fm to a straight and
serene-sounding C chord but one which has the added colour of the 7th, not in the chord itself but in the
accompanying arpegiated bass line underneath’ subtle colour.
At 01.10.07 in the movie we see one of the main characters entering the garage of a neighbour’s house; this is
the point at which we hear the Fm chord but at 01.10.13 the sequence resolves to the C chord. This might seem
unremarkable but the beautifully resolved C chord actually comes at the point where the character finds and
picks up a rifle; the point being that there is a really clever juxtaposition between the onscreen content and the
implied emotion of the accompanying music. This heightens the sense of strangeness in the scene. Although
there are no strong melodic figures the music completely colours and heightens our perception of the narrative
throughout this film.
Moving onto another piece in the same movie, called ‘Merry Christmas’ it is interesting to observe how a simple
sequence of semibreves can create a real sense of drama if they are well chosen and well placed. At 00.59.43 we
see one of the main characters in the film – a female doctor who was trying to find the antidote to the virus –
lying ill in a makeshift hospital bed. A character next to her wants a blanket but the hospital has none left; the
doctor silently attempts to pass the man her own blanket. This scene is accompanied by what is quite a profound
and dramatic chord change, delivered slowly and deliberately on semibreves using brass; this gives the piece an
ominous, portentous and fairly ‘final’ sound. Again the overt music doesn’t seem to fit the relative ordinariness
of the scene. The point of the scene might have been missed but for the dramatic music. Another later key scene
features another female doctor who, after talking with her boss over the phone, injects herself with what could
be the antidote. The same piece is used for this scene, which heightens the tension greatly. In both cases visually
the scenes are quite simple but the dramatic chord changes in the music enhance the meaning which better
distils the narrative.
Fig.7 Movie – 00.59.43 and 01.12.33 Audio – ‘Merry Christmas’
Another characteristic of the piece above, which greatly enhances its effectiveness, is the silence which
separates the phrasing. Two identical phrases which include dramatic chord shifts within them are sometimes
better served with space in between to heighten the effect. In this context harmonic silence is not really silence
at all; it is space, into which comes anxiety, unease and fear. On top of this there is, as in many of the piece
we’ve looked at, the ‘crunchy’ voicing approach used on the G and A chords (by virtue of the rather low 3rd)
which accords the chords a slightly sonically ‘lumpy’ character. Also, and finally in this piece, we have the
effectiveness of the chord sequence itself; the B to G chords both have a 3rd on top: 3rds are particularly emotive
intervals which shine through a chord. When we hit the second chord in the sequence, we still remember the D#
(3rd) of the original B chord. The ‘ghost’ of the D# bleeds over and, for a split second, becomes the #5 of the G
chord, causing slight dissonance. This is often referred to as the ‘Goldfinger chord change’; John Barry’s
‘Goldfinger’ title track had an F – Db manouvre which had a real sense of drama and weirdness to its listeners.
Although much is made of the brash 60s orchestration which delivered the chords, the A of the F chord leaks
over into our experience of the subsequent Db chord. The two opening chords in ‘Goldfinger’ and in this track
are outside each other’s key centre. When writing them together, to avoid too much drama we would voice them
sympathetically; unless, of course, drama is what you want, which is the case in both examples, albeit for
different reasons.
Audio – ‘Goldfinger’ (John Barry/Leslie Bricusse/Anthony Newley)

K-PAX Edward Shearmur

K-Pax is an extremely interesting and evocative movie. Actor Kevin Spacy (‘Prot’) appears from nowhere in a
crowded New York railway station. Because of his bizarre and unorthodox behaviour he is taken in by the
Police and eventually ends up with Jeff Bridges, who plays psychiatrist Dr Powell. Prot claims to be an alien.
The question for Powell is, is Prot really an alien or is he a mentally disturbed man who just thinks he is an
alien? As the film unfolds and more evidence is uncovered, both theories become credible. His ability to map
from memory the area of the galaxy where his home planet is located indicates a knowledge that no human
could possibly possess. His ability to see ultraviolet light also supports the theory that Prot might actually be an
alien. Powell conducts hypnosis sessions which lead us to a very real person (Robert Porter) whose family had
been murdered, Porter having gone missing after witnessing the killings. Could these devastating events cause a
personality aberration so great that Porter suffered a mental breakdown which made him reappear thinking he’s
an alien? What so annoys some viewers and reviewers is that the ending doesn’t seem to give a conclusive
answer; it is ambiguous enough to make you wonder if you really know the truth. Some think Prot was an alien
and was merely using Robert’s body as a vehicle. The other theory is that Prot is Robert, post nervous
breakdown.
On a deep level it is a challenging film that makes the viewer form an opinion. Do you revert to what you think
is the case or do you dare to think the unthinkable? Perhaps it makes us think beyond our own existence and
perhaps it even shines a brief light on issues such as how people judge mental illness.
As with some other films we have analysed, people referred to the music as ‘ethereal’, mesmerising and
otherworldly. One very quick answer to the ‘otherworldly’ characteristics would be the #4s, which are
everywhere (highlighted with arrows). However, another perhaps less obvious characteristic is one we found in
the last film – namely the horizontal harmony. A chord featuring a #4 interval is one thing, but spreading the
harmony horizontally can often offer a less cluttered, more subtle rendition.
#4
Fig.8 Movie - 00.00.35 Audio – ‘Grand Central’
* * * *
*
*
* * * * * *
The top stave synth line offers some nice context and accompaniment to the quaver line; initially fluctuating
between the B and C#, the top line offers different, brief and sporadic vertical intervals (highlighted) between
the top line and the quaver line. The main point really is that the piece makes a virtue out of the use of
incomplete, partial harmony and the idea of harmony being spread thinly; horizontally. The #4 acts as a
harmonic signifier, being associated (in this textural context and in this narrative surrounding) with wonderment
and ‘things not of this world’. Another interesting piece comes early in the film when Prot is taken on a journey
in the back of a taxi. The music here is particularly effective; it complements the wonderful photography and,
with the sound design pulled down, is instrumental in articulating Prot’s character and heightening the emotion
of the scene.
Fig.9 Movie – 00.33.40 Audio – ‘Taxi Ride’
This is a wonderfully ethereal piece which makes good use of

some dreamy textures and effective harmonies. Key to the
chords’ effectiveness lies in the way they are voiced. In this
analysis we’re going to concentrate on the harmonies and
voicing. Below we have transcribed a larger version of the
accompanying chords
The chords are what we call ‘combination chords’; they contain not one but two extensions. On top of that the
extensions are embedded in the chord rather than towards the top; this means their effect is more subtle. Because
the extensions are buried within the more ‘usual’ intervals, this leads to a handful of clusters, which tends to
concentrate the colour more vividly within the chords. In the first chord there are two sets of major 2nd intervals,
directly on top of each other. The chord in bar two features three lots of major 2nd intervals. Although these are
not all next to each other, the fact that there are three cannot help but make the chord dense. In all these chords
there are no semi-tonal clashes; another reason how and why these chords can be dense and cluttered without
being traditionally dissonant.
11th
th 7th 6th 9th 6th Three sets of
4 Three sets of
Two sets of maj 2nds maj 2nds
Fig.10 maj 2nds
9th
7th
The point is that as well as containing two extensions, each chord also contains two or three examples of major
2nd intervals; it is this unusual combination of factors and events which offer such vivid colours. The third chord
is particularly complex because in effect it constitutes polyharmony. In one reality it is an Emaj9 chord over an
F# bass and in the other reality it is a B with an added 4th and 6th, over an F# bass. We have called the chord an
F#11 with an added 6 simply because this is probably the most rational visual explanation, but none of this
alters the fact that this is clearly polyharmonic.
LIMITLESS Paul Leonard-Morgan

Eddie Morra is an author suffering from writer’s block; he meets his ex-brother-in-law Vernon, who offers him
a nootropic drug, NZT-48. After taking the pill, Eddie finds himself incredibly mentally endowed, able to think
and learn faster. He finishes writing ninety pages of a book he’d previously been unable to complete. Inevitably
the effects of the drug wear off but when Vernon is killed Eddie takes the entire supply of NZT. After borrowing
money he makes millions on the stock exchange. His life goes from strength to strength but inevitably it all goes
wrong as Eddie has to face the consequences of the side effects of the drug. Seen by many as a simple and rather
obvious anti-drugs message inside the body of a science fiction film, Limitless deals with various issues in an
interesting and original way. The anti-drugs message is doubtful since long term Eddie benefits greatly from his
use of drugs. Some see it as a warning about the abuse of technology and class in society; according to the
futurist Ray Kurzweil in the near future we may all need to get ‘brain upgrades’ or implants just to be able to
keep up with the rapidly changing world; the point being that this technology will cost money and in the current
world we live in won’t be available to all, only those who can afford it. The film was modern and raw, and the
gritty soundtrack worked well with this narrative.
Key to the success of the music is how Paul Leonard Morgan distils the narrative of this movie through a
combination of raw and edgy production but also via the use and manipulation of harmony. Before we look at
the opening music, which so cleverly sets the harmonic and sonic tone for the film, let’s take a minute to reflect
on how we, as listeners, engage with music. Most of us are victims of tradition, convention, custom and ritual.
Mostly music is delivered in very precise but simple formulaic harmonic packages. We get used to this so our
tastes sometimes become narrow and limited. This protects us from what we might think will be unpleasant
experiences but it also severely compromises our limitations. We do not listen to music with an open mind. How
could we? Music is a social experience; our tastes develop according to our experiences, most of which will be
group-based. We listen with expectation, presumption, assumption; prejudice. When we listen our responders
and reactions are determined by our knowledge, understanding and memories of other listening experiences.
This is how we listen and because this is how people listen, this is also how people usually write music. We
don’t generally write music – at least commercially - to challenge people. But film music is still – just - one of
the few areas where we are allowed to think the unthinkable and to do the undoable without neccasarily being
subject to hostile interpretation. Given the almost limitless amount of harmonic possibilities we can choose from
but the relatively simple diet of mediocre and unimaginative choices we make, what’s one harmonic event we
would hardly encounter? In other words, what’s the strangest type of chord we can imagine?
Fig.11 Movie – 00.01.00 Audio ‘Opening’ – 00.06

Look closely at bar two and we will see a rare sight; a simultaneous major / minor chord. This can’t be
explained away as simply being a flattened 10th chord, where the higher 3rd is lowered; this chord has the F# and
F clashing directly. But because of the distraction of the raw, electronic sounds, we perhaps assume this is a
sonic by-product of the instrumentation. But the harmony is working independently of the sound; the clash
creating a difficult and abstract listening experience. Alongside the gritty textures, the chords and lines work
extremely well and especially well in context of being the opener to this kind of film.
Fig.12
Later in the same piece

(bar twelve onwards,
featured separately, left)
we see Dmaj and D min
consecutively but not
simultaneously as
before.
Fig.13
Any major chord to a minor version of

the same chord can be disorientating,
striking and dramatic. Also in the same
piece at around 01.28 the top synth line
fluctuates wildly between major and
minor 3rd (right, fig.13).
THE MOTHMAN PROPHECIES Tomandandy

The Mothman Prophecies claims to be a modern fictionalization based on actual events that occurred between
November 1966 and December 1967 in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. Journalist John Klein and his wife Mary
are involved in a car accident. A subsequent brain scan shows that Mary has a brain tumour and she
subsequently dies. Later, John discovers a series of mysterious drawings she created before her death, depicting
a strange black winged creature she saw on the night of the accident. After her death, John begins to investigate
the secrets behind the ‘Mothman’. It takes him to a small town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia, where he
discovers a connection. Here he meets Police Chief Connie Mills as he continues to unravel the mystery of what
the Mothman really is.
The intro to the film features a largely FX/sound design-oriented approach; the music proper plays during the
first scene, in which John Klein is seen in the newsroom of the newspaper where he works as a reporter. He has
a routine conversation with a colleague and as he walks out of the office the accompanying music (transcribed
below) starts. The key thing here is the way the music reads the film; although the music itself does not convey
an apprehensive, portentous or ominous emotion (and neither – on a surface level – does the scene), the two
together, combined with what, as viewers, we already know about the story, work to offer a subtle resigned,
acquiescent air.
It is not overtly horror-oriented but its subdued and restrained nature works to create a gentle feeling of anxiety.
In terms of ‘how it does it’- there are some interesting textural and harmonic factors which together manage to
deliver an effortless and subtle sense of foreboding. The bare 5th interval that separates the top-stave lines is
static but the bass line descends over a two-bar sequence, which is then repeated. The top-line textures are
simple but soft, gentle and effective. The descending bass guitar offers a slightly rougher and organic texture,
but, as we have seen so often, it is the intervals the top notes occupy which offers the piece a sense of direction;
of ‘journey’ rather than melody. If a top line moves physically we tend to refer to it as melody, but if, in this
case, it simply contains two semibreves a 5th apart, spanning a four-bar phrase, the term ‘melody’ wouldn’t seem
appropriate. However, if we look at the intervals (determined by the overall chord) occupied by the notes (5/1,
6/2, maj7/3), they ascend; they evolve, just as a physical melody might. With the accompanying descending
bass line there is an effortless sense of contraction and expansion thanks to the contrary motion between the bass
and the intervallic context of the top two notes.
Fig.14 Movie 00.02.15 Audio 00.22 ‘Composed of 12 members’
Dm F Bbmaj7
C maj 7 maj 7
6 3 6 3
5 5 2
2
1 1
By bar five there is a physical ascending line creating a physical contrary

motion between it and the bass line
Another track in the film, entitled ‘all at once’ makes a virtue of the same principle. It features an A-note
‘melody’ which moves from representing the min3rd of the F#m chord to becoming the 5th of the subsequent
Dm/F chord.
Fig.15 Audio - ‘All at once’ 5th
m3rd m3rd
PLEASANTVILLE Randy Newman

Teenagers David and Jennifer lead different social lives; Jennifer is shallow while David is introverted and
spends most of his time watching television. One evening while fighting over the TV (he wants to watch an old
black and white show soap opera about a perfect fictitious place called Pleasantville; she wants to watch a
concert).They end up breaking the remote and the television set. A mysterious TV repairman shows up and
gives David a new remote which transports them into the Pleasantville television show. Fiction has become real.
Stuck in Pleasantville, David and Jennifer must now assume the roles of the show’s squeaky clean teenage
characters Bud and Mary Sue Parker. After ‘Mary’ dates a boy in the town and has sex with him, slowly
Pleasantville begins changing from black and white to colour, including flowers and the faces of people who
have experienced bursts of emotion. Older fathers in the village resolve to do something about their increasingly
independent wives and rebellious children. As the townsfolk become more colourful, a ban on ‘coloured’ people
is initiated in public venues.
“When we’re afraid of certain things in ourselves or we’re afraid of change, we project those fears on to other
things, and a lot of very ugly social situations can develop”, so said the Director. Robert Beuka says in his book
SuburbiaNation, “Pleasantville is a morality tale concerning the values of contemporary suburban America by
holding that social landscape up against both the utopian and the dystopian visions of suburbia that emerged in
the 1950s” The main message seems to be that there is no inherent ‘perfect life’, no model for how things are
‘supposed to be.’, no template for happiness. The use of colour as a metaphor in black-and-white films certainly
has been done elsewhere to great effect; the girl in the red dress who made the Holocaust real for Oskar
Schindler in Schindler's List is one good example. In Pleasantville colour represents the transformation from
repression to enlightenment. How a composer would score a film that exists on so many conscious and
unconscious levels is not an easy question to answer but Randy Newman provided a beautiful score which
succeeds on the one hand in italicising the mystical, almost magical undercurrents of the film but also succeeds
in acknowledging the bittersweet melancholic undertones of the narrative. The track we will analyse is called
‘Real Rain’ and is referenced a couple of times during the film, perhaps the most poignant of which comes
01.09.17 into the movie, in a touching scene in which one of the main characters who exists inside the TV show
sees ‘colour’ on the cheek of the woman he loves after she wipes a tear away. The dialogue is sparse which
allows the first few bars of the piece to penetrate the movie and become part of how we rationalise and
understand the scene. A more texturally full section comes at bar twelve, where the strings enter; this
accompanies a powerful side-shot of both characters looking at one another.
Fig.16 Movie - 01.09.17 Audio – ‘Real Rain’
* *
*
Movie - 01.10.22
* * * *
Fig.17 Fig.17 (left) shows the chords in the first

three bars; the first four chords sound
exquisite for a number of reasons; first of
all the D at the foot of each voicing is
recontextualised intervallically which
th rd th makes each D ‘mean’ different things as
D=5 D=3 D=4 D = #4
we progress through, evolving from a 5th
A tone A semi A tone A tone
between tone between between the to a maj3rd followed by the 4th and finally
the A between the A and C and D the #4.
and B the Bb G and E and a
and A and D semitone
between the
Ab and G
The drama contained in the tensions between the tone and semitone intervals creates its own contours with
peaks when the chords become particularly colourful (i.e. the second and fourth chord). We go from the relative
normality of the first chord to the mild cluster in the second chord, to the denser but harmonically milder cluster
in the third chord, to the final polytonal chord. The final chord could be described as it is or as a D7sus4(b5).
The fact that there are two different ways to theoretically describe the chord doesn’t just make it purely a
theoretical issue; as I have said in previous volumes chord symbols are not just a means of description; they are
a description of the way something sounds – the way something is interpreted and ‘feels’. If there are two ways
of describing the chord, then there are two ways of hearing the same thing. Logically then, although the vast
majority of listeners would not understand the theory, they are still beneficiaries of the affect that polytonality
causes. So in a very real sense this goes beyond theory.
Harmonic identifiers
In fig.16 I have highlighted the various harmonic identifiers which affect the colour of the piece. The piece
heavily references the #4 (this is denoted with * on the score). It features at the beginning and in the semiquaver
piano line. This lends the piece a mystical feel. The second harmonic element which permeates the piece is the
‘add2’ chord ( ) which shows up all over the place. As we have discussed before the ‘add2’ adds a warm,
romantic air to harmony. In both cases the #4 and the add2 elements appear traditionally embedded vertically in
chords but perhaps the best use is in the semiquaver piano line where they are scattered horizontally.
SIGNS James Newton Howard

Signs was director M. Night Shyamalan’s third major feature film. A common theme in his movies is that they
frequently feature a subtext about the regaining of ‘faith’. Though some sections of his films are scary and even
violent there’s frequently an underlying family theme to Shyamalan’s films. The Sixth Sense had a major twist at
the end which many who watched hadn’t seen coming. Some then pondered whether a second viewing would be
pointless? Producer Frank Marshall said, “In the case of The Sixth Sense, at first you’re watching a movie about
ghosts, but then, the second time you see it - knowing what you know - it becomes clear that really, it’s a love
story. The same is true with Signs - yes, it’s a science fiction film, but it’s also a serious drama about faith and
spirituality. It’s really about human emotions that are set in motion by a supernatural event.”
When discussing Signs Shyamalan seems to feel that the film’s title has two very different meanings. “One is
the crop signs that they find in their yard and the signs that are happening around the world. But it is also about
faith and the existence of signs from above,” explains Shyamalan. Marshall adds, “You can look at the title as a
sign to open your eyes. The character of Graham is shut down in the beginning of the film and he is not really
able to deal with reality. His family is not doing so well. And so, part of the message of the film, I think, is to
open your eyes to what is around you and you will see the answers.”
Mel Gibson stars as Father Graham Hess, a lapsed Priest whose personal beliefs were shattered a year ago by
the death of his wife in a car accident. Overnight crop circles appear. Hess initially rationalizes that it must be
local teenagers but with other strange events happening locally, nationally and globally (delivered into the film
well via TV news broadcasts) he realises the planet has been visited by aliens. Instead of special effects or CGI,
Shyamalan creates his world out of everyday ordinary objects such as a baby monitor that picks up inexplicable
sounds.
The first piece I want to look at is the title card / intro section, which is quite long but definitely worth looking at
to understand how James Newton Howard works, what elements and conventions he uses and how the colour of
orchestration delivers the sound of music.
Fig.18 Movie intro Audio – Main Titles

The functionality and artistry of orchestration
The harmonies and lines contained in the orchestration really do deliver the sound of the music; in the ‘main
title’ cue (fig.18) we can see and hear many characteristics, features and personalities which help the piece
communicate a quite specific emotions.
Firstly, in orchestration, as in music itself, few things appear just once and most are there for a reason; they
serve a purpose. We can call this purpose the ‘functionality’ of the orchestration; how it generates the colour and
the character to deliver the message of the music. During the movie Newton Howard uses a motif which goes
from root to fifth and then the augmented fifth (see fig.19). A good example of it is below, in a track entitled
‘first crop circles’ which we will discuss later.
Fig.19
This basic idea of root-to-fifth, followed by another interval/extension appears numerous times in the film and if
we look at the isolated section of the intro we can see the germination of the idea. This time it appears as root,
5th and compound min2 and is articulated by the strings. This opening piece, which accompanies the credit roll
at the beginning of the film, acts as an overture for some musical elements of the rest of the film. It acclimatises
listeners, aurally, to ideas which will come later and thus establishes a musical relationship between various
parts of the movie where similar ideas are used to generate memories and emotions in listeners.
Fig.20
Atonal clusters
When you’re providing atonal cluster chords to shock and distort and using texturally brash instrumentation and
performance, beyond a certain point, harmonically, listeners hear only sound, not music. One could therefore be
forgiven for thinking that when it comes to atonal clusters we could write what we want as long as it sounds
weird. But this obviously isn’t true. In context of film music and the desire to impart detailed emotion,
dissonance is just as forensically shaped and sculptured as ‘normal’ harmony. What’s important for a composer
is to understand that the sound is music because it needs creating with notes and sounds. With this kind of thing
you need to get the texture right and the location / architecture (in terms of where, how and when you do it)
right. In the example below there are isolated pockets of relative normality, e.g. the chord from the Horns in bar
two, which, unilaterally, forms what could be either part of a Bmaj7 or part of a G#m .add2
Fig.20
D#
B
A#
Cb
Bb
A
G#
In bar four of the transcription the trombones are added, playing what at first glance seems to simply be a cluster
of semitones. But looked at chordally it is a G#m addm2/add2. So even within the densest dissonance there is a
semblance of consonance at the heart of it. We have another section (below, fig.21) taken from the ‘main title’.
Fig.21
Listening to this section in context of the rest of

the piece we hear the rough, brash textures of
the Horns and the rhythm of the phrase more
than we notice any distinguishing harmony. But
once again, if we scrutinise the Horns we can
see deliberation and method in the harmony.
We can see what JNH meant.
The Horns move from G and B (contextualised

by the E in trombones as 3rd / 5th) to Bb and D;
this means that for a second we ‘hear’ an Em
seem to bleed over into a Gm
The transcription below, again taken from the ‘main title’ track, highlights a particularly exciting section where
the Horns seem to appear like dissonant bullets out of a gun. In fact the ‘melody’ stated by the Horns has a
discernible harmonic context in that it is part Phrygian and part harmonic-minor. Once again, this is not just
using convenient theory to interpret three notes; this explains the specific and conflicting harmonic flavours of
the line which combine to make it so scary. Another thing in this section which works well is in bar five (fig.22)
where a low E bass motif gives way to the tremolo Horns playing an Eb and G, constituting the root and major
3rd of an Eb chord.
Fig.22
E F
D#
‘FX scoring’ is where the audience do not hear ‘music’ – they hear an effect caused by music they cannot
possibly interpret musically but benefit from nevertheless.
Movie – 00.12.56 Audio ‘Roof Intruder’

Fig.23
The very first moment of ‘roof intruder’ (left,

fig.23) is an interesting one to observe. In the
movie it comes just after a tender moment when
Graham Hess is talking to his young daughter
about her mother (Hess’ wife) who died tragically
some time ago. At one moment Hess glances out
the window and sees the briefest of glimpses of
what appear to be a human-like figure on top of
an adjoining building.
Looking at the transcription (fig.23) it seems like

a blur of notes which listeners would be hard-
pushed to deduce emotion or meaning from. And
yet they can. This moment is amongst the scariest
in the entire movie, not least because of the music.
Fig.24
Perhaps we need to look at a more condensed, ‘simplified’
version (right, fig.24) to see it for what it is; what scares
listeners (apart from, obviously, the scene itself) is the brief
textural splash of but mostly the aurally incomprehensible
nature of the harmony. There is no chance for people to
rationalise what is, in effect, a chromatically dissonant
chord featuring, from the bottom upwards, B, C, Db and D.
An established working practice between composer James Newton Howard and director M. Night Shayamalan
has been that the composer often begins work before a shot is even filmed. Newton Howard will sometimes
respond to the storyboards and/or to the director’s vision rather than the finished product. This questions the
whole romanticized notion of ‘writing to picture’ but can be a good way of working because you’re writing to
an idea; a concept, rather than a moving picture. In this way, arguably, musical conceptualisation may be freer
to play a bigger part. Together they are responsible for films such as Sixth Sense, Signs and The Village.
Shayamalan is a critic of the way in which music is used in film, i.e. its function; one cannot in honesty be a
critic of music per se because so much is opinion and personal judgment, but he is critical, for example, of the
amount of music in a film, saying, “Music is used way too much in film and is used too much as a ‘band aid’ to
cover up poor story-telling”. The way Shayamalan uses music in the film Signs (as in Sixth Sense and The
Village) highlights the issue of the function of the music. Certainly the music, with the exception of the
introduction titles (fig.18) does not always function as atypical horror music in the film.
It works on a much deeper, engrained level, addressing the frailty of the human condition in the face of
adversity. Whether the music Newton Howard wrote would have been more ‘sucked in’ towards horror music if
he’d written it to picture is worth thinking about.
The scene five minutes into the film where Mel Gibson’s character, Graham Hess, surveys a flattened cornfield
is interesting. We covered this in volume 1 but it is worth revisiting it here in context of what has been a much
broader look at the film’s music than was contained in volume 1. The communicating factor here is the schism
between the 5th and the #5th. This dissonance is brief and is dressed up in orchestration which prevents it from
jarring. But still, it is subtly unsettling, which is exactly what it’s supposed to be.
Fig.25 Movie 00.04.50Audio – ‘First Crop Circles’ 01.26
Strings
The same way films like The Ring had an identifiable harmonic brand, so does Signs. The rhythmic identifiers
are the two semiquavers-to-quaver. On many of the cues, as I said before, there is fluctuation and interplay
between the 5th and #5th. The cue below begins the first time Graham Hess sees the unmistakable form of the
alien. He shines a torch in the darkness and sees the fleeting image of the alien’s leg disappearing into the
cornfield. Terrified, Hess runs back to the house. He enters the house to a scene of calm with his brother sat
reading a book and his children doing housework. Gradually they notice his unease. There is no dialogue; the
music tells the story, not with classic sci-fi music but with subtle delicate and restrained harmonies and
instrumentation.
Fig.26 Movie 00.36.40 Audio - First Crop Circles

What is notable in this cue, as discussed briefly in the chapter Music Theory in Action in vol.1, is the chord
maneuver between Cm and B (bars eight and nine) with the min3rd of the Cm (the Eb) becoming the maj3rd of
the B (the D#). We see this trick hundreds of times in modern film music. As we allude to elsewhere in this
series of books, the success of the chord shift is that it offers a note common to both chords which function as
minor and major 3rds (the Eb becoming the D#). Listeners hear what a note represents changing whilst the
physical note itself remains intact. The listener hears the slightly abstract reality of something changing but not
changing. What actually changes is nothing as obvious as the note itself, but something wholly more subtle:
what the note means; what it represents. This is what we respond to. We respond to the context of the note. Our
understanding of context is everything; it is how we make sense of the world around us. What also makes this
particular maneuver so effective is that the key interval is the 3rd – an interval we have described in previous
volumes as descriptive. It is a warm, romantic interval whose unique unifying characteristics radiate through a
chord. So when we mess with it, the affect is all the more overt.
If we look at the original scored version of this piece (the section below is of bar thirteen of fig.26) we can see
how the orchestrator embeds the augmented 5th (in this example written as a minor 6th) from the piano part (the
Eb over the G chord) in the arrangement by virtue of having it stated lightly by clarinets and strings.
Eb note
Fig.27
One of the most interesting and exciting sections of the movie is towards the end during the final climactic scene
in which an alien in Hess’s home is confronted. ‘The Hand of Fate – part 2’comes as the family move outside
the house, having killed the alien creature, but now having to deal with the son, who has ingested dangerous
gases from the alien. Musically this piece, along with its predecessor – The Hand of Fate – part 1’ brilliantly
articulates the charged and varying emotions of the scene. We will analyse how the music contextualises the
pictures and the emotion in the scene, adding its own layer of colour and feeling via the manipulation of textures
and harmony.
Fig.28 Movie - 01.34.20 Audio ‘The Hand of Fate’
(#11)
add2
In order to examine the harmony we need first to figure out the emotions it evokes, the feelings it conveys and
the character it communicates. Dealing first with words we might use to describe the emotions we ‘hear’, we
think of hope, optimism, courage and faith – sentiments which describe not just the scene but the culmination of
the narrative arc of the story. The music is both positive and affirming in places but also with a splash of
wistfulness and melancholy. The music is exciting but also thoughtful and contemplative.
Bar eleven is perhaps the first time we hear a definite whiff of positivity, especially with the piccolo added, but
this leads to a slightly more wistful and reflective air by bars thirteen and fourteen; this is when we hear the sus2
chord (‘sus’ 2 rather than ‘add’ 2, which means the 2 replaces the 3rd, which slightly blurs the identity) coupled
together with the high #11. This is an interesting point because the add2 and #11 combined create more than a
whiff of an A chord, which creates almost the drama of the A/G slash chord and a feeling of mild polytonality. It
is these discreet touches of colour through orchestration which create subtle harmonic nuances that slightly
colour the chord (below, fig.29)
Fig.29
(#11)
add2
Why does the manouvre between bars fifteen and eighteen sound quite uplifting? The G chord to Bm creates a
palpable and mildly exhilarating feeling but the defining moment in this section is the link between the A chord
and the C chord. These two chords lay outside each other’s key centres; the chord goes upward to C, the top
string note remains physically static but intervallically goes from the 5th (of the A chord) down to the rich and
communicative maj 3rd (of the C chord). We therefore have a kind of contrary motion between the chord and the
interval of the top strings.
Fig.30
Note static on E
5th C
Interval of the E note
3rd
Chord A
We don’t normally get a 4th and a maj3rd in the same chord. The two intervals do inherently different jobs; they
create different colours in music and they don’t complement each other. But when we have the varied textures
of the orchestra at our disposal and when we’re trying to inject subtle abstractions into harmony, these are
precisely the tricks we can use to do the job (fig.31).
Fig.31
Below (fig.32) we see the same trick at work (bar forty-none).

Fig.32
(omit3)
Also in this excerpt there are two more subtleties at work;

firstly in bar fifty-two / fifty-three there is a semitone
clash between the top B note on the bass clef stave and
the low C on the stave above, but this is italicised by the
lack of the maj 3rd in the chord, which makes the chord
less ‘sweet’ sounding and more stark.
Secondly there is some ‘lumpy’ harmony at the

bottom of the chord in bar fifty-four, which
succeeds in creating a slightly sonic ambiguity,
vagueness and opacity.
THE VILLAGE James Newton Howard

The Village is directed by M. Night Shayamalan. Like many of his films it benefits from slow pacing and heavy
reliance on symbolism to tell its story. The Village is about a group of people who all suffered a violent and
criminal loss of a loved one. They all chose to voluntarily start new lives and families together as an isolated
community. The film purports to be set in a rural Pennsylvanian community of 1897 but it is revealed, in a true
Shayamalan twist at the end, that the time is now, not 1897. The community had built new lives in a vast rural
community owned by one of them and off-limits to anyone else. Even aeroplanes are banned from overflying
the area. The village is self-contained and cut off. Children born and raised there have no idea of how the
community came to exist. Surrounding the village is a forest, full, according to the elders, with ‘beasts’. These
occasionally glimpsed beings are referred to by the village folk simply as ‘Those We Don't Speak Of’, and their
threat instils a paranoiac fear into the heart of the town which prevents the children from ever straying beyond.
Films often reflect the issues of the day through the prism of science fiction or horror. We can perhaps draw
parallels between The Village and our own eras of home-grown and foreign anxiety (post WW1, post WW2,
post Oklahoma bombing, 9/11, etc). The horror genre has progressed from fear and containment from outside -
to fear/containment from within.
Colouring this film is a vast colourful landscape of music, beautifully painted by the delicate textures of the
orchestra and the distinctive harmonies Newton Howard uses. Dominating the music are the violin solos from
virtuoso Hilary Hahn, which speak of the pastoral, earthly, back story to this film. The music takes you on a
musical journey into the film’s setting and time period. The violin of Hahn almost becomes its own character
within the film, such is its power.
The female protagonist Ivy Walker’s innocence is underscored by the subtleties and emotions generated by
JNW’s writing. Apparently Newton Howard selected Hahn for her youthful nature and similarities to Ivy in the
film. Director M. Night Shyamalan acknowledged the music’s strong impact on the film’s narrative, lending it
an emotional value, taking it in a different direction than originally intended. What began as a
suspense/emotional thriller soon became just as much a love story.
The majority of the music consists of violin solo against a background of strings, winds, and piano. The Village
symbolizes purity, innocence, unconditional love, and the will to live that resides within each of us. This is
aided by the intoxicating textural and harmonic elegance embodied in the solo violin and the orchestra. Many of
the musical aspects which make this score so compelling and create an authentic period character and subtle
suspense, are tied up in the orchestration, and this is an area we will look at. Hahn’s violin and the
accompanying piano of Randy Kerber float effortlessly but restlessly in the background to enhance the
authenticity of the location but also the sense of displacement.
The following cue (entitled ‘Main Title’ on the score and ‘What Are You Asking Me’ on the soundtrack album,
is typical of the music for the film in terms of the sense of time, place and emotion that it generates. It comes
several times in the movie.
Fig.33 Movie 00.56.55 - Audio ‘What Are You Asking Me?’

The most interesting and endearing aspect of this piece is the sense of displacement carefully crafted into the
piece via the use of ‘the beat for nothing’. A ‘beat for nothing’ is sometimes a name we give to an empty space
within a piece; a small section deliberately left silent to illicit an emotional effect. The first beat of the piece is
silent, so when listeners attempt to subconsciously rationalise and classify, which they do, their sense of
placement is slightly ‘out’. In short, we assume the first two semiquavers and quaver are on the first beat and we
probably assume it’s in 4/4. Because they’re actually on the second beat, this means that the piece doesn’t quite
‘add up’; it has a feeling of falling in and out of time. In fact the first beat of the bar is left unstated on bars one,
four and six. Contrary motion features subtly in this piece (highlighted) which lends the piano a sense of
tradition and structure. Another interesting aspect is a type of contrary motion that exists between the direction
of the chords in terms of the physical voicing (bar six, piano and violin, upwards) and the actual chords they
create (Fm to Db, downward). This juxtaposition between the individual notes and what they state collectively,
‘chordally’ is often what lends music its sense of structural integrity, harmonic variation and almost effortless
feeling of movement.
For the next sequence in the film the sound design is pulled down in the mix to allow the silent pictures and the
music to contextualise the narrative and deliver the story. Bar eight of the sequence is the uplifting chord change
from Fm to Ab; it comes at the moment one of the characters in the film sees a red flower in the ground;
supposedly a harbinger of danger. By the end of the cue the characters have pulled up the red flower and buried
it out of sight. This is a pivotal moment of the film and one which is served brilliantly by the music. We covered
this piece in a previous volume of ‘How Film & TV Music Communicate’ but it seems a shame to omit it from a
wider discussion about the film’s music.
Fig.34 Movie 00.03.55 – Audio ‘Rituals’ (entitled ‘Village Violin’ on the score)
5 9
8 11 11
5 C 9 9
C
7 3 7
5
8
5
1
5
7
Ab Bb 9 Fm
maj7 9 9
9
The moment when the two characters see the red flower
The two characters bury the red

flower out of sight
This is one of those moments when music speaks louder than words in relaying the story and the context of the
scene. Music ‘speaks’ and yet as we have established it talks in less emphatic terms than words or pictures; this
is its great strength. The emotional impact is less direct and more subtle, delicate and understated. From a
structural perspective the piece is bookended by the same phrase (bar two & three and bar thirteen & fourteen).
The first three notes of each of those phrases are bare, stark characterless intervals (5,8,5) whereas the next three
are colourful descriptive intervals (7th, 3rd, 7th). With the supporting harmony underneath stating an ‘omit3’
chord, the melodic line above takes the piece from a bare chord to not just a minor chord, but a minor 7th chord,
one with lots of colour. We go from stark nothingness to full colour, as a result of a melody line which transmits
harmony horizontally, with intervals radiating out. It’s notable that the supporting Fomit3 chord is voiced over
the inverted C, weighting the chord slightly in favour of the same note that the initial melodic line begins on.
The melodic line which exists inside the aforementioned bookended phrase (e.g. from bar five to bar twelve)
itself has many colourful intervals in the form of a few 9ths and 11ths, followed by maj7ths and 9ths. The
melody from bars five to eight is nearly identical to the line from bars nine to twelve but from bar nine we have
a new chord underneath, which of course changes the intervallic context of the melody. This cue has been
described as sounding mesmerising and mildly hypnotic. The reasons for this description are not personal or
specific to one person or subjective or abstract or metaphysical and nor are they solely to do with the dreamy
textures of the heavily reverbed solo violin; they are at least partly due to the emotional ‘lift’ we feel when we
hear what appears to be the same line but different. How can something be the same but different? The same
melody line can assume a different character and meaning when the surrounding context changes (e.g. a
different chord underneath). This is similar, for example, to the different meanings of the words ‘there’ and
‘their’; they sound the same but the context changes everything. The ‘duality of perception’ the listener
experiences – the repetitive melodic line with evolving harmonic context underneath – is such an important
factor. Whilst intervals may seem an automatic by-product of the notes we choose to write music, the interval
defines how a note will function. The other nice thing about the passage from bar nine is the interplay between
the major 7th on the lead violin and the 6th interval as part of the chord that supports it. The distance of a 9th
between those two notes separates them sufficiently for their individual and different colours to shine.
If we go looking for the structural secrets behind a piece of music we will learn much from investigating not just
the melodic line but the intervallic contour of a melodic line. Don’t forget the note delivers the sound but the
interval delivers the context of the note; literally the music. What a note represents is inextricably tied up in
what a note is.
This next cue is, again, typical of the soft, subtle harmonic brushstrokes which colour Newton Howard’s
writing.
Fig.35 Movie 00.13.42 - Audio ‘Ivy’s song’
The way this piece evolves from the relative ambiguity of an incomplete chord on bar one, to the full character
of an expansively voiced Gm chord (leading into bar five) through to the mild and enchanting dissonance of the
final chord (bar seven) typifies not just Newton Howard’s approach to harmony but his approach to architecture
and placement too; when, and in what order you place chords ultimately is the final arbiter of their success. If
we take the various characteristics of each chord we find they create a kind of emotional arc, starting with the
nondescript, bare and square ‘omit3’, moving to the complete colour of the Gm and progressing to the final
chord, the dead-ringer Newton Howard chord. Why is this final chord so colourful, so anxious and yet so
serene? The clash between the top Bb and the A (a b9th lower) is the main reason for the tension, but in order to
understand the specific nature of the tension we have to look at the intervals the two notes represent. Without
the Bb the chord is an open-voiced but richly resonating Dm/F (with a 6th interval separating the low F and the
D above it, a 5th interval separating the D and the A above it and a 4th interval separating the A and the D above
it).
The Bb on the top is itself a min6 above the D below, but it is the interval the Bb itself represents in the chord
which defines why it creates such a distinctive dissonance. It represents the m6, which gently clashes with the
5th an octave lower but of we look just at the top two notes we hear the Bb as the min3rd and the D below as the
5th of a Gm, or we hear the Bb as the octave and the D as a maj3rd of a Bb chord. Either way explains the
strangeness created by hearing two chords being suggested at once.
A 5th right next door to the minor 6th is a much more overt clash, but when a the gap of a b9 separates the Bb
and the lower A, the kind of dissonance achieved works so much more subtly, especially when the weighing of
the chord is further dramatised by the inverted 3rd (F). Like any other chord, the spaces which separate the notes
in this chord define its character, but this chord has more space than many; the chord spans two and a half
octaves from top to bottom but contains just five notes, which means, unlike chords which are more tightly and
densely packed, each note is heard. Five-part voicing over two and a half octaves is always going to be thin, and
with the thinness each note penetrates which means the chord is vivid and colourful. The cue is quite difficult to
place in relative musical time. It starts on the 2nd beat and features different time signatures which prevent
listeners from acclimatising to it, which keeps it fresh.
The following cue comes several times in the movie and accompanies scenes in need of some musically created
anxiety, disquiet or fear. This is created cleverly by Newton Howard through a combination, once again, of
specific harmonies and forensically voiced chords and by specific textures. One such scene sees one of the
film’s main characters stare towards a section of the room; the camera follows his gaze and settles on a box,
which, we will see later in the film, contains documents and information which will be crucial to the underlying
context of the scene. Without the music this is simply the camera focussing on a box but with music it becomes
significant; it becomes relevant. Once again music tells the story by offering a voice which italicises something
that otherwise might have gone unnoticed.
Fig.36 Movie – 00.15.33 Audio ‘The Box’

The anxiety, disquiet and fear exuded by this cue are derived are very cleverly appropriated from the
instruments due to the unique textures but also the specific way each section is voiced. The A chord in the
woodwind and brass in bar one of fig.36 are scored distinctly over the low E, whereas the strings are scored over
the low C#. Therefore there is real sonic density to the collective voicing but this is mitigated by a different
inversion applying to woodwind/brass than to the strings. The ‘lumpy’ voicing is collective, spread over the
entire instrumentation, not localised in one section, where it would be more troublesome. The woodwinds / brass
manage to penetrate partially due to the specific nature of their inversion, as do the strings. That said, there is
still tension unilaterally within each voicing. The woodwind and trombone voicings are a little close; the gap
from the low E to the A above is a 4th but it is still a little ‘raspy’. The C# above (3rd) adds warmth and makes
the sound a little smoother. The strings are voiced farer apart although there is still tension in the 6th interval
between the low C# and the A above. When people refer to cues such as this as sounding foreboding, sinister
and menacing, we often need to look vertically from top to bottom of the chords, rather than at melody. Often it
is specific inversions and how these are voiced for orchestral textures that make the difference and offer a real
sense of colour. In addition and literally on top of these voicings we have the distinct sound of a compound m2
interval between the E and F notes on violins; because this is a constant feature which runs throughout this
section, the dissonance inherent in the interval functions is audibly indecipherable and functions almost as sonic
interference.
The cue ‘race to resting rock’ comes eighteen minutes into the film and exudes feelings of simplicity, hope and
happiness, tinged with tiny tensions and splashes of harmonic colour. Looking firstly at the accompanying
violas (2nd stave up), we can see and hear the colours created by the fluctuating harmonies: between the
indistinct, hazy opaqueness of 2nd/4th intervals to the certainty of the 1st & 3rd and 3rd/5th intervals (bars one and
three). The same set of notes creates much more striking intervals of #4/6 and (and once again the certainty of
the 3/5 on bars two and four. The piece seems to subtly float in and out of harmonic focus.
Fig.37 Movie – 00.18.16 ‘Audio - Race to resting rock’
6 5 6 5 6 5 6 56
4 3 4 5 5 6 5 4 4 5
3 #4 3 #4 3 3 3
3 #4 3 #4 3 #4
2 1 2 3 3 #4 3 1 2 2 3
1 1 1
Lucius into the woods page 63 – film 00.24.19

01.04.02
In bar five the melody appears, in which colourful extensions again play a prominent part, played by flutes and
ocarinas. What could loosely be described as the ‘love theme’ from the movie is to be found in the track ‘those
we don’t speak of’, which features some technically precise solo performances on violin from Hilary Hahn.
Although this piece is used to play the film out, it also comes earlier, emphasising a rescue scene which reverts
to slow-motion just as Joaquin Phoenix’s character saves Ivy from what they assume are creatures attacking the
town’s homes. The frantic semiquaver triplet violin motif is texturally and harmonically prominent. The line is
so fast we can’t possibly hear or listen to the individual notes, so instead we gravitate to top note of each group
of twelve quaver triplets. We hear the rest of the notes as horizontal harmony, with the notes providing
arpegiated versions of the underlying chords.
Fig.38 Movie - 32.30 and 01.37.26 (end titles) Audio ‘Those we don’t speak of’ 2.36
Solo
violin
1st violins
/ synth
2nd violins
Violas
Cellos
Basses
Harp /
Piano
Solo
violin
1st violins
/ synth
2nd violins
Violas
Cellos
Basses
Harp /
Piano
Solo
violin
1st violins
/ synth
2nd violins
Violas
Cellos
Basses
Harp /
Piano
Again, as with many cues from this film, the vivid colours created by harmonic tensions (which enable the piece
to communicate so well) are to be found in the internal orchestration. Below we have a version of the same cue
minus the visually distracting semiquaver triplet solo violin line (and the harp).
For starters we can see the prominence of extra colourful extensions, not on the top of the chord but in the
middle of the voicings and in the internal lines. We can also see consistencies; for example the reoccurring 2nd
and 4th intervals in the harmony and counterpoint. There are also some beautifully slightly sonically muddy
lower harmonies, particularly on bars nine-twelve, where the basses and cellos follow their own narrative. The
bass movement from the root of the Cm chord in bar eight to the F note (inverted 5th) of the Bb chord in bar nine
is interesting because, as we have seen many times in film music, it ensures the chordal movements aren’t
always parallel and creates drama in the movement. The bass movement in bars nine-twelve includes the line
moving from F (inverted 5th) through Eb (4th) and D (3rd), creating some nice dramatic moments; perhaps the
most dramatic of these is the D bass in bar twelve, which, being the inverted 2nd, creates a palpable sense of
tension.
Fig.39
5th (C) becomes ……...the 4th
add2
(inner voices)
add2
1st violins 4th

/ synth
add2
2nd violins
Violas
Cellos
Basses
* The drama of the inversion and the slash chord

THE 13th FLOOR Harald Klosser

A group of scientists have created a simulated world inside a computer. The inhabitants of the simulated world
have a life of their own but people can ‘plug in’ to take over a character and live their life. None of the
characters in the world are aware it isn’t real and life goes on for them even when there is no human
intervention. One of the scientists makes a shocking discovery which questions what is real and what is a
simulation. The following cue could be described as the ‘romantic theme’ because of where it appears in the
movie and the context of its use, but it also acts on a much broader level; the emotion of the piece is melancholy
and reflective. It exudes a sadness that addresses not just the romantic element of the movie but the wider
sombre, forlorn and sorrowful narrative of the movie as a whole.
Fig.40 Movie – 01.10.15 & 01.28.30 Audio – ‘Hall is Dead’ #11 - #4
Contrary motion
The tension and release of

the sus chord resolving
#11 9
In addition to its use in this film, for which it was originally written, this cue is a widely used sci-fi piece which
has been used in numerous film and television contexts, as well as trailers. It is an extremely evocative piece of
writing which makes great use of distinctive textures and equally distinct chords and voicing. Why? Firstly, how
many pieces do we know which begin on such a transitory chord? Expect the unexpected with film music; when
a specific moment in a piece of music move you, it is probably not what it did but what it didn’t. In this case it
began with a chord which is more used to being placed elsewhere in a piece, during a transition from one chord
to another.
Pieces that start on a dominant 7th chord are quite rare and ones which begin on a 7th with b9 chord are rarer still.
The 7th b9 chord has a romantic, almost tragic air when used softly and with deliberation. If it used more directly
and overtly, using brash instrumentation, it can sound theatrical and dated, but when used with soft slow and
languid strings the affect is noticeably subtler. Add to this recipe, as I said earlier, the fact that what is normally
a transitory chord comes from nowhere, unannounced, at the beginning, following a long and low octave bass
note which does not in any way prepare you for the chord on bar four.
When we examine distinctive extensions such as the flattened 9th we naturally tend to rationalise them according
to their relationship with the root. In this case we are drawn toward the tension between the b9 (Ab) and the root
(G). But when we ignore the root we find that the notes that are left almost create a diminished chord. In many
ways a 7thb9 chord is only one step away from a diminished chord; it is in many ways a subtler version. And
when we look at the b9 itself (the Ab, bar four) and look at its relationship with the note below it in the voicing
on bar four (the B) we find that it is the distinctive maj 6th interval (‘My Way’, ‘Music of the Night’ ‘Angel’
‘My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean’). Also the Ab and lower B both resolve in opposite directions, creating an
internal contrary motion.
The point is that this five-part voicing of the b9 chord contains many different and contributory colours and
tensions. When these are delivered slow and deliberately we capitalise on these factors. An almost identical
thing happens in the movie Apollo 13 in a sequence where the stricken spacecraft heads behind the dark side of
the moon to join a free return trajectory journey back to Earth. Again there is a subtle build-up, followed by the
ghostly 7th/b9 chord.
Fig.41 Apollo 13 Movie 01.07.30 Audio - The Dark Side of the Moon 01.00
Returning to The 13th Floor and consulting the melody section below, if we analyse the distinctive solo voice
melody and the way it interacts with the supporting harmonies we can see some important harmonic events
which add colour and distinction to the phrase. Firstly, if we view the D and Bb melody notes in bar three of
fig.42 (bar seventeen of fig.40) as 10th and 8th of a Bb chord (rather than as #11 and 9th) we can together see they
almost create the feel of a Bb chord over the filmic Ab/C chord underneath. This gives the piece a very
spacious, airy polyharmonic feel. Add to this the change between the Cm (second half of bar to, below) to the
Ab/C (bar three) which is created by the physical movement of just one note.
Fig.42
Eb = m3rd Eb = 5th
C = root C = maj3rd
The filmic inversion
th
F note (6 ) and D note (b5) create a
mini Bb dynamic which blurs lightly
with the Ab chord
Add to all this the subtle ‘quasi Bb’ poly-feel of the D and F notes in bar seven, above, and also the beautiful
cello line which in bar four hits the Bb underneath the Ab/C chord which has the solo voice melody note sitting
on the Bb above; the Bb (9th of the Ab/C chord) is bookended vertically at either end of the voicing. On top of
this we have the B note (maj 7th of the Cm chord, bar five) merging with the F (cello, bottom stave, bar six) to
create a quasi G7 chord within the existing chord. What all this shows is that the piece is awash with colour,
with the different extensions and harmonic context being distributed subtly to create a texturally and
harmonically ghost-like feel.
THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU Thomas Newman

In The Adjustment Bureau, Matt Damon’s character discovers that life on earth is manipulated by a clandestine
group of agents following a plan of their ‘executive chief’. Seem by some as a story about God and angels and
by others about the programmers of a simulated world, The Adjustment Bureau is full of subtext. Some have
ventured to suggest that the narrative addresses the vested interests of the global corporate world that influences
government, manipulates oil prices and provoke wars. The important point here is how does Newman’s music
represent the film’s story and overall premise?
On a surface level the film deals with life and the series of coincidences that seem to guide us to some
predetermined destiny. Through an interesting science-fiction thriller with romance at its core, the film uncovers
the fact that coincidence isn’t real and that most of the important things are planned beforehand. The movie is
based on a Philip K Dick story about a legion of ‘adjusters’ who move and change events to be sure everything
proceeds according to ‘the plan’. The adjusters are essentially agents for the ‘higher power’. The basis for the
romantic angle of the film is when two characters who, according to the plan, are not supposed to be together,
meet and fall in love. The film plots the ‘adjusters’ trying to prevent the relationship from progressing. The
movie is a cross between science fiction, fantasy, mystery and romantic drama. This presents issues in terms of
what the musical ‘voice’ of the film is going to be. Newman wrote an enchanting and intelligent score which
succeeds in portraying a blurred reality; parts of the score are intensely beautiful whilst sometimes retaining a
faint, distant, indistinct far-away feel. In particular the music which bookends the film at the opening and at
01.41.23 is entrancing, absorbing and hypnotic.
Fig.43 Movie opener & 01.41.23 Audio – ‘Four Elections’

Splashes of colour
Em7
Unilaterally the
Unilaterally the piano implies Unilaterally the piano implies piano implies a D
a G chord an Am chord chord
Em7
Am6/9
The piece enjoys the consistency and uniformity of a repeating idea (the piano motif) but also experiences brief,
almost imperceptible splashes of colour, such as the m6 created by the C note high in the strings on bar five.
Also what adds to the slightly dreamy sound, apart from the reverb and the instrument textures obviously, are
the different unilateral harmonic colours created by different instrument lines and note groupings. The piano line
creates a definite ‘G’ feel but with the strings added the piano notes are part of an Em context.
To a degree you could say the same thing about most music; if you isolate specific parts they generate an
independent unilateral harmonic context. The difference with this is that the two chords (G and Eomit3) are
stated by different textured instruments, so they retain a sense of their own individuality. When you hear the
opening few bars, although the chord that works is Em7, you do really feel like you’re listening to two contexts
(a G and an Eomit3 combined). Few people would know the names of the chords or understand these factors but
everybody benefits. So when people sometimes refer to music sounding dreamy, it pays to look beyond the
textures. If you factor in the D implied chord in bar nine and the implied Am chord in bars five and fourteen,
this reverbed interplay between G, Em, D and Am becomes a little blurred; polyharmony is part of what creates
the dreamy feel.
The next piece to be analysed is a track entitled ‘None of them are you’ – another beautifully haunting piece
Fig.44 Audio – ‘None of them are you’
Cor
Anglais
11
4 8 8
2 3 3 7 7
1 1 1 5 5
Key centre established… …then our c expectations are confounded
The effortless shift from 4/4 to 3/4 momentarily wrong-foots us
This is an interesting piece, not least because of how it creates such a wonderfully sublime feel. The piece
begins with the textbook Thomas Newman synth/sample line on the middle stave (the ambiguity of the single E
note followed by an E and F# together, eventually resolving to the ‘nearly’ minor chord), together with the
haunting reverbed Cor Anglais. The main point here is that the key centre of Em gradually becomes established,
only to be confounded when the piece arrives at bar five with the bass note of A appearing. The middle stave
grouping on bar four – E(root), G(min3) and A(4th) bleeds over into bar five but ‘becomes’ (thanks the
intervallic recontextualisation of the chord by the A bass) the 5th, 7th and 8th. On bar six the D note is added,
representing the 11th. Composers often garner reactions in listeners by virtue of expectations being raised only to
be confounded. This is a popular compositional device in music generally and especially in film. A similar thing
happens again during the transition from bars nine/ten and eleven onwards. The effortless shift from 4/4 to 3/4 is
so subtle that we hardly feel it in the kind of conventional, obvious and overt way we normally would. Normally
time changes cause a more direct response from listeners because they are deliberate and form part of the
process of the piece. This one wrong-foots us precisely because it only becomes apparent gradually and is not
perceived and ‘felt’ until a few bars after bar eleven. This is partly because beat one of bar eleven is not stated
by the string/sample chords. When we hear the chord we assume it is stating beat 2/3 of a 4/4 bar, so it is
actually the transition from bar eleven to twelve where things seem ever-so-slightly strange. The crotchet triplets
just prior to bar eleven also cause slightly rhythmic confusion. All these factors combine and conspire to make
the piece seem a little out-of-focus.
THE CORE Christopher Young

A series of disturbances caused by instability in the Earth’s electromagnetic field lead scientists to discover that
the Earth’s core has stopped rotating; within a year the Earth’s electromagnetic field will collapse, which,
naturally, will destroy all life on earth. Scientists develop a plan with the United States government to bore into
the Earth’s core with a top-secret machine and plant a series of nuclear charges at precise points to restart the
core’s motion and restore the field. The score is by Christopher Young, who delivered a score that was both
intimate and, at times, bombastic. The director told Young he didn’t want the score “to have that excessive
pomposity that some of these disaster movies have.” Young stated that he was consequently worried about
overwriting and would ask himself, “Am I going to squash this movie?” Certainly Young didn’t squash the
movie or overwrite but the orchestra was huge, numbering a hundred before the choral overdubs. That said, the
writing remains emotional and at time sensitive. The first section we’re going to have a look at comes early in
the movie during a visually stunning sequence which shows the Space Shuttle preparing for re-entry into the
earth’s atmosphere.
Fig.45 Movie – 00.11.05 Audio ‘Project Destiny’ 00.30
Choir / strings
As ever the questions we pose are what is the function of the music? Also, what does it do that pictures / words
alone do not, why is it there, why does it work and how does it work. There is an angelic innocence, almost a
mystical quality, created by the choral line. The Bb and Ebm string chords are so rapid that they effectively
almost function as one; the Gb note in the Ebm chord thus ‘becomes’ the #5 of the Bb chord and equally the D
note within the Bb chord ‘sounds’ like the maj7 of the Ebm chord. This harmonic blurredness, which throws the
#5 into a major chord and the maj7 into a minor chord, helps foster the ‘dreamy’ feel within the movie (see
fig.46, below). Also the #5 interval is an interval which is well-known for fostering a feeling of strangeness;
this, after all, is the interval on which some parts of the main theme from Signs depended.
D note
Fig.46 Gb note
The first D note in bar one we hear as the 3rd of the Bb
chord but subsequent ones can be almost rationalised and
‘felt’ as maj7s of an Ebm chord. The first and subsequent
Gb notes we hear in bar two can almost be ‘felt’ as #5s of a
bb chord
We can also spot the #5 interval in less obvious places; not subtly implied with chords but also within chord
sequences. The figure below is taken from bars three and four of the original cue. The move from the Bb chord
(which comes every down-beat of bar one) to the F#m chord (which begins every down-beat in bar two of the
figure below) is itself a #5.
Fig.47 Once again I feel obliged to point out that

this these observations are not made to
make a purely theoretical point; the #5
interval, whether it is stated in a chord,
employed in a melody or, as in this case,
is the interval between two successive
chords, is something that is palpable;
something which is heard and felt and
sensed by listeners and something which
helps create and define the music and how
we interpret it.
SCISSORHANDS SCISSORHANDS
BOND BOND
Fig.48 When we hear the section from bar five and six of fig.45
(transcribed separately in fig.48), it sounds both furtive
m and slightly mystical, almost like Edward Scissorhands
meet James Bond. If we examine the chords and the
choral line we can see the direct and indisputable link
which confirms that the extension / intervals create
specific emotions and feelings. The Edward
Scissorhands score featured the maj6 interval over the
minor chord regularly within the film; it became almost
a sonic identifier; a harmonic indicator. Likewise the
classic ‘Bond’ chord features the maj7 over a minor
chord.
Turning to the last four bars of the original transcription, transcribed separately below (fig.49), we can see once
again how the intervals of the notes play a crucial role; the top chord voicings go down (choir/strings), the
chords themselves go up (from Ab to Bb) and the moving parts in the middle stave are nearly identical whilst
the intervals the notes represent go down from bar one to two. Technical as theoretical as this may sound, it is
precisely these kinds of almost undetectable internal harmonic dynamics (obviously along with many other
factors such as instrumentation, texture etc) which give music its flavour and ‘feel’.
Fig.49
Choir / strings
Internal lines
Brass /
woodwind /
strings
Brass /
woodwind /
strings
The next section of the film we’re going to examine comes during a pivotal scene in which Dr Josh Keyes,
whose research has uncovered the problem, explains to a gathering of politicians and military the consequences
of the earth’s core stopping spinning. It is in many ways an atypical cliched scene (played out in dozens of
action films involving the government and the military) in which the ‘hero’ attempts to explain ‘the bottom line’
to a bunch of uniformed and suited authority figures. What sets this scene apart from dozens like it is the music
which ends the scene. Angered by his audience not ‘getting it’, Keyes says “Even if we somehow came up with
a brilliant plan to fix the core, we just can’t get there.” This is followed by a cryptic comment by Dr Conrad
Zimsky (a scientist in the audience who clearly knows more than he is letting on) who says “Yes, but what if we
could.”
Fig.50 Movie – 00.26.34
“Even if we somehow came up with a brilliant “Yes, but......what if we could?

plan to fix the core, we just can't get there.”
The bit to watch and listen to here is how the music glides from the dissonant, ‘creepy’ high strings in bars one
and two, to the final two chords which begin on beat two of bar three; although still dissonant, there is a distinct
change in flavour to something more settled, albeit still ‘strange’ sounding. Looking carefully at bar three we
can see that the string notes of Db and F state ‘almost’ a Db chord whilst the low and resonantly voiced horns
and trombones state a clean E chord. This is classic polyharmony but where elements of both chords
harmonically ‘meet in the middle’ (the G# of the E chord on horns/trombones can also double as the missing Ab
note in the Db string chord. The reason this polyharmony works so well is because both conflicting chords
manage to ‘breath’. This happens again with the last chord in the sequence which ends the scene perfectly; this
time we have the root and 3rd of the Eb chord stated by woodwinds and strings. At the bottom of both of these
voicings is a G#. This G# ties the chord to the ‘other chord’ of E which is stated in the low brass. The key point
here is that the Eb note (woodwinds/string) has a parafunction in that it also (enharmonically) constitutes the
maj7 of the lower E chord. Once again this is exceptionally clever writing, not just because it presents such
interesting theoretical conundrums but because the harmonic aspects we’ve discussed are so much a part of why
it communicates. It creates polyharmony but does so in a subtle, effortless way which sounds both ‘nice’ and
‘weird’ simultaneously.
We can hear the ‘top chord’ almost

unilaterally as an Eb
If we contextualise the G#
as being part of the E chord,
then we realise what we
have is an Eb chord over an
E chord
The horns / trombones we hear as E
The scene which ends with the chord above edits into a fast-paced scene with loud sound design which shows a
helicopter flying in the desert to meet a man who, it turns out, has created the technology which could be used to
allow a ship to travel through the earth to its core.
The maj3rd sounds squeamishly out of place

because of the disorientating melodic context in
which it sits.
(4) G b5)
Fig.51 Movie - 00.26.48
A note (m6) (maj3)
(4th) (maj3)
(min3)
1
maj2 (m2)
The min 3rd sounds strange because it

is preceded by the min 2nd.
This cue is interesting, once again because of how it encompasses dissonance, using it effectively in the melody,
making the solo trumpet even more piercing that it would normally be. The trumpet begins on the A (min6th);
thinking about it logically there is nothing remotely ‘weird’ about this interval, except perhaps when it sticks
around for an entire semibreve and, above all else, when it’s a surprise. By ‘surprise’ what I mean is that
normally the min6th interval would be delivered in context of a greater melodic development. It would
invariably be a passing note. The point I make is that, as ever, context is the main arbiter of precise harmonic
character within a piece.
The intervals that follow are interesting too. I have placed ‘explosion’ shapes around the ones which ‘stick out’.
The trumpet, having begun on the min 6th moves to the 4th, 5th, maj 3rd and b5th. The one which is interesting
here is the maj3rd, which ought, in theory at least, to be the least interesting. It now sounds squeamishly out of
place, but only because of the disorientating melodic context in which it sits. The seeds of the disorientating maj
3rd lay not in the 3rd but in the notes which preceded it. Context is everything.
The accompanying rhythmic movement on strings/woodwind/brass flirts between the C# and G#. We don’t
know if this is meant to imply a major or minor chord, which means that more attention is drawn to the 3rds as
we try to make sense of the piece. Later on, the next phrase which begins on bar seven starts with an F# - the 4th
of the C# (omit3) chord. This time when the maj3rd appears, following the 4th and maj 2nd, it doesn’t seem so out
of place. That said, the min 3rd (bar eight) sounds strange because it is preceded by the min 2nd. Again, context is
everything. With harmony few things happen in a vacuum.
THE EVENT Scott Starrett

The Event (typographically stylized THE EVƎNT) is an American television sci-fi series. The plot centres on a
group of human-looking aliens, some of whom have been detained by the United States government for sixty-
six years since their ship crashed in Alaska, while others have secretly assimilated among the general populace.
In keeping with quite a few modern American TV series, there is no title music as such; typically an episode
will simply begin and after five minutes a very brief title sequence will begin. In the case of The Event, the
words ‘the event’ appear, alongside a brief singular chord accompanied by percussion.
Fig.52
Trumpets rd
5th
Strings 3 3rd
1st 1st
th
m6
5th
Horns
3rd 3rd
1st
Trombones
The notes heard as part of a The notes heard as part of an

Gm chord Eb chord
Strings
If you ask yourself how a piece which features only one chord can communicate the sense of drama required for
this science fiction thriller, perhaps the answer is that it only seems like it’s one chord. The notes are all stated at
once and it doesn’t possess an overt sense of dissonance, and yet there is still something strained about it;
something unsettled, anxious and uneasy. The slightly uncomfortable nature of the sound stems from the fact
that Eb and Gm chords are playing simultaneously. On the bottom stave we have the Gm chord, voiced for a
combination of strings and brass. On the top stave we have an inverted Eb chord, vertically bookended by the G.
The obvious clash is the b9 interval which separates the Eb on the top stave and the Ds on the bottom stave. The
wider issues is not just the physical clash but the intervallic context of the notes; the D represents the 5th of the
Gm chord whereas we can’t help but hear the Eb in the top stave as the 1st of the inverted Eb chord. Therefore
what we grapple with and what causes the slightly uncomfortable feeling is the physical clash between Eb and
D, the b9 interval between those notes and the interval that both notes represent within their own chord. As if
that wasn’t enough, we will also hear the Eb as a min6 of the lower Gm chord. This maelstrom of colours and
tensions is subtle but clear enough for it to cause anxiety.
SUPER 8 Michael Giacchano

Director J.J.Abrams called Super 8 a coming-of-age sci-fi film; ‘a love letter to Steven Spielberg’. For the
movie Michael Giacchino composed a score which, in some ways, harked back to the warm and occasionally
bombastic 80s scores of John Williams. The first track on the soundtrack album is heard at the top of the film; it
encompasses two distinct, memorable and different themes that are heard throughout the film in different
lengths and orchestrations. One theme is brief but full of angst, drama and a deep sense of foreboding, whilst the
other, representing the deeper aspects of the film, is melodic, warm and rich in colour and romance. Cues from
the movie range from wistful and whimsical, through to bombastic and majestic.
Fig.60 Audio ‘Super 8’
th
Maj 6 over a
minor chord
but without the
5th
th th
9 and maj 7
rd th th
without the 3 or 5 Maj 6 over an
incomplete F chord
(without the 3rd)
If we examine which bits of this cue are dramatic and foreboding we have no further to look than the opening
five bars; equally if we’re trying to locate the romantic warmth, it is easily located from bar eight. These are
well crafted sections where the emotion is overt and unconcealed. As ever our question is, how does the music
create such distinct emotions? The harmony and voicings in the first few bars are important; the first few bars
contain fractured and incomplete harmonies. Fractured or incomplete harmony might be described as a kind of
harmonic minimalism, depriving listeners of the usual harmonic signifiers which help complete the colour
chord. If such chords have extensions this brings disproportionate and slightly different colour to the extensions
and how they sound within the chord, because they are not surrounded by all the usual chordal terrain;
extensions traditionally rely on the surrounding harmonic landscape for their exact colour.
Also there some dense, ‘crispy’ brass (and string) voicing in the bottom register. The prominent ones are listed
below:
• Bar four, beat 1, bottom stave – 4th interval low, brass, C to F

• Bar four, beat 2, third stave down - 6th between bottom G and E above and min3 between the E and G
• Bar four, beat 2, fourth stave - min3rd between E and G
• Bar four, beat 3, fourth stave – min3rd between F to Ab
All this is in stark contrast to what comes afterwards from bar eight of fig.60 (transcribed separately, below).
Beautiful and enticing harmony and counterpoint fill the first few bars. The voicing is sparse before giving way
to a fuller more majestic voicing from bar five (of fig.61) onwards. Another interesting thing about this section
is that the change from sparse to full voicing creates a dynamic within the piece – perhaps something we could
refer to as the ‘voicing contour arc’.
Fig.61
Chapter 2
T H E N A M E’ S B O N D – J A M E S B O N D
The real James Bond is John Barry
Analysing the success of music from the James Bond franchise is an interesting undertaking, not least
because Bond films perhaps more than most movies, are dependent on key musical harmonic devices, most
of which were sculptured decades ago by John Barry. From the rugged but gentlemanly Sean Connery, the
dapper and debonair Roger Moore and the strict, formal and moody Timothy Dalton and slick and smooth-
talking Pierce Brosnan, to the gritty realism of Daniel Craig, the real James Bond is the music. More than
in most films the music functions as its own character within the narrative. Essentially 007 is as much a
creation of John Barry as it is of Ian Flemming or Cubby Broccoli. Bond is the longest running film
franchise to date. There have been twenty three films with Skyfall being the latest, released on 26 October
2012. The various theme songs to the films have picked up Academy Award nominations on several
occasions.
Music analysed: James Bond Theme (John Barry / Monty Norman – from ‘Goldfinger’) Bond Theme
(Moby – from ‘Tomorrow Never Dies’) The James Bond Theme (variation - David Arnold – from ‘Casino
Royale’) Ride to Atlantis (Marvin Hamlisch – from ‘The Spy Who Loved Me’) On the Beach (David Arnold
– ‘Die Another Day’) Kiss Me (David Smith) White Night (David Arnold – Tomorrow Never Dies) Live
and Let Die (Paul McCartney – from ‘Live and Let Die’) Surrender (KD Lang/David Arnold – from
‘Tomorrow Never Dies’) Tomorrow Never Dies (Sheryl Crow/David Arnold – from ‘Tomorrow Never
Dies’) You Only Live Twice (John Barry/Leslie Bricusse – from ‘You Only Live Twice’) Nobody Does it
Better (Marvin Hamlisch/Carol Bayer Sager – from ‘The Spy Who Loved Me’) Thunderball (John Barry
and Leslie Bricusse – from ‘Thunderball’) We have all the time in the world (John Barry/Hal David – from
‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’)
To a degree orchestral film music is relatively timeless. If we watch Jurassic Park (made in 1994), twenty
years later if anything dates it, maybe the CGI does (although at the time it was revolutionary and ground-
breaking). The same applies for Close Encounters, ET and countless other films; the music is as effective
and relevant now as it was decades ago. I mention this because what dates the ‘Bond’ films musically and
lends them an air of immediate nostalgia and specific identity in time are the title songs, which put an
indelible aural date-stamp on the movies. Songs are a product of their time; this is one of the things which
makes them endearing and revered. When we listen back to Live and Let Die, the production identity,
arrangement, style and delivery of Paul McCartney’s brilliant song also is a rough indicator to when the
film was made, using what was texturally popular at the time. The same applies to A View to a Kill by the
band ‘A-ha’ and most other Bond title songs. What really defines Bond movies and unifies the franchise
musically is the strong and consistent instrumental themes and harmonies / textures we associate with the
films. These are the timeless musical elements which unite to accord Bond perhaps some of the most
distinctive music in the world.
The famous James Bond Theme was officially written by Monty Norman and notably arranged by John
Barry. The authorship of the music has been a subject of discussion for many years; in 2001 Norman won
£30,000 in libel damages from The Sunday Times, which had suggested that John Barry was entirely
responsible for the composition. The theme was described by another Bond film composer, David Arnold,
as ‘bebop-swing vibe coupled with that vicious, dark, distorted electric guitar, definitely an instrument of
rock ‘n’ roll. He went on to say “It represented everything about the character you would want - it was
cocky, swaggering, confident, dark, dangerous, suggestive and sexy”. This description alludes to Barry’s
arrangement more than it does the composition itself. The piece is the arrangement. What is not in dispute
is John Barry’s testimony in the Sunday Times v Monty Norman court case, which is a matter of public
record; Barry was given the job of breathing life into an initial piece by Monty Norman. He said “The
manuscript was confusing and didn’t convey too much.”
He also stated that Monty Norman, having been told that Barry had changed the piece completely, had said
“go ahead I’m not proud. Just tell him he gets no royalties.” Barry indeed received no royalties - he told the
court - just a promise of more work. He would be paid £250 for his work. Monty Norman would receive
credit because it was his contractual right. If Barry was unhappy with these terms then they would “find
someone else”. According to John Barry, Broccoli and Saltzman (the film’s producers) “knew who had
written the James Bond Theme”. Barry told the court that he never intended to claim for royalties and in the
early years and never discussed the issue. However, increasingly the press would ask him about the ‘James
Bond Theme’. He used to deny that he had anything to do with it but gradually accepted the truth when it
was put to him in interviews. John Barry said “if Monty Norman’s music had been so successful, why
didn’t he write the rest of the Bond films?” In court John Barry was asked “did Monty Norman write the
James Bond Theme?” to which he replied “absolutely not”. A good rendition of the opening bars of the
original James Bond theme is in the track entitled ‘Bond back in Action’ from the film Goldfinger.
Fig.1 Audio - ‘Bond Back in Action’ (Goldfinger)
Some of the most communicative elements of this piece are tied up in the brash, dramatic and swaggering
60s orchestration. The swung quavers which hit the first beat [of bar one] and then anticipate bar two, are
effective and exuberant, scored as they are for four trumpets – the top and bottom of which represent the
strong 5th of the Em chord, offering specific strength and identity.
What also colours this piece considerably is the 9th (F#) stated by the Horns (bar one, fig.1). It offers the
only real harmonic movement and therefore catches our attention. The offbeat low trombones offer an extra
dimension of rhythmic excitement. All these areas are probably subservient to the real harmonic
powerhouse of the Bond movies – the specific sequence of chords from bar three onwards (fig.1). They are
transcribed separately below (fig.2)
Fig.2
Why does this chord progression work so well? If you play these chords on a keyboard instrument (with or
without a string sound) it is recognisable instantly. Starting with a simple observation, the top and bottom
of each of the chords has an obvious and dramatic upward/downward arc. On top of the harmonic arc (the
apex of the phrase) sits a C# note, which represents the maj6th of the minor chord. This is the most
communicative and dramatic interval in this manoeuvre. This is one of the ‘Bond’ chords. But the existence
of a ‘great chord’ is an illusion; a myth. Chords are ‘great’ only in context. The surroundings have to
deliver the chord properly. They have to signal its arrival. The ‘great chord’ is usually simply the
destination, the result. The Em6 is a unilaterally interesting and exciting chord but it is of limited value
without the two chords before it and the one chord after it. Like the trumpet chords in bar one of fig.1, the
first string chord is supported at either end by the 5th (B). The top and bottom notes (C, C#, C) of the
subsequent chords move chromatically. The top and bottom C note of the second chord represents the root
of the C chord whereas the top and bottom C# in the third chord represents the 6th. The colours of these
intervals are made more obvious by the strength created by the unison octave.
The intervallic movement of the top and bottom notes of each of the string voicings is different to the note
movement; the top and bottom note movement (B, C, C#, C) is chromatic but the intervals they represent
aren’t which ensures the movement doesn’t sound overly chromatic. Also the middle two notes of each
chord (below, fig.3) are identical but have different intervallic meanings as the phrase progresses:
Fig.3
5th 5th
3rd 3rd
3rd 3rd
1st 1st
The electric guitar is effective and communicative; the sound is distinctive, memorable and at the time was
modern and progressive. Perhaps dated and unfashionable by today’s standards, for its time the guitar
represented everything that was cool and ‘hip’ about popular music.
Fig.4
The guitar also functions well because on the second two beats of bar one and three (fig.4) the F# quaver
notes function briefly as #4s, which lend the piece a sense of drama and urgency. The slightly dissonant D#
and D notes (maj7 and 7) in bar five lend the piece a slightly skewed perspective.
A newer version of the same theme from the 2006 remake of Casino Royale features subtle orchestration
differences. Composers are used to their music having an impact on the film but equally, a great example of
how the images and narrative can massively affect the context of the music can be found in a cue which
comes toward the end of the film. In an electrifying scene as Bond leans over the body of dying man he’s
just shot, he states the iconic words “the name’s Bond – James Bond”. This chilling and menacing context
of the new, harder, ruthless and mercenary Bond informs the way we interpret and rationalise the famous
‘Bond Theme’ which follow and which only comes at the end of the movie. We contextualise it in much
more of a serious way than the older films, which were perhaps more overtly tongue-in-cheek.
Fig.5 Audio - ‘The Name’s Bond’ (00.36) Casino Royale – Movie 02.14.29
The colourful horn line beginning on the

9th is copied by a screaming trumpet high
above its natural range, adding
significant drama. Also in this version
the string bass follows the top string line
in stating the B, C, C#, C line (bar three
onwards)
The lead trombone motif between bars 15-20 is interesting and also fairly
abstract; in bars sixteen, eighteen and twenty the D note (which functions as a
7th over an Em chord) clashes with the C# (6th) in the strings and bass.
The four-bar trumpets/horns phrase (bars twenty-seven, thirty-one, thirty-five and thirty-nine) essentially
restate the original guitar idea (maj7 and 7) but what makes this ‘swing’ is the relationship and reaction
between the Bb and B trumpet and horn line on bar twenty eight, the ascending mid-bar trombone riff and
the final last trumpet/horn G note tied to the following bar. Also the quirky, syncopated and slightly
clumsy trombone counterpoint (bars thirty, thirty-four, thirty-eight and forty-two) work well. Again the
notes feature the maj7 (D#) and 7 (D) but it is the slightly unnatural rhythm which causes tension.
Harmonic subtleties
The close voicing in trumpets and trombones from bar forty-three is another section of the ‘James Bond
Theme’ which transmits instantly. The distinctive maj6th over the Em works well, particularly closely
harmonised, as does the equally effective close voicing of the B chord featuring 7th (A) and 9th (C#). These
two chords communicate individually to a degree but their real strength comes when they are used together
in quick succession, as in this case. If we take a look at the same phrase in the original recording of the
same piece from the 1960s we see more harmonic tension on the 3rd and 4th beat of each bar, by virtue of
the Em9 chord with the major 7th and in particular the different voicings of the sections: the woodwind
chord is scored with the maj7 (the D#) at the bottom; the trumpets are voiced from the G upwards creating
a Gmaj7 with the D# functioning as the #5. The trombones state a B7 chord voiced with the 7th on the
bottom. Essentially the 60s version is more jazz oriented.
Fig.6
A track entitled ‘On the Beach’ from the Bond movie Die Another Day shows yet another version of the
intro to the original James Bond Theme.
Fig.7
This time the beginning Horn line plays an
ascending scalic line (B, A, G, F#, E). The line
is also played by high trombones. Just like the
version in bars one and two of fig 1 and fig 5,
this version offers a subtly different
orchestration
Looking at David Arnold’s version of the ‘James Bond Theme’ from Casino Royale, we can see how a jazz
feel is maintained by use of the muted trumpet and crotchet triplet figure, and how this is complimented by
the close harmonies in trombones.
‘The James Bond Theme’ - Casino Royale (00.34’)
Fig.8
The trombones in bar two and
four have real tension thanks
to the closeness of the A (2nd)
and Bb (3rd) of the Gm chord.
‘The James Bond Theme’ - Casino Royale (00.48’)

Fig.9
This figure is repeated a

few bars later in the piece,
this time accompanied by
Strings
the distinctive harmonic
accompaniment.
Looking now at the treatment Moby gave to the iconic ‘James Bond Theme’ we turn to the movie
Tomorrow Never Dies. Moby recasts the original lines of the theme in an effective and vivid way. The
phrasing is deliberately ‘squarer’ with none of the anticipation inherent in the phrasing of the original. It’s
interesting that this new arrangement effectively strips back the harmonies. Gone are the lush John Barry
voicings; in comes a more aggressive contemporary feel.
Fig.10 ‘James Bond Theme’ (Moby) Tomorrow Never Dies

Synths / samples
(Electric guitar)
Brass samples
Turning now to the 1977 Bond movie The Spy Who Loved Me, scored by Marvin Hamlisch, it’s interesting
to analyse a scene where James Bond is underwater in a car (naturally). Although the piece is tuneful and
features a selection of fairly ordinary chords, it has a kind of mesmeric serenity which effectively conveys
and encapsulates the feeling of being underwater.
Fig.11 Audio: ‘Ride to Atlantis’ - The Spy Who Loved Me (Movie: 01.12.39)
As we can see there is quite a collection of maj7, 7 and 6 chords. Singularly these are ‘normal’ but together
are much more than the sum of their parts; they assume a different identity cumulatively. Why is this? Maj7
chords have a particular and specific harmonic identity. They offer us a relaxed, definite, resolved ‘soft’
feel. Despite the dominant 7th lying only a semitone lower than the maj7, 7th chords are entirely different in
complexion; they are unresolved, expectant and normally used as transitory passing chords. We would
normally hear a maj7 and a 7 chord followed by a resolution, e.g. Cmaj, C7 resolving to F, or Gmaj7, G7
resolving to C. This piece offers no such obvious resolution, which adds to its slightly monotonous
mesmerising sound.
There is also a 6th chord in the sequence which has a light, slightly jazzy, resolved and cheery feel. Hearing
the maj7, 7 and 6 repeatedly without a resolution to a chord IV leaves the piece dangling in mid-air and
presents a fairly unique listening experience which can be mildly and almost imperceptibly disorientating.
This type of approach can be particularly effective when used well in songs; perhaps most notably in Kiss
Me by the band ‘Sixpence None the Richer’.
Fig.12 Audio – ‘Kiss Me’ – Sixpence None the Richer
Vocal
Gtr
Bass
After the 4-bar intro featuring Eb, Ebmaj7, Eb7 and Ebmaj7, the verse features the same chords until
finally bar twelve when it finally resolves to the Ab. In the same way as ‘Ride to Atlantis’, the chords in
‘Kiss Me’ confound our expectation. Our preconceptions are quite narrow and simplistic which means that
the tiniest alteration in terms of what we ‘expect’ can be effective. ‘Ride to Atlantis’ and ‘Kiss Me’ both
share the slightly mesmerising, cyclical feel inherent when these types of chords are used repeatedly
without resolving.
Another song which has a similar feeling of ‘failing to resolve’ is the track ‘Everybody’s Talking’ by Harry
Nilsson, which beautifully meanders around the chords of E, Emaj7 and E6 for what seems an eternity
before moving onto F#m7 and B and finally resolving back to the E.
Audio – ‘Everybody’s Talkin’ (Nilsson)
One of the most iconic musical Bond ‘moments’ and ‘sonic signatures’ is an idea that appears in numerous
Bond films – one which is instantly recognisable. One such occasion is eight seconds into the film
‘Tomorrow Never Dies’ and the audio track entitled ‘White Knight’ from the same film.
Fig.13 Audio - ‘White Knight’ 00.08’ from Tomorrow Never Dies Movie – 00.00.08
This enormously successful and instantly recognisable motif works for a number of different reasons.
Firstly we have the almost fugue-like brass figures. The first one begins on beat 1 but the subsequent
statements are anticipated, arriving on beat 4 of bar one, beat 3 of bar two and beat 2 of bar four, lending
the piece a hurried, anticipated feel. Each four-note statement is heavily suggestive of a chord via the
horizontal harmony created by the line. The 7th from each chord lands on the longest notes. Listeners hear
these chord suggestions which help the line communicate and give each statement an identity. There is also
a cumulative harmonic identity, which although not stated as a chord, is implied from the various 7th notes
of each phrase (see below).
Em7 G7 Bm7 Em7
Fig.14
The Songs
Turning finally to a selection of the famous James Bond theme songs, it is interesting from a film scoring
perspective to see how the songs manage to reference, feature or allude to the ‘Bond sound’. Although
some of the ‘John Barry sound’ is inevitably about texture, arrangement and instrumentation, much of it is
to do with harmony, and as such is absolutely key to the ‘Bondness’ of the songs. Many of the songs
feature obvious references to specific chord sequences synonymous with Bond music, but arguably the
main stylistic identifier present in Bond songs is that they are frequently caricatured, melodramatic,
exaggerated and overstated, using dramatic harmonies and sequences which communicate quickly and
emphatically.
LIVE AND LET DIE Paul McCartney
The types of chords we find in Bond songs frequently hark back to more traditional times; they’re
frequently heavily colourful chords such as 7th chords with flattened 9ths, or diminished chords.
Augmented 5th chords are frequently used, as are very direct chord changes in and out of different key
centres. Essentially the narrative is direct, immediate, in-your-face and dramatic. Looking firstly at just a
few bars of the theme song from the film the movie ‘Live and Let Die’, composed by Paul McCartney, we
can see some real points of harmonic interest and communication.
Fig.15 Audio – ‘Live and Let Die’ (Paul McCartney & Wings)
The first point of harmonic interest is in bar four where we have the backing vocals harmonising the
D7(b9) chord – a chord which was alluded to in the fourth beat of bar two by the piano. The 7th with a
flattened 9th is a chord which exudes real traditional romantic tension and emotion. Essentially this is
because it is ‘nearly’ a diminished chord; if we raised the D bass to a D# the entire harmony slips
effortlessly into a diminished chord. Looking at the figure below, the first chord is the D7(b9) and the
second chord is a much more traditional diminished chord.
Fig.16
When we hear this chord, although we hear the bass
note, we are primarily influenced by the diminished
nature of the sound (the F#, A, C and D#). It functions
like an F#0 with a D in the bass because that’s how we
hear it.
The closely harmonised piano chords of C6 and A7 in bar six is a particularly rich sequence, and again this
is because the A7 is almost an alternative for a C#0, containing as it does the C#, E and G.
The transition between bar seven and eight is one of the key points of the piece; the totally unexpected
Bb/D successfully re-contextualises the note of D from the root to the maj 3rd. But what this sequence also
does is reference very cleverly the original John Barry chord sequence. Bars two-three of fig.17 below
contains the phrase in question (the sequence of D to Bb/D). Figure 18 references the original Dm, Bb/D,
Dm6, Bb/D chord sequence from the Bond films to show the way McCartney references the iconic Bond
chords within the body of his song.
Fig.17
Fig.18
Vocal Dm Bb/D Dm6 Bb/D
Piano
Another big ‘moment’ in this song is the chord sequence from G, C/G, G0 to G7. This sequence has the
drama of the ostinato pedal note of G throughout and also the drama of the anticipated phrasing but in
addition one the main means of creating tension is the way the sequence changes character from a major
chord to a 2nd inversion chord, to a diminished chord and finally to a 7th chord.
Fig.19
G C/G G0 G7 G C/G G0
What makes this more
italicized is that the E note
on top of the second
chord in the sequence
represents a bright and
clear maj3rd
The ‘shock-chord’ harmonies which fill the double tempo section are interesting too, being almost a
satirised caricatured parody of cliched ‘old movie’ harmonic dissonance. The centre of gravity for the
dissonance is the piercing ‘E chords over Gm’ moment (bars two and four of the isolated phrase below)
Fig.20 (Gm) (E) (C) (D) (Gm) (E) (C) (D)

SURRENDER KD Lang
The song ‘Surrender’, sung by KD Lang for the movie Tomorrow Never Dies is another great song which
contains real and palpable harmonic reference to the whole ‘Bond’ aesthetic.
Audio – ‘Surrender’ (KD Lang)

Fig.21
The song begins with the same harmonic sequence and ‘dirty’ sounding muted trumpet subsequently used
to great effect on Casino Royale. The sequence from bar five to eight (Gm, F, Bbm, Gb/Bb, F) possesses
real drama and harmonic identity both in terms of the out-of-key-centre chord change from F to Bbm and
also in terms of the Bbm, Gb/Bb sequence in bar seven, which alludes to the original ‘James Bond’
sequence. The add2 voicing of the strings in bar eleven is symptomatic of the lush orchestrations of the
‘Bond’ movies and the heavily reverbed trumpet motif at bar twelve alludes to the Bond ‘sound’ rather than
harmonies. The later statement of the same line in bar nineteen is an octave higher and contains the #5, an
augmented ‘Bond’ interval which dramatises and heightens the senses.
TOMORROW NEVER DIES Sheryl Crow

The intro song for the same movie was sung by Sheryl Crow and contained some notable and well-
appropriated examples of the ‘Bond style’. The chorus is transcribed below.
Audio – Tomorrow Never Dies (01.00) Sheryl Crow

Fig.21
The electric guitar is extremely effective both in terms of its unique textures and the lines it plays. The
crotchet triplets are rhythmically exciting enough but the there is a real sense of harmonic melodrama when
the guitar line hits the D note (the maj6th) of the Fm6 chord in bar three of the excerpt; this is a real ‘James
Bond’ moment. Again, the reason the chord is effective is that it is ‘nearly’ a diminished chord; if the C
note was lowered to B we would have a diminished chord, which would be much more obvious. The Fm6
is almost like a subtler, more seductive version of a diminished chord.
In bar three the b10 and b9 chords are stated by strings; again these are extremely communicative chords in
a traditional way, exuding romantic gestures (b9) and sophisticated jazz connotations (b10). In bar four the
guitar plays another crotchet triplet line, this time ending up on the min 3rd of the Fm in bar five. In bar five
the line goes from the Ab (min3rd of Fm chord) to the B (maj3rd of the G chord).
The intervallic jump from Ab down to B features two notes you would get in an F0 chord, so although the
chord sequence is from Fm to G, there is more than a whiff of the diminished about the guitar leap which
unites them. In bar eight we see a nod to the original iconic James Bond chord change (Fm, Db/F).
YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE John Barry / Leslie Bricusse
Another song which exudes the kind of harmonies present in the ‘Bond’ movies is the title song to You
Only Live Twice. This piece has some of the most communicative harmonies and lines of all ‘Bond’ songs.
The famous string line in bar three of this transcription has been much emulated and was perhaps most
famously absorbed and appropriated into the Robbie Williams song Millennium. But before we even get to
bar three, if we observe the string lines in the first two bars we can see real harmonic communication. The
F#7 chord is articulated horizontally by a combination of cellos, violas and violins leading up to bar three.
In so doing they repeatedly hit the maj3rd (A#), the 7th (E), and the #5 (D), giving the whole section an
augmented feel without actually stating the chord vertically. Some of the intervals between the different
notes also have a strong #5 feel; the interval between the first E note (7th) down to the A# (maj3rd) is itself a
#5.
Fig.22 Audio – ‘You Only Live Twice’

Elsewhere in this book we have discussed the effectiveness of something we called the ‘sci-fi chord
change’ (C to Gm, G to Dm, D to Am, etc). As we have referenced elsewhere, it works well because the
second chord of each transition lies outside the key centre of the first, which lends the sequence a feeling of
harmonic distance. This song is one of the first to feature the sequence so emphatically (bars three-six). If
we listen and look carefully at the specific chord and voicing of the F#m in bars four and six we can see
Barry has added some extra tension and colour by way of the 6th and 9th. These intervals create tension
individually (the maj6th over a minor chord is a real ‘Bond’ extension, as we have seen elsewhere) but also
collectively they create drama and tension because they constitute a stark, bare 4th interval. Laying a 9th
over a minor chord creates colour, placing a maj6th also creates colour, but placing both creates its own
unilateral harmonic dynamic – that of a bare 4th. In context of an F#m chord, the 6th and 9th are the D# and
G# respectively. This 4th interval could also be heard as the 5th and octave of a G# chord, which means
there is a faint whiff of polytonality. The sequence between bar nine and ten is interesting because John
Barry goes even further in creating extra tension in the F#m chord by adding the dual extensions of maj7
and 9 (E# and G#). Now the polyphonic feeling really does come through; the top three notes of the chord
(C#, E# and G#) represent a C# chord – played over an F#m chord, thus the tensions are poly-harmonic in
nature.
Finally, in bar thirteen and fourteen Barry again adds real colour to the chords by adding a 9th to the Em
and a b10 to the F#7. If we look at the string voicing in the Em9 chord we see that the top four notes of the
voicing represent, unilaterally, a Gmaj7. This is important because although to call this a polychord is
ludicrous, the voicing of a chord where the top few notes actually imply a subtly different chord is often
effective. By simply referring to this as spatial open voicing would be to miss the point that part of the
reason it communicates so vividly is because it offers us two slightly different colours which subtly suggest
two chords, not one. To some degree many chords achieve this; the more vivid and complicated they are,
the more they may offer or imply different contexts and possibilities. This is why they communicate so
well.
The F#7(b10) in bar fourteen is voiced vividly for strings; the top A (b10) clashes mildly with the maj3rd
A# (a major 7th lower). Normally the maj3rd in an F#7 (b10th) chord might be voiced an octave lower to
avoid a clash with the flat 10th. Also, looking at the voicing of the chord on the treble stave, from the
bottom up without the top ‘A’ note we almost have a diminished chord (E, A#, C#, E)
NOBODY DOES IT BETTER Burt Bacharach / Carole Bayer Sager
‘Nobody Does it Better’ from the Bond movie The Spy Who Loved Me communicates some vivid and
effective harmonies right at the start of the piece, in the intro. The song’s music was written by songwriter
Marvin Hamlisch, who wrote the score to the movie too. The intro features an extremely memorable piano
intro which features a selection of descending 7th chords and diminished chords. This lends the piece an
immediate sense of melodrama, delivered in a playful light-hearted manner. Also it pays not to
underestimate the specific and deliberate piano voicings, such as the initial F chord, inverted over the C,
which leads eventually to the F chord on bar two, which is, again, over the C. Inversion are such great tools
if you want simply slip in some quiet tension by altering the exact weighting of the chord
Fig.23 Audio – ‘Nobody Does it Better’

THUNDERBALL John Barry / Don Black
One of the most effective and memorable ‘Bond’ intro songs from the 1960s was the theme from the movie
‘Thunderball’, written by John Barry and Leslie Bricusse and sung by Tom Jones. Right from the start the
dominating line is the piercing brass motif which hits the 7th and maj6th interval. This phrase punctuates the
verse effectively and makes the line just as much a part of the song as the melody line or lyrics. Barry’s
unique fingerprints are all over this piece; not just the vivid and rugged instrumentation but the harmonic
abstractions too. Bar two features two chords which communicate a skewed perspective; namely the Ebm
(with the major 7th) and the F (with the flattened 5th). Like so many other ‘Bond’ songs the diminished feel
is referenced – this time by virtue of the flattened 5th chord.
Fig.24 Audio - ‘Thunderball’
Looking again at the recurring 7th and 6th over the Bbm chords, these work well because they communicate
instantly and vividly. But why? The 7th and maj6th extensions normally do different jobs and fulfil different
functions. The Bbm7 is a softer less intrusive chord than the Bbm6, which is quite colourful and dramatic.
When we look at and listen to chords which have specific extensions within or on top of the basic chord,
we look for the answers in the extension note itself, which means we look at the relationship between it and
the root note. This is how we are conditioned to analyse harmony. If the extension possesses an intrinsic
quality or characteristic, we assume this is because of how it relates to the root of the chord.
Fig.25
5th #4 But one of the central reasons the Bbm6
chord communicates differently to the Bbm7
is because of the relation the extensions have
with the chord’s crucial and descriptive
min3rd.
The m7 (Ab) of the chord is a 5th above the minor3rd (Db) creating a strong, clear interval where both notes
are uncluttered, whereas [in bar two] the maj6th of the Bbm chord is a #4 above the minor3rd. It matters how
notes relate to the 3rd of the chord just as much as how they relate to the root, because any 3rd – minor or
major – is a sensitive, descriptive, emotive interval. The section in the song which is plucked straight from
the iconic Bond chord sequence can be found in bars fifteen and sixteen, which features the Dm, Bb/D,
Dm6, Bb/D performed on strings. The melody line and chords from bar thirteen of the phrase really points
toward a resolution to Bbm on bar fifteen. What makes the move to Dm more effective is that the melody
note of F sounds perfectly normal and natural even though the chord of Dm is ‘out of the blue’, because it
constitutes a minor3rd.
WE HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD John Barry / Hal David
The ‘Bond’ movie On Her Majesty’s Secret Service was John Barry’s fifth Bond score. He used more
aggressive sounds in the music. He later said “I have to stick my oar in double strong to make the audience
try and forget they don't have Sean [Connery]...to be Bondian”. Barry also composed the love song, ‘We
Have All the Time in the World’, with lyrics by Hal David, sung by Louis Armstrong. Barry recalled
Armstrong was very ill, but recorded the song in one take. The song title, ‘We Have All the Time in the
World’, is taken from James Bond’s final words in both the novel and the film, spoken after his wife’s
death. Although the song doesn’t seem overtly ‘Bondian’ at first glance, looking at the transcription below,
we can again see some typical John Barry orchestration brushstrokes, along with a few subtle ‘Bond’
moments. The delicate string counterpoint in bars five-eight and again an octave higher in bars thirteen-
sixteen works well with Armstrong’s vocal line; the two lines function as Q&A, following each other,
creating one melodic contour (highlighted) - a contour in which the strings play just as strong a part as the
voice.
Audio – ‘We have all the time in the world’

Fig.26
The real ‘Bond’ moments come in bar eight during the first melodic statement and again in bar sixteen
during the second melodic statement. A mixture of the chord of Em6 and the string line beginning of the 6th
(C#) then jumping from the 5th (B) to the 9th (F#) creates a palpable and distinctive harmonic event
reminiscent of the sultry ‘Bond’ sound.
Finally we come to what is, at the time of writing, the latest Bond song, ‘Skyfall’.
SKYFALL Paul Epworth / Adele
Fig.27 Audio – ‘Skyfall’

Although the 5th interval contours of the vocal line in the chorus of Skyfall (bar twenty six, fig 27) have
similarities to another great Bond song, Diamonds are Forever, the other harmonic identifiers are equally
interesting; if we examine the boxed sections (bars eighteen to twenty, bars twenty-six to twenty eight, bars
thirty to thirty-two and bars thirty-four to thirty six) we see a consistent chord sequence (Cm, Ab, F, Fm).
We then see that the intro and part of the first verse (bars ten to fifteen) had contained the same chords but
with notable subtle omissions (omitted 5th on the Cm chord and omitted 3rd on the F chord) to disguise their
true ‘Bond’ colours. By ‘Bond colours’, I mean the chord sequence contained in bars one and two, below
(fig.28); the first two bars contain a famous ‘Bond’ sequence (Cm, Ab/C, Cm6, Ab/C) whereas the chords
from Skyfall are transcribed in bars four to five of fig 28. We can see that this ‘version’ of the ‘Bond’
sequence, with its root-positioned chords, is perhaps less obvious and less colourful but it is a nod
nevertheless and one which the audience ‘get’.
The A note in bar two (the maj6th of the Cm chord) sounds quite distinctive; we only have to hear it in
context and we instantly hear James Bond. In the Skyfall version the A note (bar five) represents the maj 3rd
of the F chord but the top note of each chord in bars one to two is still the same as the top note of each
chord in bars four to five; it is the chordal accompaniment that is subtly different and deliberately lacks the
distinct maj6 interval. The second chord in the original Bond sequence (Ab/C) is made more dramatic by
the inverted bass; the Skyfall version is simply root-based.
A note = maj6th A note = maj3rd

Ab note = root
Ab note = min 3rd
The same bass note also adds to

‘Bondness’ of the sequence
In this version the chord are root-based

The James Bond title songs are extremely effective, vivid and dramatic. In large part this is because,
despite coming in a range of different shapes, sizes and styles, they manage to weave the harmonies
inherent in the ‘Bond’ scores. They manage to carefully mimic, caricature, satirise and ironize a careful
selection of the most dramatic, recognisable and palpable harmonies and instrumental characteristics from
the films. They are driven by cliché, formula and, appropriately, the kind of modus operandi that comes
straight from the DNA of the Bond harmonies.
Ultimately, and rather obviously, most music associated with films is heard and rationalised in context of
the film. The film forms part of the context of how we understand and evaluate the music; it is impossible
to divorce the two. As an example, if you were to hear Zimmer’s track ‘Now We Are Free’, from Gladiator
but had not seen the film, you would still probably know of the film and the basic story behind it. This
would inform your perceptions of the music. With Bond films this relationship between the music and the
context in which it exists is more evident. Essentially the two are inseparable. Even since ‘Bond’
progressed from being a dapper gentleman in a suit to being a rugged and ruthless mercenary, the flavour of
the music is still consistent. However mercenary and ruthless Bond becomes, there will still be the Tux, the
Casinos, the women, and most importantly, the music. We watch Bond but the music is how we remember
him.
Chapter 3
DOCUMENTARIES
This chapter deals in detail with music for documentaries, ranging from the low-budget TV market right through
to the documentaries made for theatrical release. Films and music analysed include:
PBS Space Shuttle Disaster (Gaël Mange/Rodolphe Perroquin/Arnaud de Boisfleury) Senna (Antonio Pinto)
PBS Jonestown – the life and death of the people’s temple (Tom Phillips) Aircrash Confidential (Unknown,
email sent) The Falling Man (Dario Marianelli) Inside the Twin Towers (Per Kihlborg) 9/11 Phone Calls from
the Towers (Avshalom Caspi) Man on Wire (Michael Nyman) The Day Britain Stopped (unknown – Wall to
Wall TV) Inside Job (Alex Heffes) Deep Water (Harry Escott)
PBS Space Shuttle Disaster Gaël Mange, Rodolphe Perroquin, Arnaud de Boisfleury
On February 1, 2003, the space shuttle Columbia was on its return journey to earth when it disintegrated over
Texas. The seven astronauts perished and the ramifications for the future of manned space flight were huge.
Many documentaries were made but this is generally acknowledged to have been the most authoritative. It
probed the accident, the decisions and the mistakes that made the tragedy almost inevitable. It looked into the
culture at NASA, the history of the Shuttle program and the inevitable politics which played a part in the
disaster.
Fig. 1 Film – 00.00.01 and 00.04.20

Strings
G = min3 G = maj3
The cue, played at the very start of the documentary, conveys a slightly edgy but also deceptively subtle sense of
anxiety. It does not shout out ‘fear’ but instils apprehension. The beginning of the programme shows actual
footage of the Columbia space shuttle during the re-entry, which subsequently ended in disaster. Behind the
pictures is the compelling narration that describes the mission. The music is quite loud in the mix but manages
not to intrude. One of the reasons behind why it is compelling and encompasses a sense of drama without
becoming melodramatic lies in the approach to harmony, which is, initially, horizontal. Harmony is usually a
vertical ‘collective’ experience, but a good way to gain a similar but subtler effect is by spreading the harmony
horizontally and cumulatively, so the effect is not necessarily immediate. Another reason this cue works well is
due to a device we’ve discussed numerous times; where a minor chord drops to a major chord a semitone lower,
in which the minor 3rd of the first chord becomes the major 3rd of the subsequent chord, despite the note itself
not physically moving. This is a popular and, in honesty, an overused device nowadays, but one which is still
effective in creating a sense of mystery. The ‘mysterious’ feeling is created because the note which changes
interval but doesn’t change notes is in both cases a 3rd, which is a warm, descriptive interval which always
penetrates and which is, essentially, the linchpin of a chord. Major or minor thirds are essentially the centre of
gravity for most traditional chords. If you take them out the chord becomes bare; if you accentuate them they
become even richer. So ‘messing’ with how the 3rd is perceived creates an interesting and slightly disorientating
effect.
The following piece has a looming, menacing and foreboding feel to it. It plays several times in the film but
initially it comes behind a ‘talking head’ interview with former astronaut Storey Musgrave alongside footage of
a shuttle launch.
Fig. 2 Film – 00.03.00 and 00.08.12 and 00.46.00
“Launch is….[an] acceptance of the risk…”
“..and the first time is alright because you don’t know what
they’re going to do to you …”
Once again the question is: how does it do it? How does it sound ‘foreboding’ and ‘menacing’? Once again the
harmony is mainly horizontal in nature, drip-feeding its context subtly rather than overtly in vertical blocks. The
difference here is the type of chords that are being hinted at. If we were to play a Cm chord followed by a D/C
the sequence sounds very stark, quite melodramatic and overtly filmic. Horizontal harmony makes it more
subtle and instrumentation (the Fender Rhodes-style synth sound over the throbbing rhythmic bass underneath)
reacts with the harmonies and lines and lends the piece the specific sense of mystery.
The power, gravity and drama of the ‘slash chord’ & ‘inversion’
If we look at the chords voiced in fig.3 below we can see and hear how the Cm and D/C sound ‘in full’. Looking
further into fig.3 I have voiced several chords over the same bass note to demonstrate how and why some
combinations of chords built over the same bass note, can work. Light and shade are created when dramatic
chords are mixed with ‘normal’ chords. Sometimes we see patterns emerging with regard to when ‘normal’
chords appear and when less normal ones show up. In other words, the geography and placement is truly what
matters. The sequence in fig.2, like many such pieces, begins on a normal chord and then deviates. The opposite
(where we would begin on the ‘strange’ chord and deviate to the ‘normal’ one) doesn’t always work as well.
It is the specific combination of these two chords

that create the exact dynamic.
Fig. 3 Normal Slash Slash Normal
Extending the phrase, it is the specific combination of these four chords that create the dynamic.
Normal Slash Slash
The phrase below works perhaps less well because the sequence begins on a dissonant chord. The listener doesn’t have a harmonic
centre of gravity to begin with so there is nothing for the dissonance to contrast with.
Slash Slash Slash
The following cue is used several times in the documentary, to great effect. It creates between it and the opening
cue by virtue of the repetitive quaver motif, which creates an association between the two areas of the film. The
piece is helped by the distinctive synth textures (reminiscent of the ‘warm string’ sound on the old Roland D50)
and the lower stave voicing is thickened and accentuated by the slightly muddy interval between the C and the E
(lower stave). The piece is also slightly dramatised by virtue of the fact that all chords are inversions. Straight,
root-positioned chords might be a little bland but there is no need to go off the deep end, so sometimes a simple
inversion works. Inversions are normally used as passing chords so to use them in this context as long chords
draws attention to the natural drama within the inversion, which itself is essentially created by the fact that the
usual three intervals (1, 3 and 5) are in an ‘inverted’ abnormal position. Not too abnormal to be weird but
different enough to create drama.
The length of the chords makes the changes all the more exciting; the chords are long enough for their identity
to penetrate to the point where we feel the changes more profoundly. On top of all this we have the changing
intervallic context of the bottom of the voicing, the C, which is octaved, making it penetrate the more.
Fig. 4 Film – 00.12.06, 00.25.50, 00.27.30 and 00.30.38
C = 3rd C = 5th
“You could build a sports stadium for that.
That was one of the great, quiet secrets.”
The ‘talking head’ interview becomes part of the fabric of the music when you look at the chord change from
F/C to Fm/C. There is a comment which comes at the transition between those two chords which addresses the
astronomical costs involved in the Shuttle programme (“You could build a sports stadium for that…that was one
of the great quiet secrets.”) which goes on to talk about the culture at NASA. This is where the emotion from the
words and what they mean interweave with the chord change and together create a great dramatic relationship.
There is an obscure point about the Am/C in that it is only one note away from a C6 (the C6 would have a G
note whereas the Am/C doesn’t). What this means is that not just theoretically but actually it is very close to
being a different chord (i.e. from a 1st inversion minor chord to a root positioned relative major chord). This
isn’t lost on the listener, even if they are unaware of it on a surface level; although the chord sounds ‘normal’ –
if a little dramatic – in fact it hints at two subtly different realities. Because there are no dissonances involved,
far from creating confusion, the listener benefits from the stability of a C chord and the warmth of the Am/C.
The following cue is used at 00.43.36 during an interview when the speaker talks about investigators finding a
tape that belonged to one of the astronauts who had been filming the descent when the accident occurred.
“That’s what got me” says the interviewee. The music for this section is pensive, hesitant, thoughtful and
reflective. The delivery of the chords is interesting, with a slight pause in between each chord, accentuating and
italicising the harmonies.
Fig. 5 Film – 00.43.36
Slight tension
As the scene progresses and evolves, the same figure comes again
but the orchestration expands, offering richness
As with many pieces we’ve examined, the piece benefits from two devices; firstly the contrary motion in the
voicing and secondly the fact that the two notes in the middle of the first two chords move intervallically rather
than physically. This means we have the feeling that what the notes ‘mean’ changes without the actual note
changing – a manouvre which involves our perception of the notes.
Fig. 6
F (5) F (3)
D (3) D (1)
Senna Antonio Pinto

Senna is the story of the life and tragic death of Brazilian motor-racing Champion, Ayrton Senna. The film's
narrative focuses on Senna's racing career in Formula One, from his debut in the 1984 Brazilian Grand Prix to
his death in an accident at San Marino in 1994, with particular emphasis on his rivalry with fellow driver Alain
Prost. It also covered the troubled time Senna had within the sport and his rebellion against the politics which
infest the sport. It relies primarily on archive racetrack footage and home video clips provided by the Senna
family, rather than retrospective video interviews, and has no formal commentary.
The following cue enters following the crash. Extensive colour /

extension heavy chord
Fig. 7 Film - 01.33.37 Audio – ‘A Morte’
Partial harmony
Partial harmony
Partial harmony
The first thing to note is that the cue begins pensively with partial harmony blurring the colour of the chord. The
second thing is that the descending lower note of each successive chord (highlighted) gives the piece a subtle
sense of evolution and inevitability. The final thing is a little more complex and abstract; the chord in bar seven
and eight is referred to as an Ab (add2/9/omit1) even though there is no Ab actually in the chord itself. So why
would we call it an Ab chord when it could easily be identified as perhaps a Cm7/Bb (omit5)
?
The answer refers to how we ‘hear’ the chord – i.e. how we contextualise the chord we hear. Theoretically
calling it a Cm7(omit5) is probably a better and more accurate theoretical description, but it doesn’t convey how
we ‘feel’ the chord. Sometimes we might occasionally use what you might call a ‘phonic’ chord symbol; one
which has more in common with the way the chord sounds than what its technical name is. The precise
character and colour of a chord is sometimes not just a product of ‘now’; it is a product of the cumulative
context of its harmonic surroundings. The chord which precedes the Ab (add2/9/omit1) is a root positioned Ab
chord – no embellishments, no extensions. The one which comes after cannot help but be heard and ‘felt’ in
context of the initial Ab. With absolute and complete chords we hear them emphatically but with incomplete or
‘omit’ chords, their absolute character is blurred which means we tend to hear them in context of surrounding
harmonic terrain. Doubtless if you heard the chord in bar seven / eight unilaterally without preamble you would
hear it differently than if you heard it subsequent to an Ab chord.
Fig. 8 Why am I saying all this? – because composers can achieve

Ab interesting results by implying chords or alluding to chords
rather than simply stating them. To hear a chord as an Ab-based
chord despite it having no Ab within it means that the Ab aspect
is implied or ‘remembered’. It is a subtle, cumulative
experience. These aspects can be harnessed and exploited by
composers to great effect.
The last cue comes toward the end of the film and begins playing behind a clip of an old interview with Senna
where he is reminiscing about go-cart driving. The first few bars act as a preparation for the emotional melody
which arrives on bar fourteen.
Fig. 9 01.40.41 – audio ‘God – Senna Theme Finale’
th
It’s natural to expect the root at the foot of
Piano left hand E now represents 5 the chord. This constant fluctuation causes
begins on root unease
1st 1st 1st 5th 5th 5th

How Film & TV Music CommunicateThe
– Vol.
onsetIIIof–atext copyright
‘normal’ ©creates
soft chord 2015 release
Brian Morrell
from
the tension of the bare chords. The relief is almost a
form of melancholy sadness. The colour comes in the
form of the melody line, which hits the 7th
Dissonance arrives towards the end of the cue builds the tension
PBS Jonestown – the life and death of the people’s temple Tom Phillips
This documentary offers a new look at the tragedy involving the Peoples Temple, with the benefit of previously
unreleased footage. In 1978 Jim Jones led more than 900 members to Guyana to be with him at ‘the people’s
temple’. Eventually he orchestrated a mass suicide which killed 900 people. The documentary is in the form of a
narrative with interviews with former Temple members, Jonestown survivors, and people who knew Jones at
various stages.
The film begins with a series of statements appearing on a black screen: On the 18th November 1978 in
Jonestown, Guyana, 909 members of the People’s Temple dies in what has been called the largest mass suicide
in modern history. The clip eventually evolves, showing archive footage of groups of people, with an off-screen
interviewee saying “nobody ‘joins a cult’…nobody joins something they think’s going to hurt them.” The music
below runs behind pictures and dialogue. It features a motif which creates emotion in part due to its subtly
disorientating strangeness; straight quavers, simultaneous to quaver triplets, creates a slightly mesmerising feel.
The mind makes sense of music by categorizing, classifying and cataloguing what it experiences. This is a
process we are barely aware of. It is the process by which we rationalise, understand and enjoy. When we are
confronted with subtleties which do not sit quite so comfortably this can sometimes engage us on a deeper level,
drawing us in. When put to film, in certain circumstances, it draws us closer not just to the music but to the film
too, creating a feeling that the film and the music are essentially communicating as one. Because of our inability
to fully grasp and rationalise what we hear, we listen more intently and we seek an understanding of the music
through the film and vice versa.
Fig.10 Film opening
Straight quavers
Triplet quavers
Eventually the music becomes a little more sinister with the inclusion of the octave basses
Fig. 11
Subtle blurring of harmony
The mind makes sense of music by categorizing, classifying and

cataloguing. This is a process we are barely aware of. It is the process by
which we rationalise. With this in mind, look again at the opening bars of
the cue below and see how the distinctions between Am and Dm are
blurred.
The ending version features harmonies which are more complete, definite and certain:
Fig. 12 Film - 01.18.30
Aircrash Confidential Unknown, email sent

Aircrash Confidential is a television series which investigates air-disasters from around the world. Using talking
head interviews and archive footage it seeks to enlighten and educate viewers
How Film & TV Music Communicate – Vol. III – text copyright © 2015
The composer Brian
of this Morrell
theme is not listed anywhere. I have
made strenuous efforts to find the composer’s name,
including writing to the production company that made the
show and the company that broadcast it; all to no avail. If
anyone knows who the composer is, please let me know.
Aircrash Confidential composer unknown
Fig. 13 Aircrash Confidential is a popular documentary series. Transcribed below is the theme tune, which draws
heavily on the overt, distinctive and stylish James Bond esque harmonies, notably the minor chord with a maj7
extension. This is helped by the descending top string line.
Main theme
The Falling Man Dario Marianelli

The Falling Man is the name of a photograph taken in the aftermath of the 9/11 terror atrocities by Associated
Press photographer Richard Drew. The picture is of a man falling from the North Tower of the World Trade
Centre at 9:41:15 a.m. during the attacks in New York City. It is one of the most defining and horrifying images
to emerge of the attacks. At least 200 people fell or jumped to their deaths. At the time two newspaper stories
commenting on the images attracted criticism from readers who found the images disturbing. The documentary
focuses on one image, known as the falling man. It discusses the photographer who took it, its subsequent
circulation, the public’s reaction to it and why it was later deemed un-newsworthy.
The picture ignited a fierce debate about ‘in what context’ people had jumped. This went beyond people being
disturbed by the images and into a wider debate about why footage of this had been airbrushed out of the 911
media narrative. Officially all deaths in the attacks except those of the hijackers were ruled to be murders rather
than suicides. In contrast, regarding the social and cultural significance of The Falling Man, the theologian Mark
D. Thomson says “perhaps the most powerful image of despair at the beginning of the twenty-first century is not
found in art, or literature, or even popular music. It is found in a single photograph.” It was suggested that the
mainstream media had refused to print pictures of the ‘jumpers’ because suicide was considered too
dishonourable or distasteful to debate or discuss.
For us, as always, the question is how does the music serve the narrative? Music for documentaries has to be
handled well otherwise it can turn genuinely tragic stories into cheap melodrama. To a degree this happens in
many contemporary documentaries and factual television shows, which tend to excessively use library music to
crudely reinforce and in most cases simply duplicate the on screen pictures with melodrama.
Library music is composed ‘blind’ without access to pictures. Composers don’t know what shows the music
might be used for; they write in specific styles. Directors then shop around for music which best matches their
programmes. Under normal circumstances a commissioned composer might choose to juxtapose, contrast and
use subtlety. But library music styles tend to be overt, obvious and unconcealed, which can mean that when they
are applied to visual media the result tends to be overcooked and melodramatic. This happens in science
documentaries, nature documentaries and many other factual programmes, giving them a false and sometimes
absurd sense of excitement and drama. Equally, if library music is chosen wisely by directors and applied
sympathetically, it can work.
In terms of The Falling Man the music is applied sensitively and doesn’t seek to overtly or cheaply over-
dramatise. It plays a part in underscoring the emotion and bringing the intensity of the situation closer to the
viewers. But it does so in a way which embeds the music in the film, almost as if the two are one. This is when
music is at its most effective; when it literally sounds like the story speaking, guiding you in interpreting the
pictures and helping you to feel the film.
The music begins in a similar way to Columbia documentary we looked at earlier, conveying a slightly edgy but
subtle sense of anxiety. Overtly apprehensive-sounding music would overstate and undermine the seriousness. It
would also duplicate the pictures, which sometimes is what is needed but sometimes what is not needed.
Sometimes music needs to pull back, juxtapose, contrast; not greatly but subtly. The beginning of the
programme shows actual footage of the Twin Towers disaster. As with Columbia behind the pictures is the
narration that describes the disaster, this time from the compelling voice of narrator Stephen Mackintosh, who
begins the journey by saying, “it was the most photographed and videotaped day in history”. One reason why it
is such compelling music, encompassing a sense of drama without becoming melodramatic, lies in the
horizontal, collective delivery of the two-note chord. The concept of delivering a harmonic flavour gradually
rather than immediately, in chord form is a well know filmic device. In the case of The Falling Man the vertical
interval of the two notes is consistently a 6th which delivers its own emotional harmonic qualities, especially
when repeated incessantly.
Intro “It was the most photographed and

Fig. 14 videotaped day in history”
Fig. 15 00.01.35 “The world trade centre was a

beehive of human activity” 00.02.15
This section is played underneath heavily reverbed
archive radio recordings
(omit3) (omit3)
The transition from D to D m6/9
is an interesting and emotive one.
The added Bb and E in the chord
give it a slight whiff of Gm6. If it
were just a Gm6 it would have
too much of an overt character
similar to some of the Bond
D = root D = 3rd chords.
It is the fact that the hint of Gm6 is bolted on top of the low octave Ds and the A note, which results almost in a
kind of subtle polyharmony.
The next analysed cue comes nearly eleven minutes into the film which features an interview with the husband
of Elaine Gentle, one of the people trapped inside the tower. His testimony is delivered with understandable
emotion but also restraint. Putting music behind this kind of scene would seem too much like intrusion if one
accepts that the traditional role of music is to ‘entertain’. But when done properly and with great care and
attention, the music can play a part in this narrative by subtly reinforcing the gravity of the situation; not by
duplicating it but by bringing the emotion closer to the viewer. This is music’s great power; the power to
reinforce a dramatic retelling and make it into something other than merely a two-dimensional image with
accompanying dialogue. Music is not the reason this scene is dramatic but it is one reason why this scene
touches the heart of the viewer, because it brings the viewer and the story closer together. This is one of those
moments where you may not even be aware of the music; firstly because the testimony is so emotionally
charged but secondly because the music is so subtle that it becomes part of the film.
Fig. 16 00.10.50 The restraint in the music is clear when you look and listen to
the broken chords. Once again, as with many cues we have
examined in all three volumes of this series, it is the omission of
colour coupled together with the use of extensions which creates
the feel. The initial F chord with no 3rd creates a stark, worrying
feel and the addition of the 7th sound different to how it would
sound had the chord had a 3rd in it. Extensions behave as they do
principally because of how they interact with components of a
chord. If primary components are missing then the exact colour
of an extension can itself become skewed and have a haunting
strangeness to it. Music is not the reason this scene is dramatic
but it is one reason why this scene touches the heart of the
viewer.
A similar thing happens at around 00.43.09 where the initial haunting F (omit3) chord evolves to the Db/F
chord, reorientating the intervallic context of the two F notes from root to maj3. The Eb, which arrives on bar
four, we hear as the 9th of the inverted Db chord but we have heard this note before in similar contexts in this
documentary as a 7th of an Fm chord, so the former context cannot help but appear in what amounts to our
peripheral aural vision.
Fig. 17 00.43.09
F as the 1st …as the 3rd…..as the 1st….. as the 3rd ……. as the 1st ……as the 3rd
Broken chords and mild dissonance play a part in the final cue we’re going to look at. This film shows an
interview with another family who had lost a loved one.
Fig.18 Film 01.03.30

‘In the days after the attack the Brierlys waited for his return’
There is no 3rd in the opening bar which, with the distinctive analogue-esque synth textures, lends the piece a
dark, menacing air. The following bar features the slight tension of the added 6th clashing faintly with the lower
F (5th) on the lower stave.
9/11 Phone Calls from the Towers Avshalom Caspi

Trapped in The Twin Towers on September 11th, thousands of ordinary people struggled to make contact with
the outside world. Although many remained convinced that help would come, others knew that time was ticking
away. The film broadcasts recorded messages and private calls between those who perished and their loved
ones. In many ways they are the most powerful legacy to the families left behind. Often full of love and dignity
they depict humanity at its best and most resourceful.
Fig.19 “The message that he left…”
“…….meant everything to me…”

The interesting thing with this piece is firstly how it subtly references a kind of Hans Zimmer Dark Knight vibe
via the ‘dancing semiquavers’, something which lends the piece a sense of urgency but not cheap melodrama;
and secondly how it fluctuated between defined chords (bars 1,3,5,7 etc) and less clear, more ambiguous chords
(bars 2,4,6,8 etc). This relationship, this dynamic, creates a real contour for the opening moments of the film.
The audio dips when one of the victims says, “the message that he left…meant everything to me..” but by this
time the flavour of the piece has embedded itself on the opening visuals, which feature an aerial shot of
suburban houses bleeding into a shot of house phones on a wall.
Inside the Twin Towers Per Kihlborg

This account of 11th September 2001 is a deeply emotional one. This film is honest, upsetting and dramatic in
equal measure. The film follows the stories of a few people from inside both towers, some who survived, some
who did not. Dramatising such a stunningly traumatic event will always be difficult, but this film mixes archive
footage and dramatic retelling with interview footage.
Fig.20 Film beginning and 00.012.32

Eb Gm Michael Giacchino used these two simple chords to great
effect in the ground-breaking series Lost, which we
examined in a different volume. On surface level it’s just
Bb = 5th Bb = 3rd two simple chords; Eb to Gm. But the beauty of these
G = 3rd G = 1st chord changes when they are delivered slowly in that the
other reality of harmony (the notes as intervals, not just as
sounds) kicks in. On surface level the bottom three notes
change physically (going up from Eb, Bb and Eb to G and
D);
But what we hear mostly is the intervallic complexion of the top two notes (the G and Bb) which remain
physically intact. We mostly respond not to the notes which physically change but to the intervals of the static
notes changing instead. In other words what changes in the top two notes is not what they are but what they
mean. Our own awareness of, involvement with and interpretation of the two notes at the top of the chord is key
to our enjoyment. We are more involved in this process because it requires work on our part, digesting what the
notes ‘mean’. This is especially the case here because of the slow ponderous nature of the deliver.
The slow chords are accompanied by plenty of dialogue, which means that the emotion and meaning in the
dialogue almost become part of the music. This means that the real success of the music here is not because it
‘entertains’ but because it becomes part of the film, it becomes inseparable from the dialogue. Just prior to the
Eb-Gm chord change, one of the interviewees says, “One of the firemen from Rescue One said what were all
thinking; he said ‘we may not live through this today’ (at this point the chord changes from Eb to Gm). Then he
says, “we all looked at him and said ‘you’re right’ and we stopped (chord goes back to Eb) and took the time to
shake each other’s hands and wish each other good luck.”
A moment later he says, poignantly, “out of all those guys I was surrounded by, I’m the only one who’s still
alive.”
Even the thought of watching this footage and trying to figure out what kind of music would work and, crucially
as always, where you might place it, might seem to be ghoulish. Music would surely add melodrama to an
already traumatic documentary which, arguably, is in no need of being italicised. But this would be to mistake
music for entertainment, which on this case it manifestly is not. What music does here is softly, gently bring the
viewer closer to the interview, closer to the interviewee, closer to the tragedy.
Man on Wire J.Ralph & Michael Nyman

Man on Wire is a 2008 Oscar winning British documentary film chronicling Philippe Petit’s 1974 high-wire
walk between the Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Center. The film presents rare footage of the
preparations for the event and still photographs of the walk, alongside reenactments.
Fig.21 Film 00.00.45 Audio ‘Leaving Home’
There are two interesting aspects of the music for this documentary. Firstly there is the drama created by the
contrast between the opening, with its ambiguous ‘fractured’ chords and dark octave bass, and the subsequent
clarity of the Fm chord with the G in the bass and particularly the G chord in bar five. Secondly there is the
dramatic chord change in bars eight and nine and again in bars eighteen/nineteen and twenty/twenty one. The
chord change is between Ab and D. As we know the interval between the notes Ab and D is the well-known and
dramatic #4 (below).
Below is the #4 shift as a chord change.
Fig.22 This features parallel voicing which makes
it quite overt
Fig.23
To the left we have a smoother voicing of the same
chords. Because the chords are not voiced identically in
a parallel fashion, only one of the notes in the
manouvre states a #4 move. And yet the chord shift as
a whole has a #4 ‘feel’ but more subtle and less severe.
This is often a good way of articulating the overt
melodrama and excitement of the #4 ‘shift’ but in a
way that will sound less intrusive.
Inside Job Alex Heffes

Inside Job is a 2010 documentary narrated by Matt Damon which provides a comprehensive analysis of the
global financial crisis of 2008. The crisis, which cost over $20 trillion, caused millions of people to lose their
jobs and homes in the worst recession since the Great Depression, and nearly resulted in a total global financial
collapse. The documentary is exhaustively researched and features in-depth and extensive interviews with key
financial insiders, politicians, journalists, and academics. The documentary traces the rise of a rogue industry
which has corrupted politics, regulation, and academia. It was made on location in the United States, Iceland,
England, France, Singapore, and China.
Fig.24 Film opening

Bare, stark, colourless chords …. the #4 (A) lends the chord a distinct strangeness.
Elec. Piano
Black screen onto which comes: ‘The global economic crisis of 2008 The contracting parts give it
cost tens of millions of people their savings, their jobs and their homes’ a physical distinction
00.00.46 Strings
Harp
According to viewers much of the music had a ‘furtive’ or secretive air. How do we generate a ‘furtive’,
‘secretive’ feel? What exactly is a secretive feel in music? A clandestine feel can be the product of texture and
instrumentation but it is more likely to be the product, first and foremost, of harmony and voicing. The octave G
notes at the beginning possesses a menacing quality; they are joined by the phrase which includes the sus4 (no
3rd) which compounds the sense of anxiety. In bar three the Gm chord swells in and moves to the Eb#4/G, which
gives the piece a sense of colour and also physical contraction, with (although the chord symbol is an Eb#/G)
the Eb acting as minor 6th giving it a Elfman’s Batman feel. Perhaps the most obvious Bond reference comes
00.46 into the cue as we hear the string line accompanied by the overtly Bond sequence of Dm Bb/D G7/D (the
actual Bond chord would be Dm6).
Fig.25 00.01.42
The words spoken prior to

fig.25 are quite positive,
Woodwinds/strings extoling the virtues of
Iceland’s economy and
social structures.
But as the cue enters we here Matt Damon narrate “But in 2000 Iceland’s government began a broad policy of
deregulation that would have disastrous consequences; first for the environment and then for the economy.”
The music features a line with an arpegiated feel over the top of a two-part chord underneath. The music sounds
texturally light but harmonically it contains anxiety. The two-part chord in bar one can be heard as a Gm. The
second chord can be heard as an Eb/G. This, with the light instrumentation, gives us a kind of zero sugar
version of the ‘James Bond’ sequence. The dancing quavers over the top repeatedly return to the D note, which
penetrates the mix and intervallically alternates between the 5th and the maj 7th.
A section which comes a couple of minutes later at 00.02.10, sounds suitably exhilarating and uplifting; but it is
preceded by important dialogue which, in a way, dictates the context of the music. Matt Damon narrates: “They
started by allowing multinational corporations like Alcoa to build giant aluminium smelting plants and exploit
and exploit Iceland’s natural geothermal and hydroelectric energy resources.” Writer and filmmaker Andri
Maganson takes up the story on screen and says, “Many of the most beautiful areas in the highlands with the
most spectacular colours are geothermal…so nothing comes without consequence.” Then the following cue
comes in as we experience a vast panoramic moving shot of the highlands referred to.
Fig.26 Voice hits the colourful extension
00.02.10
Voice
th
#4 on the trumpet lies a 7 down
from the G italicizing the gap
One of the most interesting and uplifting

characteristics about this piece is the way it seems to
Fig.27
almost ‘breathe out’ in exhilaration in bar two. This is Rich, expansive voicing in the mid-low instrumentation
because of three things: firstly we move from a minor
chord (Gm) to Ebmaj7. Secondly the voicings feature High 3
rd
contrary motion, which means the bottom voices go 6th
down and the top voices go up (then the bottom ones th
5
go up and the top ones go down). Contrary motion has th
often been referred as the way music breathes in and 5
out, and nowhere is this more obvious than here. The Root
third thing of course is sense of textural exhilaration
created by the inclusion of the human voice. The other thing to mention here is the crucial
way the chords are voiced (i.e. root, 5th and high
3rd) in the lower strings / brass, which delivers
textures in a grand expansive manner. The
diagram above shows the interval names but also
the vertical intervals between the notes
themselves. The rich root, 5th and high 3rd
harmonic dynamic is itself a creation of a 5th
between the bottom two notes and a maj6
between the middle and top notes. These
combined factors create the lush warmth we so
often attribute just to the instruments.
The Day Britain Stopped composer unknown

The Day Britain Stopped is a dramatic ‘mockumentary’ based around a fictional disaster in which a train strike
is the first in a chain of events that lead to a meltdown of the country’s transport system. In the film, Britain is
portrayed as facing a national crisis; the country’s transport infrastructure is unable to cope with the traffic
volumes it faced on a daily basis.
By early afternoon on the first morning of the crisis the M25 is at a standstill following two accidents, and
across the country minor incidents cause pockets of ever-growing gridlock from Scotland to the West Country.
By evening, hundreds of thousands of motorists are stranded in sub-zero temperatures.
At 22:28 the disaster many had predicted finally struck when a passenger jet collided with a Czech freight plane
over Hounslow, killing all passengers and crew.
The opening sequence begins with historical footage recontextualised for dramatic effect, accompanied by a
fake narration, spoken by the completely believable docu-voice of Tim Piggot-Smith, who says, as we come to
the first music cue, “Decades of neglect…lead to a day of disaster…”.
The following abstract-sounding chords play over a scene which shows the aftermath of a plane crash.
Fig.27 00.00.37
3rd
1st
5st
maj6th
, maj3rd
1st
From the bottom upwards the first three notes ‘make sense’ being a root, enharmonic maj 3rd and enharmonic
maj 6th of a B chord. From the top down, the first three notes make perfect sense, being the maj 3rd, root and 5th
of an Ab chord. This means the two notes in the middle of the voicing make sense twice, in two different
situations. It becomes weird when we try and make cognitive sense out of a confusing aural situation. Do we
listen from the top up or the bottom down or from the middle outwards in both directions? The point is; we can
only do it one at a time, not simultaneously. This chord communicates two different meanings simultaneously;
this is why, even though most elements of it ‘stack up’ whichever of the two chords you’re looking at, we find it
hard to rationalise. This is not chaos; it is controlled, manicured soft dissonance created by subtle polytonality.
The further abstraction is the #11 and the dissonant pedal note (F) in bar three.
Some composers excel at confounding our expectations. But constant dissonance can be difficult to listen to.
The piece used at the beginning of this docudrama is heavily reminiscent of a piece called Central Park in the
Dark by Charles Ives (below).
Central Park in the Dark Charles Ives
maj3rd 4th
4th 4th 4th
maj3rd 4th 4th
4th 4th 4th
4th 4th
4th 4th 4th
4th
maj3rd
4th
4th 4th
maj3rd
This very major-

heavy vertical
harmony repeats in
the first two bars 4th
and creates a 4th 4th
distinct polytonal
feel.
3 on 3 4 on 4
4th 4th 4th

4th 4th 4th When you spot the patterns and the
4th 4th 4th consistencies you see the characteristics; the
reasons why it sounds like it does.
4th Only the addition of ‘looking at’ (reading)

4th 4th
4th 4th music (and obviously listening to it as well)
will offer this insight.
Dissonance is rarely just ‘chaos’, and rarely is

it ‘chance’. Usually the most exquisite and
4th aurally attractive dissonance is more
4th
4th forensically structured and worked-out than
4th
consonant harmony. It takes more time and
deliberation to sculpture harmonies which will
create the colours required.
If one were an alien visitor, one might presume that ‘harmony’ was to be found in consistent groups of numbers,
but when we create harmony based vertically on consistent 3rd or 4th intervals, it sounds abstract and strange. We
rely on a varied and precise but odd selection of intervals and harmonies for music to communicate to us
traditionally. Think about it - if there’s no 3rd a chord sounds bare; if there’s too many 3rds it sounds abstract. If
there’s no extensions it can sound boring but if there’s too many extensions the extensions will overpower the
normal intervals and it will lose its structure. Intervals and extensions can sometimes have a precise and often
collective societal emotional meaning, which comes from years of people being exposed to music in very
consistent ways. Although this is a shame, it makes it easy for the successful composer to recognise tradition
and abstraction and use them accordingly.
Overleaf I discuss the music to the documentary ‘Deep Water. This was covered in a previous volume of this
book but I have since had the benefit of more cues and recordings. For continuity and consistency I have
therefore used old material with new material for the benefit of a more thorough analysis.
Deep Water Harry Escott

Deep Water sensitively, emotionally and creatively documents the events surrounding the death at sea of Donald
Crowhurst whilst he was attempting to win the 1968 Sunday Times solo non-stop round-the-world sailing race.
The documentary uses Crowhurst’s original 16mm films to reconstruct his journey, along with interviews and
archive footage. The Sunday Times race was the first solo, non-stop, round-the-world boat race but the
psychological toll it took on Donald Crowhurst is the main story portrayed in the film. It portrays sensitively his
personal journey into the heart of darkness and despair. Because of a complicated arrangement involving
funding and press coverage, amateur sailor Crowhurst faced probable financial ruin if he did not win the race or
at least come a credible and respectable 2nd; something which must have caused terrible strain on him both
before and during the race. He set sail on October 31st and after a slow start began to communicate impressive
daily distances back to his delighted family and press agent back in England. The reality, however, was that an
inexperienced Crowhurst was falling badly behind. The truth was that, unlike other competitors, he had falsified
his position in order to eventually make it look as if he had sailed round the world when in fact he’d done no
such thing. His plan was to move into a position whereby he could wait until the rest of the boats went round the
world and were on the last section of the race (from South America, upwards and across the Atlantic and back to
England) and then quietly slip in behind them. He therefore kept two logbooks – one which contained elaborate
false calculations and one which contained the truth. His plan by this point was to come second or third – an
honourable achievement and one which wouldn’t lead to competition organisers scrutinising his logs.
Eventually, months later and due to some of the other competitors leaving the race, Crowhurst was suddenly
seen as certain to win. With the sure knowledge that on his return his fraud would be revealed, he began to panic
and so began his nightmarish mental decline. When his boat was finally found without him on it, his terrible
story was revealed to the world. This heart-breaking story is told sensitively throughout, benefitting from skilled
writing, photography and editing. The documentary makes great use of some key interviewees too. But what
makes the documentary even more compelling is the sensitive and emotional music by Harry Escott. The way in
which Escott’s music distils the sadness and tragedy of this story displays the powerful affect music can have on
a story but it is ultimately a great example of how well the music is conceptualised; how well it is thought
through and how well the composer has ‘read’ the film and truly understood what the function of the music will
be. Escott’s music is itself not ‘sad’. This is perhaps the point; if we accompany a tragic story with overtly sad
music we risk turning it into melodrama, something that afflicts a great many modern documentaries. The music
creates angst, anxiety, feelings of anguish, sorrow and torment. This makes the film compelling viewing but also
an immensely sad and tragic story.
So the question for us is ‘how’. How does the music convey the essential spirit of the film? There are numerous
examples in the transcriptions that follow which emphasise the clever and effective use of exquisite dissonance
and texture to create distinct emotions designed to be embedded into the film. The tensions created in many
excerpts from Deep Water (by virtue of the beautiful ambiguity and harmonic abstractions created by
dissonance, pandiatonic harmony and some broken chords and fractured harmonies) prove again just how
effective and crucial music is to the telling of the story. Much of the score for this documentary is built around a
kind of ‘polite dissonance’ or ‘broken harmony’ typical of pandiatonic music (although the harmony is not by
any means completely pandiatonic). This produces, as we will find, emotional and music which really conveys
the tragedy, angst and heartbreak of the story. The music draws the viewer into Crowhurst’s character far deeper
than a more conventional harmonic approach might have achieved.
Figure 1, below, is a good example of harmonies which create a feeling of foreboding, where chords are often
structured and voiced in specific ways to illicit tension and colour.
The way the music responds to the beginning of the story, how it follows on from the sounds and images of
waves, and in particular how it is woven into the dialogue, is particularly impressive in this first excerpt. Also, if
ever we wanted a great example of the simple dramatic power of the inversion, this is it. Together with the
specific textures and colours of the strings, the inversion really captures the drama. Also the initial attack on the
first chord followed by the sudden silence on beat 5 prior to bar two is also extremely effective in reinforcing
the harmonies. The narration at this point is quite poignant, spoken by one of Donald Crowhurst’s closest
friends, Ron Winspear, who says “We are all human beings, and we have dreams…. This voyage was Don’s.”
Fig.01 Film - 00.01.09 Audio – ‘Dreams’

“We are all …and, we have “This voyage was
human dreams…” Don’s”
beings…..”
(addm6)
The tension of the The oddity of the

Starts on an
The F#sus4 ‘feels like’ an F#m added 6th – rather maj6 and maj7 in the
inversion
chord, thanks to what preceded it than the sus4 same chord
The inversion, like all inversions, essentially weaves its magic by reconstituting the chord; it rebalances and
recalibrates the chord, reorientating the way the harmonies work. This slight dislodging of expectation, coupled
together with the low string textures which articulate it, create a very subtly unnerving air which serves the
scene well. The chord in bar two is a sus chord. Taken in isolation a sus chord has a definite ‘square’ feel, but
when, as in this case, it follows the D/F#, it sounds ‘almost like’ an F#m. therefore it is the specific combination
of chords which governs how it works. If we take that logic one stage further we could argue that in a very real
sense all chords have an almost limitless potential for possessing different harmonic characteristics dependent
on the context of their surroundings.
The subtle tension of the D (added m6) in bar three is interesting because of the spatial nature of the chord
voicing. The mild clash between the D and the lower C# (5th) is quite effective in adding tension and colour into
the voicing. This is followed by the less dissonance but more obvious clash in bar four between the B and C#.
These are only a major 2nd apart so on paper this shouldn’t penetrate too much, but of course what the notes are
as intervals (i.e. what colour they possess) is key; few chords would contain the maj6 and maj7 together, side by
side. They do different ‘jobs’ and they create fundamentally different colours within a chord. Any chord which
contains both will not sit quite as perfectly as more conventionally structured chords.
Contrary motion is sprinkled over this cue, which helps it possess a real cohesive sense of vertical momentum.
As we have discussed elsewhere, such devices can help a piece breathe. The chord on bar six has the twin
additions of the add9 (A) and the #4 (C#). The 9th adds a rather traditional soft romantic air but this is seriously
mitigated by the ‘lumpy’ low C#, creating a real denseness in the lower voicing. Again, such decisions are not
accidental; they provide a function within the harmony in that they create sonic tension. The final chord in this
transcription is the D/C#. This kind of chord appears all over the place in this score. The concept of the major
chord build over the maj7 creates subtle but obvious sonic friction, making the chord sound pained, as if it is
struggling. This conveys the angst and tragic context of the film in a subtle way which is less overt than more
obvious methods of creating tension.
The next part of the film we will examine shows one of the boats in the early stages of the race; although the
rhythm which accompanies the harmony in this excerpt has the kind of movement which lends the excerpt a
nautical feel, the harmonies are once again vivid, dramatic and, in this case, subtly portentous. How does
harmony do this? How can something that the vast majority of people do not understand and cannot rationalise,
communicate such specific emotion? How can music sound portentous? Instrumental music does not contain
words or anything else that might betray its meaning, and yet still it still communicates.
I have highlighted the obvious harmonic tensions but these alone do not fully explain the colour and expression
created by the harmonies. This is because the highlighted (boxed) high harmonic tensions need something to
react to.
In musical terms tension alone is simply tension; but when it reacts against something or with something it can
powerfully create a mood; music is, after all, a series of reactions. Underneath the top two string parts in bar two
is simply a stark, bare G chord with no 3rd. This means the interval between the 11th (C) and the Bb (a 7th higher)
is particularly exposed and dramatic. A 7th interval is not normally so powerful when the bottom note of a 7th
interval is the root of the chord. In this case the lower note is an extension (the 11th). The C disrupts what would
otherwise have simply been a relationship between a high minor 3rd and the root notes several octaves lower.
It’s worth discussing how the music interacts with the pictures and narration at this point. The piece begins
underneath the interview with Robin Knox-Johnson, who speaks briefly about the race, talking about Sir Francis
Chichester’s achievements prior to this race. Then he says, “I thought that’s it; one more thing left to be
done…go round the word single handed, but non-stop.” During the first few bars narration is still supporting the
pictures so the music doesn’t really penetrate properly but it penetrates enough that when the same musical idea
appears again in bar five (uncluttered with narration in bar five) it doesn’t appear ‘out of the blue’. This is an
important point - music in this situation is often best delivered slowly before it raises and makes its point.
Fig.02 Film 00.04.44 & 00.13.48 (“One by One”)
Narration…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. / Narration stops
Another highlighted tension in fig.2 is a more simple affair in bar three between the Bb (the min 3rd) and the 9th
(A) a maj7th above. A Gm9 (and specifically the interval between the 3rd and 9th) would normally come with
the5th and 7th to ‘soften’ it up. Here it simply comes on top of the 3rd creating a somewhat stark interval. Bar six
contains another exposed interval, and again the tension between a #11 (E) and a high maj3rd (D) comes aloft a
simply voiced Bb chord. Tellingly the top note of the main body of the chord (viola, F) is nearly an octave lower
than the #11, which exposes the two violins (E-D) and their interval of a 7th. In addition the interval between the
viola F and the violin E is itself a major 7th, which creates additional but subliminal tension.
Without doubt the biggest and boldest dissonance is in bar ten which, from the bottom upwards displays a
simple Bbm chord with two minor thirds (Dbs), but which, right at the top on high violins, states a major 3rd. On
paper this looks like a potentially ear-splitting chord which would create enormous dissonance, and yet the
effect, whilst being dramatic, is not harsh at all.
There are several reasons for this: the minor 3rd and major 3rd are not literally side by side, they are separated by
a gap of over an octave. Also the previous chord is a strong G chord. I say ‘strong’ because the major 3rd in this
chord – the B – is stated in three successive octaves, which means that the chord switch to Bbm (+maj3) gives
the listener little time to acclimatise. If a Bbm chord had been stated and then added to by the major 3rd the
dissonance would be more obvious.
The next transcription is from a cue entitled ‘The Greatest Test’, which has a distinctly traditional feel together
with nautical feel. This is because it possesses a kind of shanty style modality.
Fig.03 Film - 00.06.25 Audio – ‘The Greatest Test’
The ‘jaunty’ feel is created rhythmically through a couple of different devices; firstly there is almost a slight
polyrhythmic feel. Although the piece is in 4/4 it has a curious triplet feel which is purely something which is
felt, thanks to the woodwind phrasing. It’s quite hard to feel the overall 4/4 context, which tends to make the
phrases almost exist alone and not in conjunction with each other. Also harmonically there is a slight
polyharmonic feel, thanks to the Bb (4th and, higher up the 11th) and particularly the D (13th) over the various
Fm chords. Together this creates a slight Bb chord feel superimposed over the Fm. To add to this there are lots
of bare, square intervals further dissipating the Fm feel, particularly on the top strings. Add to this other
occasional oddities such as the 7th interval between the two woodwinds in bar two. What all this means,
practically, is that the shanty style jauntiness is mitigated and softened by the sense of incomplete or fractured
harmony, which is itself a creation of many of the voicings being quite extension-heavy (such as the Fm13).
The next transcription is of a track titled ‘Introducing Donald’, which comes just over eight minutes in as we see
archive footage of Crowhurst talking about his forthcoming voyage. A BBC crew had been there to document
the competition but had realised quite early on how uncomfortable Crowhurst looked and eventually how ill-
prepared he and his board were. Later they had focussed more on these aspects and less on the overall race. In
this scene Crowhurst tries to put on a brave face but we can see the worry and concern permeating underneath. I
mention this because the same can be said of the music which accompanies the scene; it is an evolving mixture
of contentment tinged with concern. There is a melancholic, sad, forlorn feeling to the music despite it not being
overtly mournful. There are subtle tensions which help the viewer of the documentary view this archive footage
with the right context. As always, the point is this: how does it do it?
Fig.04 Film - 00.08.30 Audio – ‘Introducing Donald’
The initial string chord is called an E/B but the addition of the initial A note which the chord bleeds into, creates
some subtle tensions. The most obvious visually would be the A note and the G# a maj7 above. This mixture of
maj 3rd and the lower 4th creates an interesting blurring of colour. The chord in bar four is one that Escott uses
several times in the film; indeed it could be considered to be the score’s harmonic centre of gravity. I have
called it a Bm7 with an added min6 but the point is that it is essentially a Bm7 and a Gadd9/B blurred together
to create one composite chord. The tension between thee F# and the G note is only half the story; this is not just
about two notes a semitone apart; it is about two subtly different chords being implied at the same time. It is
about what the notes mean as intervals.
Fig.05 Below I have featured the chord twice with two

different chordal names, which of course
means that the notes within these two chords
7 state different intervals depending on what you
9 call the chords or how you ‘feel’ the chords.
3 m6 5 This goes beyond abstract theory; it explains
1 why such a chord sounds uncomfortable. It is
maj 7 neither one thing nor the other and yet
5 technically it is both.
1 3
In bar five (of fig.4) the Gadd9/B is nicely voiced, with the G note at the top, above the 9th. Although
traditionally extensions tend to be toward the top of a chord voicing, they aren’t always; sometimes, as with this,
they are buried in the middle of the voicing to create a more subtle sound. What is slightly different with this
chord, and what gives the sound an edge, is the decision to put the root at the top; traditionally this would be
seen as the wrong way round, or back-to-front. Also the interval between the A and the top G is itself a 7th,
creating a little more subtle tension.
The excerpt below again features some evocative, suggestive and sombre harmonies which communicate the
gravity of Crowhurst’s situation beautifully. This scene is shot immediately prior to Crowhurst’s departure at the
outset of his voyage; the music italicizes the tension and stress apparent in his demeanour.
Fig.6 Film – 00.24.19 (“The Pilot’s Waiting”)
The clash between F# note (cellos) and G note

(violas) in the first bar creates an effective but
subtle dissonance which penetrates the mix.
Likewise the low B and G of the basses in the
second half of bar two, alongside the D and E
(cellos and violas) create some deep resonant
harmonies.
The chord in bar seven contains an exquisite clash; the top four notes state what amounts to an F#m7, but the
underlying low B disfigures and alters the sonic clarity of the chord. The low B and the F# immediately above
create a kind of ‘lumpy’ sonically ambiguous dissonance, as does the relationship between the low B and the C#
(cellos) a 9th higher.
The following transcription is from a track titled ‘Into Oblivion’ which follows some narration which makes the
point that this voyage happened in a pre-satellite era. The speaker then says, “Don Crowhurst sailed over the
horizon…and effectively into oblivion.” The music then begins, accompanied by a beautiful shot sunset scene.
The music is one of the most commercially accessible pieces in the film and implies calm, tranquillity and an air
of serenity.
Fig.7 Film - 00.26.41 Audio – ‘Into Oblivion’ 00.31

There are some extremely evocative harmonies and voicing in this piece. Before we look at individual chords
let’s once again pause to look at how the voicings as a whole slot together via the effortless movement and
contrary motion (highlighted ---). The smoothness of physical movement belies the complex voicings within and
as I have said probably a thousand times, voicing is everything. Voicing creates the physical vertical shape of
the piece, which is not just something to look at but something which helps the piece sound as convincing as it
does. This is also one of the hallmarks of some of the great film score composers and their orchestrators; they
make the complex sound deceptively effortless. Indeed I have spoken before about how, when something
sounds ‘nice’, there are often exquisite tensions which aren’t apparent to the naked ear but which prevent the
piece from actually being as simple as it apparently sounds; the point being that if it actually was as simple as it
sounded, the tension wouldn’t produce the passion that makes it so compelling and beautiful.
The initial first chord has the subtle tension of the sus4 (Bb) and the first chord in bar two is an extremely
spaciously voiced Fm11. If you remember an Fm stacked with extensions from earlier, you’re not wrong; this
approach appeared in ‘The Greatest Test’. But in bar two of this cue we have the G and Bb on the top stave and
the F underneath, giving it a ‘passing chord’ feel (i.e. Gm/F). Underneath all this we have the Ab and finally the
F creating a rich 10th interval which underpins the chord and makes it an Fm11. In bar three the Fm7/Ab is
voiced well with, from the top downwards, an F, C and Eb. Underneath this we have the F but the only time the
all-important 3rd comes in is right at the foot of the chord as an inverted Ab. All these things conspire to make
the chord slightly less obvious and overt as it might otherwise have been. There is great subtlety here.
The chords which lead from bar one to bar two and from bar two to bar three are themselves delicately and
beautifully conceived. The first two bars are transcribed again, below, so we can focus purely on the chords
which come at the end of bar one and the end of bar two.
(b13)
Fig.8 The C9/F has two main spots of tension. Firstly
add
we have the 9th in conjunction with the b13,
which unilaterally is a b5. This specific
combination (9th and b13th) within a chord does
not happen often in music; you would be more
likely to see a 9th and a ‘normal’ 13th but not
always a 9th and a b13. So the combination of
intervals is slightly odd and allows the notes to
penetrate. These extensions are on top of the C
and E in cellos and violas, which normalises the
chord slightly and even gives it a slightly loose
and ‘swanky’ jazz feel. But all this is bolted onto
a low F, which is, again, odd. So the chord is a
combination of tension and pressure with some
jazz colours thrown in.
(add4)
The C7/Bb has several tensions: the top two notes suggest that they are two thirds of a C chord, but they are
built on top of an F which is itself built on octave Bbs. Because of all this, there are three chords implied, which,
if we were listening to this chord for any length of time, would be testing. It is precisely this confounding of
expectation that is part of the pleasure of listening to chords like these. Because these chords are quite quick –
essentially passing chords - we don’t fully appreciate the tensions and colour. But even at this speed the tensions
and colours do seep through.
At 00.27.30 a cue enters following a subtitled interview from the wife of Bernard Mortissier, one of the race
contenders. In the narration much of her testimony is quite philosophical and deep in tone. One of the phrases
ends with the comment, “I think Bernard found his universe.” At that point, accompanying a beautiful scene at
sea, filmed from the front of a boat quite close to the water, the following music enters.
Fig.9 Film – 00.27.30
Guitar
/ synth
Piano
The arpegiated piano works well in creating a feeling

of movement and momentum and the distinct texture
of the lead line on electric guitar / synth is also
evocative. But in all probability the real powerhouse
is the famous sci-fi chord sequence we first
examined in volume 1. This chord trick goes from
the tonic chord to a minor chord V. I have written
the chord trick in a few different keys below.
In each of the diagrams the tonic chord is in the middle on the top, with related chords to the left, right and
relative minors below. In the first example (fig.10, the key of C) the filmic sequence is between C and Gm. The
Gm is in red because it lies outside the immediate key chords. This is part of the reason the sequence has a
dramatic, evocative feel.
Fig.10 Fig.11 Fig.12 Fig.13
G C F D G C A D G E A D
Em Am Dm Gm Bm Em Am Dm F#m Bm Em Am C#m F#m Bm Em

F#m
At just over 33 minutes into the film the narrator, Tilda Swinton, explains the context of Crowhurst’s worsening
situation. She says, “Crowhurst was averaging barely sixty miles a day, half the speed of Mortissier, in a boat
that would not stay afloat in heavy seas.” His friend Ron Winspear adds, emotionally, “The pressure was
building. If Don went forward he was committing suicide. But the financial situation was desperate; if he came
back he was ruined.” Then from Crowhurst’s own diary we hear: “Time and money; if one considers time only
the thing to do is turn back now. But money; this area is the most worrying. If I stop I will disappoint a lot of
people; Stanley Best, most important; Rodney Halworth, the folks at Teignmough. In the final analysis if the
whole thing goes quite sour, the business bankrupt and the house sold, I would have Clair and the children still.
What a bloody awful decision; to chuck it in at this stage. What a bloody awful decision.”
His son then picks up the story, again with great poignancy and emotion, “This was the point, in mid-November,
when his instincts should have told him that it was right to give up and he should come back to us. But,
somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do that.” In order to contextualise why Crowhurst felt he couldn’t give
up, at this point we see archive pictures of Donald as a young child, over which his wife narrates a description of
his early years being brought up in British India.
She explains what a wonderful life he had but what an isolated childhood he experienced. She explains how the
family came back to live in England and struggled financially and literally found themselves destitute. She
explains that “one day his father just keeled over with a heart attack.” Donald had been fifteen at the time and
has his son then explains, “He’d seen the consequences of financial disaster on his own family; he knew what
the implications might be for us.” The reason this description of the contents of the documentary prior to the
music’s entry is because music for the moving image is not just about ‘the moment’. Music is at its best in this
situation when it acts to distil not just the images and the immediate words, but the context that surround the
wider story and which, in this case, sets the scene perfectly for the sequence where we see Donald as a child
with accompanying music. Donald’s experiences of his father’s financial problems are crucial to understanding
the reasoning behind his ultimately fatal decision to go on. Therefore the pictures of his childhood take on an
added poignancy and so does the music that accompanies them. The reason the pictures and context of his
childhood are important is because they ultimately play a part in creating the man who decided, against all logic,
to continue the voyage. But for this the information on his childhood is irrelevant.
Fig.14 Film - 00.35.00 & 00.42.00 Audio – ‘Not home for Christmas’ (El Dorado)
omit3
B
Like many tracks in the film the music sounds

despondent, mournful and sad. Bar three lightens up
a little with a feeling of hope; it is interesting
because it contains a chord change mid-bar which
makes the F# oboe change interval mid-way
through. But perhaps what gives that same bar a
sense of difficulty and anxiety is the muddy ‘lumpy’
voicing in the second half of the bar, in particular
the min 3rd interval between the low B and the D.
Also the there is a slight friction between the G
(viola) and F# (oboe). Normally the difference
between a root tone (in this case G) and the maj7 (in
this case F#) wouldn’t register, but the inverted
nature of the chord is what slightly changes the
dynamic; the B in the bass and the F# on top gives
the chord a slightly blurred ‘almost’ Bm feel.
The chord in bar five is definitely blurred and of a slightly pandiatonic persuasion. If we look at the basses, 2nd
cellos, viola and violins we see and hear a Bm7 chord. However, if we observe the oboe (G, the min 6th) and the
1st cellos (E, the sus4) together we have two thirds of an Em creeping in; the momentary confounding sense of
blurredness is what makes the chord italicise the actual uncertainty of the situation
Film - 00.36.50 Audio – ‘No Peace’
This sequence is an excellent example of where sound design meets music in film. The composer has used raw
recordings which resemble engine sounds extremely effectively, almost in a menacing way. He then adds other
sounds to create almost a soundscape. Usually in film it is clear where sound design stops and music begins, but
in some projects it can be helpful to reference sounds which possess more ‘real’, earthy or industrial
characteristics and qualities. Crowhurst’s friend Ron Winspear speaks over this section: “Every time he woke up
it was the same question; he got no peace. He couldn’t walk away from it; if he came back he was ruined; if he
went forward he was dead.”
After a pause he says, “Is there a third option?” Then the sound, picture and music abruptly stop and after a
pause we see images of messages sent by Crowhurst such as HURTLED SOUTH 172 MILES…SUNDAY 243
MILES…Then we hear Ron say “…a very interesting third option…” The subtle implication is that this is the
point where Crowhurst began to fake it. At which point the cue in fig.15 comes in.
Although the cue plays over a part in the documentary which tells of people at home being proud of Crowhurst’s
new achievements, people watching the documentary know more; they know the context. The music is even
more familiar with the story, because part of its job is to tell it. Ask yourself when you watch the film and listen
to the cue, is there any hint of the subterfuge, the deception, the duplicity?
The rhythm plays it straight; it is a light, driving sound. The sliding string melody is a little strange and the
initial underlying chord has a great, empty spacious suspended feel to it. The lowest two notes (A and E) create
a rough sonic and textural vibe due their proximity to each other. Also, essentially the top three notes of the
bottom stave constitute a bare D chord; merged with the lower bare A chord, this is what creates the suspended,
spacious sense of openness and space.
Fig.15 Film – 00.37.36 Audio - ‘Welcome back Donald’

One of the most dramatic moments harmonically, and one which injects a sense of angst, comes in bar seven
where the line goes from the 7th (G) to the b13 (F). The fact that the line goes from one extension to another
(where none are primary intervals) itself injects drama, but it is the F which causes a mild but dramatic clash.
The following cue is also dramatic, for two reasons, one of which is to do with the exchange between the
dramatic inverted Bb chord (over the F bass), to the root-positioned F#m. The sequence of Bb to F#m is an odd,
alien-sounding exchange; there are no common notes and they lie outside each other’s key centres. By placing
the inverted and slightly dramatic bass F note underneath the Bb chord we do forge a more normalised
relationship between the two chords; less odd but more purely dramatic: the smaller semi-tonal manouvre
between the F and the F# bass notes work to create a more natural, logical and smooth relationship but still
containing the inevitable drama of the inversion.
The second reason for the drama is the ascending bass line of the two-bar sequence which gets repeated. The
first chord of Gm6/D (but minus the G) is interesting; the lack of the G note means we focus on two quite
difficult intervals – firstly between the Bb at the top and the E underneath (b5) and the interval between the low
D and the E above (9th). This chord literally gets in between the cracks of harmonic identity; it walks between
the raindrops of harmony. It only becomes clarified and defined when it hits the second chord (the inverted
Bb/F) where the interval between the Bb and the lower D is a more rational 6th; and then it moves straight to the
out-of-key-centre F#m. What helps all this is the fact that the vertical moment is not parallel; the Bb melody
note spans both initial chords; it functions first as a min3 of the Gm chord and then becomes the octave of the
Bb chord. This change of the harmonic identity of a single melody note halfway through bar one (and later when
the phrase repeats) creates a parallel sense of both drama and also relief. This creates immense – but subtly
delivered – emotion which helps the story greatly.
Fig.16 Film - 00.47.20 Audio – ‘The Great Cape’
b5 6
This piece proves that the pure physicality of the movement and the distinct colour the harmony creates can be
built using few notes, as long as each and every one really counts. In this cue as with all Escott’s music, there
are no lazy notes; nothing is there as ‘filler’.
The film then explains how Crowhurst had decided to stop in the South Atlantic and wait for the rest of the race
to go round the world, come round Cape Horn and head north, at which point he could re-join the race. ‘The
isolation was complete’, the narrator explains. In order for the deception to work, Crowhurst had to maintain
radio silence for a long period.
At 00.56.38 the narrator explains, “As Crowhurst sailed away from land the other sailors were coming round the
Horn and racing north, for Europe and home…” – following this narrated section which underpins the
seriousness of Crowhurst’s deception, the following piece is heard, over which the narrator then begins to
describe how Bernard Mortissier’s isolation was affecting him.
Fig.17 Film – 00.56.42 (“After Cape Horn”)
The interesting thing here is how the music reflects the uncertainty and fear of the situation by fluctuating in and
out of ‘normal’ and extension chords; bar three offers an Fm chord but bar four has a 9th and 11th with no
defining 3rd. Once again this bareness, this starkness really offers the narrative a kind of subtle desolation. Apart
from one or two ‘ordinary’ chords this section is a triumph of 9ths and 11ths and displays how these intervals
take on new meaning if the chord omits the 3rd.
At around 00.57.10 the actor playing Mortissier explains how the yachtsman had decided to think in terms of
not bothering to finish the race. The next piece has a musically positive feel. Beginning with a major chord and
containing a beautiful clarinet motif, the music actually comes following the news that Mortissier had been so
affected by his experience that he didn’t want to come home and had decided to sail round the world again.
Profound and dramatic in its own right, this also effected Crowhurst’s situation badly. The narrator states: “after
seven months at sea and barely six weeks from home Mortissier abandoned the race and turned south again – he
was sailing on again, around the world a second time”, after which the serene music (fig.18) comes in. It
contextualises the beautiful and wonderfully desolate seascape Mortissier had been so transfixed by.
The Db melody note in bar four creates a reaction with the maj3rd an octave lower; despite being a b9 interval it
creates tension but not dissonance, not least because of the rich string voicing underneath and the fact that the C
note is a maj3rd. The same Db note functions as a suspended 4th in the Fm chord a bar later, where the clash
between it and the C note (5th of the Fm) is more obvious.
Fig.18 Film – 01.02.48 Audio ‘Plus Tard’
The C functions
as a maj 3rd which
makes the clash
between it and the
Db more smooth
The narrator explains, “All eyes now turned to the contest for the fastest voyage; either Nigel Tetley or Donald
was about to become the most famous man in Britain.” Crowhurst’s plan now needed Tetley to come first so he
could come in second and not face scrutiny. A little later came the devastating news, articulated well in the
documentary, that Tetley has sunk. The next piece (‘Tetley’s Sunk’) comes in the film shortly after this
announcement.
Before we begin to look at the colours and moods created by the harmonies, voicing and textures of this piece,
it’s worth looking again at the idea of ‘phonic chord symbols’. Phonics is a method for teaching reading and
writing the English language by developing phonemic awareness - the ability to hear and identify the
correspondence between the sounds of words and the spelling patterns that represent them. Musical chord
symbols exist primarily as a means of identification and classification, but chords also communicate a sense of
emotion, mood and meaning. This is why trained musicians – particularly arrangers and composers – can
associate a ‘feeling’ with a chord name without hearing it. Just as the word ‘terror’ suggests fear, alarm,
trepidation, etc, for a composer or arranger the chord C7(b10)usually conjures up a loose jazz vibe, depending on
(maj7)
how it is voiced and for which instruments, and the Em9 conjures up feelings of mystery, subterfuge and
deception. Although arrangers and composers can sometimes associate a chord’s name with a specific emotion
or character, the general public also benefit from a sense of understanding and comprehension, but minus the
specific knowledge about how chords are named and used.
With regard to ‘phonics’, a chord might sometimes generate two different chord names; two versions of the
same chord might be said to exist; one would be a literal and theoretical interpretation and one might be an
interpretation based on the ‘way it sounds’. Sometimes there is a conflict between what a chord ‘sounds like’
and what its actual theoretical name is. Chords which sometimes sound a little abstract and non-defined, or
which have fractured / broken harmony can technically have two different ways of being categorised. My point
in all this, and what proves that people are able to ‘know’ chords (even if they don’t know their technical name),
is that it is this impreciseness that creates the character of the chord. This is why examining why and how a
chord might have two names is important; two names means two subtly different identities and two subtly
different ways of hearing it.
In the cue the notes build up from being essentially a non-chord to becoming a fuller, more representational
chord. In bar two we ‘hear’ the notes as a C#7 but with no 3rd or 5th. But in bar four, even though it still contains
only two notes, we begin to fill in the missing notes with supposition, presuming it to ‘sound like’ a kind of
F#m/C# even through there is no F#. A more literal explanation (on top) doesn’t quite convey what the chord
implies. People often talk of such chords sounding abstract and incomplete; broken or fractured. Part of the
success of these chords is our apparent inability to process and aurally comprehend and categorise the way
something ‘feels’ and reconcile this with the notes that actually exist. Implicit in this is the central inability
(even though most are unaware) to place a bunch of notes in one context or the other. What I’m trying to do here
is explain the complex internal dynamics which make harmonies function as they do in a given context.
Fig.19 Film - 01.08.20 Audio – ‘Tetley’s sunk’
By bar five the chord we actually hear, (in this case the one which
is implied by virtue of what preceded it, i.e. context) is incredibly
complex in terms of its name. The name above is a lot simpler but
doesn’t convey what the chord has become.
5th
3rd
th
th maj7 “Donald is not stupid man; he knew what it would mean.” (Crowhurst’s wife)
5
Perhaps one of the most profound moments is in bar six, where, although only three notes exist, because of the
context of the previous bars leaking over, we hear the chord as an F#m based chord despite no F# being present.
In the next bar we add one note to the mix which changes everything. By ‘everything’ I don’t mean the notes, I
mean the context of what the notes have become in terms of the intervals they represent.
In terms of what we call chords, we usually default to the most simple, but often the way we feel the chord can
ocassionally imply a fundamentally different context and name. Once again the reason for going into this in so
much depth is not for theoretical interest, it is because these are the dynamics we ‘feel’ and hear when we listen
to such music, which is why we are often so flummoxed but also so enchanted by the confusion the chords
create. I do not mean to suggest for a moment that we rationalise the different name in our heads, more that this
process is going on without our being aware.
The following section plays over a reading from Donald Crowhurst’s diary, in which his deteriorating mental
state is apparent. In a section entitled ‘My philosophy’, he explains that ‘the explanation of our troubles is that
cosmic beings are playing games with us….during his lifetime each man plays cosmic chess against the devil…’
The transcription below explores a succession of subtly soft-textured but dramatic chords where inherent
tensions are exposed and exploited. The F#sus4 chord in bar two highlights the tensions between the low C# and
the B nearly an octave higher; the two notes are more obvious than normally would be the case due to the
sparsely voiced nature of the chord. Bar three contains a chord which could perhaps be said to harmonically
embody this documentary – the add4. Underneath the D note (4th) there is a perfectly voiced F#m containing F#,
C# and A. The added D causes mild harmonic interference; the D would clash heavily with the C# an octave
lower but this is mitigated by the A in the middle of the voicing.
Fig.20 Film - 01.13.21 Audio – ‘Turn Away’
omit5
Bar four contains a chord which is slightly more harmonically ambiguous; it is described as a Dmaj7/6 with no
5th over an F# bass. Equally it could be a Bm(add2) over an F#. As I’ve stated before chord symbols articulate
groupings of notes; they give a name to a specific harmonic feel. Normally chords are quite definite and it is rare
that there are two plausible, simple and rational ways of explaining a group of notes. Chords which can be
explained two different ways do not merely look as if they contain two different possibilities; they actually do
contain two different ways of visually and aurally understanding something.
This is often what gives such chords the kind of ambiguity they enjoy and what makes them particularly prone
to be effective and expressive; they require our engagement and can suggest subtly different moods. Bars eight-
twelve of fig.44 display the exquisite ambiguity inherent in the score for this documentary. Looking at bar eight
from top to bottom, it contains an inverted D chord over a C# bass. As a listener this creates a kind of mild
confusion; one does not need to read music to feel the tension in this chord but one does need to read music in
order to understand why; this is not just some random act of dissonance – this is taking a chord, voicing it
beautifully for soft textured instruments and then altering one note which creates mild dissonance, making us
struggle to evaluate it, thus creating a dramatic, abstract and yet mildly subtle listening experience.
In the example below, which is not from the film, the chord in question is constructed from beginning to end,
left to right over five bars. Beginning with a single F# we have no presumptions other than we presume it to be
the root note; we have no context on whether to decide if the chord is major or minor. In bar two we have an F#
and D, which tells us the F# was not the root after all, but the inverted maj 3rd of a D chord. But the chord could
either be a D/F# (minus it’s A - the 5th) or a Bm/F# (minus its root - the B). Bar three is an emphatic Bm/F#
whereas bar four is a Dmaj7/F# (minus its 5th – A).
This is an important analytical journey because it tells us all the different harmonic possibilities, permutations
(and therefore influences) this chord contains in its final form in bar five.
Fig.21
Two possible ways of describing
this chord but also two different
ways in which it communicates
aurally
add2
Single F# - D/F# or Bm/F# Dmaj7/F#
Bm /F#
no chord Bm/F# ?
add6
Dmaj7 /F#
The next cue comes just after we hear from Crowhurst’s friend Ron Winspear, who articulated the downward
mental state of his friend thus: “He was living totally in his internal world. He’s invented, in his mind, a
relationship between him and the universe…he’s found refuge there, in a sense.” The following cue plays over a
segment from Crowhurst’s diary
Fig.22 Film - 01.16.00 Audio ‘Athi Bani’
7 7
5 5
3
1
maj7 maj7
3 5
Crowhurst: ‘I am what I am and I see the ‘I will only resign this game if you will agree that on the next occasion
nature of my offence.’ that this game is played it will be played according the rules that are
devised by my great God…it is finished….it is finished..
This piece is beautifully haunting. It is slow, poignant, evocative and also melancholic. It would be tempting to
presume that the textures alone were responsible for this, or a combination of the textures and minimal harmony.
The minimal voicings make every note count but it is what the notes say, how the voicings and broken
harmonies speak, that defines the piece. One only has to glance at the chord symbols to realise that having fewer
notes is no guarantee of simplicity. One of the ironies is that fewer notes, minimal voicing and broken
harmonies generate more complex chord symbols. In a way this is fitting because it accurately distils the context
of the information; important stuff is missing from this chord which will fundamentally alter how we rationalise
it.
As in the previous cue, the subtle physical movements of just one or two notes completely recontextualise how
we interpret all notes in a chord, intervallically. In beats two/three of bar one we hear an A chord, minus its 5th.
By the beginning of bar two with the addition of another note, the existing notes shape-shift to become
something different, intervallically. This is an important point because what changes is our perception of the
interval. If we didn’t percieve and hear notes as intervals then the physical addition of one note would be simply
that. In fact what we hear and experience is wholly greater because we are aware of intervals. What defines this
cue is the pain it exudes. The chords seem to echo the pain and sadness of the situation. Good examples of this
in action would be the first chord of bar eleven, where an inverted F#m is voiced over the G# (add2). This is one
of the chords which in terms of how it ‘feels’ doesn’t slot into any comfortable description. This is an important
observation because this mirrors the fact that in fact and in reality the chord sounds ‘pained’.
The next cue arrives in the film as Crowhurst’s wife recounts how the family found out about her husband’s
boat being discovered. It becomes apparent Donald was missing. “Claire didn’t feel she had the courage to tell
the children….so I went up.” says Ron Winspear. Then Simon Crowhurst says “My father’s boat had been
found, but he wasn’t in it.” The music Escott provides for this segment projects a desolate, sorrowful feel. An
early key moment is when Winspear mentions that he went upstairs to tell the children, because this is the
moment when we hit the first real dissonant chord; this is a chord Escott used before in the score and it is
extraordinarily effective in portraying a feeling of pain and angst. The Chord – C#m7(b9) with no 5th – creates
tension because of the relationship between the D note and the C# root. A flattened 9th chord needn’t be so
painful; normally it is used with a major chord and the intervals that define the chord are the root and maj3rd
(creating a sense of warmth) and the maj3rd and the flattened 9th, this interval itself being a min6. We don’t feel
the clash between root and flattened 9th as much due to the warmth of the maj3rd interval at the bottom of the
chord. But when the flattened 9th is aloft a minor chord there is no such comfort; at the bottom of the chord is
the C# and E (root and min3rd). The relationship between the top D and the bottom C# is still a flattened 9th but
the richness has gone. Also it’s worth mentioning that in a flattened 9th aloft a major chord the 7th interacts
beautifully with the root, the flattened 9thand the maj3rd particularly. In a minor chord the 7th is a bare 5th above
the maj3rd, which has no warmth.
Fig.23 Film - 01.18.05 Audio ‘Electron Discovered’
“Claire didn’t feel she had the “My father’s boat had
courage to tell the children….. ….so I went up.” been found, but he wasn’t
in it.”(Simon Crowhurst)
(Ron Winspear)
‘A British cargo ship found Crowhurst’s boat drifting in ‘A surprising development tonight over th missing
the mid-Atlantic…..….seven hundred miles from land….’ yachtsman Donald Crowhurst….’
(Narrator – Tilda Swinton) (Archive BBC recording)
1 5 3 7 5
This section of the same cue is exceptional. The music instils a palpable sense of tragedy. The high string chords
(in terms of the textures and harmonies) create an awareness of the underlying heartbreak that possibly wouldn’t
have been as strong without it. The manouvre from the E chord in bar fifteen to the Cm (maj7) in bar sixteen creates
anxiety but the E note on the top constructs dissonance which, on paper, ought to sound horrendous. But the
context of its placement and delivery in the sequence, including the reaction between it and the chord before and
after, are what make it work. It has to be said that the E on top of the Cm chord wouldn’t work half as well were it
not for the maj7 (B, a 4th below) which creates structural unity. The fact that the top E sits aloft every chord in bars
fourteen-nineteen makes its inclusion in bar sixteen almost normal. The note is constant but the intervals (in red)
are what move.
The move from such an odd chord to the warm and almost relaxing F#m7 (bar seventeen) is particularly excellent
because this evolves the mood from angst/tragedy to warmth/reflection/sadness.
The physical movement of violins 2 (div) is interesting on bar eighteen too; essentially the notes remain the same (the lower
violin could have stayed on the C# and the higher one the E) but the players swap notes to avoid the accompaniment appearing
to sound like semibreves. The next bar (nineteen) creates colour via the add2 and the 7th, thanks to the descending line.
The next cue comes toward end of the documentary, just after Crowhurst’s widow recalls how she learned of the
events surrounding the tragic fate of her husband. She recalls how she was coldly told by a journalist, “Donald
didn’t sail around the world; he committed suicide”, after which we see archive footage from 1969 which shows
hoardings in Teignmouth emblazoned with ‘Teignmouth Welcomes Donald’ being unceremoniously taken
down. Over this scene a string section plays the piece below which contains subtle tensions that manage to
effectively but sensitively italicise the tragedy of Donald Crowhurst’s plight and that of his family’s grief.
Fig.24 Film – 01.21.00 Audio – ‘No one likes to be conned’
Strings
The sequence transcribed in fig.24, which is repeated several times towards the end of the film, creates drama,
gravity, sadness and sorrow because it twists and subverts what we are used to hearing via subtle harmonic
tensions and abstractions.
Fig.25 Bar 2 of fig.24
Bar two of fig.24 (shown separately, left) has one point of subtle
5 th tension; the semitone clash between the C# and D is relatively
exposed. Normally any such clash would be within a chord which had
1st more voices than this one, thus lessening and softening the exposure.
In this voicing the tensions is there to be heard. One reason why the
maj7th chord transports so subtly despite its tension is because it sounds like
it has two possible interpretations; it could be an F#m (with a min6th –
D- clashing with the 5th -C#-) or it could be as it is written –
Dmaj7/F#. The concept of a ‘duality of harmonic interpretation’ is not
3rd just idle theoretical debating point; it goes to the centre of how and
why this chord sounds like it does and works so well.
We give chords names to identify them but also as a means of describing how they sound. A minor chord has a
distinct sound and an inverted major chord also has a distinct sound. What the chord above does is shave the
edges from our interpretative certainty; it almost creates a blur between the two possible interpretations. If there
are two ways of theoretically describing a chord then arguably there are two ways of aurally listening. The vast
majority of people listening to this chord would be completely (and perhaps happily) oblivious to these facts,
but they are still the beneficiaries of the exquisite tension a chord like this creates. Sometimes when people refer
to music as ethereal, what they mean is that the harmony either can’t be identified or is implicit of two harmonic
realities.
The chord in bar three of fig.24 (written separately, right) would rarely be 1st maj3rdsits next
used as a starting or ending chord but it works extremely well as a transitory to maj 2nd –
mild tension
chord. It works so well because, once again, its character and flavour is
indistinct. Chord symbols represent not just what we call the chord or
visually identify it, but how the chord ‘sounds’ and ‘feels’. The top three
notes of the voicing sounds like an A/C# chord with the bottom two notes
(G# and B) representing the first two notes of a G#m. The ‘sound’ of the maj7th Octave clashes
chord can be interpreted in different ways which is why and how it possesses with maj7th
an almost dream-like indistinct and indeterminate quality. below -
lots of tension
The chord is slightly denser and a little clustered and has two points of harmonic impact; the first is between the
B and C# (add2 and 3rd), but the one which really creates the tension is the relationship between the top A of the
chord (1st) and the bottom G# (maj7th).The interval between these two notes is a min9th. The chord functions
almost like an impressionist painting in that if invites different interpretations, unlike most harmonic devices
which are designed to be unambiguous, definite and zipped up.
The chord in bar 4 of fig.36 again features another add2sits

example of ambiguous harmony. To the right I have next to 1st -
transcribed the various stages of harmonic mild tension
development and tension ending with the chord itself.
add2sits
From the bottom upwards the chord functions firstly next to 1st -
as an Aadd2, then an A6add2 before finally the top D mild tension
is added, making it sound like a Bm(add2) over an A
bass. The chord symbol doesn’t suggest tension, until Cluster
created
you see where the minor 3rd is voiced, on top and by A, B
exposed. Mitigating the tension is the interval and C#
between the bottom note (A) and the C# a maj3rd next to
above. each
other
Analysing harmonic groupings through the prism of chord symbols is

helpful because it enables us to evaluate, understand and abbreviate
the harmonic basis of the different aspects of the grouping. Bar six
(written separately, left) consists of an E7 built over a C# root. This
is more than merely a description; it also enables us to identify why
and how it sounds as it does. Although there is only one point of
tension (between the D and the low C#), it is much more dissonant
because the clashing note is at the bottom: we prioritise our listening
automatically; we usually hear the top and bottom notes more clearly
than the internal voicing.
I say all this because ‘hearing’ the chord without the benefit of transcription gives the impression of a much
more complicated harmonic grouping than is actually the case. The tension is clear and simple to understand but
profound nonetheless.
Deep Water and some other notable TV and film scores use the concept of Pandiatonic harmony, which can be
extremely effective in creating new harmonic colours which may not appear with a more traditional approach to
harmony. Pandiatonic chords and sequences are those formed freely from all degrees of a diatonic scale without
regard for their diatonic or hierarchical function, sometimes to the extent of no single pitch being felt as a tonic.
Put simply, all notes are equal. This is sometimes how composers such as Escott and, for example, Barrington
Pheloung in Inspector Morse arrive at such interesting harmonies. With traditional harmony there is a pecking
order. With Pandiatonicism there isn’t. Many of the more expressive composers have used this approach
including Aaron Copland, Igor Stravinsky, Debussy, Steve Reich, John Adams and Henryk Górecki (Symphony
No.3). Arvo Pärt’s Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten is perhaps the best example of how effective
Pandiatonicism can be. The feeling that music has no absolute tonal centre and that its harmony is devoid of the
tyrannical hierarchy that the classical tradition has bequeathed us, can be a refreshing experience. Sometimes
it’s good to not just use Pandiatonicism but to use it alongside more traditional approaches, morphing in and out
of harmonic focus, so as to speak, so there is light and shade. Music which glides in and out of Pandiatonicism
is often amongst the most expressive and communicative.
Pandiatonicism bridges the gap between ‘normal’ harmony and abstraction. It confounds the expectation but
doesn’t destroy it. Pandiatonicism bridges the gap between chromatic dissonance and the safe territory of
defined chords. One simple way to acclimatise to Pandiatonicism might be to use all the pitches in a diatonic
scale but minus their hierarchy. This is difficult because we automatically default to a more hierarchical and
organised state of mind. Anyone who has been ‘taught’ music cannot avoid the structure it comes with. As an
experiment, one way to acclimatize to a more pandiatonic state is to sit at the piano, use only the white notes
avoid thinking of notes in terms of their perceived harmonic hierarchy.
What Deep Water tells us most of all is three things; the use of mild and well-chosen dissonance can create real
drama and emotion. Adding various chord extensions is something all composers do but sometimes omitting
key basic intervals (3rd, 5th etc) as well can work even better. Music is sometimes at its most striking and
profound when it is at its least obvious or complete. So many of the chords Harry Escott writes are partial,
broken, suspended or in some other way incomplete. Together with a combination of carefully chosen
instrumental textures and effective voicing, this combination works in a profound and moving way with the
pictures, narrative and narration. Through the medium of pictures and sound we understand Donald’s
Crowhurst’s story, but through the medium of music we perhaps understand and appreciate to a greater degree
the pain and anguish of his predicament. In the forward for book 1 in this series I said that if the great 20th
Century film composers share one common characteristic, it is that they all write for the film, not to the film or
at the film. To a film composer the images which accompany their music are as much a part of the fabric of the
music as harmony, melody, instrumentation or production because they determine the ultimate context in which
it is rationalised, enjoyed and consumed. There is no better score to prove this than the score to Deep Water. The
music is embedded so deeply within the narrative of the film that the two communicate as one. The music does
not feel as if it were ‘added’ at any stage; it feels as if it was always there. Deep Water is probably the best
example there ever has been of music in television documentaries.
How Film & TV Music Communicate – Vol. III - Text © 2015 Brian Morrell
Chapter 4
HORROR
This chapter analyses how music within the horror genre communicates with its audience and serves the movie.
We analyse the music to several important and successful horror movies, looking at how the music works in
terms of harmony, instrumentation, texture and orchestration, and how the music helps tell the story and in some
cases enables the subtext to be heard. Music / films analysed: Candyman (Philip Glass) Let The Right One In
(Johan Soderqvist) Monsters (John Hopkins) Devil (Fernando Velazquez) Twilight (Carter Burwell) Mirrors
(Javier Navarrete) The Howling (Pino Donaggio) Scream (Marco Beltrami)
CANDYMAN (Philip Glass)
Candyman is a 1992 American horror film based on the short story ‘The Forbidden’ by Clive Barker. The plot
follows a graduate student completing a thesis on urban legends who encounters the legend of ‘Candyman’, an
artist and son of a slave who was murdered and his hand replaced with a hook. The film was a tale of
contemporary myth and horror that encompassed a psychological angle.
The distinctive music was written by Philip Glass. He wrote what would be considered a ‘gothic’ score which
featured a choir and pipe organ. According to Don Christenses, on Philip Glass’s website, the final version of
the film was a disappointment to the composer, who felt that he had been manipulated. The director had been
fired midway through the process because exec producers thought the film wasn’t gory enough. What Glass had
considered a ‘low budget independent project with creative integrity’ had become a ‘low budget Hollywood
slasher flick’. Nevertheless the film features a successful combination of genuine tension and the usual horror
gore.
Below we have a transcription of the intro music, which plays alongside a visually thought-provoking sequence
featuring an aerial shot of a motorway intersection.
The ‘Bond’ harmonic narrative grows
Fig.1 Movie – 00.00.11 Audio – Main title sequence out of the initial first few bars
The music is dark, brooding and provocative; the choir lends it a sense of occasion and gravity, but the track
also contains some well-worn filmic harmonic devices that Glass exploits in an unusual way. Firstly there is a
nod to John Barry’s Bond harmony, contained in bars thirteen onwards. The distinctive harmonies do not
suddenly appear from nowhere, otherwise they would have been too obvious; they are a growth, an extension
and an evolution of the phrase contained in the opening bars. Also, Glass, to a degree, dislodges the Bond
narrative by virtue of the fourth bar of each Bond phrase by placing a Gm with a maj7 but with the octave G on
top, which succeeds in being more dissonant than a normal, furtive-sounding minor chord with a maj7on top
would be.
Fig.2 Batman motif (Elfmann)
The same sequence we’ve been
talking about also contains a
reference to a much older
classical harmonic narrative
contained in countless horror
films and also in a few newer In the case of Candyman (below) the sequence is Gm to Eb/G. If we
ones such a Batman; that of (in needed reminding, which by this point I doubt, one reason why this
the key of Batman, right) a Bbm chord trick works so well is the interplay between the notes in the chords
moving to an Gb/Bb. Technically which are implied. In the case of Gm the notes of Bb and G function as
this would be a chord VI moving min3rd and 1st respectively. In the case of the Eb chord the same two
to a chord IVb but it does pay to notes function as 5th and maj 3rd. This change happens in the mind of the
see and hear them as actual listener as they react to the note of D physically changing to Eb – a move
chords, not just representations. which intervallically reconfigures how the notes of Bb and G notes
‘feel’.
Fig.3 Gm Eb/G
Bb as a 5th
Bb as a min3rd G as a maj3rd
G as a 1st
LET THE RIGHT ONE IN (Johan Soderqvist)
The producer of Let the right one in said: “Oskar, a bullied 12-year old boy, falls in love with Eli, a girl who
can’t stand the sun or food. Eli gives Oskar the strength to hit back but when he realizes that Eli needs to drink
other people’s blood to live he’s faced with a choice; how much can love forgive?” This of course underpins the
fact that, like many notable ‘horror’ films, essentially this is a love story at heart. This Swedish romantic horror
film based on the 2004 novel of the same name tells the story of a 12-year-old boy who develops a friendship
with a vampire child. The fact that the narrative is about a relationship between two children is what, in many
ways, makes it unconventional. The film focuses primarily on the relationship between the two main characters
and less on the horror elements. Horror is essentially a vehicle for the story to exist. I mention all this because
what the film is really about is often something which needs to be acknowledged and reflected in the music. The
score for Let the Right One In sounds romantic in flavour, instrumentally, texturally and harmonically. But it is
also beautifully subtle in its application. The main romantic theme sounds ‘lovely’ not in an obvious way, but in
a vulnerable, tender way.
The following piece comes twice in the film; firstly when Eli and Oscar meet in the playground outside their
apartment block. Oscar is sat when Eli appears behind him. The camera is focused on Oscar so Eli is blurred in
the background behind him, lending the scene extra poignancy and character. The music is completely pivotal
here in giving the scene an overt sensitivity. Much later the film draws to a close with falling snow and ends
with Oskar on a train journey – a narrative device that invites reflection on what has happened. At this point the
music comes in again, so essentially the cue almost bookends the story. As Oskar looks wistfully out of the
carriage window, we hear taps and scrapes indicating the dots and dashes of Morse code.
These come from within the trunk Eli has to travel in during the day. Eli spells out ‘kiss’, and with a smile
Oskar responds: • – – • • • – • • • • • • i.e. ‘puss’ (‘small kiss’ in Swedish).
Fig.4 Movie - 00.20.20 & 01.49.09 Audio – ‘Eli and Oscar’ 00.32
Why isn’t an E to F#m as good as a

C#m/E to F#m?
The romantic extensions (add2)
There are several important and crucial characteristics to the music; first of all we have the use of romantic
extensions such as the add2. These soften-up the harmony and make it subtly more appealing by essentially
sweetening the flavour and making the chord less absolute and rigid. Secondly the use of silence is important;
the music is inclusive of large gaps of silence which are sculptured into the piece and are therefore part of it.
Silence is music if it exists in a musical context. As we have noticed in sections of the last two volumes of this
series of books, there is sometimes simply too much music in music. Driven by the insatiable necessity to
entertain, composers fill music with what is, essentially, information. Film music is one of those rare
commercial art forms which can allow composers to pull back on the throttle and allow music to breathe. When
music has time to breathe its characteristics, qualities and personalities can be more noticeable. Space is an
important part of music which needs to be subtle, delicate or understated. It softens the relentless flow of
information and data which forces listeners to be permanently on ‘receive’ mode. Even the smallest silence
allows listeners to be a part of the process of composition. It allows us to deliberate, to reflect, to mediate the
information. These infinitesimally brief neural events and processes can often be the deciding factor on whether
we feel a ‘connection’ to a piece or whether we’re simply ‘aware of it’.
Chords of C#m/E and F#m start the piece, followed by silence. The lack of any real melody at the beginning is
one of the features that make it ideal for scene; it makes the emotion of the pictures and the characters able to
breathe. Given that these two chords (more specifically, the relationship between them) are crucial to the
effectiveness of the piece, they are worth a look; why isn’t an E to F#m as good as a C#m/E to F#m? The two
are virtually identical. Below in bar one we have an ‘easier’ E to F#m version and a few bars later the version
they used.
Fig.5 Fig.6
5th 3rd
3rd 3rd
5th 1st 5th
5th The The one
simplified they used
version
5th 3rd
3rd 3rd
3rd 1st
1st 1st
3rd 1st
1st 1st
Intervals as indicators of colour and complexity: in order to underscore and exaggerate the role that intervals
play in music we only have to look at the diagram below. The version on the left shows just the interval
movement in the ‘easy version’ above. Intervallic movement is virtually parallel between the E and F#m chords.
maj min The version on the right based on the

Fig.7 5th 5th
3rd 3rd 3rd
intervallic movement from fig.6 shows 1st
5th 5th
variable intervallic movement. Although the
physical version of the chord in fig.6 is only
maj min one note different from fig.5, that one note
3rd 3rd difference makes the chord into a C#m/E 5th
1st 1st rather than an E, which in turn means the 3rd 3rd
1st 1st notes as intervals are completely different, 3rd
1st
and crucially, moving up and down. This is
1st
important because it partly explains why the
more complex version is more colourful and
engaging.
Chord symbols, aural cognition and the art of stating two chords at once
As we established in earlier volumes of How Film & TV Music Communicate, any chord that has two rational
descriptions and names doesn’t just have two different means of classification or description; it has two subtly
different ways of being heard; there are two ways of experiencing and ‘feeling’ the chord. If the same group of
notes can be described two different ways, this goes way beyond being an interesting theoretical observation; it
literally means the chord is in two places at once. Chord symbols are not just a means of identification and
classification. They give a name to how something ‘sounds’ – how it feels. In such situations there are, in effect,
two competing aural definitions we experience which is why sometimes such chords sound a little vague or
ambiguous. This slight, almost imperceptible blurring of realities is what gives the chord a perceived softness.
You don’t have to read music or know the names of the chords in order to benefit from this experience, you
simply need to read and understand if you are to know it’s happening and gain something from that knowledge.
This goes to the heart of why and how composers manage to sometimes ‘shave the edges’ off the certainty of a
chord.
Fig.8
(omit1) Fig.8 (left) is taken from bar six of fig.4. It features
two examples of ‘soft’ chords which, in some small
way, are subtly stating two things at once. The easier
one to decode is the first chord, which, on face value
is best described as an F#m7 without a 5th. This
omission of the 5th leaves the chord open to
interpretation. Given the context of the unequivocal
chord on beat two (D/F#) the chord on beat one could
actually be heard as a Dadd2/F# but minus the 1. The
brief, almost imperceptible, lack of clarity opens the
door for reinterpretation.
This reinterpretation or ‘secondary interpretation’ of the first chord is such an instantaneous and rapid event that
it is completely missed. Listeners instead might simply think the chord sounds ‘nice’. The niceness is because it
is ‘soft’ and the softness is because the certainty of the chord has been shaved away by virtue of missing notes
which leave the chord open to more than one interpretation.
Fig.9
The slightly more complicated chord is the second chord of bar two
(fig.8) which is transcribed separately, right (fig.9). This can be
described two different ways, depending on how we hear and feel the
chord and whether we hear the bottom C# as an inversion or as a 5
3 (addm6)
root. The semitone clash in the centre of the chord is only half the As an
story. If we think this explains why the chord sounds a little subtly Amaj7/C# As a C#m
odd, we’re missing the bigger issue, which is the fact that the chord
1
has two simultaneous harmonic realities. All the listener hears is 7
6
some slight tension and blurredness. But what they hear isn’t really 5
3
1
the issue for us; how we get there is the issue. How they experience it
is interesting, but how we create that experience is everything.
The next cue, which might be described as the ‘love theme’, comes at a crucial point in film when the two
characters kiss following an attempt on the life of Eli which is foiled by Oskar. Eli kills her assailant violently
but the event brings Eli and Oskar closer together. The piece is radiant with colour and beauty. The movement
and architecture is sublime and effortless but there are tiny, discreet tensions which juxtapose the consonant
ordered regularity (highlighted). The piece is slow, deliberate, languid and serene. The performance is excellent
and quite restrained in the first section (transcribed below). There are some interesting observations, things we
have encountered numerous times in other film music.
The melody is coated with 3rds, which make it

Fig.10 Movie - 01.37.49 Audio - ‘Eli’s theme’ emotional and romantically flavoured
Normally a filmic version of a ‘nice tune’

has an element of tension which
prevents it becoming too sugar-coated
The interchange
between bar twelve
and thirteen is
particularly
wonderful; the
manouvre from
Eb/G to Cm with
the distinctive
descending line,
lends the piece a
sensation of
release; of
‘breathing out’.
I said earlier that there were some interesting observations; things we have encountered numerous times in other
film music. Why then does this particular cue deserve merit? Probably because the combination of the music
and the film is so unique. The context of a film inevitably effects and alters our perception of music. There is
never just the film or just the music; if it is done right it is a collective experience. Because the film is quite
unique, so is the use of the romantic music within it. Vampire films never die, they just get old and tired and
predictable. In recent years the vampire has evolved and crossed over into other genres. There were vampire
references in Underworld and even in post-apocalyptic biological warfare movies such as I Am Legend. Teen
melodramas such as Twilight, which is essentially a ‘coming-of-age’ story, are made commercial and unique by
the vampire element. This is the first time ‘puppy-love’ has been crossed successfully with the vampire
narrative, which makes it a strange but compelling hybrid. This is one reason why the use of ab overtly romantic
theme is a little odd. The film features a believable, gritty reality where, far from having superpowers, vampires
struggle like everyone else. The film almost normalises vampires because of the mundaneness of their existence.
Again, against this backdrop there is a strangeness to the romantic narrative of the music.
Let the Right One In was critically acclaimed internationally and received several prestigious awards. Most
other films where vampire are referenced to some degree owe their origins to Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel
Dracula and draw on the numerous versions of that narrative. But religion, folklore and other vampire
symbolism are underplayed in the narrative of Let the Right One In: it has no crucifixes, garlic, or wooden
stakes. It is a modern film set in the bleakness of a Swedish winter. There are no Victorian locations,
overbearing frumpy women or implausibly dapper and heroic men.
Colin Brookes reflects well on Let The Right One In in Philosophy Now, where he says: “These differences have
implications for how this vampire film makes us think about the nature of our own being – what are we,
ultimately? For instance, although perhaps still regarded as ‘evil’, vampires are portrayed in the film less as
fantastic and more as part of the natural world – inextricably part of a biology that includes us.” He goes on to
say, “The central characters in Let the Right One In are not mature adults, or even young adults or adolescents,
but prepubescent twelve-year-olds…..Throughout the film, the twelve year olds are confronted with moral
choices. For instance, Oskar has to ignore the unavoidable horror of her necessary modus operandi. Oskar and
Eli both transcend their natural states for the sake of the other. Eli transcends her nature in her relationship with
Oskar by protecting him, both from others and from herself:” I have reference this excellent article because the
depth of social analysis of the film by Brooks ties in perfectly with why the film needed a sensitive, delicate and
sympathetic score which would draw out the subtext, undertones and nuances. In the right hands music
sometimes has the power to dictate how an audience ‘reads’ a film. It can positively (or negatively) impact on
how much we ‘get’ the film and to how much we believe the story. That this story is extremely believable,
credible and convincing is a credit not just to the film itself but to the music that appears at crucial points in the
movie.
MONSTERS (John Hopkins)
The back story to this film is that six years ago NASA discovered alien life within our solar system and sent a
probe to collect samples, which subsequently crashed upon reentry over Central America. Soon after, new life
forms began to appear and half of Mexico was quarantined as an ‘infected zone’. Today, the American and
Mexican military still struggle to contain the ‘creatures’.
This is an interesting post-modern sci-fi movie which communicates on several levels, from director Gareth
Edwards, which uses CGI to create an almost dystopian derelict landscape. The effects don’t draw attention to
themselves: tentacle-waving aliens are all part of the general, grubby absence of law and order. Monsters has
inevitably been compared to Neill Blomkamp’s apartheid satire District 9, which also contextualised aliens as
simply one part of a broken society; unfortunate creatures, dispossessed, feared and hated by the ruling classes.
In Monsters, with half of Mexico effectively quarantined and a giant wall now separating the two countries, the
USA fears its poorer neighbour. As academic Jack Harbord said, “it’s an alien film that tells us more about the
human condition than it does about the aliens.” The film begins when a U.S. journalist agrees to escort the
daughter of a wealthy American businessman through the infected zone to the safety of the U.S. border. Initially
he is furious to be ordered to chaperone his boss’s vulnerable daughter, accompanying her through the
dangerous alien zone to the US border. Inevitably, their relationship begins to change. One of the final
sequences (in which the two gaze at the protective great wall America has created, musing on how America
“looks from the outside”) is a both dramatic and melancholy.
Fig.11 Movie intro & 01.14.30 Audio - Prologue
The piece above - ‘Prologue’, which comes at the beginning and toward the end - shows the deliberate,
measured and thoughtful style Hopkins employs in this film, to great effect. The dreamy EQ’d string/synth
textures articulate the harmonies well. The chords seem to glide effortlessly into and out of each other. The twin
creative virtues of anticipation and expectancy need addressing here: When we hear a single note (as with bar
one) with no harmonic context, we cannot help but rationalise it as a root. This is not a conscious act; it is
something we do in order to silently classify and categorise what we hear to try and make sense of it. The G note
turns out to be a maj 3rd and this context glides into our perception subtly. This makes the sequence seem
dreamy. G is a maj3rd
G note turns Now it’s
out to be a Now it’s again a 5th
maj3rd (add4/omit5) a min3rd (omit3)
G note we
Fig.12 unconsciously Eb Em Eb C
rationalise as
a root
This subtle manipulation in what we receive, rather than what we expect, is an effective compositional tool. The
other aspect here is the varying intervallic context of the G note, which changes as the sequence evolves. In bar
two it functions as a maj3rd. Bar three we experience it as a min 3rd, bar four as a maj3rd and bar five as a 5th. As
we have established before many times, a note’s intervallic context is its ‘other reality’ which we experience as
part of the music we hear. The interval is something we perceive and it is a creation not of the note itself but of
the surrounding vertical harmonic terrain. This is the same in most chords but in sequences where one common
note is shared by several different chords, its intervallic quality is more pronounced and exaggerated.
Below we have a rather bizarre-looking stave, which dips in the middle. I have placed a G note which remains
constant but ‘sags’ in the middle because the stave dips. This is an attempt to visually represent and mimic what
we hear; we hear a constant note but one which changes how we perceive it, despite the physical sound
remaining the same. This is almost an aural version of an optical illusion.
What makes this stranger to listen to is that the chords the note are part of go up and down at the same time the
intervals the G represents go down and up. this adds to the sense of contraction; the piece appears to breathe in
and out.
Fig.13
Nearly ten minutes into the film the photo journalist and his companion take a train ride, during which the
journalist takes pictures of the visually stunning countryside which is juxtaposed by war planes flying over and
the terrain of various wreckages on the ground below; a visual reminder of the presence of aliens. Naturally this
scene is made all the more compelling thanks to Hopkins’ accompanying music, which again creates a vague,
wistful and faraway feel.
Fig.14 Movie 00.09.14 - Audio ‘Journey’
1 3
Octave 10th
and maj
3rd in key
of Ab
6 4
3 1
(maj7)
Similar to the previous cue the composer utilises the concept of anticipation to great effect. The sequence of G
to Ebmaj7 is not ‘usual’ or expected. It’s not dissonant but it is a surprise; our expectation has been subtly
confounded. Also, the G chord has no 3rd which means that when the chord finally moves to Eb we have the
experience and sensation of freshness and release, partly because the G note from the G chord becomes a maj3
of the subsequent Eb chord; the prominent rich voicing creating significant warmth. What we find again and
again is that the success of one moment in a piece is rarely the product of that one moment but is instead
cumulative (in this case the denial of expectation, the bare G chord moving to a low rich Eb chord with the G
evolving from the root to the rich maj3rd). Other subtle characteristics which help, include the rich 10th interval
between the low Eb bass and the 3rd (G note) a 10th above; every note counts. No notes are there simply to make
up the numbers or to complete the chord. Vertically initially the piece is quite thin but still sounds rich.
Moving to the dissonance in bar seven between the top Ab clashing with the G below, it’s interesting to note
that the dissonance is subtle because the gap between the Ab and the lower G is over two octaves, which injects
spaces in between the conflicting notes.
Also, on a more abstract level, the top Ab together with the next note down (the middle C) formulates the whiff
of an Ab chord (octave on top; maj3rd below), which gives it a vague sense of polytonality.
We have discussed ‘extension heavy’ chords before; these are chords where there are a number of extensions,
sometimes to point where the extension outnumber the primary intervals, which can make chords sound vague
and aurally nebulous. The section below, taken from the audio track ‘Journey’, features two chords, the first of
which is based on a C9 and second of which is the Eb6/9(maj7). Although there are only two extensions on the
first chord (the 7th and the 9th) the fact that the chord is missing a 3rd means that the extensions are in equal
number to the primary intervals. In the second chord the effect is perhaps more pronounced even though all the
primary intervals are there; the chord is built on a rich warm bed of sound in the shape of the low Eb and the G a
10th above. The 5th (Bb) is oddly placed at the top which means it doesn’t convey the normal strength and unity
it would if it was closer to the other two main components at the bottom. The extensions equal the primary
intervals but the maj6th (C) is doubled and the maj7 sits right next to the 6th, which is unusual; the maj6 does a
different job to the maj7. It fulfills a different role in terms of the feeling, character and colour it conveys. The
two wouldn’t normally be in the same chord and they would rarely be right next to each other; if they appeared
together at all they would be separated into different octaves. The 9th (F) is an important addition too because,
sitting halfway between the middle C and the C above, it creates a bare, square feel.
Fig.15
(maj7)
I mention all this because sometimes people think a vague, indistinct nebulousness is all about texture; about
instrumentation and sound. Obviously the textures are important (the voicing above wouldn’t have the same
affect if it was two octaves lower on a bunch of Tubas) but the decisions we take regarding which notes we put
in and which we choose to miss out are the main creators and conveyors of the precise feeling and colour of
chords.
The final two segments from Monsters come at the end of the movie in the final scene and during the credit roll.
‘Monsters theme’ arrives at the start of the credit roll but in the moments leading up to the credit roll the film
uses a later section of the same track; we will deal with that section first. At 01.26.09 the journalist has
successfully managed to escort his boss’s daughter over the border and into relative safety. As they await
collection by the American military, the woman, clearly touched and fundamentally altered by her experiences,
says to her protector tearfully, “I don’t want to go home.” In many ways this represents the emotional centre of
gravity for the film, for it is the culmination of her feelings and experiences, distilled into one moment and one
comment. This is where the music begins.
The delicate and heavily EQ’d Thomas Newman style piano textures work well to create the desired ‘dreamy’
faraway sound which really helps draw listeners / viewers in to the scene. At the bottom we have an enormously
rich sounding spatial chord played by a deep, warm and heavily EQ’d sample. But this is by no means the end of
the story; there are other, harmony-related aspects that affect the sound and feel of the piece.
Fig.16 Movie - 01.26.09 Audio - ‘Monsters theme 3.04’
Bottom chord glides in

Initially the piano motif enjoys the

feeling of contrary motion, where
the top note comes down and the
bottom note goes up. This
delightful device gives the phrase a
sense of structure, completeness
and inevitability. Also there are
periods of silence between the
motifs; the anticipation this creates
becomes part of the dynamic of the
piece. The final aspect is the way
the piano chord moves from B to
C#add2 a fractionally before the
supporting chord changes
underneath.
This seemingly small issue is crucial because the brief polytonality adds to the sense of dreaminess. A similar
thing happens again in bar six, where, briefly there is a G#m chord on piano over a C# chord underneath,
supported by the add2. The treble clef notes of the G#m chord can be explained away simply being the 7th, 9th
and 5th of the C# chord, but the lower support in the bass clef from the LH piano makes the piano chord
emphatically a G#m, offering a briefly polytonal feel. Perhaps the best example of polytonality happens in bar
eight where we hear the piano repeating the F#/A# to B chords, but this time over the C# lower chord, which
only ‘joins’ the top chord a beat later on the third beat. These aspects and characteristics are important because,
as I said earlier, they offer the dreaminess that polytonality can bring to music, especially if delivered with
‘cotton wool’ textures.
Shortly after this section the credit roll begins and the beginning of ‘Monsters theme’ begins.
Fig.17 Movie - 01.26.09 Audio - ‘Monsters theme 3.04’
3rd Sense of relief
#4 maj6
9th
maj6
Normally a melody would be more developed than the one in this cue. It might, for example, be more developed
and varied rhythmically and harmonically. Because the melody is slow and monotonous, we focus on the note
that keeps repeating in the first bar (the D#, 3rd) which is a defining, romantic interval which literally lights up
the harmony. To a degree melodies are designed to catch our attention, even to distract us. When melodies are
minimal and quite static, we tend to also focus more on the context; the rest of the picture, such as the
instrumentation and accompanying harmonies and voicings, etc. The first four bars are quite ordinary but there
is a nice sense of release when the G#m arrives on bar five. There are some nice splashes of colour too, courtesy
of the #4 in bar six and bar fifteen (E#) and the maj6 in the G#m chord (also an E#) in bar seven. The E# in bars
eleven and thirteen (functioning as the 9th) also brings some nice colour to the piece, mainly because it is quite
exposed, which italicises the note.
THE HOWLING (Pino Donaggio)

The difference between dissonance and disorientation
The Howling is a 1981 werewolf movie directed by Joe Dante. Although not universally well-received at the
time by critics (being described by one as ‘the silliest film ever made’) it has developed a cult following in the
thirty-four years since its release. Although it was known for being slightly tongue-in-cheek, it was also notable
for its special effects, which were state-of-the-art at the time. Journalist Karen White is a Los Angeles television
news anchor who is being stalked by a serial murderer named Eddie. She takes part in a scheme to capture Eddie
by agreeing to meet him. The police are involved in the sting and they hope to capture him. Eddie phones Karen
in a telephone booth and tells her to go to a porn cinema, where she will meet him. In a private booth he forces
her to watch a video and when Karen turns around to see Eddie she screams. The police arrive and shoot Eddie.
The first section I want to focus on in this film features what might be described as ‘traditional scary music’.
Although it possibly sounds dated compared to some of today’s more subtle approaches, music like this really
did – and still does - scare people. The question I want to pose is, why? It’s far too simple to say that it’s
because of dissonance – end of story. What goes on here is more disorientating and uncomfortable rather than
outright dissonance, which can often sound jarring. So, what do you have to do to create uncomfortable
disorientating music when you’re reliant on a small string ensemble? If we look carefully at the chords we
realise they aren’t outlandish or massively dissonant, they are simply something we are extremely unused to
hearing. Disorientating music may be something which sounds almost right, but where, essentially, one note
causes the consonance to crumble. Therefore we have, even though we don’t realise it, a juxtaposition between
an ordinary chord and just one ‘fly in the ointment’. The chord in bar one, if one ignores the quaver movement
(as it is too fast to have an impact on the chord until it settles in bar two) is a B chord with a flattened 10th. We
hear b10 chords all the time, particularly in jazz. What’s odd about this one is a) the voicing – it is inverted over
the 5th, which a jazz b10 would rarely be – and b) the fact that it doesn’t actually contain the root note – the B.
The lack of the root note in and of itself is not a problem; it simply means the chord is partly implied; but the
combination of that and the b10 creates confusion and disorientation. The strings deliver the textural context but
still, if we were to hear this at a concert, anxiety is not the first emotion we would experience. Discomfort,
perhaps, but not anxiety; the film itself fulfils that specific and final context. The composer has done something
that all great film composers do; he has given us a partial emotion, which, together with the context of the film
and of the scene, creates the ‘full picture’. The first scene to analyse is of Karen waiting in a public telephone
kiosk for Eddie to call her, as arranged. When he does the music begins. The music alone is discomforting but
with the film it completely recontextualises what would otherwise have been a relatively ordinary scene. The
two together create anxiety.
Fig.18 Movie – 00.06.12 Audio - ‘Opening Titles’ 00.55

As Karen walks toward the meeting place – a porn theatre – the music, again with the pictures, together create a
sense of great anxiety. When we hear this section (below, 01.44 of the same audio cue) there is the illusion that
this is more complicated than it really is. Listening to it purely in terms of lines and counterpoint we miss the
greater picture, which is that it is mainly a sequence of descending diminished chords. There are a few notable
splashes of tension; for example when the top string line hits the G note in bar two, conflicting with the lower
F# in the basses. Structurally the piece is held together rhythmically by the alternate triplet quavers (swapping
between the 2nd violins and cellos). The bass drop from F octave low Bs (bar five to six) also lends drama to the
occasion.
Fig.19 Movie – 00.07.20 Audio – ‘Opening titles’ 01.44
T
The piece begins to build from bar seven where the instrumental dynamics grow with violins I and II playing
counterpoint. But what makes this section particularly anxious and intense is that the composite harmony
evolves from simply a sequence of diminished chords to include inverted dominant 7th chords. In bar seven the
1st violins play a line which includes Bb, Db and Eb but the 2nd violins bring in the 9th (F). The following bar
goes from an E7/G# to a G#dim and the subsequent bar from F7/A to Adim. The point being that this
fluctuation between inverted 7th chord and diminished chord is actually what makes the piece sound more
pained. But the other point is that it isn’t the chords themselves that create the overall growing anxious feeling,
it is the combination that creates the angst. It is this relationship between the rather clumsy and traditionally
dramatic diminished sound and the ordinarily ordinary inverted 7th chord that creates the odd dynamic which is
unsettling. As with many famous film music moments, when you analyse a section for secrets, there are no
secrets; it is the combination and the sequence of musical events that create colour, not neccasarily or always the
individual chords.
As a rule of thumb, whenever you’re analysing harmony, look vertically up and down the chord and the voicing
and then look horizontally to what came before or after. It is sometimes a ‘relationship dynamic’ that creates
colour that we wrongly interpret as belonging to one specific chord.
The scene of Karen in the porn theatre is very well scored (below).
Fig.20 Movie – 00.08.19 Audio – ‘The Sleaze’
Fractured chord – no 5th

The success of this cue, and one of the reasons it offers so much to the scene, giving it a menacing but also
almost a tragic feel, is initially down to the slow-burn delivery of the harmonies. We hear a D# which we
attempt to place but can’t. Then we hear the B so we rationalise this as a major chord, inverted over the first
note we heard. These kinds of aural experiences we have are obviously not razor-sharp musical deductions
(unless someone is a musician, familiar with harmonic convention, with perfect pitch) but they are subconscious
experienced deduction nonetheless. Just because people cannot grasp the gravity of the harmonies does not
mean they are not benefitting from the complexity of what they’re hearing.
Then we hear the flattened 5th, which sounds a little odder than normal due to the B chord being inverted over
the low D# (i.e. the b5 and the low D# are a 9th apart). The bar after, the A note appears, followed by the C#,
which means that by now what we’re really experiencing is very subtly delivered poly harmony (a partial B
chord on the bottom stave and an F with a #5 in the top stave). This is now becoming a little aurally
overwhelming; we are only capable of listening to more and more notes briefly before it simply becomes too
much, which is another factor that creates anxiety. The real touch of class (and what makes it so quintessentially
traditional horror writing, is in the transition into bar seven, where the chord changes so completely but also so
effortlessly. The reason it is delivered well is due to the contrary motion between the top note and the bottom
note. Although the ‘feel’ is that of an upward movement – thus creating the kind of ‘diminished’ tension and
drama we mentioned in the last cue – the top note is lower in bar seven, creating a ‘smoothness’ to the
orchestration and voicing.
Harmonically at this point it really does become something which could, if not done properly, disintegrate into
un-enjoyable harmonic chaos. Considering that the two chord symbols in bar seven look demonstrably different,
only one note changes. The E bass, rooted to the spot during bars seven and eight, keeps the harmonic integrity
together. The reason why the Ebm/E sounds quite different to the first chord in the bar despite only one note
changing, is of course because the intervals that the other notes state will evolve back and forth; so we respond
to an interval, not just the notes; we respond to something we interpret. The final part of the cue features a
perfectly normal bass line on basses and cellos, but it exists underneath a supporting chord which is three-
quarters made of extensions; only the F is a primary interval. The rest (the G, B and Eb) are all extensions,
which gives it an aurally tenuous feel.
DEVIL (Fernando Velazquez)

In this stylish supernatural horror film based on a story by M.Night Shayamalan, five strangers trapped in an
elevator realise that one of them is the Devil. A character called Ramirez narrates in a voice-over, talking about
stories his mother told him about the Devil sometimes actively seeking out individuals who have sinned, while
they’re still alive. While taking human form, he traps them in a confined place only to turn them against each
other, before killing them one at a time. He says that events are set in motion with a suicide; this is when the
Devil first makes his presence known. This narration is abruptly interrupted by a violent suicide of a man who
had fallen from the thirty-fifth floor of a Philadelphia office building.
Detective Bowden is a recovering alcoholic who is assigned to the case of the suicide. The reason for his
alcoholism was the hit and run death of his wife and son, five years previously, in which the perpetrator was
never apprehended. Meanwhile, five strangers board an elevator, which becomes stuck between floors. When
Security finds them, they notice that there is CCTV and a radio with which they can call into the elevator, but
they have no way of hearing the passengers reply. Detective Bowden takes on the investigation regarding the
elevator as it is the same building from which the suicide victim jumped.
Narrator Ramirez is revealed to be one of the security guards in the building who is disturbed by an image of
what looks like a screaming face frozen on the video image coming from the monitor in the elevator. Detective
Bowden tries to ascertain the identities of the individuals. Only four of the five are accounted for: Vince
McCormack, a sleazy mattress salesman; Sarah Caraway, the wife of a rich man who plans to leave her husband
and take his money with her; Ben Larson, a temporary security guard with a history of violence; Jane Kowski,
an older woman who is seen on video to be a thief, and another man who later introduces himself as Tony, who
does not appear to have signed in at the security desk.
Soon, during occasional blackouts, people in the elevator start dying and the suspicion keeps shifting between
all in the elevator. Finally the Devil is left with Tony, who confesses to having been responsible for a hit and run
five years ago (the same one that killed Detective Bowden’s wife and child). Bowden hears him apologize over
the radio. The Devil, powerless now that Tony has repented of his sin, curses before vanishing, and the elevator
comes back on line, sparing Tony’s life. Bowden takes Tony into custody and while en route, informs him he is
the husband and father of the two people Tony killed in the hit and run. (some text paraphrased from
Wikipedia).
The music is by Fernando Velasquez. The score is extremely effective, featuring a host of brash textures and
dissonant harmonies that blend with the film to deliver a genuinely unnerving, unsettling and moving
experience. The London Metropolitan Orchestra, recorded at Air Lyndhurst, produced an excellent recording of
Velasquez’s score. The line-up consisted of a 28-piece string section, woodwind, percussion, harp, piano and
brass, which featuring trumpet, trombones and the rare appearance of a Cimbasso (doubling tuba). The
Cimbasso is normally played by Tuba players as the mouthpieces are similar. They are ideally accompanied
texturally by contrabassoons, which the LMO had for these sessions. It can play very low down but features a
trombone texture, as opposed to the rather different tuba texture. Verdi summed it up well when he said, “I wish
to insist again on a fourth trombone. I would prefer a trombone basso which is one of the same family as the
others. If this turns out to be too much trouble and is too difficult to play, then get again one of those ordinary
ophicleides that go down to the low B. In fact, use anything you like, but not that devil of a tuba which does not
blend with the others”. Some saw the tuba as being texturally too different from the cimbasso and wanted to
retain the distinct trombone textures. The score was recorded over two days and there is an interesting and
informative video posted by the LMO which shows a brief interview and recording of Velasquez’s session.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khNh9MfGTho
The first scene we’re going to look at comes toward the end of the movie as Bowden and security finally
manage to access the lift, prizing the doors open, only to find that the perpetrator has vanished, leaving a
traumatised Tony as the only one left alive. In a brilliantly effective scene, the camera rises above Bowden,
looking down over his shoulder into the lift. As he realises the murderer has vanished, he turns and shouts orders
to his crew to find the perpetrator. At this point the images go to slow-mo, the music intensifies and the camera
moves upwards above the scene.
Fig.21 Movie 01.09.05 - 01.9.46 - Audio – ‘Rescue’ 00.00 – 00.49’
The sheer sense of apprehension, anxiety, fear and foreboding in

this passage is tremendous and lends the film a sense of
evolution, direction and inexorable insatiable inevitability
Musically and emotionally, there is something deeply portentous but also a feeling of the unavoidable; a kind of
predestined inescapable inevitability. The music does this by using a cleverly constructed sequence of transitory
and diminished chords. The initial dramatic lift up from the F# timpani to the A (bar four) is also key to the
success of the passage; we hear the initial F# notes and then the note jumps to the A, which turns out to be an
inversion of the F#m chord. This then leads to the transitory, overtly dramatic almost theatrical diminished
chord. After the subsequent E chord we’re back again to a 7th chord (bar seven) giving the piece a sense of never
settling. This type of approach continues and in bar ten we get an E chord at the bottom and an F#m(b5) on top,
resolving to the E briefly before heading for the transitory C#7 again. In bar fourteen the sequence from bar ten
alters slightly to give the piece more of a sad, melancholic feel, via the Esus4 with the added 9th and 11th
resolving to the Em. Then the piece moves to the C#, where it ends dramatically.
The next scene to focus on comes a few minutes later during the car journey which sees Bowden driving the car
which also contains Tony. Bowden says he’s gone over what he’d say or what he would do if they’d ever caught
the killer of his wife and child. But instead he forgives Tony; at 01.11.49, Bowden says, “The thing is…I
forgive you.” Then the Ramirez narration begins again in a voice-over, where eventually he says that his mother
always reassured him at the end of her stories, “If the Devil is real, then God must be real too.” This is where a
section of the ‘Rescue’ cue (03.13) is synced.
Fig.22 Movie 01.12.08 - 01.12.38 - Audio – ‘Rescue’ 03.13 – 04.00

Camera fades from Bowden’s face to shot of the
river with the city skyline in the background
“If the Devil is real, then

God must be real too.”
The harp motif contains the

9th and maj7th which gives it
a slightly menacing air. The
major 7th over a minor chord
is of course the centre of
gravity for many of the
James Bond chords; the
version here is slightly
lighter, less exuberant and
the context of the movie and
the scene gives the music
more of a horror connotation.
The resolution on bar four to Db slightly unexpected and gives the impression of conclusion, but as we can see
from the five bars that follow, the Db in bar four is a ‘red herring’. One of the really beautiful things about the
very last few bars (and this is something we’ve covered again and again) is the fact that the initial soft chord
(Gbadd2/Bb) moves to an entirely different chord (Bbm7) simply by virtue of only one note moving physically
(the Gb to the F). The rest stay where they are but their intervallic context shifts, and this is partly what makes it
such a great manouvre. The last three bars are extremely effective too, moving as they do from Gbm(maj7) to a
straight Gbm chord (with the Horn playing the slightly clashing Ab on the final beat of the penultimate bar (the
major 2nd in context of the Gbm chord) which becomes the 5th of the final Db chord. These intricate harmonic
devices are absolutely key to this passage being such a great musical finale for the movie.
MIRRORS (Javier Navarrete)
Mirrors is a supernatural thriller and features suspended Cop Ben Carson, played by Kiefer Sutherland, taking a
job as a security guard at the derelict and ruins of a once-prosperous department store, the Mayflower. He
begins to see horrifying images in the mirrors that hang from the walls. Ben soon realizes that a malevolent
force is using the mirrors to gain entrance into this world, threatening the lives of his family. Here we focus on
the immensely effective opening theme which, with the opening pictures, sets the film up wonderfully. The
movie prelude features a man running frantically through a building before being killed by a reflection of
himself in a mirror. At 00.03.49 the main theme begins as the intro credits roll
Fig.23 Movie 00.03.49 - Audio – ‘Main

theme’
The inclusion of such specific

and literal chord symbols at
the beginning to describe the
horizontal harmony produced
by the semiquaver lines is
deliberate in that I am
attempting to relay the rapid,
transitory and incomplete
state of the harmonies.
Essentially we ‘hear’ the first eight bars in context of a flavour of Am, but the lines and the horizontal harmony
created do allude to other colours, which is why I have included these ‘hints’ in the accompanying chord
symbols, which literally are symbolic of what we hear as the line progresses. The fact that the horizontal
harmonic suggestions are incomplete for much of the piece allows the dramatic lines to penetrate. If the
semiquaver lines were buried in a mix of full vertical chords their impact would not be so dramatic. The fact that
the lines are the harmony as well as the melody is everything; it makes them acute and italicised. It also means
we are a bigger part of the process of hearing than we normally are. If chords are laid out on a plate we tend not
to search for the answer the harmony will give us, because it is laid bare, vertically stacked up as a chord. If the
chords are suggested by the melodic notes, we have to join the dots. This is why horizontal harmony can often
be a much more potent form of communication, even though it usually involves fewer notes.
The specific colour of the harmony (obvious and hinted) is interesting too, the constant fluctuation between a
feeling of Am and Dm with odd bursts of E7(b9) lends the piece a Baroque flavour. The semiquaver lines
become even more dramatic when they are applied to the cellos and basses; the frantic articulation becomes ever
more ominous and threatening. Another interesting thing is how the same phrase can be changed by one note
and effectively ‘mean’ something else. Look at the notation below, which is the string line isolated; we hear the
notes in the phrase from bar one to bar eight essentially with an Am feel. The same phrase at bar nine changes
just one note; it begins on the E rather than the A, and because of this we hear the rest of the notes, which are
identical, in a different context; in context of the note that frames them. Below I have added the intervals as we
Fig.24 hear them on face value.
1 5 6 4 5 3 1 5 6 4 5 3 1 5 6 4 5 3 1 5 6 4 5 3 1 5 6 4 5 3
1 5 6 4 5 3 1 8 b9 7 8 5 1 8 b9 7 8 5
Later…..
1 1 5 5 6 6 4 4 5 5 3 3 1 1 5 5 6 6 4 4 5 5 3 3 1 1 5 5 6 6 4 4 5 5 3 3
3 3 3
Am feel
1 1 8 8 b9 b9 7 7 8 8 5 5 1 1 8 8 b9 b9 7 7 8 8 5 5
E feel
TWILIGHT (Carter Burwell)

Twilight is a 2008 American vampire romance film based on Stephanie Meyer’s popular book. The film focuses
on the development of the relationship between Bella Swan (a teenage girl) and Edward Cullen (a vampire), and
the subsequent efforts of Cullen and his family to keep Swan safe from a coven of evil vampires. Twilight was
theatrically released on November 21, 2008 and went on to enjoy great commercial success. For the purposes of
this chapter we will focus on the widely popular ‘Bella’s Lullaby’.
As with other pieces we have looked at there is a feeling of pain in this cue; of difficulty, of anxiety. Let’s look
at how the music delivers these emotions.
Fig.25 Audio – ‘Bella’s theme’
omit1 omit1
The piece starts with the chords of D to Gm/D, a popular and romantic sequence. Pausing there, it’s interesting
to examine why this sequence is so beguiling and captivating whenever it is used; it all hinges not so much on
the chord relationship but on the relationship between the pedal note of D and the Bb (minor 3rd of the Gm
chord). The interval is a minor 6th. Many emotive pieces begin on this interval or have it as a dominant part of
the composition (1492 – Conquest of Paradise by Vangelis Love Story by Francis Lia, the sax hook from Baker
Street). Sometimes the interval bookends a phrase, as in the Indiana Jones Theme (first and fourth notes). There
is also the issue we have spoken about before; namely the removing of notes from the harmony to illicit a more
bare, open and sparse feel, harmonically. That happens in this piece firstly during the C/D chord, which,
surprisingly, has no C in it. So the chord is insinuated rather than stated. We can often find the most interesting
reasons music communicates in the simplest of places. If, for example, we look at the relationship between the
D, Gm/D and C/D at the start of the piece we find that what could have been a predictable sequence is
effectively interrupted. D to Gm/D back to D and then C/D happens once but if it were to happen again, in the
intro, it risks becoming too predictable, almost like a song intro. So the second time round the sequence it goes
D, Gm/D then to C/D and then Gm/D. So the middle of sequence is altered. It is these tiny alterations to
structure that, even in the smallest of ways, engages us.
The string line in bars seven and eight is slightly odd, a little difficult and mildly cumbersome, but deliberately
so; this, once again, is bringing us in through its oddity. The oddness, in case you hadn’t spotted it, is the #11
(F#) and the squareness of the last two notes, C-G. Also the oddity is the tension in the link between the F# and
the final G in the phrase. In music there are two types of interval; firstly we have vertical intervals, between any
two notes in a chord. Secondly we have horizontal harmony; this is the relationship between notes not from top
to bottom of a chord but from left to right of a line. But there is something which almost qualifies as an interval
of the third kind. This is where one note and another note horizontally (not the next one along but perhaps two
or three along) creates a harmony which is so strong that, despite the notes in between, these are the two we
listen to. Earlier we mentioned Raiders of the Lost Ark, remarking that the interval between the first melody
note (the E) and the fourth melody note (the C) was a minor 6th which speaks quite emotively. Similarly in
context of this piece, the interval between the F# (first note of the string line in bar seven) and the G (the last
note of the phrase) is a major 7th. Under normal circumstances the major 7th would have all the usual stuff
vertically in between which would give the maj7 its distinctive sound. But this time the line is F#, E, C, G. The
context is gone and what we take from that line of notes is the maj7, despite the fact that there are two notes in
between.
Fig.26 maj7 maj7
Fig.27
But perhaps the most beguiling aspect of this piece is the main theme
itself; the distinctive downward piano line which starts on bar eleven.
There is obvious tension and dissonance here due to the Bb which
gives the line a skewed, pained feel. There is a slight Blues-esque
feeling to the line but the tension is twofold; firstly the Bb in the line
(b9) is in direct contrast to the ordinary 9th (B) which comes at the
end of bar eleven. We would normally rarely see a b9 and a 9th in the
same bar. The two extensions do fundamentally different jobs; they
create different colours, so mixing them like Burwell does is akin to
placing two foods that don’t complement each other or two colours
that ‘don’t go’. On top of this there are the bare chords in the lower
instrumentation, which are built on vertical 5th and 4th intervals. The
other reason why this quaver line is so distinctive is because of the
rhythmically counter string line, which has triplet quavers running
simultaneous to the straight quavers in the piano line. Other
composers have done similar things: Nino Rota placed a triplet Harp
line underneath the famous straight quaver string line in the theme
from The Godfather. People rightly attributed that theme’s unease to
the distinctly sad and foreboding Sicilian-influenced line, but just as
much of the feeling of anxiety was created through orchestration and
the placing of straight quavers alongside triplet quavers.
SCREAM (Marco Beltrami)

Scream is a 1996 horror film directed by Wes Craven, which follows the lives of several high school students in
the fictional town of Woodsboro, who become the target of a mysterious killer known as ‘Ghostface’. Following
in the footsteps of other notable ‘slasher’ films, it combines gruesome violence with black comedy. Scream was
considered unique at the time for featuring characters who were aware of real world horror films and openly
discussed the cliché that Scream attempted to subvert. Scream faced censorship issues with the Motion Picture
Association of America and accusations that it glorified violence and inspired and induced violent crime.
Nevertheless it went on to financial and critical acclaim becoming the highest-grossing slasher film in cinema
history. It was credited with revitalising the horror genre in the 1990s, which had been suffering under a deluge
of mediocre straight-to-video titles and drowning in a sea of generic sequels which exploited tired clichés.
The soundtrack by Marco Beltrami was also acclaimed, and was cited as ‘one of the most intriguing horror
scores composed in years’. The first scene, culminating in the death of a young woman in a remote house, lasts
twelve minutes and is extremely violent. It begins with the murderer phoning the woman, talking through a
voice-disguising machine to shield his identity. He calls the house repeatedly trying to build up a rapport with
the woman over the phone. At one point during the conversation he says, “You never told me your name.” to
which she replies, “Why do you want to know my name?”, to which he replies, “Because I want to know who
I’m looking at”. At this point the camera zooms onto the woman’s face and we hear the following music.
Fig.28 Film 00.02.30 Audio - Casey’s Game
Strings
“What did you say?”

The transcription shows the subtlety of the delicate textural and harmonic brush strokes Beltrami uses at the start
of this particular section of the film. It shows that, far from being a case of unbridled dissonance, this is a case of
pockets of dissonance punctuated by space filled by dialogue. The first piano entry creeps in almost unnoticed
after the caller says, “…because I want to know who I’m looking at…” Underneath this entry two thirds of an
Eb chord are played by the strings. We don’t rationalise them as anything so simple because of the piano line.
But this is often how it works; when we strip back something we imagine is total dissonance it actually contains
elements of normality.
The second piano entry on bar three maintains the original three-note idea, this time going from Ab to C to a
chord containing F/Gb/A notes. This cluster is joined by strings playing a cluster of Eb/F/Gb/A. The net result
of this chord we could call an Eb diminished with an added F note (bar one, below) or an Ab13(b9/add6) – bar
two, below, or (enharmonically) an F#m(maj7/omit5/add6) – bar three, below.
Fig.29
The point I make really is that the tension is something we can quantify and rationalise and draw conclusions
from. The schism between the F and Gb is key to the dissonance but there is an existing ‘diminished’ feel as
well. The idea of the dissonant piano motif comes again in bar four of the original transcription. So if this piece
could be said to possess a discernible identity, it is the repetition of the semiquaver motif and the specific
harmonic colours and tensions discussed earlier.
The second cue to examine comes from the same audio track and comes 00.11.25 into the movie as the parents
arrive home to find the house in chaos. As the mother runs to the kitchen to remove something from the stove
which is on fire we hear the rugged and raspy sound of the low Fs on trombones leading to the first F#m chord
as the woman begins running round the house shouting her daughter Casey’s name. During this part of the cue
the mother picks up the phone to dial 911 only to find the phone in use; what she hears then is the sound of her
own daughter being murdered outside.
Fig.30 Film 00.11.25 Audio – Casey’s Game (09.19’)
Mother screams Woman stabbed outside as mother

“Where is she?” picks up phone inside to find dead line
That first schism between the octave F# strings and the F on trombones is important; it creates a momentary
dissonance which ignites the phrase. As gruesome as the scene is, there is a marvellous musical narrative
accompanying this part of the film which lends the scene a sense of tragedy that the scene itself does not have.
The scene has murder, mayhem, violence, outrage, fear and abject terror but it is the music that provides the
finishing touch – the feeling of despair and tragedy; the feeling of longing and of sadness. The music has a
tremendous sense of inevitability. The bass line descends downwards throughout the sequence which gives the
piece the feeling of a ‘journey’.
The manoeuvre from F#m (bar two) to C#m/E is particularly important; on the one hand the piece seems to
relax and exhale as it moves to the inverted C#m but the tragedy lay in the chord itself, the C#m/E, which has a
beautifully haunting clash by virtue of the melody line, which hits the D. There is a faint whiff of an E7 about it
with the D on the top and the E on the bottom and the G# in the middle but the inclusion of the C# lead us
toward the C#m/E.
One of the shortest pieces on the album and in the film is entitled ‘Sidney’s Questions’, which comes shortly
after Sidney Prescott finds out about the murders the previous night. She takes her seat in class and glances
toward the empty chair her murdered classmate previously occupied.
Fig.31 Film 00.17.57 Audio – ‘Sidney’s Questions’

1 8 8 1 8 1 8 8 1 7 (1) 3 3 4
E feel Am feel
On face value this seems to be a classic case of ‘unaccompanied melody’, but in essence there really is no such
thing; an absence of supportive harmony doesn’t mean they don’t exist and aren’t being implied, merely that
you can’t hear other instruments stating the parts. We all rationalise music and harmony through a complex web
of memories and an equally fascinating unconscious application of probability and likelihood. The melody
creates, in effect, ‘horizontal harmony’. Harmony is created not from top to bottom but from left to right. Our
minds will happily fill in the missing vertical notes when we hear a melody which fits relatively easily into a
harmonic pattern (and most do). But in the case above the first bar gives us nothing except two E notes
separated by an octave. But in the absence of anything to guide us we default to the presumption that the E notes
are roots. Therefore the 7th in bar two (D) is somewhat of a mild surprise. The 7th only normally appears when it
is surrounded by other intervals such as root, 3rd and 5th. Hearing it isolated in this way slightly alters its context
because it is italicised in a way it normally isn’t. Bar three of this very short cue effectively alters the intervallic
context of the E note (i.e. how it ‘feels’ harmonically) not by virtue of the terrain of accompanying supporting
harmony but by virtue of what the relationship between the E and the C above infer and suggest. The really
interesting thing is that we don’t ‘feel’ the first E in bar three as a 5th until we hear the context of the C. We hear
the two C notes as 3rds but by the time the B note appears, we go back to hearing that as a 5th. So in a nutshell
we are taken on a harmonic ride with just a single melody line. The extra context that defines the notes comes
not from the music but from within us.
In the following cue we hear another rendition of fig.30, ‘Casey’s Game’. This time the cue is gentler in textures
and comes as Sidney arrives home (home being, typically, a remote house in the hills). This is how music ties
different elements of the film together; we heard a much more forceful version during the murder of the first
victim, now we hear a subtler, lighter development of the same idea. Even in this lighter version there are some
beautiful tensions; the C melody note in bar four, which is trying to create the feeling of the Am chord, clashes
with the chord underneath which stays on the Em.
Fig.32 Film 00.21.05 Audio – ‘Sid comes home’ (00.15’)

Yet another version of the same idea comes as Sidney walks around the house, having just watched a new report
on the murder which reference her own mother’s murder, which happened a few years ago. Again there are
some great tensions, such as the string voicing in the second minim of bar five where the voicing moves from a
straight Am to the Am(add4). Another nice move is the melodic jump of the b9 from the E to the F (end of bar
five to bar six). The soft piano textures help make the manoeuvre palatable but the leap is still noticeable and
seems almost to make the piece strain. The B and C side by side in the E chord in bar ten also creates an angsty-
style emotion which helps the piece communicate the tragic memories inherent in the scene.
Fig.33 Film 00.23.05 Audio – ‘Watching the News’ (01.07’)

The next cue enters when Sid, still alone in the house waiting for her friend to arrive, answers the phone, first to
her friend and then to the killer. In keeping with the narrative of the film she doesn’t acknowledge that it is the
killer but we know it is because it was the same voice we heard on the phone in the opening scene of the movie.
The music knows more about the story than the viewer and it is part of music’s job to use this unique position
properly. This is one of the great things about something so relatively un-literal as music; it can plant
suggestions without screaming out at you ‘it’s the killer’. If the music screams at its audience at this point it
risks overcooking the scene; what we need at this point is a whisper.
Fig.34 Film 00.24.35 Audio – ‘Killer calls Sid’

We hear the unmistakable but soft sound of the
low octave strings on the Db, followed in bar
two by a slowly descending semitone interval
played by top strings. The fact that there is no
noticeable relationship we can fathom between
the top two notes and the bottom two is what
creates the slightly alien feel and gives the scene
real currency.
The next brief cue comes as we see the Principal of the college (played by Ex Fonz Henry Winkler) sporting a
Scream mask, staring into the mirror in his office pretending to be the killer. At this point in the movie we still
do not know who the killers are, so we see this partly as a comic stunt by the Principal alone in his study and
partly in context of ‘could this be the killer’. As he growls into the mirror faking the murderous pose we hear a
knock on the door of his office; this comes when the low brass and strings end abruptly at the end of bar two.
High strings accompany his expression and the piano motif in bar five we hear as he opens the door to the empty
corridor and says “Yes?”. Unfortunately for the Fonz the killer is inside already and the Principal is moments
from death. I showed this cue because again it highlights the absolutely crucial importance of geography,
placement and architecture.
Fig.35 Film 00.49.11 Audio - Hide and Seek
Knock on the door “Yes?”

How Film & TV Music Communicate – Vol. III – text © 2015 Brian Morrell
Chapter 5
DRAMA
Films and music analysed include:
Pierrepoint (Martin Phipps) Harry (Martin Phipps, Ruth Barrett, Pete Tong, Paul Rogers) Let Him Have It
(Michael Kamen) About a Boy (Damon Gough, as Badly Drawn Boy) The Ides of March (Alexander Desplat)
The Impossible (Fernando Velazquez) The Shawshank Redemption (Thomas Newman) Too Big to Fail (Marcelo
Zarvos) The Last Days of Lehman Brothers (Kevin Sargent) Prime Suspect 7 (Nicholas Hooper) Olympus has
Fallen (Trevor Morris) The Newsroom (Thomas Newman) Falling Down (James Newton Howard) How I Now
Live (John Hopkins) Kon Tiki (Johan Söderqvist)
PIERREPOINT (Martin Phipps)

Albert Pierrepoint became one of Britain’s most famous hangmen; he was known for his efficiency and
compassion and rose to become 'the best’. From 1933 until the end of his career in 1955 he executed 608 people,
including infamous WW2 war criminals. He hanged Ruth Ellis, the last woman to be executed in Britain, but by
then the public appetite for such draconian punishment had waned. Pierrepoint had changed too; in his
retirement he became a prominent abolitionist. The film charts important moments in his life and work and is a
poignant reminder of the history, evolution and controversies of the death penalty in the 20th Century. It is also a
journey through the life of an extraordinary man.
The following cue comes eleven minutes into the movie following an execution, overseen by Pierrepoint and an
associate. The associate froze under the pressure of taking another person’s life, resulting in Pierrepoint having
to take over. Afterwards on their way out of the prison the associate thrusts his own fee into the hands of
Pierrepoint, shouting “I don’t want it.” As the man storms off the camera stays on Pierrepoint (played brilliantly
by Timothy Spall) and the cue below begins. The piece starts on piano as we see Pierrepoint stood alone on an
outside staircase. The scene cuts to the inside of Pierrepoint’s home as we see him return later that same day.
This once again underpins one of the central reasons why music works; it creates a seamless continuation of the
narrative. Without music the cut from the prison yard to the hallway of Pierrepoint’s house is quite abrupt;
music makes the edit smoother and more natural. Although the addition of music in both environments is
unnatural and against the reality, authenticity and believability of the scenes, had they were real, it emphasises
and augments the reality and authenticity of the story as it is told on screen because it creates a bond between
the viewer and the film. Film music is a paradox; it works when in theory it shouldn’t. As I have alluded to at
other points in this series of books, life does not come with its own accompaniment but the telling of it in two-
dimensional moving images needs music for it to be convincing; for it to connect with us and to forge an
emotional bond. As I have said earlier the reason this works so well is precisely because music is so unknown.
Most people cannot rationalise and understand how harmony works and creates an emotional reaction within
them, which means they are influenced, persuaded, prompted, induced and ultimately emotionally manipulated
by something they don’t get. If people were able to understand and interpret harmony in the absolute way they
understand, say, colour, its effect would be less subtle, less delicate, too obvious, too absolute and too rapid.
Pictures we interpret straight away; dialogue we understand immediately, but music is this strange, extra
emotional additive which, although we don’t understand how or why, helps us subtly understand the story.
Fig. 01 Film - 00.14.10
Piano
Music which tries to make people think needs to provide time for this process to happen. It needs to breathe. It
needs to contemplate, to deliberate. This is where the importance of phrasing and structure is almost more
important than the statement itself. Sometimes music simply says too much, or what it says is spoken too
quickly for its message to sink in. Sometimes there is simply too much music in music, which can overplay the
emotion in a scene. Imagine the strange image below being a template for a musical idea; first we have the
statement, followed by time for this statement to sink in.
If you apply this ‘map’ to the piece which accompanies the scene from fig.1, you can see the gaps, the pauses,
which enable the music to convey its message (fig.2, below)
Fig. 02 Contemplation Contemplation

Statement Reflection Reflection
Statement
C&R
Statement C&R C&R
Statement Statement
Contemplation Contemplation Contemplation

Reflection Reflection Reflection
When the string section arrives it functions as an interesting textural evolution which deepens the mood; but
essentially it is the same musical message. If we look at the same cue again, this time from a purely harmonic
perspective, we perhaps begin to appreciate how the message is delivered; the 6th interval (major and minor) has
long been used in music to create emotion. Before we see how it is employed in the theme from Pierrepoint,
let’s take a minute to observe how other composers have used it in perhaps much more overt ways.
Fig. 03
In fig.3 we have examples of the maj6 interval, contained

in the opening bars to My Way (Paul Anka, Jacques
Revaux and Gilles Thibault Claude Francois). Underneath
we have the opening bars to Music of the Night (Andrew
Lloyd Webber) from Phantom of the Opera. The third
example is from Angels by Guy Chambers and Robbie
Williams.
In fig.4 we have the

opening bars to the
theme from The
Incredible Hulk TV
Fig. 04 theme (‘The Lonely
Man’ by Joe Harnell),
a beautiful, haunting
and emotional piece
which makes great
use of the min6
interval.
In fig.5 we have the opening bars to the theme from the movie 1492 – Conquest of Paradise, In fig.5which
by Vangelis, we
also makes great use of the min6 interval. see the melody from
Vangelis’ Conquest of
Paradise
Fig. 05
So, having established the min6 and maj6 have a peculiarly emotional and beguiling quality, let’s look at how
Martin Phipps uses them in the cue from Pierrepoint. Intervals can communicate a sense of character and
emotion, horizontally as well as vertically. As we can see from the examples given above, it is the horizontal
harmonic movement (the melody) which creates the distinctive min6/maj6 ‘sound’. With Pierrepoint (fig.6,
below), apart from one or two examples (marked with ) most of the 6th intervals (which happen almost
on every note) are vertical, resulting in two-part harmony throughout (denoted by ). To ensure we don’t
disappear completely up the emotional flagpole, there are a few isolated bits of vertical intervallic tension
(denoted with ).
Fig. 06
7th 9th b9th
9th
Rarely will you find a piece of TV drama music which communicates 6th intervals so specifically but so subtly.
As to why the intervals are so effective; the minimal two-part voicings italicise and exaggerate the character of
the interval. The lack of a third voice in each vertical chord isolates the notes that are there. Also, with the 6th
intervals being so exposed, the individual chords they suggest or allude to are not quite as concrete as they
would be with an emphatic three-part chord. At the beginning of the cue (transcribed yet again, fig.7, below),
the 6th intervals theoretically are suggestive of more than one chord. In the version below, the implied chord
symbol is at the top as usual but underneath I have placed symbols in red to denote alternate chords that could
be implied. So why don’t we hear the first chord of bar two as a Bb? And why don’t we hear the second beat of
bar two as an Eb chord? The answer is that harmony communicates cumulatively.
Fig. 07 It is only the first quaver (A and D, bar one ) which
acts as a chord V in Gm and the second quaver of bar
two (the G and D creating a bare 5th interval ) which
tends to suggest an overarching Gm feel, and even
Bb Eb F those chords are incomplete.
The point about this phrase, for the reasons I have given, is that it communicates harmonic colour softly, subtly,
despite having a strong 6th flavour, vertically. In many ways of course this is all typical of the way music
communicates; the effects harmony creates in ‘colouring’ music are born partly of an immediate experience but
also of a cumulative, gradual experience which radiates out through the course of music. Of course there are
signposts everywhere telling us how to feel and how to react, but it is the cumulative experience which soaks
into us and which we remember.
HARRY BROWN (Martin Phipps, Ruth Barrett, Pete Tong, Paul Rogers)
Harry Brown is a 2009 British vigilante film starring Michael Caine. The film centres on Harry Brown, a
widowed war veteran living on a crime-ridden housing estate descending into anarchy. After his friend is
murdered Harry takes the law into his own hands. A scene around sixteen minutes into the film depicts the
hallway of the inside of a flat, in front of the letterbox, showing something burning on the mat. The implication
is that this is a deliberate act, caused by someone placing a burning item through the letterbox to set fire to the
flat. As the floor-level camera moves away from the fire, we hear the cue below enter.
Fig. 08 Film – 00.16.27 Audio - ‘Subway Surveilance’
Synth
The specific texture of the synth, being abrasive and possessing an odd ‘wind’ characteristic, making it sound
like a ‘twisted trombone’, is definitely crucial in articulating the anxiety and fear in this scene. The scoring of
this scene is significantly different to what one might expect in context of the somewhat clichéd way fear and
anxiety are often articulated musically in film, and of course this sense of surprise and newness is also what
makes it work. The semiquaver synth line alone would not have cut it; it needed the menacing octave bass to
underpin the motif. Over and above all that we have the interval, which, like Peirrepoint, is based exclusively
on the 6th. We hear the minor 6th interval between the E and G# over the C# bass, giving an overall C#m feel,
but then, in a touch of class, we hear the A-F-A repeated semiquaver line, which functions as the 5th and min3rd
(10th) of a Dm but still over the C# bass. The reason we hear these notes as 5th and 10th of a Dm chord is because
the first time we heard the arpegiated motif we heard the E and G# as 3rd and 5th of the C#m chord. We therefore
frame the second motif as identical to the first but a semitone up. We hear it this way despite the C# in the bass,
which we hear as a separate thing. This is how the cumulative nature of music affects us.
The first part of the transcription below (fig.9) features the last two bar of fig.8 (Subway Surveilance). As I said,
we hear the arpegiated notes (A and F) as 5th and m3rd (10th) of a Dm chord because the context. But if we look
at bars four and five of fig.9, this is how the motif from bars one and two (fig.9) might look without the context
of the whole of the cue, as if this were the only two bars in the piece. As we can see, without the context of the
whole cue, the C# bass is now a Db and we now hear the F note not as a m3rd of a Dm chord but as a maj3rd of
the Db chord. Further we hear the A not as the 5th of a Dm but as the #5 of the Db chord. The point I make is
that, had we simply heard the last two bars of the cue on its own, uncluttered by context, we would ‘hear’ the
notes as different intervals. The last two bars aren’t actually that strange. It is the recontextualisation we apply to
these notes because of the initial phrase we heard at the outset of the cue (bar one to three of fig.8) which make
it strange. The important thing here – and this is why music is always more than the sum of its parts – is that our
own interpretation decides the context of our aural perception. It isn’t the music that’s weird; it’s the context we
Fig. 09 apply because of the way we listen.
5 m3 5 m3 5 m3 5 m3 5 m3 5 m3 5 m3 5 m3 5
#5 3 #5 3 #5 3 #5 3 #5 3 #5 3 #5 3 #5 3 #5
The following cue comes in the film as the police enter a crime-ridden housing estate and begin an operation
which results in a full-blown riot. This section of the cue is preceded in the film by quiet as the police take up
their positions prior to the major operation beginning. 00.33 into the cue comes when the police break down a
door to a flat; this is where the violence comes. Musically this is scored very interestingly and again, not by
resorting to cliché but by delivering a series of chords on brass and synths. The manner of the delivery of the
chords and the effect they have on the narrative of the film is similar to John Powell’s music to United 93,
particularly the cue ‘2nd Plane Crash’.
What’s particularly good here is the sense of angst, pain and fear delivered purely through a chord sequence
featuring a succession of dense textural clusters created by harmonic tensions voiced well for instruments that
articulate and convey the scene extremely well. Because the music has not resorted to cliché we are able to see
past the immediate violence to the subtext; the rises, falls and swells of the accompanying melody-less music
really serves the film well. The move from cliched scoring enables us to see beyond the scene; it enables us to
look into the slimy underbelly of the narrative.
Fig. 10 Film - 01.16.00 Audio - ‘Riot’ (00.33)

The third bar chord is a masterpiece; This is a repeat of bar one
In bar one the cluster of the top five notes the Gmaj7 is voiced low and dense The Cmaj9 is effective in but with the added textural
creates an Am(add2/4) but the added This resolves to the with the major7 at the bottom of the countering the harmonic clarity and harmonic colour
lumpy voicing between the two octave Es Em(add2) chord where the voicing, added to by the lower F# clashes of the previous few delivered by the top stave,
and the A above create a real sense not F# is buried low clustered octave. This is a particularly ‘pained’ bars and acts a release from which brings the maj6 into
just of tension, but of angst and pain. with the E and G. chord. the tension. the equation.
The cluster at the top [of bar nine] creates great harmonic
and textural tensions.
4
The Bm(add4) works well; the add4 again brings a sense of angst
and this is supplemented by the inversion at the bottom
LET HIM HAVE IT (Michael Kamen)

In 1950s England, Derek Bentley, a young man with learning difficulties, is influenced and led astray by a group
of petty criminals led by Christopher Craig, a teenager with delusions of being a gangster. Chris and Derek’s
friendship leads to their involvement in a crime which ends in murder. It became a case with a terrible legacy
which would forever shake England’s belief in capital punishment. The movie is a sensitive and important
portrayal of Derek Bentley and the absurdities of the English legal system at the time. The theme which opens
the movie definitely exudes a sense of sadness and sorrow.
Fig. 11 Film intro Audio - ‘The Job’
(omit5)
Inversions play a big part here; these are important harmonic devices which slightly subvert the natural balance
of harmony to alter the weighting of the chord. These are used all over music of every variety; the reason for
mentioning them here is because they are an important characteristic of the slightly abstract chords used in
various parts of this piece. Many of the chords are a little abstract, sometimes featuring partial ‘omit’ harmonies
– these frequently appear on the ‘long chords’. In addition some use ‘combination chords’ (where there is more
than one extension). Combination chords work well but traditionally extensions are voiced sympathetically and
sound like they belong together, such as the traditional way of voicing a b10 chord (below, bar one).
Flat 10s and add9s perform fundamentally
(omit5)
different tasks. They bring specific colour
and normally they would rarely appear in Fig. 12 9
the same chord. The add9(2) is a subtle, b10
soft and romantic extension but the flat 10
causes colour and mild friction and is 1
frequently used in jazz. If we look at the 3
voicing in bar two if the main
transcription (fig.11) and separately in bar b10 The oddness of the voicing, the mixture
7 of two extensions which don’t
two of fig.12, we can see that the add9 is
3 traditionally combine, the omission of
on the top, clashing slightly with the Db the 5th and the employment of the
5
(the b10) lying a b10 underneath, which 1 inversion all conspire to alter the
itself lies a flat 10th above the inverted 3rd character of the b10 chord from jazz to
underneath. abstraction.
ABOUT A BOY (Damon Gough, as Badly Drawn Boy)

Based on Nick Hornby's best-selling novel, About A Boy is the story of Will Freeman, a cynical, immature
young man who lives off the royalties from a song written by his deceased father. In this sensitive film he is
taught how to act like a grown-up by a boy, Marcus Brewer, who lives a solitary life living with and looking
after his chronically depressed single mother.
Fig. 13 Film intro Audio - ‘The Job’
People referred to this piece as ‘mesmerising’ and ‘hypnotic’. But, given the repetitive nature of the piece, why
call it mesmerising and hypnotic (entrancing, soothing) and not ‘boring’ and ‘tedious’ (repetitious, monotonous,
tiresome)? The acoustic guitar is definitely soothing and a little enchanting but in order to find out why the
endless repetition is heard positively and not negatively we need to look at the harmonies.
As we have observed at other points in this series of books, when we listen to melody and harmony we hear two
different realities: what the notes ‘sound’ like (aurally, the pitch and the name we give the notes) and what the
notes ‘mean’ (as intervals relative to the chord being stated or implied.
The intervals that the notes of C, G and A ‘mean’ are changed because the E notes (in bar one) change to F
notes (in bar 2). Thus the change of just one note in bar two alters the entire collective ‘meaning’ and ‘sound’ of
all of the notes. The reason this piece works so well – the reason it is mesmerising but not tedious - is because
the real movement is not in the sound of the notes but in what the notes ‘mean’. The notes are repetitive but the
intervals they occupy move.
Fig. 14
The notes C C C C C C C C
highlighted (except
the E in bar 1and F
A A A A A A A A
in bar 2.
G G G G G G G G
The notes in bar 1 (except the E) as intervals

8 8 8 8
6 6 6 6
5 5 5 5 The same notes in bar 2 (except the F) as intervals
5 5 5 5
3
3 3 3
2 2 2
2
C C C C
G G G G
A A A A
C C C C
G G G G
A A A A
THE IDES OF MARCH (Alexander Desplat)

Ryan Gosling plays Stephen Meyer, an assistant campaign manager for a Democratic Governor trying to win the
Democratic nomination for President (played by George Clooney). Meyer begins an affair with a 20-year old
intern, who then becomes pregnant with the governor’s child. To prove his loyalty to the governor, he ‘deals
with it’ by arranging for a termination. Eventually when he has been fired he confronts the governor and
attempts to pressure him into hiring him back by threatening to ‘reveal all’. The film examines betrayal,
infidelity, corruption, loyalty and disloyalty
Early in the movie Meyer is asked to a highly confidential and irregular meeting with the governor’s opposition
chief of strategy, during which he is asked to ‘jump ship’ and come and work for the opposing candidate. What
he doesn’t realise is that he’s being set up: having decided not to take the offer, the meeting will be leaked and
he will lose his job, thus depriving the Governor of a brilliant strategist. The opposition’s idea was to get Meyer,
and if they couldn’t get him, discredit and destroy him so the governor couldn’t benefit from his brilliance.
Meyer had called his boss to inform him about the opposition’s request for a meeting and had left a message,
telling his boss it was ‘important’. After the meeting has ended, in which Meyer refuses the opposition’s
overtures, his boss calls him back. During the conversation his boss asks “what was so important” to which
Meyer replies “nothing…figured it out.” This is an important moment because his one chance to truthfully
reveal the clandestine meeting has passed. During this phone call a piece called ‘Paranoia’ has been playing. It
is a great piece which adds to the whole furtive, clandestine mood. During the exchange between “what was so
important” and “nothing…figured it out” there is the smallest of pauses to emphasise the importance of Meyer
pausing and deciding not to tell his boss what’s just happened. A piano line (bar three, below, fig.15) comes in
at this precise moment. This is a great example of the architecture and placement of music being as important as
what you write. Jerry Goldsmith said “it’s not what you write; it’s where you write it”. I’m sure he would have
realised that it clearly is what you write, but the point he was exaggerating is true. In a way if you get the
geography wrong whatever you write is never going to sound good because the delivery is bad.
This is where dialogue and music fuse

Fig. 15 Film 00.23.14 Audio ‘Paranoia’ together as one.
“What was so important”? “Nothing…..figured it out.”
Another good thing about this cue is the way it has a presence but allows the pictures to speak and the film to
breathe. The bass is the only instrument actually creating the minor chord in some bars; this is why I have called
some of the chords minor and then ‘omit3’. Technically they are minor because of the brief inclusion of the 3rd
in the bass line but in terms of the middle-stave voicings there are some voicings with no 3rd. The synth chords
are frequently bare, suspended or incomplete, which makes them slightly less obvious.
Absolute minor chords or absolute major chords ‘colour’ films unequivocally; they offer a definite opinion and
because we have heard them a thousand times before we are influenced by what would be an obvious, brash
interpretation. But if we use suspended, incomplete or bare chords, they don’t sound so obvious, so noticeable,
so recognisable. Whilst not being overtly dissonant (which would provoke, distract and disorientate) they are
slightly harder for listeners to rationalise which means they open us up to the act of interpretation and analysis,
which brings us closer to the film.
If we write something people are going to understand immediately then sometimes we’re simply writing music
which ‘accompanies’. There’s nothing wrong with that unless the scene and the movie want more from the
music; perhaps they want something deeper or want to create an emotion the film itself is incapable of
articulating. If we write music which needs a dissertation to explain what its intentions are, it will sometimes
distract. But if we get in the middle and offer something which makes us think, this can be the holy grail of film
composition because it is there to distil our reactions, to mediate our responses. When the scene is pensive,
absorbed, obscure or ‘furtive’, as it is in the one we’ve just looked at, we often need the strangeness and
incongruity that suspended or incomplete chords bring. They are unsure, uncertain, fractured. This makes us, the
viewers, unsure and questioning. It makes us examine, question, analyse.
Thus when you examine chords and what certain types of chords or extensions actually do, you realise they are
communicating just like the film, only with slightly less certainty. Sometimes you don’t need the complete
certainty words usually bring. Even pictures frequently don’t leave much to the imagination. Music is absorbed
by people who begin to feel a certain way without ever knowing or understanding how or why or when it
happened. Composers need to figure out what feelings and emotions would be appropriate for a scene – either to
italicise and reinforce it, or to counter it - and then figure out the chords that will deliver these feelings and
emotions and in what way they will be delivered.
If, as a budding film composer, you watched the next scene you could be forgiven for missing not only the hit
point, but also how it is acknowledged, such is the subtlety. Music written to italicise a specific moment or, as in
this case a specific piece of pertinent dialogue, can be very effective; when it is done as subtly as this it can be
sublime, because it is not even noticed ‘as music’ but becomes simply a subtle nuance of the film which makes
its point without anyone even realising there was one.
In this scene Molly – Meyer’s girlfriend – gets a call late at night from the governor on her mobile phone, which
Meyer sees. He quizzes her and then it all comes out; the affair with the governor and the subsequent pregnancy.
She tearfully explains her situation; “I needed nine hundred bucks” says Molly, to which Meyer replies, “for
what?” After a pause she says, “I can’t go to my dad….[pause]….we’re Catholic.”
Molly needs to have a termination and she cannot go to her family. The key point is when she says ‘we’re
Catholic’, at which point the chord moves from a succession of sparsely and lightly voiced E omit3 chords to a
deep, low-mid voiced and texturally warm Cmaj7 chord.
Fig. 16 Movie 00.46.33 It is this change, this reaction and ultimately the sense of release
(from the tension created by sparse, repetitive ‘omit’ chords to the
“I needed nine hundred bucks”… full, deep and resonant maj7) that makes the music become part of
(Molly) this scene, rather than simply accompany it. This sequence of
“For what”? “I can’t go to my dad…..we’re Catholic harmonic and textural change really makes the scene speak in a way it
omit3 (Meyer) (Molly) could never have done without music.
#
The next scene sees Meyer collecting Molly to take her for termination of her pregnancy. He has secured the
nine hundred dollars from election cash funds. The previous scene shows Meyer in a hotel room with a
colleague. He sees a message on his phone from Molly and the music cue ‘Molly’ begins.
The interesting thing here is the device which has been used for years; one where we hear the music for the next
scene before the scene starts. The first two bars of the cue are therefore pre-emptive and anticipatory in function.
When I say regularly that film music is ultimately a production of its function, this is a perfect example. The
scene where Meyer sees the message on his phone would be lost in translation were it not for the music that
begins at that point, which is light but urgent.
The scene cuts to Meyer sat in his car outside Molly’s hotel, by which point the music is on bar three. If you
think about it, scene changes to different locations in time and geography should theoretically be quite unsettling
and counter-intuitive. Our normal physical lives do not operate by moving vast distances in time or space and
yet a scene change expects us to accept this. Years ago scientists used to term the experience a ‘jolt’ – where we
saw something change rapidly on screen in a way which forced our attention to be wrenched from one thing to
another unnaturally. These are unusual experiences so in most cases we will hear music to gloss over the edit.
The point is, of course, what does the music play? If the music is supposed to make the experience easier and
yet all it does is duplicate, it too will change at the same time as the picture, so we don’t make it better, we
simply augment the problem. Often what the music offers is either neutral music which could apply to both
scenes, or it will play the subsequent scene and then acknowledge the actual visual edit. Therefore when the
scene actually switches to Meyer in his car outside Molly’s hotel, the acknowledgement is the piano motif (the
harmonic and textural and rhythmic context had already begun two bars earlier when Meyer was in his hotel
room at a previous time and location.
Cut to Meyer in car waiting outside Molly’s hotel

Fig. 17 Film 00.55.14’ Audio ‘Molly’
#11
Meyer in his hotel room sees the text from Molly
8 8 7
maj 7
Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite
Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous
Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite
Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous
Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite
Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous
Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite Definite
Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous Ambiguous
The mildly dissonant elements of the melody line clearly give the piece an element of strangeness and the
relentless repetitive nature of the triplet movement gives the piece a very slight furtive, surreptitious and
clandestine feel. But it isn’t just because the line moves up and down chromatically; it is a combination of the
note and the supporting chords. When we hear the melody line move (E, D#, E, D#, D etc) there is a tendency to
attempt to rationalise it in context of the first chord that appears (Em), but of course the chords underneath bar
four move from Em to Am to Em. This means that the D# isn’t heard as a maj7 over an Em chord but is instead
heard as a #11 over an Am/E chord. What might seem like a purely theoretical observation is actually a little
more than that: we are used to hearing notes in context of certain harmonic situations; in almost any situation we
might imagine, a line that starts above an Em chord and goes from E to D# to E to D# to D will in all probability
move over the same Em chord. But when the same line moves over chords that alternate between Em and Am/E,
the note moves at one rate (chromatically – E, D#, E, D#, D etc) but the interval, rather than moving from 8 to
maj7 to 8 to maj7 to 7) actually moves from 8 (E over the Em) to #11 (D# over an Am chord) back to 8 (E over
the Em) to #11 (D# over an Am chord) to 7 (D over an Em chord). The supportive chords are a mixture of
‘straight’ unambiguous chords and vague, indistinct chords. I have marked these on the transcription as
‘definite’ and ‘ambiguous’. Part of what keeps the piece ‘on the straight and narrow’ is that the first and third
beats all state a clear chord, whereas beats two and four state varying degrees of ambiguous harmony. All these
things conspire to create an extremely effective accompaniment for this scene; again, music perhaps opens us up
emotionally because of harmonic events
There is a subtle hit point as Molly, travelling in the car with Meyer in silence, glances across and down at
Meyer, a thoughtful, pensive and reflective look on her face. This is where the music becomes more ‘whole’ and
uses more definite, evolving harmony. Unambiguous romantic contours colour this section (below, fig.18)
There is a great sense of evolution and motion as the bass descends. The descending bass
Fig. 18 Film 00.55.55’ Audio ‘Molly’ is the only thing that alters the intervallic context of the supportive harmonies and the
piano melody
10 9 10 9 10 11
8 10
1 5 1 5
8 3 7
The arpegiated piano 5 maj7
3 5
spends the longest amount
1 3
of time on the colourful 9th
(B)
The next cue to examine comes an hour and twenty minutes into the film. Meyer has been fired as assistant
campaign manager and Molly, the intern, has committed suicide. Meyer sees the governor and tells him he will
‘reveal all’ if he is not only reinstated, but given the senior campaign manager’s job. Meyer threatens to make
public a note he says Molly left him which implicates the governor, but the governor suspects Meyer is bluffing.
A tense conversation ends with the governor saying “there’s no note.” After a silence Meyer says “it’s your call,
governor.” After another pause the cue below starts while the camera is still on the governor’s face. Then we cut
to a scene showing the senior campaign manager, having his hair trimmed in a salon. The camera pans round to
a side profile and then to a front profile before cutting to a scene showing the campaign manager walking out of
the salon and standing on the sidewalk. It is this moment which is acknowledged by the low/mid cluster chord
of trombones (bar nine, below). Again, it is worth italicising here the absolute importance of music in relaying
the gravity of this part of the film. To cut from the conversation, to the salon, to the sidewalk involves a change
in location and a time; but the whole experience is so effective because it is bound together by the music. The
music is harmonically and texturally ambiguous until he steps onto the street; then it goes up a gear. The
trombone cluster chord almost sounds like a growl, and announces perfectly the campaign manager walking
outside to the street. He notices the governor’s car in a side alley and walks towards it. The governor winds the
window down and says “Paul, you got a minute.”
Fig. 18 Film 01.20.03’ Audio ‘Fired’
(sus4)
B7
Chords partial,
(add2) Clusters
incomplete,
Am fractured
Look closely and you’ll see the

cluster chord is a combination of
Em and Bm
“Paul, you got a minute”

Governor
Film 01.20.50
Audio 00.53
From this section all we see is a front shot of the parked car, which we know contains the governor and the senior campaign manager. We know the governor is
firing his friend and colleague but we simply see the front shot with the camera very slowly zooming in. The music tells the story
As I said earlier, from bar forty-two

all we see is a front shot of the
parked car with the camera very
slowly zooming in. The music tells
the story by texturally and
harmonically growing the emotion
and tension. The combination of the
pictures, our imagination and the
music delivers a fantastic cinematic
experience. You won’t find a better
example of the power of music and
how it can tell a story in what are for
most people abstract terms, which
make perfect sense.
The final cue from the film comes at the end of the movie. The movie is called ‘The Ides of March’. Beyond the
obvious references to Shakespeare, it is actually an adaptation of a play called Farragut North written by Beau
Willimon. In the film Stephen Meyer (Ryan Golsing) is Brutus and Governor Morris (George Clooney) is
Ceasar. In Julius Ceasar Brutus betrays Ceasar; therefore the implication is that Meyer will betray Morris. The
clue to this is right at the end of the film as Meyer is sitting in chair awaiting a live TV interview. Prior to this,
as I said earlier, Meyer had been fired by the campaign manager (Paul Zara, played by Philip Seymour
Hoffman). Meyer then essentially blackmailed the governor the get Zara fired and take his job. The assumption
is that Meyer is ‘playing politics’, but this is not his motivation; he feels guilty about Molly’s suicide and his
intent is to seek revenge by destroying the governor. The film ends just prior to the fulfilment of this act. The
final shot we see is a front head shot of Meyer before going to blackout and credit roll. This final scene begins at
01.28.26 as Meyer enters an empty theatre and walks slowly and deliberately toward the chair in preparation for
his interview.
The sequence begins with a well-known dramatic chord change
Fig. 19 Film 01.28.29 Audio ‘The Ides of March (Gm to C). We have referred to this in the past as the sci-fi chord
change because that genre is where you normally find it.
But above all, when stripped of the Hollywood gloss of the full bombastic treatment, it conveys high drama and grandness for reasons you will find
explained in vol.1.
min maj min maj maj 3 min

maj 3
Great bass movement really Rapid fluctuation between different key centres is a great way to instil drama through mild disorientation. Also the
captures the drama Db to A chord change is a way of using the #5 in a different, non-melodic way to instil a sense of strangeness.
To add to this the melody fluctuates quickly between major 3rd and minor 3rd, another disorientating and
comparably rare event. In bar ten the last two crotchets imply a minor chord but accompany a major chord.
The Abm to the Fb/Ab is an interesting Batman-esque sequence.
The moving bass line is effective from an orchestration and structure context, giving Although the second chord is an Fb/Ab, it is only one note away from the Abm so
the piece a separate dimension which keeps it moving and keeps it dramatic we tend to hear the Fb melody note as a minor6, with all the tensions that brings
The Dbm chord links effortlessly

The music is brought right down at bar twenty one, to allow Meyer’s mic test (“one two to the key of E thanks to the
three four five six seven eight nine”) before resuming at bar twenty-two with a series of bars enharmonic Fb becoming the E
which contain the almost unreal sounding relationship between major and minor
Meyer mic test
Film 01.29.32 Audio 01.10
THE IMPOSSIBLE (Fernando Velazquez)

Maria, played by Naomi Watts, and Henry, played by Ewan McGregor, along with their three kids - travel to
Thailand to spend Christmas. Like hundreds of thousands of other people caught up in the disaster, a perfect
paradise vacation turns deadly for the family. There is no time to escape from the tsunami; Maria and her eldest
are swept one way, Henry and the youngest another. The film is an excellent and incredibly sensitive portrayal
of the confusion, bewilderment, carnage, death and destruction visited on Thailand and many other areas on 26th
December 2004.
The beginning of the film is a triumph of the concept of sound design as music. Beginning with gentle sounds of
the waves, it intensifies and becomes a powerful and horrifying audio enactment of the carnage of the Tsunami.
This is set against the backdrop of back screen and various title cards, which makes it all the more poignant. At
00.06.31 into the film we hear an edited version of the main title theme for the first time, as a crowd on the
beach countdown to Christmas day.
Some sections of the theme are referenced in the film (which we will look at after this cue). A fuller version of
the main theme appears at the end of the film. The film version kicks in on bar five, at 01.42.43 into the movie.
The version transcribed below includes the intro on the audio version.
Fig. 20 Audio - The Impossible Main Title
Film - 01.42.43
Before we analyse this track it might be useful to look at a selection of the hundreds of quotes that exist about
the music from this film, from various corners of the media.
“….such a beautiful score that reaches the heart…”
“…the most achingly heart rendering of compositions…”
“…It’s straightforward and direct, leaving no stone unturned in

its quest to wash away every emotional barrier the listener may
attempt to erect..”
“…one of the most beautiful film scores of all time…”
“This soundtrack is beautiful, and perfectly assists the

film, which is nothing less than a cinematic triumph.” “I think I have just heard one of the most
beautiful film scores of all time.”
“This is an extremely beautiful, very affecting score featuring a main theme that is truly
outstanding. Despite the repetition, the theme never loses its power, its ability to be
profoundly moving. It’s quite rare to hear such overt emotional manipulation from a
film score these days.”
Most of the people who talk about this film score are principally referring to the beautiful theme in fig 20.
Below the same transcription appears with various annotations to attempt to explain the reasons why this
particular cue works so well. The downward and upward arcing contour of the bass is an interesting
characteristic which gives the piece an insatiable and inexorable sense of inevitability. We hear the melody but
we listen to the context; although the melody is what we consciously remember, the harmonic context is what
frames the piece in our memory. There is a tendency with music, as with everything, to imagine that the bits that
communicate are the bits we understand and/or remember. One of the most beguiling aspects of music is that
often the things that speak to us are things we don’t consciously hear or remember.
Fig. 21 Audio - The Impossible Main Title Film - 01.42.43

Lumpy voicing in the intro
What does lumpy voicing actually do? It prevents the flow of Denotes italicised 3rd 2-part harmony draws
total consonance and injects some sonically dense context. This creating a deep, warm feel, disproportionate attention;
prevents the music becoming over-romantic and too ‘sweet’. especially on the cello the harmony is the piece
6th interval this low 6th interval this low

creates tension creates tension
Romantic add 2 (A) over the inverted bass

Inversions subtly re-orientate and reconfigure
harmony, dramatizing and italicising the add2. The
chord, especially because f the inversion and the
add2, is actually only one note away from a Bm7.
This is not just a theoretical point; the fact that one

chord (having been tweaked and altered) sounds
almost identical to a different chord means that it
almost floats between the two; it blurs the
distinction. Listeners don’t have to know the names
of these chords to appreciate and experience the
result
The same blurredness happens

in bar fourteen, which has a
G/F# - one note away from a
Bm/F#
Cello
Strings
26
Harp
Cello
Strings
Harp
10 9 10
5 9 5
1 1
An interesting orchestration observation is Rich chords in low string

the way the string hits the root, 5th, 9th and writing often have root, 5th and
10th to release the richness of the chord as 10th. This happens everywhere
a slow-burn rather than instant and in music but the bar above, as
simultaneous in bar twenty-eight and twenty
nine delivers the intervals
gradually, not as part of a
chord
The next cue comes thirty minutes in post Tsunami; having been separated and badly injured Maria is alive, and,
along with one her sons and a very young child they have found, is resting sitting on branches of a tree. The
music is extremely understated and discreet. There are acknowledgement points if you look carefully, but these
are so lightly sculptured that you would be forgiven for not noticing. A film like this is when music is at its
finest – when the job it does and the function it provides is so subtly embedded in the film that it functions as
part of it.
Camera pans up to Maria’s son smiles

Fig. 22 Film 00.30.53 Audio – ‘If it’s the last thing I do’ The young child child’s face at his mother, who
ouches Maria’s smiles back
hand
This chord comes in as the young

child touches the top of Maria’s
head and strokes her hair. This
extraordinarily touching moment
is very lightly scored, something
that italicises the moment gently
Maj3 in melody line italics the warmth
Camera cuts to a wide shot ….close-up on ….close-up on

of the devastation….. Beetle dead human body
Maria and her son are eventually found by locals, who take her to get help. Delirious with pain she panics when
she cannot see her children. The piece that accompanies this scene is effortlessly simple in terms of textures and
harmonies, but its effect on the scene is pivotal. There is no melody line as such in this cue, so what we react to
is the chord changes, and yet these are very simple. In a very real sense chords are simply sounds; the music
happens in the gaps, in the changes, in between the bars. What makes music such a beautiful experiences is the
reactions it creates when one chord changes to another. In some respects music is not the notes and chords; it is
the relationship between notes and chords. This is what we react to. This is a simple enough observation but it is
surprising that more composers don’t examine why and how chords relate to one another. As we have often said
before, notes and chords relate and communicate in different ways. We can refer to the ‘pitch’ as being what a
note sounds like. We can refer to the note name (Bb, G, etc) simply being the classification; what we call it. The
interval is what the sound and the note mean. Words mean nothing without a framework or context to put them
into perspective. This is what intervals do to notes. An interval name is decided by its position in a scale and/or
its surrounding context. In past volumes I have quoted some composers who have voiced their opinion about
how there is simply too much information in music. Many composers have stated in the past how ‘music is on
the move too much’ and that there is ‘sometimes too much music in music’. Less music (information) gives us
disproportionate space to soak in the significance of what little information there is (i.e. the intervallic context).
1 m3 5th
Fig. 23 By way of a brief recap, if we examine the four bars
in fig23, we see the note of G in four intervallic
contexts (root, min3, 5th). The ‘meaning’ of the note
is buried within the interval it states.
In the chord changes below I have added the interval names to some of the notes that stay physically static. It is
this intervallic movement which we respond to; it is subtle and it requires our perception, awareness and acuity
to reconfigure it in the new chord. The yellow blocks which phase in and out are meant to visualise the way we
gradually hear the chords. As a new chord begins a common note begin mean new and different things. The
chord sequence itself is taken from the main theme, which helps us subconsciously navigate to and from the
main theme, which appears at the beginning and end of the film.
Fig. 24 Film 00.35.11 Audio – ‘My boys, I cannot see them’ The G note
5
3 3
1
Sweet anticipation: just the simple act of placing a long lone note prior to the 5
chord appearing can be a great harmonic device
3
The Bb note
The Ab note
7
3
Contrary motion – ‘how music breathes’

5
1 The F note
The add2 gives sweetness and romance to the chord but this is countered by the
Sweet anticipation: placing a bar of
low Cs which acknowledge the pain Maria suffers as she is moved
silence helps the film breathe and helps
the poignancy of the music ring through
(addm6)
Gm
This great polychord

fuses Gm and Ebmaj7.
We rationalise the Eb as
a min6 but the same note
injects a whiff of the Eb
chord
There is a link between this music and Michael Giacchano’s music for Lost. Giacchano’s music is often slow,
languid, graceful, elegant but also mournful. Some of his cues (examined elsewhere in this series) makes great
benefit of intervallic relationships.
THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION (Thomas Newman)

The Shawshank Redemption is a landmark film; a seminal an uplifting cinematic experience; a deeply moving
prison drama featuring fine performances, excellent direction and equally excellent music. The cue below comes
during the scene which starts with Brooks leaving prison as an old man. We see him leaving the prison gates,
travelling on a train, walking the streets, being shown into a halfway house by an obviously reluctant landlady
and working in a grocery store where he is treated badly. Through these scenes we hear Brooks narrating.
Brooks states he has trouble sleeping at night and that he has nightmares. He then says ‘I don’t like it here. I’m
tired of being afraid all the time. I’ve decided not to stay’. We then see him carve ‘Brooks was here’ into wood
and then hang himself. This is one of the saddest sequences you will find in a film, and it is accompanied and
contextualised by music which in many ways defines and characterises the wonderful music of Thomas
Newman. Look at the cue below and try to examine what the defining moments are.
Fig. 25 Film 01.00.54 Audio – ‘Brooks was here’
Piano
One thing the version above lacks is chord symbols, which I have added to the version below so we can look at
the characteristics and commonalities.
When people listen to this track they tend to focus on the piano sound and the other ethereal synth textures
Newman uses in this piece and in many others he has written over the years. But if we focus on the harmony we
realise it is defined by its lack of absolute clarity. Virtually all the chords are missing components. As we have
discussed before, when we remove a 3rd from a chord it can result in a lack of clarity and can sometimes lead to
harmony sounding opaque, indistinct, vague and ambiguous. However, by far the biggest ‘omit’ is the 5th. A
lack of the 5th interval is everywhere. The effect this has is slightly different to losing the 3rd because most of the
chords retain their colour but lack a little of their backbone. This act of deleting important structural intervals is
very effective because it italicises the colour and warmth but also lacks intervals that would traditionally
‘normalise’ a chord. Leaving out the 5th injects space where harmony used to be. It is partly these characteristics
that give Newman’s music its distinctive ‘sound’.
Partial, incomplete ‘fractured’ chords
Fig. 26 ‘Normal’ chords
By adding marks to denote the partial chords we can see how many there are, but we can also see the trends;
there is a definite identity, and that identity, ironically, is the lack of clarity and structure that the 5th would
bring. We can also see the ‘normal’ root-positioned chords and more particularly, where they come, i.e. toward
the end of each phrase. We can see also that the inversions are used only on the F or Dm chords. Is there a
reason for this? Can we deduce a logic and rationale for this? Possibly: the F chord or Dm take us outside the A-
feel key centre, so by inverting it we make it less obvious, less chromatic.
If we go one step further and now add the surrounding harmonic context, provided by the archetypal Newman
accompanying synth chords, we can begin to appreciate how and why this is such an ethereal, almost ghostly
experience.
Fig. 27
The A-based chords play throughout the piece, fusing with the lower stave piano chords; thus a faint and distant feeling of polytonality pervades the
piece beautifully. The effect of harmony is not only felt through single chords; it is mainly felt by the reaction between chords. Music is a series of
reactions, relationships and responses. In Newman’s music chords bleed into each other which exaggerate this. Harmony glides in and out of
consonance and clarity (denoted by the graphic underneath each bar once the piano arrives
In Newman’s music chords bleed into each other which causes momentary
blurredness and harmonic obscurity, which creates a hazy, unclear, vague
feeling
Heavy pedal use italicises the harmonic tensions too, as we can perhaps appreciate from the two examples
below taken from bars eight & nine and eleven & twelve of fig.27.
Fig. 28 Fig. 29
11 12
8 9
The first chord relationship is a little The second faint chordal tension is
uncomfortable because the C# note and between the G and the D chords. This
the subsequent C note in bar eight. The is minimal as they are both from the
second two chords create faint tension, same key centre, but the pedal still
again, surprisingly because of the creates the hazy feel, especially as the
memory of the C# (bar eight) alongside movement is parallel.
the C in bar nine.
Every chord has a character; it exudes emotion and colour. Imagine the graphic below being symbolic of the
different colour chords possesses.
Fig. 30
Now let’s examine what looks like quite a specific group of colours. Some of the coloured boxes are repeated
and one or two come only once.
Fig. 31
Now if we think of specific chords having certain characteristics and emotions, and then purely for the purposes
of classification, allocate a colour to that each chord/emotion, the link between harmony (above) and visual art
(Monet, below) can be appreciated in terms of how both communicate a sense of emotion. Specifically if we
look at how impressionist art makes a virtue of creating visually vague, opaque, unclear and dense images, and
how Newman and others use the piano pedal to blur the sounds chords make (by accentuating the relationship
between the chords) we can see and hear the similarities.
Fig. 32
Essentially Monet had his foot on the expression pedal when he painted and Newman accentuates the colour of
the chords by blurring the distinction between them.
Below we have exactly the same series of coloured boxes from fig.31, this time laid over the chords from the
cue ‘Brooks was here’.
Fig. 33
THE NEWSROOM (Thomas Newman)

This ground-breaking series is set behind the scenes at the fictional Atlantis Cable News (ACN) and revolves
around anchor Will McAvoy, his old flame and executive producer MacKenzie McHale and other notable
newsroom staff. In Season 1 each episode is built around a major news event from the recent past, such as
the Deepwater Horizon oil spill or the killing of Osama Bin Laden. These real news events are distilled into a
fictional TV show about a news broadcasting company, making this an interesting show.
The stories act as a background for the drama by providing a sense of familiarity; the audience is likely to know
the context of the news stories because the news stories are real and recent. Sorkin said that the show is a
‘romanticised, idealised newsroom, a sort of a heightened newsroom’. This comment about the romantic
idealised newsroom ties into the theme, which, texturally and harmonically is a nod to an older, soft, sentimental
and slightly schmaltzy approach to scoring. The slightly glossy theme in many ways counters the show itself;
the music underpins an otherwise gritty, edgy viewing experience, complete with a socially and morally
conscious narrative, razor-sharp wit and rapid, quicksilver dialogue.
Episode 1 begins with news anchor Will McAvoy creating a PR disaster whilst appearing at a college forum. A
question comes from a student called Jenny, who asks, innocently, “Can you say in one sentence or less why
America is the greatest country in the world.” Members of the panel answer with atypical answers such as
‘diversity and opportunity’ and ‘freedom and freedom’. Will says “well, our constitution is a masterpiece; James
Madison was a genius. The declaration of independence is, for me, the greatest single piece of American
writing.” The panel anchor, unsatisfied, says “I want a human moment from you.” After this Will enters into a
rant where he focusses on what he sees as the bad things about America, its government and society. He says, in
answer to a colleague on the panel, “You know why people don’t like Liberals?...because they lose. If Liberals
are so fuckin’ smart how come they lose so goddam always? And with a straight face you’re gonna tell students
that America is so star-spangled that we’re the only ones in the world who have freedom? Canada has freedom;
Japan has freedom; the UK, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Australia, Belgium has freedom…..there is
absolutely no evidence to support the statement that we’re the greatest country in the world; we’re 7th in literacy,
22nd in science, 3rd in median household income, 4th in labour force and 4th in exports. We lead the world in only
three categories; number of incarcerated citizens per capita, number of adults who believe angels are real and
defence spending. So when you ask what makes us the greatest country in the world, I don’t know what the fuck
you’re talking about.” Eventually he calms down and references some of the great Americans, becoming
melancholy and saying things like, “first step in solving any problem is recognising there is one….America is
not the greatest country in the world anymore”. It is during this milder section that we hear soft piano/string
chords which reference some of the soft ‘add’ chords which come a few moments later in the actual theme, such
as Cadd2, F/A Cadd2/G etc.
Shortly after this tirade the scene moves to a corridor outside the theatre where colleagues from the panel go for
him. “What the fuck was that – are you out of your mind – that was a kid” and then “you can’t talk to me like
that.” Then Will says “I’m sorry, I’m taking medicine for vertigo and I think it’s working because I’ve got it.”
Then he says “what did I say out there?”
Then we cut to the intro graphics, film and titles, accompanied by Thomas Newman’s excellent theme, which, at
that moment feels like it belongs to another TV show. The point is that the visual aspects of the show are glitzy
and polished but the actual content is quite the opposite; what the show stands for is at odds with the
glamourous exterior. So the music deliberately plays it soft, anodyne rather than ‘edgy’. This italicises that what
the show looks like and what it is like are two different things.
There are essentially three main harmonic devices at work in this piece; firstly Newman accentuates the
sensitivity and romance by italicising the use of the 3rd. In addition he makes good use of the softness and colour
created by the ‘add’ chords. Also he makes good use of the inversion – the great powerhouse of drama. In a way
the use of the inversion and the employment of syncopation in the melody (and the occasional spicy #4) act to
counter the otherwise quite soft, subtle and ‘pretty’ harmonic aspects of the piece. The inversions tend to come
mostly at the end or the beginning; this is often the case, not because composers necessarily set out to do this
consciously but because when people write music, certain things ‘work’ a certain way; this is the structure of
music alive and well, casting its spell, spinning its web and influencing how composers compose by offering
options, routes, paths and methods of navigation.
Inversion – the powerhouse of drama; come at the

Fig. 34 Episode 1- 00.08.22 Audio – Newsroom theme beginning or the end of the bar for maximum impact
Great use of syncopation
2 3rd
3rd 3rd 3rd #4 #4
2 3rd
These snippets of rhythmic tension create a

slightly quirky feel which adds a sense of speed,
uncertainty and drama to the piece
2 3rd
OLYMPUS HAS FALLEN (Trevor Morris)

Hollywood produced many cathartic post-WW2 movies retelling famous events in a patriotic way designed to
reassure and comfort a paranoid, fearful post-war society. This was the subtext of many 1950s science fiction
movies. We see an alien aggressor, who can be a metaphor for whatever threat is current in the actual world,
and then we see the aggressor fail. In a modern, enlightened and balanced context this is sometimes seen by
some as mild propaganda. Films like Olympus Has Fallen are seen by many in the same context; as essentially
post-911 narratives designed to reaffirm power and greatness. The point is; what part does the music play? Most
film scores for these types of films play it the same; we hear energetic and bombastic music for the drama and
violence and we hear soft but often reverential, heroic music, designed to italicise bravery, courage and
gallantry.
Looking at the cue below we can see the French horns providing a slightly military feel, which is followed by
the snare, which although having clear military feel texturally, is slightly disrupted by the triplet quaver figure,
which acts as a precursor to the main theme on trumpet/horns.
Fig. 35 Film - 00.00.09 Audio – ‘Land of the free’

The main theme comes as we see the aerial shot of
the countryside as the camera swoops toward
Preceded by a long paused bare 4th interval, the Horn line Camp David
We ‘hear’ an F minor acknowledged the appearance of the film logo ‘Millennium
accompanying chord despite it not Films’
being stated, thanks to the
preceding Eb melody note, which
does appear in a minor scale but
not a major scale.
A disruption to the timing (semiquavers into

quaver triplets and the move from 4/4 to 5/4)
makes the piece less predictable and offers some
separation between the opening and the ‘tune’.
The passing #4
Downward lines within the

voicings create a feeling of
movement
The scene switches to show the President sparring with his

bodyguard and is acknowledged by a manouvre to a
gentler pace, achieved by the softer textures, the 3/4 time
and the use of 3rds in the melody
13
From one key centre… ….into another key centre ….back to original key centre
Minor and major 3 melodic intervals always make a piece sound warmer. This one italicises the 3rd regularly
rd
Slight tension
21
This is well-written cue which navigates effortlessly through the moving scenes from the initial ‘Millennium
Films’ card right through to the scene where the president is sparring with his bodyguard. Firstly let’s look at
some less obvious harmonic devices that help deliver the piece and guide the emotion. Why do we ‘hear’ Fm
behind the initial Horn line despite the two-part string accompaniment stating the 5th and the octave but no
minor 3rd? This is where melody communicates harmonically but does so not by stating the minor 3rd but by
hinting at a minor key via the power of suggestion and innuendo. The line has no 3rd but does have the 7th and
the 4th delivered twice. Although the 4th could figure in a major scale as well as minor, the 7th only appears in the
minor scale. And in any case the combination (the Bb and the Eb, which unilaterally is suggestive of an
incomplete Eb chord) tends to throw us more in the direction of Fm, especially with the drama of the film
opening being the visual accompaniment. Perhaps if we’d gone and seen Bambi and heard the line on flute
instead of Horns, we might have been more open to suggestion. Chords and accompanying lines which don’t
feature the 3rd but feature different extensions typically found in minor or major keys can help us ‘feel’ the
presence of a minor chord. This device has been used hundreds of times in movies. To anyone who suggests that
the average listener cannot possibly be so ‘tuned in’ to pitch, we have to remember the power people have to
retain information. We listen to intervals and extensions every day, and if there are patterns (i.e. melodies in a
major key which don’t normally tend to feature the 7th a lot because it doesn’t sit quite as well as other notes
perhaps because it’s not in the scale) these trends will be picked up and distilled by listeners and referenced
when we listen to music. As I have stated numerous times, we listen with expectation. The appearance of the Eb
on Horns in the melody points us very, very subtly toward a minor accompaniment. If the accompaniment only
features the 5th and the octave, that’s no problem because we’ll simply fill in the missing notes, not literally by
singing a note but by assuming it and feeling it.
Also, the way the cue creates a colourful accompanying musical narrative for the boxing ring scene by flitting
from one key centre to another, shows a good understanding of how to read a film (bar thirteen onwards).
Basically the F chord’s relationship with the Bm chord isn’t strong, and neither is the Am to Bm, which is better
but still a different key centre. But when we navigate through stepping stones, the localised relationships work
fine and take us on a natural journey; F to Am is natural, Am to G is natural, then G to Bm is natural.
Fig. 36 Bm
Obviously Bm to F is
unnatural but is made
easier because we’ve
Am Am heard the F once already
so we associate the Bm
G
to F not ‘out of the blue’
but as a ‘return to base’.
F F
The passing #4th in bar nine is interesting because it injects a little bit of filmic drama, but the preceding note of
G (last crotchet of bar eight) is a great choice because the two notes together form two thirds of a G/F chord,
which is a great passing chord. In bar twenty there some nice mild tension between the C melody line and the
low Es and B accompaniment; the initial G creates the warm, richly-voiced Em chord with the subsequent C
clashing for the briefest of moments with the B.
The next track comes twice in the film. By this point the President and his staff are being held hostage, many
people have been killed and parts of the White House are bullet-ridden, rendering the terrain more a war zone
than a Presidential palace.
Fig. 37 Film - 00.40.13 film & 01.47.00 Audio – ‘Olympus Has Fallen’
We are used to intervals stated by slow melody notes having an

emphatic meaning because melody is a defining feature/statement.
In this case the melody intervals have two possibilities
6 8
or…1 3
Look carefully and you’ll see this chord is mostly a combination of an Fm and Eb played simultaneously
The ethereal ‘dreamy’ feel (which this piece has) is often a product not just of textures and context but also of
polyharmony which dislodges norms and disorientates listeners. This piece is a good example of subtle
polyharmony; from bar seven Fm and Eb are gelled together to create a chord which is extremely effective (with
the textures) in relaying the desolation and bleakness felt at that point in the movie. The trumpet, used earlier to
signify military might and reverence, now appears in a different context.
The next cue comes toward the end of the film when, typically, the good guys win, the terrorists are killed and
order is restored. An injured President is helped out by his bodyguard, who says “Sorry about the house, sir.” To
which the President replies “It’s okay, I believe it’s insured.” As they stumble out of the building the piece
comes to the section transcribed below. We can see and hear how harmony, instrumentation and textures create
a definite mood. Viewers commented that this piece gave them a feeling of ‘conclusion’, of ‘satisfaction’ and
‘relief’. Let’s examine how.
Fig. 38 Film – 01.48.10 Audio – ‘Day Break / We Will Rise / End Credits’
Fluctuation between key centres creates drama
(8) (9)
(7)
(6)
rd
The 3 and octave of an F chord
Odd key change mitigated by the G
note, common to both chords
Harmonic blurring to stop The #4
it becoming too ’normal’
Same phrase as before but with chunks of time taken out
The use of intervals is important in this cue; the 3rd (denoted with ) is heavily used in the melody which
garners warmth and emotion. The famously romantic 6th interval is used too. The top string note (Bb) in bar
nine is also employed in the voicing of the next few bars, appearing as the octave, 7th, 6th and 9th. The point is
that this forges a relationship between the chords and creates a feeling of consistency but it also gives the Bb a
journey of its own, which is an intervallic journey but one we still feel.
There is a nice touch in bar twelve when we briefly hear the A (Horns) with the F a 6th above (but the stave
below, strings). These function as the #4 and 9th of the Eb chord but also, unilaterally, as the 3rd and octave of an
F chord. There is another nice touch that creates some mild tension in bar sixteen where we have the maj3 (C)
against the 4th (Db).
The big change happens at bar eighteen when we revisit the original theme from the main title, resplendent and
powerful with the roots and 5ths in the melody, and no romantic 3rds in sight, until bar twenty four, when we
revisit the other, softer motif from the main title theme, this time altered and quickened by the alternating 3/4
2/4 bars.
THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON (Alexander Desplat)

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a bittersweet American romantic fantasy drama film loosely based on
the 1922 short story of the same name by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The film stars Brad Pitt as Benjamin Button, a
man who ages in reverse. This is a deeply moving film, one with a refreshingly original story, deftly directed
and wonderfully acted. The cue we will examine is the main theme, which comes at the end of the film as the
credits roll. Normally music which comes at the end manages in some way to distil the movie’s narrative, its
story and sometimes its subtext, either by exemplifying it musically or sometimes by drawing attention to it by
deliberately countering it or ironizing it. In this case Desplat beautifully condenses the story into music by a
selection of extremely effective choices and decisions regarding instrumentation and harmony. We will look at
these and then try and fathom how they manage to acknowledge the film.
Fig. 39 Film – 02.32.45 Audio – ‘Postcards’
(Cm)
A chord over two separate bass notes
rd
maj3 rd
min3
Sometimes a combination of specific extensions create their own harmonic narrative, separate to the chord they
are placed within. To put it simpler, two chords appear; the main one and another one buried within.
Polyharmony is the name we give to this and the real reason this works is because two different chords coexist
together, which sometimes means that some of the notes do two jobs; they exist as notes and intervals in the
main chord and coexist also as notes (the same notes, obviously) but occupying different intervallic context in
the second chord.
An example of this is the horizontal harmony Desplat creates on bar one, three, six, eight and ten. The horizontal
chord of E is supplemented by the C (#5) and the D# (maj7). The thing is, if you place these two notes together
they create two thirds of a Cm chord. This is not just theory for the sake of theory; this is theory to explain why
something can sound strange, but in a specific and identifiable way. Non-musicians would simply by aware of
the first bar having a ‘strangeness’ to it. But what makes it strange isn’t just the slight tension in between the
low B and the C above. It isn’t just the fact that few chords contain the #5 and the maj7 (they perform different
harmonic functions that don’t traditionally belong together); it’s because the two rogue notes form a different
chord (Cm) one which would normally never be seen anywhere near an E chord. What makes it work at all, of
course, is that both of the new notes work in both chords; these are not just two extra notes that might work on
their own but don’t work in their new context. They perform a double act. But their natural allegiance is as a
couple, as two thirds of the Cm, so it is this feeling which creates the strangeness. The Cm is trying to get out.
(b5)
The chord in bar five (F#m7 /B/E) is again a horizontally formed chord but is a little blurred by the
unconventional lower part of the chord. Normally slash chords (chords built over a different bass note which
isn’t in the main chord) are built over one different bass note, whereas this is a situation where the ‘top chord’ is
built over an E and B (two thirds of an E chord), which makes it a little more muddy. Obviously this effect is
mainly felt when the harmony is vertical but to a much lesser degree the effect is still felt here.
The chord trick from bar thirteen onwards (C#m to C) is a well-known transition we have come across in
countless films. The main benefit of this trick is that it has a faintly ‘out of this world’ feel to it. This is because
the minor 3rd (in this case the note of E) remains the same as the chord moves to Cmaj, but now functions as the
maj3. The issue particularly is that the 3rd of any chord is its centre of gravity in terms of colour. The 3rd has
disproportionate power in colouring a chord. Its presence radiates and resonates throughout the whole chord.
Therefore if we ‘mess with’ listeners’ perception of the 3rd it can sound odd. In this piece, as with thousands,
listeners hear the same note functioning as a minor 3rd then a major 3rd without changing. Everything around it
shifts, except the note itself.
PRIME SUSPECT 7 (Nicholas Hooper)

Helen Mirren returns for the final time as Jane Tennison in Prime Suspect 7. Reluctant to take retirement but
battle-scarred after years of overwork and alcohol abuse, Detective Superintendent Tennison’s career is about to
wind down. As her career draws to a close the body of a missing schoolgirl is found, and the hunt for her killer
begins. For Tennison the emotional fallout from the murder begins to take its toll. DC Tennison is not only
dealing very privately with the imminent death of her father but also an addiction to alcohol she is desperately
trying to keep hidden. But as the pressure mounts on all sides to secure a conviction on the high profile case, the
cracks begin to show.
The film starts dramatically; after the title cards we see a man and woman running frantically through the
streets; this cuts to a scene showing DC Tennison waking up in her flat suddenly from an alcohol-induced sleep.
The music for this intro plays a huge part in the way the drama is conveyed; it conveys a sense of panic, urgency
and anxiety that the pictures of the two people running doesn’t entirely achieve alone. The pace of the music
continues as we cut to Tennison’s flat, where we see her wake up after a hard night’s drinking.
Let’s take a look at the transcription and see how Hooper’s approach works for this scene. Obviously the pace
and energy of the piece is created by the constant semiquaver synth bass motif, but beyond this, there is a sense
of anxiety in the harmonies.
The black screen begins with the actor’s name then moves to the To start the piece
title card as we hit the Dm chord. The ‘difficult’ chord comes as we with this chord
Fig. 40 Film – 00.00.01 see the woman and her partner running frantically through the wouldn’t work
streets. because it is too
odd, but to evolve
to it is a different
thing; this works
because the
familiarity of the
bass has been
established
Strings
Synth
bass
The main thing that creates anxiety in this cue is the disorientation we feel from the rapid exchange from Dm to
Dmaj. This is an uncommon type of transition. Minor to relative major and vice versa is common but a parallel
modulation is a change which retains the same root and 5th. Richard Strauss’ ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’ is a
well-known piece, used to great effect in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. He uses a rapid semiquaver transition
from C to Cm, then Cm to C. This is startling because the whole orchestra moves at the same time; Hooper’s
piece is less startling and more disorientating and mildly confusing, which creates the mild anxiety required. At
00.03.00 we have a similar chord manouvre but this time extensions are involved in the major chord; this alters
our perception not just of the major chord but also of the transition between the two.
Fig. 41 Film – 00.3.00
Fig. 42 Fig. 43
To the left in fig.42 I have In fig.43 I have transcribed

transcribed the normal minor the sequence of Dm to Bb/D.
to major sequence. This only this is a well-known sequence
has one note that changes; each and has been used in
F becomes an F#. hundreds of films such as
Tim Burton’s Batman. Again,
there is only one note that
moves, but this time the A
moving to the Bb orientates
Fig. 44
the rest of the notes
In fig.44 the transition is a composite version of both of the above. intervallically.
The 5th becomes the #5 and the min3 becomes the maj3. Both of
these notes move up chromatically. The exchange enjoys the
freshness of the min-maj transition and the slightly sci-fi surprise
of the #5. It is the combination of these two events which makes
this such a great chord trick. In this context it is unnerving and
unsettling but if you remember we covered the same chord trick in
the chapter titled ‘In Space Everyone can hear the Chord Changes’
where we looked at the movie Deep Impact. Below I have pasted
part of the transcription from that cue with a paragraph of the
original text.
Fig. 45 Deep Impact Movie - 00.40.03 Audio - ‘Our best hope’
The first few bars accompany routine conversation but during the cue at the same time
as members of the crew glance out of the window to observe the sight of the asteroid, Looking at the text written to
causing one to say “Jesus, that’s big” and another to say “Holy shit”, the flavour and accompany the cue ‘Our best
character of the cue subtly changes from one of routine to one of anxiety. This kind of hope’, although the film is
attention to detail is easily missed by viewers because of the ease by which the change
grafts itself onto the movie. People would miss the music but if the same scene were
science fiction, some of the
played minus music it would be obvious. Thus sometimes music does not really observations about how the
function ‘as music’ in a conventional sense; it is so completely and convincingly chords work with the scene,
buried in the narrative of the movie that the character of the harmony becomes part of particularly about how the
the character of the film; indeed it guides the way we interpret the film. in that exact
moment when the crew glance out of the music, listen for the change in the music, not emotion of the chord is so
to the movement or the architecture or the texture, but to the harmony, which shifts in great that it becomes part of
gear slightly, almost imperceptibly, to become ‘anxious’. the fabric of the film.
One version of
what we might Another version
call this chord of what we might
Fig. 46 call this chord
Duality of perception
The same two chords from Deep Impact and

Prime Suspect 7 are transcribed in fig.46.
Bar one and two feature the two chords.
Bars three and four feature the same two
chords again but this time bar four is written
slightly differently. It amounts to the same
thing in terms of how it sounds but it has a
different name and two notes are
enharmonically changed (the F# becomes a
These are the same chord,
Gb and the A# becomes a Bb).
given different theoretical
names / symbols
The interpretation of how a chord ‘sounds’ and ‘feels’ is partly based on its surroundings. Harmony is heard in
vertical and horizontal contexts. Because there are two interpretations of the name and enharmonic spelling of
the chords in bars two and four, there are two versions of aural perception. Chord symbols are more than names.
They describe how something feels, how it sounds. Sometimes if there are two ways of describing a chord so
there are two subtle ways of hearing it. If we play the chord in bar two to listeners, they will search for context
to identify it, place it, categorise it; pigeonhole it. The vast majority of listeners would be unable to give the
chord its two names but this does not mean that they do not feel the effect of the chord appearing aurally to be
beyond precise rationalisation. After all, if a chord can be in two places at once, aurally speaking, then there is
always going to be something nebulous about it.
The following scene is set in the police station when detectives are interviewing the father of a missing girl. The
interview becomes tenser as the detectives ask more probing questions of the father. The same type of harmonic
approach as was used in the intro plays over the following scene (rapid movement between Dm, D, Dm, D, Ebm
etc). During the interview DC Jane Tennison is asked to come to the door and is given a message discreetly by
another police officer. At this point the motif moves up an octave (bar one, fig.47) and becomes more
prominent.
As the room goes quiet and Tennison walks back

Fig. 47 Film – 00.44.21
toward the interview table, tremolo strings play
this chord. The clash is obvious (between the Eb
and the lower D) but it is the context that makes it
unsettling and anxious rather than simply
dissonant…..
We don’t hear what the police officer

tells Tennison but we know from the
…by ‘context’ I mean is that there are two harmonic events in close
music that it isn’t good news
proximity that you would normally never see within a mile of each other.
The flattened 9th is normally seen on a major chord which also contains the
The red line makes the
7th. The reaction between the b9, the 7th and the maj3 is absolutely key to
connection between the D(b9)
the chord communicating a very direct, almost theatrical sense of
and the Ebm, two chords that
romanticism. But placing a b9 in a minor chord is a different dynamic
share two of their four notes
completely, sounding dark and difficult. In other words, the maj3 is needed
(the Eb and the F#/Gb). Again,
for the b9 to function normally. So what this chord is doing is taking
this is not just a theoretical
components from other chords and assembling them in a way which is
point; this is how music joins
uncomfortable. Some might see the chord as an F7(omit5) voiced over an
up; this is how it makes sense
A, built over a low D, but that chord is just as uncomfortable
and how different sections
relate to each other.
TOO BIG TO FAIL (Marcelo Zarvos)

The film looks behind the scenes of the American financial industry between late March and mid-October,
2008. The film focusses on Richard Fuld’s ultimately futile bid to save Lehman Brothers, one of America’s
biggest investment banks, from collapse. The film is an interesting and accurate portrayal of murky and
Machiavellian world of high finance and is an absorbing look at the whole financial crisis through the prism of
the collapse of Lehman.
They key thing in this cue, as with others, is, what does the music ‘say’ that words and pictures cannot?
Secondly, how does the music speak?
A physical sense of drama with the triplets creates a feeling of urgency, which suits the whole ‘corporate jungle’
vibe. The relatively small studio orchestra instrumentation gives it a slightly light and ‘TV’ context; anything
heavier would perhaps be too cinematic. The harmonies create an uneasy tension when it gets to bar seven when
the flattened 5th is introduced. This definitely injects a sense of anxiety and even darkness into the piece. Part of
the reason for the slightly murky harmonic feel is also the introduction of the F on the bass clef which creates
tension by being only a tone away from the G. Just one note changes in bar eight (the F moves to the Eb) but
this means that the Db (top stave) and the G and Bb (top stave) are heard differently because they occupy
different intervallic contexts. This is an interesting point because our powers of perception and interpretation are
required more if we have to reinterpret and existing note in a different context. This process can be felt stronger
by the listener because they are more involved.
Fig. 48 Movie opener Audio - ‘The Banking crisis’ (opening)
Strings
7 7 7 7 7 7
b5 b5 b5 b5 b5 b5
1 3 1 3 1 3 3 5 3 5 3 5
When placed alongside the dialogue from this opening segment, with its powerful selection of comments from
key political figures and the media, the music definitely injects anxiety and fear, especially toward the end when
we have the dissonances at the top of the Gm chord between the 5th and b5 just before the piece stops.
The following part of the same cue (at 01.39) changes pace completely and enters what could be described as a
more melancholy, reflective feel, as we hear TV journalists discussing the mortgage meltdown and the
consequences for the global banking industry.
Fig. 49 Movie – 00.01.39 Audio - ‘The Banking crisis’ (01.39)
“The news story? The mortgage meltdown.”
Strings /
Woodwind
5 5
1 1
The pedal note and the pedestrian delivery help retain minimal movement at the bottom which helps the
sombre feel of this piece. The intervallic context of the bass note alters throughout. This is one of the great
uses of the pedal note in music; the harmonic juxtaposition of the consistent sound and the evolving
harmonic context. The effectiveness of minimal physical movement in voicing allows you to state different
chords much more subtly – maximum colour with minimal movement.
1 3 1
There is also feeling of emotional evolution and growth from bar five, and this is caused by the addition of more
sounds but also an expansion of voicing. In addition to all this, the piece starts with a chord change we have
seen hundreds of times and which we have called the ‘sci fi chord change’. This is where we go from a chord I
to a minor chord V (C to Gm for example). We see this all over film music. In this piece it is a little different
because the change is partly built over an inversion (i.e. E/B).Below, left, is a version of the chord shift in C,
and below right the line of relative major chords is underneath with the minor chords on top.
Fig. 50 Fig. 51
Chapter 6
HISTORICAL DRAMA
Films and music analysed include:
Last of the Mohicans (Trevor Jones) Zero Dark Thirty & Argo (Alexander Desplat) Saving Private Ryan (John
Williams) Schindler’s List (John Williams) Titanic (James Horner) Dr Zhivago (Maurice Jarre) The Elephant
Man (John Morris) The Killing Fields (Mike Oldfield)
LAST OF THE MOHICANS (Trevor Jones, based on ‘The Gael’ by Dougie Maclean)
In the dramatic retelling of real events a popular storytelling device is to invent a fictional narrative to tell a true
story. The Last of the Mohicans is a 1992 historical epic set in 1757, directed by Michael Mann, telling the story
of British and French troops battling for supremacy in colonial America, with aid from various Native American
war parties. A romance between a British officer’s daughter and an independent Mohican man complicates
things for the officer, as the adopted Mohican pursues his own agenda.
The main theme was originally written by Dougie MacLean, a Scottish singer-songwriter, composer, multi-
instrumentalist and record producer. MacLean’s most famous pieces include ‘The Gael’, from his 1990 album
‘The Search’, which was adapted by Trevor Jones as the main theme for the movie. Late in the process of
developing the film score it was decided an orchestral score would be more appropriate for this historic epic
than Mann’s original idea of an electronic a score.
The relentless and pushed semiquaver-to-quaver

Fig. 01 Audio ‘Main theme’ motif is forceful, repetitive and powerful
As I said earlier, the semiquaver-to-quaver motif is forceful, repetative and powerful. The main reasons for this
are firstly the slight oddity in the pushed phrase, but much more importantly the placement of the phrase.
Fig. 02
The phrase in fig.2 shows fairly conventional ways of
delivering four successive semiquavers, the last one of
which is tied to a longer note.
Fig. 03
Whereas in figure three, from the main title theme, the successive semiquavers begin at the end of bar one and
continue at the start of bar two. Thus the line is interupted by the bar line and in some ways feels a little odd
because of it. The second time the figure comes in is halfway through bar two, which again is a little unatural.
These ocurrances are in slightly odd, uncomfortable places, but more importantly, this fact is italicised and
exaggerated by the sheer number of times it is repeated. The phrase has a starkness to it; a feeling of dramatic
but barren desolation. One of the reasons for this is the bare starkness of the accompanying voicings; if we heard
the theme and transcribed it, we might conclude that the following is accurate.
Fig. 04
The chords we have atributed in fig.4 are wrong, because they are complete of their 3rd. Most of the actual
supporting chords in the correct transcription (in fig.1) are bare and devoid of the 3rd, even though it is
sometimes included in the melody. The chords, especially as they are scored for brass, woodwind and strings,
move in a very stark, parallel-sounding, cumbersome way, the squareness of which is exaggerated by lack of the
3rd. It is sometimes these subtle harmonic omisions that can alter the way chords sound and therefore the
emotion of the piece in general.
ZERO DARK THIRTY (Alexander Desplat)

A U.S. Navy SEAL team is sent to kill or capture Bin Laden. Zero Dark Thirty deals with the preamble to this
moment by creating a convincing back-story which culminates in the capture and killing of Bin Laden.
Alexander Desplat said that in crafting music to complement the raw reality in the film, he had to make use of
silence and “let the atrocities of war speak for themselves.” Speaking about the instrumentation, Desplat said he
stripped things down from a full orchestra in order to create a ‘dark’ and ‘strange’ sound. He said, “I just kept
the cellos, the basses, the violas, the brass and only one trumpet, so that I only had the darker sounding
instruments of the orchestra and that creates a strange sound of its own that belongs to this film.” He went on to
say, “On top of that there are a few soloists: an electric cello, a violin, a Duduk. All these sounds are blended, so
you can't say who’s playing what, which makes for a weird sound, an uneasy dimension.”
Our analysis begins with a track called ‘Drive to the Embassy’, which comes immediately following a fairly
realistic and graphic depiction of the torture of a prisoner. As two colleagues involved in the interrogation leave
the room, the darkness of the room is illuminated by the brief but bright light of the outside, a scene which then
cuts to a city shot with ‘Pakistan’ superimposed. Thus music fulfils one of its primary functions – to gloss over
the edits between one scene and a scene which shows a different location in time and place. The evolving
ascending line (bar two onwards, which has Phrygian elements) alters the intervallic identity of the supporting
chord. It begins stating Eb(1) Ab(4), Bb(5) and Eb(8) and by bar six (with the melody having more of an Abm
flavour) moves to Eb(5), Ab(1), Bb(2) and Eb(5).
There is a ‘freshness’ to the melody when it comes in and the reason for this is more than the tune itself; it is the
combination of the melody (the first three notes of which create an Abm vibe) and the intervallic
recontextualisation of the supporting harmonies. It is this combination that creates a slight elevation in
excitement.
The evolving ascending line alters the harmonies in the
phrase
Fig.05 Film 00.09.45 - Audio ‘Drive to the Embassy’
8 5
5 2
4 1
1 5
Phrygian (m2) element over a
suspended chord which has no
major or minor feel
Movie 00.10.27
Maj6 bridges the gap

between Eb and Fm
The raise to Fm gives the piece a freshness – aided by the sudden

Movie 00.10.27 change to 12/8 and the semiquaver triplet bass line
Am chord but the 8bv bass plays an A maj line
Another interesting point in this piece is the very definite ‘lift’ when the piece hits bar fourteen
(Fm). The lift is exquisite, not least because of the C note (maj6 over the Ebsus4) which acts a
beautiful pivot note which leads to the Fm. Another point is that the melody line from bar fourteen
and fifteen features F, Ab and B, which gives the line a diminished feel. Also as the memory of the
Ab (treating it as a G#) floats across to bar fifteen, there is a whiff of the James Bond ‘maj7 over the
minor chord’. The other interesting point about this particular section is the Am chord (bar fifteen)
with the arpegiated sub bass line which essentially articulates an A major chord. We don’t overtly
hear the C# but its inclusion creates slight and subtle tension.
Another interesting section is

from bar sixteen-nineteen; the
transition from Fm to G chords
(with the B hitting the warm,
rich maj3) then the Bb and
subsequently the Db is
particularly exciting. The simple
manouvre and ascension through different unrelated key centres (Fm, G, Bb and Db) creates a great feeling of
rapid evolution; its delivery with soft chordal textures and the slightly muddy bass line makes the whole
sequence exhilarating and stimulating.
The next section comes 01.17.20 into the film during a tense scene in a café.
Phrygian (m2) element over

Fig.06 Film 01.17.20 - Audio ‘Northern Territories a suspended chord which
has no major or minor feel
The quick manouvre from Dmaj to Dm is a little unsettling
Odd to have an extension (C) on top of a non-chord – it subverts the relationship

chords traditionally have with their extensions. Normally an extension adds colour
to a fuller chord, not just octave root notes.
The next cue comes just after 01.53.00 into the film as we see soldiers training for their mission. It comes again
at 01.55.00 as we see them preparing immediately before they take off for their mission. The cue begins by
using the familiarity of the chord sequence from bar fourteen of fig.5. The movement from Fm to Am sounds a
little alien, rugged and menacing, especially scored, as it is, with brass.
Fig.07 Film 01.53.00 & 01.55.25 - Audio ‘Seals take off’

Melodic line has a diminished feel
A 3rd in context of the F minor but as a G# it is maj7

in context of the subsequent Am2 chord; extensions
are not always ‘felt’ or ‘experienced local to the
chord itself. Their effect can be ‘radiated’
ARGO (Alexander Desplat)

Argo is a 2012 American political thriller directed by, and starring, Ben Affleck. Argo received three Academy
Awards for Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Film Editing and Best Picture. It is based on the true story of the
American hostage crisis in 1979, when Iranian activists stormed the United States embassy in Tehran in
retaliation for President Jimmy Carter giving the Shah asylum in the U.S. after he fled the country following the
revolution. Embassy staff were taken hostage but some managed to escape and hide in the home of the Canadian
ambassador. The main part of the film retells how the cover story for the escapees was developed and how they
planned their escape. They pose as Canadian filmmakers who happened to be in Iran scouting exotic locations
for a science-fiction film called Argo.
The following clip features the scene where the Americans make their escape from Iran on a domestic flight.
The plot has just been discovered by the Iranians, who come rushing to the airport but too late to stop the
Americans’ plane leaving. We see a tense scene on the aeroplane before the sound system announces that they
are out of Iranian airspace. At this point we see the escapees smile and celebrate.
The transcription starts at the moment when the announcement begins. There is a soft, non-thematic, chordal
build-up during the announcement which gives way on bar five to the main theme. The music manages to distil
emotion, relief and a sense of release felt by the escapees.
How?
Fig.05 Audio ‘Cleared Iranian Airspace’ 04.00

Sonically lumpy
“It is our pleasure to announce that alcohol and beverages are now voicing
available as we have cleared Iranian airspace.” 1
#4
Colour and tension in orchestration and

voicing via clusters and extensions
2 3
#4
4 3
#4
2
2 3
#4
Resolution to D
There is a delightful sense of growth in bars one-four, culminating in the melody at bar five. The top line raising
from G, A, B, C# and D creates a sense of evolution but the reason it is subtle and not more glaringly obvious is
the way each note hangs on, creating a growing cluster chord. Bar two features the 1st, 2nd and 3rd built on the
D. the final chord also includes the #4 (C#) to bring colour.
The melody
With ‘normal’ music, the music usually tells a story; as we have stated elsewhere, the harmonies almost can be
said to ‘have an opinion’. They are meant to; commercial music is not generally supposed to be ambiguous or
indistinct; it has a point to make; it has character and identity. It sticks to rigid structural templates which aids its
digestion. In this piece the relative lack of a conventional repetitive structure underpins the truth about film
music, which is that it is supportive and normally shouldn’t be distracting in an overt way. Anything too ‘song-
like’ tends to dominate our attention. In this cue by contrast, although this has a ‘nice’ melody line, what stops it
becoming too normal (and therefore something we can predict, hum and be distracted by) is the relative lack of
conventional repetition. The piece has several subtle tension-creating characteristics that keep it firmly filmic
despite its apparently ‘niceness’.
In incidental scenes (as opposed to scenes which would use thematic attention-grabbing music) it sometimes
works when music causes slight tensions; this way it tends to become more part of the picture and the
experience and less ‘music’. Obviously as far as the listener is concerned they always think they hear music as
music; but truthfully if something is slightly abnormal we tend to hear it in a more abstract, emotional way. In
incidental scenes if we rationalise the music emotionally it is usually doing its job but if we hear it as music it
can be distracting).
The characteristics that combine to make this piece more about emotion than music are as follows: The slightly
meandering nature of the theme is partly the result of the construction and structure. It contains phrases which I
have colour-coded and numbered 1 2 3 4. Normally one might expect a phrase to be repeated sooner than these
phrases are and ‘normally’ we would not expect four different phrases to be a part of a melody before any of
them repeat.
The pattern is phrase 1, phrase 2, phrase 3, phrase 4, phrase3 phrase 2, phrase 3.
(twice)
(twice)
Only phrase 2 and phrase 3 repeat; phrase 1 and 4 are singular. The point is that although this piece has a ‘nice’
vibe to it, the actual construction and placement of sections is slightly odd. This is what makes the piece appear
to be beautiful but meandering, relentless and ‘on-going’; it doesn’t contain the usual structural sensibilities and
signposts. The intro is low, warm and full of add2s, add2/#4 combination chords and polyharmonic harmonies.
The melody hits the romantic intervals such as the add2 and the 3rd. Also it contains really effective octave leaps
(which are preceded by 5th intervals) articulated by octave strings and trumpet, which have a great power to soar
over the chords.
SAVING PRIVATE RYAN (John Williams)

In the dramatic retelling of real events a popular storytelling device is to invent a fictional narrative to tell a true
story. Opening with the Allied invasion of Normandy on 6 June 1944, members of the 2nd Ranger Battalion
under Cpt. Miller fight ashore to secure a beachhead. Amidst the fighting, two brothers are killed in action.
Earlier in New Guinea, a third brother is KIA. Their mother, Mrs. Ryan, is to receive all three of the grave
telegrams on the same day. The United States Army Chief of Staff, George C. Marshall, is given an opportunity
to alleviate some of her grief when he learns of a fourth brother, Private James Ryan, and decides to send out
eight men (Cpt. Miller and select members from 2nd Rangers) to find him and bring him back home to his
mother. The first scene we’re going to look at is a the end of the film when we see the same old and frail man
we’d seen at the start of the movie, in a graveyard containing some of the Americans who perished in the war.
This is Private Ryan as an old man. The music comes to a natural end; as the screen blacks out, the main theme
comes in.
Fig.06 Film 02.36.00 - Audio ‘Hymn to the fallen’ (00.24)
This cue is full of warmth, which is

the result of two things; firstly it has 3rd
a very slow, mournful and sorrowful
‘plodding’ melody line which makes
it very Hymn-like. Also the melody is 3rd
quite ‘3rd-heavy’ by which I mean
that not only does it hit the 3rd
regularly, it does so horizontally as
well as vertically. We only have to
look how the orchestra voicings stack 3rd
up to realise how much warmth and
colour radiates out from this piece.
The use of the choir is key of course
3rd
the sheer colour and warmth
harmonically (as well as texturally)
should not be underestimated.
The romantic add2 is used heavily
in the vertical orchestration
Analysis – economy of movement / how the orchestra stacks up
2 1
2 1
2 1
2 1
2 1
Ultimately the orchestra

is a functional unit. As
such we can tell from the
parts I have highlighted in
red and blue on this page,
although there are many
instruments, the functions
they fulfil tend to be
small in number. The
melodic line is in red
whereas the supporting
counterpoint is in blue.
Ultimately it is this
relationship that colours
major parts of the passage
The following transcription comes at the start of the film from the introductory titles through to a scene of an old
and frail man walking purposefully towards through a cemetery in Normandy containing the graves of American
war dead.
As we see ‘Paramount Pictures and DreamWorks Pictures present’ we hear the haunting horns at the beginning
of the cue ‘Visiting Normandy’. When the same horn phrase comes at bar five, this is synced to the titled card.
The next timpani entry is synced to the flag and finally we see the shot of an old man (feet shot first).
Fig.07 Film 00.00.41 - Audio ‘Revisiting Normandy’
The employment of the ‘missing 3rd’is a popular approach in writing music which needs a military flavour. The
starkness and harshness, especially when articulated by brass, creates an emotionally desolate feel. Below I have
written some small examples which seek to highlight how and why, in these circumstances, the missing 3rd is
such a good harmonic device.
Fig.08 Audio ‘Revisiting Normandy’
If we look at fig.9 (right), which shows an arpegiated Fig.09

Cmaj7 followed by the four notes as crotchets, along
with colour-coded harmonic events. Crucially there are
six separate events, three of which involve the maj3.
The effect of a maj3 in a chord, or even in an
arpegiated line, is greater than other intervals. It
interacts with other intervals and radiates through the
phrase.
Fig.10 If we look in fig.10 we can see three bars

with lines and chords of C with a major
7th but without the 3rd. In this scenario we
can hear that the maj7 ‘sounds’ and
‘feels’ different without the comfort of
the maj3rd. Just 3 separate harmonic
events are stated, none of which involve
the maj3rd
Some of the voicings of this piece are very condensed and occasionally slightly abstract. For example the way
the Esus4/F# and the G#m11 are voiced is designed to create interesting harmonic dynamics, colours, emotions
and moods, simply by virtue of having some extensions notes in unorthodox octaves (for example the 7th of the
G#m11 is voiced low whereas the 11th (C#) is quite separate at the top of the chord). The simple act of
reassembling the extensions can create tension and colour.
Fig.11
dfdfdd
Two separate maj2

intervals in the same
chord are rare and can
make the chord sound
indistinct and slightly Similarly the voicing of the Amaj7/C# is also odd; the octave A is
abstract at the top of the chord, the 3rd is at the bottom and in the idle we
have the G# (maj7) and the A together, creating real tension.
Esus over Again, it’s not the chord; it’s the

a B, then voicing of the chord, which creates
an F#
tension and colour
We know this chord

sounds strange but do we
know why?
Fig.12 Fig.13
There are two obvious points of tension
which are highlighted (left); namely the
C to G# (#5) and the C to B (maj7)
The intervals that the The intervals heard as an

The chord
notes E, G# and B state in E chord
Fig.14 context of the chord
10th
maj 7th
maj 7th
5th 5th 5th
3rd 3rd 3rd
1st 1st
The other thing to remember is how the notes behave as intervals. Above (fig.14) we have the chord in bar one,
the E, G# and B in bar two in context of that first chord and finally the same three notes in relative to their other
context (1,3 and 5 of an E chord). The point is that even for those who don’t understand harmony, there is still
confusion in the harmony; this is created by the duality of harmonic perception.
SCHINDLER’S LIST (John Williams)

Oskar Schindler is a greedy German businessman who becomes an unlikely humanitarian amid the barbaric
Nazi reign when he feels compelled to turn his factory into a refuge for Jews. Based on the true story of Oskar
Schindler, who managed to save about 1100 Jews from being gassed at the Auschwitz concentration camp, it is
widely seen as a testament for the good in all of us. The music is by Spielberg’s long-term collaborator, John
Williams, who delivered this fabulously sombre, solemn and emotional piece as the film’s theme.
Fig.015 Audio ‘Schindler’s List theme’ Unconventional structure
Subtle harmonic uncertainties
Am Dm Am
A whiff of Dm
There are vague similarities between this and the final theme from Argo, which we looked at earlier, in that once
again, the structure is slightly odd. The melodic phrasing is different in virtually every bar (with the exception of
bars ten and twelve, which are the same). It doesn’t contain some of the structural niceties which we might
expect. The melodic phrase is twelve bars long; the melody officially starts on bar six but in reality if you took it
from bar eight through to fifteen it makes more structural sense overall. The problem is that potentially the
melody then can’t breathe. It is the minim A note on bar seven which pauses the piece and prepares for the next
phrase. All these things aren’t particularly noticeable because there is a serenity and tranquillity which belies the
structural oddness.
The piece also contains many deliberate harmonic uncertainties; the counterpoint at bar one is typical of this,
where it subtly implies Am and Dm and Am; then in bar four there is the faintest whiff of Dm again. At times
the harmony is transitory, transient and ephemeral, with elements being suggested rather than stated.
Fig.016
There are occasional subtle oddities and
Violin tensions in the melody too; the very first bar of
the melody (transcribed separately, left)
features a line in which the second four bars
start with the Bb (6th of the Dm) and end on
the lower A (5th).
Although this is not a real horizontal interval, because there are notes in between, given that most people don’t
listen to all notes, the notes we listen to in that bar will be the initial A, the Bb and then the lower A, which
makes for some great but subtle tension.
Fig.017 Is the Bb note heard as a

4th of the F chord or a 7th
of the previous C7
arpeggio?
Violin In the figure to the left which comes from bar nine of the original transcription,
we can see that the harp line articulates/arpegiates a Gm7/C whereas the violin
line implies a C7. Although there is no absolute clash between the lower F and the
Harp higher E, they are so close that the identity of the chord is slightly blurred.
Melody notes are never just felt at one moment in time. Their effect is cumulative
and aggregate. In the same bar to the left we hear the Bb, but do we hear it as a
Strings continuation of the C7 arpeggio or the 4th of the F chord?
TITANIC (James Horner)

A seventeen-year-old aristocrat, expecting to be married to a rich claimant by her mother, falls in love with a
kind but poor artist aboard the luxurious, ill-fated R.M.S. Titanic
84 years later, a 101-year-old woman named Rose DeWitt Bukater begins to tell the story to her granddaughter
Lizzy Calvert, on board the ‘Keldysh’ about her life in April 1912 on a ship Titanic. A young Rose boards the
departing ship with upper-class passengers, her mother Ruth DeWitt Bukater and her fiancé, Caledon Hockley.
Meanwhile, a drifter and artist named Jack Dawson wins third-class tickets to the ship in a game. Rose explains
the whole story from departure until the death of Titanic on its first and last voyage on April 15th, 1912 at 2:20
in the morning. Rather than focus explicitly on one or more sections of the movie I have chosen two specific
motifs Horner wrote for the film, elements of which appear several times in the film, and both of which are
slightly different versions of each other. We start with the haunting track entitled ‘Back to Titanic’; slow,
deliberate and poignant with its evocative and lingering vocal line. This piece was described variously as
‘wistful’ ‘melancholic’ ‘contemplative’ ‘sad’ and ‘regretful’, but if we are to make proper musical sense and
draw reasoned conclusions we need more than words; if we ask the right questions music will tell us the secrets
of its success.
But the secret is that there are no secrets and no bolts of lightning. There is only music and the way we all use
and manipulate the structures, harmonies, textures and rhythms it offers us. We rearrange what is there already
to make something new. The trouble is that because of the way we are taught not to learn but to revere great art
and worship at the altar of the great composers, we tend to personalise the concept of composing to the extent
where we assume every crotchet and every chord and every texture that breathes life into music is the product of
one person.
Fig.10 Audio ‘Back to Titanic’
Although the chord symbols on the top are

written as incomplete and fractured, the warm
descriptive 3rd of the melody radiates out. There
are normally thirds present in most chords; they
are an essential component in creating colour and
warmth. Also usually in music melodies have a
combination of intervals. In this piece the chords
themselves are stark and cold but the melody
regularly hits thirds. It is a strange harmonic
dynamic which makes it feel warm and cold at
the same time. Lots of partial of incomplete
harmony
harmonies tend to make us focus more on what is there; a lack of information draws us in to search more, which
means what we find is more acutely experienced. If the piece were plastered everywhere with thirds in the
melody it would be too rich, too overt; to obviously colourful and potentially garish. If the piece were full of
roots / 5ths in the melody it would be harsh, direct and characterless. This piece is a masterpiece of harmonic
balance which is empty and rich; simultaneously warm and cold. The second piece is called ‘Rose – A Promise
Kept’. People spoke of feeling ‘transfixed’, ‘spellbound’ and ‘mesmerised’ by this piece, so it would help us to
try and place a musical context around those words in order to figure out how and why people felt emotionally
drawn to the music. Don’t forget that elements of both the pieces we’re looking at were also used in the song
‘My Heart Will Go On’. Horner won two Oscars for Titanic; one for the score and one for the song, which went
to the top of the pop charts.
One reason for listeners to feel mesmerised is the electric piano phrase
that runs through the first few bars, which is repetitive but not
Fig.11 Audio ‘Rose – A Promise Kept’ monotonous; the phrase is physically static from bar to bar but as the
chordal accompaniment goes down, so the intervallic value of the
arpegiated motif gores correspondingly up.
9 5 9 5 4
7 3 8 4 8 4 5 4 8 8 4
3 7 3 4
No 3rd No 3rd
Similar to parts of ‘Back to Titanic’ we have the first F note of the vocal phrase accompanied by a sparse
arpegiated harmonic accompaniment with no thirds, making it sound empty and barren. Then we have the
quintessential harmonic tensions created when we have the sus4 and the 3rd together at the same time.
To the right we have a graphic to demonstrate the

physicality of contrary motion. This is something
we’ve looked at regularly in a number of pieces in
subtly different contexts.
To the left I have attempted to

Dm demonstrate in slightly more detail
C C just how and why the electric piano
Bb line is so effective. As we can see
the chords move downwards and
then upward, the physical notes
remain the same but the intervals
5 created by the notes in relation to the
4 9 9 4 chords moves upward and then
8 8 5 5 8 8
3 downward. The line remains the
4 4 same but the accompanying chords
7 7 4 4
3 3 and the intervals contrast each other
beautifully, almost as if the harmony
is breathing in and out
DR ZHIVAGO (Maurice Jarre)

Doctor Zhivago is a British 1965 drama–romance film directed by David Lean, starring Omar Sharif and Julie
Christie. It is one of the most famous and watched films ever made. It tells the story of the Russian Revolution
through the narrative device of several characters designed to embody elements of the revolution.
The film is seen through the eyes of poet/physician Yuri Zhivago, who is married to Tonya but carries on an
affair with Lara, who has been raped by ruthless politician Komarovsky. Meanwhile, Zhivago’s half-brother
Yevgraf and the ruthless revenge-seeking Strelnikoff represent the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ elements of the Bolshevik
revolution. Composer Maurice Jarre received an Academy Award for the distinct and memorable music. Like
many films that are referred to as iconic, music plays an enormous and pivotal role both in helping the film
breathe emotionally but also in terms of creating a musical dimension for the film which can be listened to and
enjoyed separately from the film. If you watch the film you cannot fail to be moved emotionally, but the music
is what emotion sounds like.
While working on the soundtrack for Doctor Zhivago, Maurice Jarre was asked by director David Lean to come
up with a theme for the character of Lara. Initially Lean wanted to use a well-known Russian song but could not
locate the rights to it, and delegated responsibility to Jarre. The resultant piece was ‘Lara's Theme’ and Lean
liked it well enough to use it in numerous tracks for the film. In editing Zhivago, Lean reduced or deleted many
of the themes composed by Jarre, who was angry because he felt that an over-reliance on ‘Lara’s Theme’ would
ruin the soundtrack. Jarre’s aesthetic fears proved unfounded commercially; the theme became an instant
success and gained fame throughout the world.
The question is, how does the piece communicate? How does it ‘speak’? Are there any textures or harmonies
that define it? Is it defined by its structure? The music fort this film had a life of its own and its composer, a
young and inexperienced Maurice Jarre, won fame through it. Below is the theme he wrote, which became an
international hit and is known and played widely now, 58 years later.
Fig.12 Audio - ‘Theme from Dr Zhivago
m6
A Oct
F m6
E 5th
The richness of the key change exaggerates the ‘tune’
Maurice Jarre’s moving and sweeping score is extremely effective but the memorable love theme, Lara’s
Theme, is a constant reference point throughout the film. The style and character of the piece is instrumentally,
texturally and harmonically overt, with its eastern European feel, 3/4 time, sleigh bell percussive
accompaniment and Balalaika. These things create within the listener an instant feel of Russia and of history.
The lilting Harp line which begins on bar one and runs for much of the piece is much more than a textural and
physical attraction; the top of the line is the min6. This, together with the high string voicing (A, F and E) blurs
the line between an Am and an F chord; essentially this is a fusion between the two, which helps create tension
and helps the piece forge an identity. The identity has more than a whiff of the surreptitious, the furtive and the
clandestine. It is no accident that the same interval (min6) played a part in the harmony of Bond music.
There are, however, other factors which make the main tune so loved. The section everyone remembers is the
part where it moves into Amajor. When you listen to a little or all of the preamble leading up to the key change,
there is a tremendous release of emotion when the new section arrives. There is a rush of colour which suddenly
enters the music. How and why does this happen? It’s not as if the section at A is louder or fuller; in fact it is the
opposite. It creates a massive sense of both relief and enjoyment when the key change happens, so it has to be
the key change that does it. But we still need to know why. Hearing music is a linear, sequential experience but
‘listening’ is a cumulative experience. Music is rarely about ‘now’ – it is about the relationship between ‘then’
and ‘now’. What happens in each specific bar could be regarded merely as information, but what happens when
the various bits of information exchange with each other and how our responses react to the outcome and
consequence of those changes is what really matters. This is when sound becomes music; this is when
information becomes emotion. I have stated before that in essence ‘music’ happens in the changes. Harmony
means nothing without context. The context is the change, the alteration, the reaction.
So looking at the success of Lara’s Theme, it’s interesting to note that one of the reasons for the success of the
Amajor section of the main theme is that it is the perfect antidote to what came earlier. The subdued and
restrained Am section finally gives way to the key change into Amajor which sounds happy and unrestrained.
Our understanding of music is framed by what came before and our anticipation of what might come next.
Fig.13
Preparation becomes more overt
If we now look again at the Amaj section itself (transcribed separately below) we can see it plays with the
distinction between minor and major, which adds to the context; first we have the Harp line (which arpegiates
through a sequence that includes C and C# (min3 and maj3). Then the clarinet line features the C and C#
together, although as straight quavers, not triplet quavers, further muddying the harmonic waters. The ‘tune’
itself is heavily emotional; the phase begins on the romantic and colourful maj3rd and heads towards the maj3rd
an octave above, via the 5th (E) and the C natural, a semitone below the high 3rd. The other thing to remember is
the powerful and well known 6th interval between the E and the C. And as if all that wasn’t enough we have the
very faint whiff of a C chord, created by the aforementioned E and C.
5th min3rd
Fig.14
maj3rd
maj3rd
THE ELEPHANT MAN (John Morris)

The Elephant Man is a 1980 drama film based on the true story of Joseph Merrick. Merrick was a severely
deformed man in 19th century London. The screenplay was adapted from the books The Elephant Man and
Other Reminiscences (1923) and The Elephant Man: A Study in Human Dignity (1971). It was shot in black-
and-white. The film depicted the time period in which the real Elephant Man lived (1862 – 1890).
Being filmed in black and white was said by many to have added to the over-all dramatic effect of the film. The
film was a critical and commercial success. It was nominated for eight Academy Awards. The story involves a
Victorian surgeon who rescues a heavily disfigured man who is mistreated while working in a freak show. But
behind his monstrous façade a person of intelligence and sensitivity lives. Merrick is an intelligent and friendly
man, but he is hated and mistrusted by Victorian-era English society because he is severely deformed. Once he
is discovered by a doctor, however, he is saved from his life in a freak show and he is treated like the human
being that he really is.
The music provides a deep, reflective, emotional mood in parts of the film which succeeds in the way all great
film music does; it becomes part of the fabric of the film. Some referred to the opening section as ‘exquisite’
and ‘tragic’. There is definitely a tragic, heartrending sadness to the piece but it also sounds haunting and
ghostly to listen to. These emotions perfectly match the film and the story itself. Morris’s music perfectly
underscores the bittersweet and poignant aspects of the story. Texturally the use of Celeste and tuned percussion
is borrowed from composers such as Bartok to instil feelings of wonderment, fear and ‘things out of this world’.
Such approaches were used successfully in films such as Edward Scissorhands. 19th century London is captured
by the carousel-like 3/4 rhythm and corresponding textures. The child-like rhythmic simplicity of the lines in the
music is juxtaposed by the harmony they create and the instrumentation, which gives it an apprehensive edge.
Fig.15 Film beginning Audio - ‘Main Title’ (03.28)
Most of the lead lines are extensions to the chord of Cm. Each has a different specific flavour. It is the
cumulative effect of these ‘flavours’ colliding that create the slightly eerie and unsettling vibe, along with the
distinct textures of the instrumentation. Below, in red, I have notated how the extensions relate to the root of the
chord (the relationship that gives the chord symbol its name). We are used to evaluating a chord’s name and
description by virtue of the interval between the root and the extension (i.e. 6th, 7th, maj7th, 9th, #9th, b10th, #11th,
13th). But how the extensions relate and react to the 3rd of the chord is another gauge that gives the chord symbol
part of its character. How the 3rd relates to the extension is important. Below I have put these intervals in blue.
In addition I have placed boxes around the chords which feature an odd extension interval and an equally odd
interval between the extension and the 3rd. This partly explains the slightly ‘twisted’ feel the melody has.
Fig.16
Oct maj7 Oct maj7 maj7
7 7 7
maj6 maj6 min6 5
maj6th #5 maj6th #5 5 #5 5 #4 5 #4 4 maj3

As I said earlier, each of the lead lines are extensions to the chord of Cm. Each has a different specific flavour. It
is the cumulative effect of these ‘flavours’ colliding that create the slightly eerie and unsettling vibe, along with
the distinct textures of the instrumentation. Below I have transcribed the lead line and above specific types of
intervals I have placed fairly crude emblems/icons to indicate the style/character of the interval.
The maj7 over a minor chord creates a distinctively furtive, surreptitious James Bond feel. The 7th is a loose,
relaxing pop chord. The maj6 over a minor chord creates a precise feel due to the #4 relationship between the
min3rd and the maj6th. I have placed TV character Poirot over this interval. The chord has a very overt, striking
and almost Thespian feel to it; a little furtive but not as striking as the Bond chord. Finally the min6th over the C
creates a very distinctive and dramatic film interval. I have placed the Batman logo over the top.
Fig.17
The next part of the main theme is transcribed below. The chords are created horizontally via an arpegiated Harp
line on the bottom stave. As we have discussed before, this is a subtle and less direct way of distributing
harmony which in this case creates a consistent ‘lilting’ characteristic. Added colour is created by virtue of the
consistent add2 in the Harp.
Fig.18 Movie – 00.01.17 Audio - ‘Main Title’
2nd
The move from minor chord to major chord a tone

above is a well-known film music trick to instill
drama
The move from minor chord to major chord a tone above is a well-known film music trick to instill drama. The D arpegiated
harmony (bars ten-eleven) also has the Eb (min2) to make the link between the Cm and D more colourful. Transcribed below
is a section of the famous Batman motif by Danny Elfman, which uses the same trick.
Fig.18
THE KILLING FIELDS (Mike Oldfield)

The Killing Fields is a 1984 British drama film about the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia, which is based on
the experiences of two journalists: Cambodian Dith Pran and American Sydney Schanberg. Schanberg was a
reporter for the New York Times whose coverage of the Cambodian War would win him a Pulitzer Prize for
international reporting. Dith Pran, the man who made it possible, was left in Cambodia in great danger. This is a
tragic but uplifting story of triumph over adversity; a story of war and friendship.
The key issue regarding the music is how the theme distils the film’s narrative. What does music do that words
and pictures don’t and can’t? The music is melancholy, sorrowful and contemplative, but also serene and
hopeful. As I have stated before, the truly wonderful thing about music is that it can be all these things without
being direct; words communicate instantly and pictures mostly do. This is essentially because we understand
them. We don’t have to think too hard to unravel the meaning. But music manages to transmit a sense of
emotion and meaning despite listeners usually having no absolute understanding of how or why. Listeners may
have a surface level grasp of textures but their only method of converting what they hear into emotion is aurally.
This lack of visual context and cognition is crucial; it is what keeps music elusive, ephemeral and evanescent.
Clearly the soft textures of the strings, with the lead so high, are crucial to creating such an intimate and
emotional sound, almost as if the piece is crying.
The contours of the lead line are smooth with a sense of purpose and direction. Occasionally there is the odd
colourful extension, such as the exquisite high 7th over the Em chord. In addition we have the occasional
incomplete harmonies that start each phrase off, which; this creates a bare, uncertain feel. This piece distils the
emotion of the film brilliantly well because it articulates sadness and hope through texture and harmony.
Fig.18 Movie – 00.34.50 Audio - ‘Pran’s Theme’

Chapter 7
IN SPACE EVERYONE CAN HEAR THE CHORD CHANGES (part 2)
This chapter carries on from ‘In Space Everyone can hear the Chord Changes’ (chapter 5, vol. 2). We continue
to examine how music for ‘space movies’ works, looking closely at stylisation, instrumentation, orchestration
and production. We also look closely at the relationship between music and the narrative structure of the films.
We look at how music succeeds in telling the stories.
The films and music examined are: Gravity (Stephen Price) Avatar (James Horner) Man of Steel (Hans Zimmer)
Alien (Jerry Goldsmith) Armageddon (Trevor Rabin) Prometheus (Marc Streitenfeld) Solaris (Cliff Martinez)
Deep Impact (James Horner) Sunshine (John Murphy)
GRAVITY (Stephen Price)

Gravity was directed, co-written, co-produced and co-edited by Alfonso Cuarón. It stars Sandra Bullock and
George Clooney as astronauts involved in the destruction of a space shuttle and shows their attempt to return to
Earth. Composer Stephen Price, talking to Rolling Stone Magazine, said “we used lots of elements and a lot of
layering so that things would move around you all the time.” This is one of the reasons the music’s ‘function’
was markedly different from many other films set in space; some of the music was quite texturally and
harmonically dense and harmonically unspecific. Gone were the larger-than-life, overt themes and distinct sci-fi
harmonies. This score is not so much about themes but is instead a tapestry of evolving music which is possibly
more a product of its ‘sound’. Music is not neccasarily used to italicise a specific moment (although this does
happen) but to offer gently suggestive moods which convey feelings of suspense, anxiety, warmth, romance,
right through to terror.
Price said “The writing of those elements was always influenced by what Ryan [Dr Stone, played by Sandra
Bullock] was feeling and where she was emotionally in the whole thing.” This is an interesting point because
often in the various volumes of this book we have spoken about music having a harmonic ‘centre of gravity’.
Invariably this happens in most pieces of music and indeed it sometimes can apply across an entire film. But, as
Price alludes to, films sometimes have a narrative centre of gravity; it might be a particular event or scene, or, as
in this case, a character for which most of the music relates to. Price went on to say that music might change
subtly depending on “where the camera was, where things were moving and what point of view the camera was
facing, whether it was looking at them or kind of looking through their eyes.” So although the music changed, it
was reacting through the character of Ryan.
Talking about how to score fear, Price said “Fear is one of those really primal emotions [in] which you don’t
want to have incredibly exciting modulations and complex harmonies and all that kind of stuff.” This approach
definitely works for Gravity but can’t be seen to be indicative of all movies. Often abject terror or fear has to be
harmonically ‘painted in’ forensically by colouring chords with specific extensions, voicings or instrumentation.
There is a famous scene in Exorcist III (the ‘nurse’s station’ scene) where a nurse on duty late at night on a
hospital ward looks inside a room, checks it is empty, closes the door, locks it and begins to walk away. As she
walks away the camera rapidly pans toward her and we see a huge cloaked figure behind her clutching a giant
pair of secateurs. Perhaps not surprisingly, given the film, he uses them to decapitate the woman (something we
don’t actually see but instead imagine - which in a way is worse). The point is that during that final moment
there is a loud, dissonant, chord played. It sounds calamitous, primeval but without it the scene is less emphatic
and a lot less scary.
Returning to Gravity, the questions we ask are to do with the music’s ‘function’: how does the music work, why
is it there, what does it do that words and images alone can’t do, how does it make you feel and how does it
bring the film closer to you? How does it do all these things? Is it through melody, texture, orchestration,
harmony, production? Lets’ begin at the beginning and look at the first track, which is used during the movie’s
opening sequence.
Fig.1 Movie opener Audio – ‘Above Earth’ – 00.11
n.c
00.50
Starting with the obvious stuff, we have the textural and harmonic drama of the consistent double octave figure
which comes three times underneath a more ‘dreamy’ top line. This cue is harmonically minimal in that we
don’t have whole chords being stated; but we do have extensions such as the 9th (bar two-three) and the 11th (bar
four). This effect, caused by using extensions without the normal accompanying contextual harmony, is
something we’ve come across before. It is an effective compositional tool which can draw the listener in; robbed
of the usual contextual harmonic surrounding terrain, the listener’s curiosity unconsciously searches the chord
for its identity. Thus the effect of extensions without some of the usual context can be greater than when we
actually have the usual harmony present (3rds, 5ths etc). In addition to this, is there an emotional hit point; an
emotional / harmonic centre of gravity in this cue? We often find such things not, as one might imagine, in the
strangest of places, but quite the reverse; embedded in a perfectly normal-sounding sequences. Take a look at
bar eight-nine which contains Gm to Bb. This minor-to-major chord manouvre can be hugely uplifting but
comparatively rare. Hundreds of thousands of pieces begin on major-to-relative-minor sequences; the sequence
has been permanently grafted onto the collective consciousness of most listeners since the dawn of orchestral
music and subsequently pop music. But the sequence in reverse is not nearly as popular and yet can offer a sense
of mild euphoria and freshness. Whereas Bb to Gm sounds as if it is a natural, predictable sequence, the Gm to
Bb doesn’t. Hans Zimmer uses the sequence in Angels & Demons and The Da Vinci Code to great effect.
Fig.2 Angels & Demons movie opener Audio – ‘God Particle’
Fresh and uplifting

Fig.3 The Da Vinci Code – 02.41.54 Audio – ‘The Da Vinci Code’
Fresh and uplifting
At 00.08.16 into Gravity, well before disaster strikes and as he glances toward the serene and silent view of the
earth from space, astronaut Matt Kowalski says to Dr Stone “You got to admit one thing; can’t beat the view.”
In order to accentuate ‘the view’, ‘the music’ kicks in. It is an exceptional view but in a film context it needs the
music to make people realise and acknowledge that it is an exceptional view. This is music’s great gift; it can
accentuate a point brilliantly because it does so in a way that is not literal. No words or extra images, just
something that communicates emotion without being understood. So, the ‘function’ of the music is to make the
whole scene more poignant and memorable; the link between the obvious drama of the image and the just-as-
obvious-but-less-understood emotion in the music becomes synchronised in the mind of the viewer. How does
it do it?
Fig.4 Movie 00.08.16 Audio – Above Earth 00.50
G= G = 1st Bb = 3rd Bb = 1st

3rd
D = 5th D = 3rd
Bb =1st
Bb and G Bb and G
= 5th & = 3rd & 1st
The section of ‘Above Earth’ where Clooney’s character stares at the earth comes around fifty seconds into the
track. The chords are slow, meandering and deliberate. The power of the chords is, as always, in the changes,
the manoeuvres, the reactions; but with this piece being so slow and ponderous and with the sounds being so
soft and unobtrusive, the sonorities between the different harmonies glide over us like a soft blanket. They do
not appear suddenly like most chords; they materialise. As in another movie we looked at (The Impossible) the
music manages to make the Eb to Gm sound a whole lot lovelier than it normally sounds because the slowness
makes us hear the intervallic changes more (detailed on transcription). With this kind of music we are listening
primarily to the intervals, especially when the textures are so dreamy and nebulous.
As stated earlier this track also features the uplifting manouvre from minor to relative majo (bar three to six –
Gm to Bb).
In the cue ‘Don’t let go’ (fig.5) there is one moment where the movie’s centre of gravity (the character Dr Ryan
Stone) and the music touch each other gently; the change in the music alone is nothing without Stone hesitating
and saying, “I had a daughter.” and equally the statement alone is a little dry without the music; the music
italicises the moment like words and pictures cannot. As we have discussed at length elsewhere in these books,
music manages to paint a different description of emotion than words and pictures do. This is in part because it
is less understood than pictures and words, both of which tend to communicate quickly and emphatically to
most people. They can be subtle but they cannot help but be understood fairly easily.
Music is only heard by viewers; it is rarely seen or read and understood literally. It lacks the emphatic
communicative qualities of language or of vision. But this is its great strength, because it means that emotions,
carefully sculptured and crafted by composers, manage to ‘hit the spot’ emotionally without viewers often
understanding how it has happened. The communication is effortless but perplexing. It is not perhaps as
immediately emphatic as words or pictures but is it more powerful and pliable because we’re not completely
able to understand. This means that music isn’t as ‘immediately forensic’ as dialogue or picture in terms of what
it imparts to the viewer but it means that the effect can often be more poignant, emotional and tender. The E
chord at bar six becomes subtly fuller and sonically warmer and deeper, texturally and harmonically. Again, this
simple evolution of the piece, at such a crucial time narratively, serves the film well.
Fig.5 Movie – 00.26.13 Audio – ‘Don’t let go’ 00.38
th
maj6th and maj 7 in same chord
Ryan: “I had a daughter”
Moving now to the purely harmonic factors, it is interesting the observe that the change from the first G#m
chord to the E/G# chord is quite crucial to the way the sequence ‘sounds’ whilst being created by the physical
movement of only one note (the D# moving up to the E note).
Fig.6a The effect is frequently more subtle, restrained Fig.6b maj 7th
and delicate if something so texturally ‘dreamy’
5 th maj 7th 5 th
moves intervallically rather than physically. We 5th
enjoy the experience of something which appears maj 3rd
min 3rd 5th min 3 rd
maj 3rd to have changed and altered when in fact only 1st
( 1st )
1st
5th 1st
one note has changed its pitch. To the right ( 5th )
(fig.6b) shows in bold the note which changes
physically. This physical change of one note re-
3rd
orientates the intervallic context of the remaining
3rd notes. We ‘feel’ this change; the subtle change in
1st the harmonies is something which, whilst not 1st
being obvious, is nevertheless pivotal in how the
Interval moves but not actual pitch
music communicates.
Interval and pitch moves

th
In bars four and five we have maj6th and maj 7 intervals in same chord which is a little odd. One way we
interpret intervals and extensions is by hearing the character they convey. Because we listen in uniform ways we
gain roughly the same sensations from extensions. The maj6th interval traditionally fulfils a different emotional
function to the maj7th. They rarely appear in the same chord together. The maj7’s ‘character’ relies on vertical
space between it and the other intervals (particularly the gap between it and the root and it and the 3rd). Similarly
the maj6th relies on the unique dynamic between it and the rest of the notes in a chord. The two together create a
slightly muddled and indistinct sense of character. In bar four the top D# (maj7) clashes faintly with the 6th (C#)
a 9th below, but in bar five the clash is more overt with the two being on the top of the chord and a tone apart.
The final cue to look at is titled ‘Shenzou’ and comes toward the end of the movie as Ryan begins to make her
descent into the earth’s atmosphere in the Russian spacecraft. Described as euphoric and uplifting, the piece
runs for quite some time although essentially it is the same phrase repeating. It is dramatic and climactic but
there is also a cyclical, meandering character to it, with a lack of conclusion to the phrasing within the cue. In
context of the whole cue, the phrases repeat, but because of the clever way in which it is constructed we don’t
really hear the actual point at which it repeats. The phrase doesn’t ‘tie-up’ in the same way something this
melodic would normally do.
The whole harmonic and melodic contour in this piece is sixteen bars long (but not divided up into smaller four
or eight-bar mini-phrases); normally within a sixteen-bar phrase there would be smaller repeated sections
(identical chord sequences or melodic lines).Any sixteen-bar phrase in a song that is ‘written through’ may have
problems being quickly rationalised and remembered. But of course film music is not song. There are times
when you want a musical presence which creates an emotional response but not one which intrudes and is
remembered for all the wrong reasons – as a distraction. So sometimes a more meandering phrase without some
of the archetypal ‘road signs’ is what’s required. In ‘Shenzou’ we don’t emphatically recognise phrasing
beginning or concluding, even though we are aware of hearing the same chord changes more than once over the
entire length of the cue itself. If we contextualise the phrase as beginning properly at bar three (of fig.7) below,
and concluding at the end of bar eighteen, this gives us a mathematically neat sixteen-bar phrase; but within that
phrase the piece doesn’t repeat anything; so, unlike most sixteen-bar phrases there are no convenient road signs
along the way. This is how the piece manages to be meandering and hypnotic without seeming to become boring
and repetitive.
Fig.7 Movie – 01.15.44 Audio – ‘Shenzou’ 01.25

MAN OF STEEL (Hans Zimmer)
Man of Steel is based on the back story to the superhero Superman. It was co-produced by Legendary Pictures
and Syncopy Films and was distributed by Warner Bros. I specifically mention this because these three
corporate logos are crafted into the movie/music intro in quite an effective and overt way.The movie was a
commercial success but a critical failure; a common complaint among critics is in reference to the amount of
CGI in the film. Some made comparisons to Michael Bay’s Transformers. One wonders what exactly critics
thought they would see when walking into a cinema to watch Superman. The special effects are stunning
throughout the film; a movie such as this is in many ways bound to be contextualised by CGI. Other critics
tended to romanticise the past versions of Superman, in which case their point appears to be not that Man of
Steel was bad, just that it shouldn’t have been made.
Critics aside, normal audiences enjoyed the movie; some spoke of being ‘overwhelmed’ by the sonic and audio
spectacle which graced the beginning of this film. This is no surprise to Hans Zimmer because this is what he
planned when he wrote the music. Most of the first few bars of this cue play out over a sequence of graphics;
firstly we have the ‘Warner Brothers’ card, then the ‘Legendary’ card, then the DC Comics card and then the
‘Syncopy’ card. The first actual live-action shot comes just prior to the main theme at bar eleven. I have taken
the unusual step of superimposing still-shots of the opening sequencing, alongside timings and above the
relevant bars in the music.
Fig.8 Movie opener Audio – ‘Look to the Stars’

00.00.08 00.00.22 00.00.37
Not strictly in tempo
The piece begins with a cluster chord… The chord is quite harmonically dense and ambiguous, which tends to draw out the melodic bass line.
00.00.50 00.01.00
The first live shot comes prior to the melody-
proper starting on bar eleven. The melody is
‘double-octaved’, shared between the top line
and the lower stave, two octaves lower
00.01.22
As Russell Crowe’s character looks toward his wife, we

hit the F chord, which adds a sense of ‘completion’
The first ‘difficult’ chord; the relative simplicity

00.01.43 of the chord symbol name belied the deliberate
tensions Zimmer places in the chord thanks to the
strange voicing; firstly there is a maj7 between
the C and B on the top stave and an identical
voicing on the bottom voicing between the octave
Cs and the B above
00.01.47 00.01.53
At bar twenty five Zimmer

does what he has done a
thousand times before to great
effect; he goes somewhere you
simply don’t expect, by
moving to the Ab/C, where the
C melody note now becomes
the maj3 of the Ab chord.
Then we have what is a dramatic, out-of-key-centre, chord shift from the Ab down to the F chord, where the C
becomes the 5th, then back to the Ab chord, this time dramatised and italicised by virtue of the inverted Eb.
Before we look more at the cluster harmonies Zimmer uses in this piece, let’s just take a minute to observe how
Zimmer regularly extracts excitement and colour by using the ‘road less travelled’. With Zimmer, as we have
said before in previous volumes, expect the unexpected. It is this fundamental ability (to recognise what people
expect and then give them something which is different but exciting) that so characterises his music, giving a
sense of imagination and evolution. Take a look at the following excerpt, which is abbreviated from a sequence
from Pearl Harbour
Fig.9 Audio, ‘I will come back’ 00.29
What chord will follow

….Zimmer goes for the wonderfully anti-climactic Dm the D? Gm?
which offers a soothing but sombre feel
We expect a resolution
to Gm, but…..
The move from the Am to Ab is

slightly similar to his move to Ab
in ‘Look to the Stars’
One of Hans Zimmer’s defining characteristics is on the one hand to immerse us in cotton-wool orchestration
and dense but soft textures, but on the other hand to take ‘the road less travelled’. This next example, taken from
Vo1.1 is from the title track to The Rock. The Asus4 and A chords in bar seven we subconsciously expect to
resolve to Dm. Arguably one of the biggest elements of how we listen to music is ‘expectation’. Music is an
aural journey that listeners go on, and like any journey, getting lost or going somewhere we didn’t expect isn’t
normally part of the deal. But if we were to be surprised by something along the way – something we didn’t
expect but something that was a ‘nice surprise’ – this can be a pleasant experience. Instead of resolving to the
Dm he goes not to some radical alternative but instead to the Bb/D; this means the melody line remains as we
would have expected and so does the bass. What physically changes is one note in the chord; what would have
been the A note of a Dm chord has been changed to a Bb, rendering the collective experience a Bb/D (meaning
the Ds are now 3rds and the F is the 5th).
Fig.10 Movie – 00.00.36 Audio: Hummel Gets the Rockets - 00.22
The excerpt below is taken from Crimson Tide and, as with bars seven and eight of The Rock
Fig.11 Audio – ‘Roll Tide’

features the same harmonic approach in bars nine and ten; expect the unexpected.
Returning to Man of Steel, if we begin to unpick the harmonies we find some imaginative, colourful and abstract
writing. One only has to glance at the chord symbols to see that this is anything but normal. Because it is
delivered with the velvet touch of dreamy textures we can be forgiven for thinking that its function is almost as
an aural, sonic effect rather than as music which has tangible harmonic flavours. But, as always, never
underestimate the collective power of harmony. Focussing on the chord on the middle, stave which runs
throughout the first section of the piece, it is interesting to note that the chord is actually several chords. Look
and you will find an Fmaj7. Then you’ll find a G chord. Then you’ll find a C chord. Then you’ll find an Am
chord. The collective name is in bar five (fig.12).
Fig.12
As you read through the ‘Look to the Stars’ cue again, you’ll see these individual ‘tributary’ chords cropping up
in the bottom stave voicing, underneath the cluster chord.
Fig.13
Possibly we hear this as an Am

The point is that Zimmer writes a piece which covers several ‘normal’ chords and then writes an accompanying
chord in the middle, using ‘dreamy’ textures which itself is an amalgam of all the other chords. Clever stuff.
ALIEN (Jerry Goldsmith)
Alien is a 1979 science fiction film directed by Ridley Scott. The lead character is a creature that stalks and kills
nearly the entire crew of a spaceship. Alien was and still is quite different from most alien movies in that it
offers a subtle, cold, desolate environment rather than the formulaic Hollywood sheen – the razzmatazz, the glitz
and the spectacle. It is a slow, plodding, brooding, dark film but one which completely captured the imagination
of people who watched it. If Star Wars was the big commercial success and Close Encounters was an art-house
film, what was Alien? Alien was essentially a film about a working-class crew on board a spaceship; people
argued about bonuses, people smoked, we see the cold, inhospitable inner workings of the vessel. The film
doesn’t try and glorify’ Space’ or turn characters into heroes. Ridley Scott wanted to exploit the effect not of
what you see, but what you fear you might see. The terror is not the Alien; it is the thought of it, the fear of it.
The score for Alien was composed by Jerry Goldsmith and orchestrated by Arthur Morton. Goldsmith created an
orchestral score featuring elements of romanticism but including harmonic tension and dissonance. The
suspense and fear of Scott’s film owes much of its emotion to the distinctive and communicative music of
Goldsmith. Ridley Scott described Goldsmith’s music as “seriously threatening but beautiful”. In volume II we
looked at the beautiful but also bleak introductory theme, featuring trumpet. The brief example below features
the prelude to that theme; so purely in context of this chapter we ask ourselves, is there a distinct harmonic
signature, even within the first few bars?
Fig.14 Audio – ‘Main Title’
Looking and listening to the first few bars it is perhaps not easy to see or hear a harmonic identity once the
triplet quavers begin, such is the pace of the piece. The glissandos are effective but, again, they possibly prevent
us from recognising aurally what, if any, harmonic devices guide this piece. In fact not only does this cue rely
on a specific harmonic flavour, it does so in virtually every section of the intro. Firstly we’ll look at the initial
chord in bars one to four: when listening to this chord in the track itself, it definitely conjures up difficult and
disturbing emotions, but it is subtle too, thanks to the velvet textures of the strings.
The question is why is it scary? The harmony is complex and obviously confounds and confuses listeners. We
find it difficult to process and categorise. But there is more; this is not just uncomfortable dissonance. Like other
examples we’ve looked at, the dissonance here is forensically planned and executed. There is method and
deliberation. Look at the chord from the top down and you begin to appreciate the different layers of harmony
conveyed by the notes.
The examples below (fig.15) are of the chord at various stages of assembly. The first shows only the top stave,
the second shows four notes from the top, down; the third shows all of the chord barring the bottom note and the
fourth examples shows the complete chord. It is of course true that we can’t independently hear only these
individual examples when we hear the whole chord; we don’t have the aural or cognitive ability to syphon off
part of a chord and somehow simply ignore the rest. But what is true is that the fact that the smaller chords
separately ‘stack up’ and ‘make sense’ does play a part when, as listeners, we subconsciously attempt (as we
always do, mostly without realising) to rationalise the whole chord. This chord is slow, deliberate and lasts for
four long bars. Listeners have plenty of time to subconsciously ponder the notes and attempt to stack them into
some kind of order. They never will, but the cognitive ‘event’ of hearing and hearing is one in which we perhaps
hear the various fragments as I have laid them out below.
What we hear isn’t rampant dissonance; it is one chord played alongside another chord, all of which have
common notes whose intervallic context alters depending on how we hear them. Most listeners are, on a surface
level, oblivious to any kind of intervallic context, but of course this doesn’t mean that the intervals don’t exist
and nor does it mean that the intervals aren’t having their desired effect on the listener whether the listener is
aware or not. These things, like most things in life, don’t stop happening or stop doing what they’re designed to
do just because people don’t understand them. In music, happily, you don’t neccasarily need to ‘know’ to get the
benefit of the effect or the pleasure it brings. If you are an aspiring film composer arguably you do need to
know.
Fig.15 1
The added
Played from The G# at the low C on
the top down, 7th This time, if 3rd 9th
Oct bottom re- we read the basses leak
the first three Oct #11 3rd
9th orientates the notated G# as through into
notes form a 9th #5 #11
3rd notes on top. an Ab we the chord
Dadd9 (minus This time we when you
the A; the 5th). have what 7th #5
have an E9 amounts to a listen to the
It is possible 3rd 7th
chord with the Bb7 with a #5 final version
that we hear 1 st
1st
7th on top and (F#) and a #13 and there is
the D and the the 9th being some sonic
F# as the (E)
the F#. This is dissonance
octave and the how we ‘hear’ between the
maj 3rd this chord low C and the
Bb above
If we now check out the harmonies in the triplet quavers we can see that each and every entry is made up of a #4
followed by a 5th. This mixture of the specific flavour of augmentation along with the sterile squareness of the
5th gives the run some real character. Another piece of extra peripheral tension is the fact that the interval
between the first and third note of each triplet run is itself a maj7.
#4
Fig.16 5
#4
5
#4 #4
5 5 #4
#4 5
5
5
#4
#4 5
9th
#4 5
#4 5
#4 5
th rd
10 (3 )
#4 5
#5th
#4 5
#4 5
5
#4 5 5
7th #4 #4
1st
Focussing now on the last three bars of the transcription, we have a tuned percussion G chord over the double
octave Cs, followed by the exquisite and delicious but ultimately haunting dissonance of a first inversion C#m
chord over the octave Cs, followed by the release of the final C chord. The real powerhouse of that entire three
chord trick is the G to C#m, which is a slight variation of the more usual G to C# chord trick, which, being a #4
apart, is a regular when it comes to science fiction, specifically ‘space’ films.
ARMAGEDDON (Trevor Rabin)
Armageddon is a 1998 science fiction film. The film follows a group of deep-core drillers sent by NASA to stop
a gigantic asteroid from colliding with Earth. It became the highest-grossing film of 1998 worldwide surpassing
the Steven Spielberg war epic, Saving Private Ryan. As with Man of Steel the title track begins over a series of
corporate logos; firstly ‘Touchstone Pictures’ followed by ‘Jerry Bruckheimer Films’. I mention this because the
title track opening chords build gradually to accommodate the logos; halfway through bar three the strings /
synths move from the Bm to the G/B, followed by the addition of the 7th and 4th to inject some ambiguity, before
the sequence resolves and settles on the G chord (bar five) as we hit another logo – ‘Valhalla Pictures’. The
aforementioned 4th and 7th offer a little whiff of ‘squareness’ into the chord (also the 4th and 7th – E and A) give
the chord an ‘A chord feel’ alongside the actual Bm feel.
What could be termed the ‘romantic theme’ of the film comes on bar six. This is definitely the centre of gravity
for the score; the idea is repeated many times during the film to great effect. It is heroic and majestic but also
has more than a whiff of melancholy in it. Although we haven’t seen the movie at this point, we know what it is
about; we can be in little doubt as to what is going to happen. Therefore at this point the piece could be said to
be ‘nice’ but also portentous. This is one of the many skills good composers have; the ability to place two
conflicting emotions into the same piece. Although we can do this with language and pictures, as I have said
before, music is the only thing able to convey the blissful effect of realisation without comprehension. Film
music’s great ‘ace card’ is its ability to deliver emotion without the reason for it being understood or in some
cases, even realised.
Fig.17 Movie opener Audio - Main Title

4th 7th 1
Resolution
The whole chord

changes simply
through one note
physically changing
The phrase begins properly on bar six. Bar seven of that melodic phrase
‘doubles’ as the start of a new phrase, which avoids the ‘normality’ of
conventional structure, where we politely wait for one phrase to end and the
next to begin
The same motif comes notably fifty-four minutes into the film. It would pay us to investigate the structure and
the harmonies here and try and establish why it is such a convincing theme. This is not a theme that ‘surprises’
or confounds the expectations. The trick here is to deliver an effortlessly simple message in a way which
italicises all the right bits along the way.
Fig.18 Movie 00.54.06 Audio - ‘Animal Cracker’
With something this simple what matters is that crucial points in the
The interesting thing about great moments in music, if they
piece are delivered right.
are written, manipulated and delivered properly, is that they rd rd
can be anticipated. By the time the Am comes, we wait for The 3 is a romantic, colourful interval. Impaling the melody on the 3
the Bb with anticipation means nobody will miss it ( )
The rich voicing of the Bb and C chords

which puts the 3rd in the middle of the chord
2nd time around the listener sees every one

of these notes coming. The 3rds make them
expressive and romantic in flavour and the
instrumentation delivers the colour
Another interesting track on the album which is used a few times in the film is ‘Russian hero’, which makes its
first entry in the movie at 00.25.40, when hero oil driller Harry Stamper walk into a aircraft hangar to view
equipment the government intends to use to drill down into an asteroid that threatens the earth.
Fig.19 Movie – 00.25.41 Audio - ‘Russian hero’ -
The piece needs the release valve of the

1 3/4 bars to accommodate the phrase
The phrase has a jagged anticipatory feel to it, which makes it sound dramatic. Why? - because each group of
semiquavers / quavers becomes a motif on its own, semi-detached from the whole phrase, like bullets out of a gun.
We feel the rhythm of the phrase but not neccasarily the overall structure, which means that it retains the element of
surprise and never ‘settles’.
The piece needs the release

valve of the 3/4 bars to
accommodate the phrase
I have deliberately picked a relatively obscure part of a cue next to try and show how great scoring can
sometimes hide away within a film score relatively unnoticed until you actually look at the emotions created by
the music and how they serve the film intensely and with forensic accuracy. A section toward the end of the
movie comes during the calamitous and disastrous situation on the asteroid’s surface, which sees Harry and his
team fighting against all the odds to drill down and lay the explosives which will tear the asteroid apart and
render it harmless for the planet.
One exchange sees Stamper say “A.J?” to which A.J replies, “Yeah, I’m okay.” And then, “We lost Gruber – .”
The track ‘Rock storm’ dips and then continues just before A.J qualifies his remark with, “Gruber’s dead.”
The pain, anguish and tragedy conveyed by the music really bring this tiny part of the scene to life. What would
have been a sombre and a dramatic exchange of information becomes poignant, distressing, touching and
moving. Such is the skill in the movie-making and the composing that literally moments after this ‘tender
moment’ is finished the film is back concentrating on ‘the mission’. Again, this difficult and rapid transition
between radically different emotional states only work when there is something there guiding the audience and
telling them how to feel: music; the great manipulator.
Fig.20 Movie – 02.07.34 Audio - ‘Rock storm’ (02.30)
One of the great

unsung heroes of
harmony is the
successive minor-
to-major chords
over the same bass
note (i.e. Am to A,
Contrary motion is more profound when
the destination intervals are colourful Dm to D etc).
These are relatively rare, fresh and uplifting, and on this occasion are made even better by the inclusion of the
7th in the maj chord. In this example the orchestrators have embellished this sequence by adding some nice horn
work on bars one and two of the transcription which results in contrary motion where the bottom horn goes
down and lands on the 7th (G) whilst the top horn goes up and hits the rich mid maj3 (C#). This manouvre is
helped by the constant A pedal note in the bass which gives the phrase consistency.
This next cue is dramatic and exciting, rhythmically, texturally and harmonically. It was used in the movie at
00.25.31 but was also used in the trailer for the movie. It possesses the pulsating momentum we often find in
trailer music or music that paints a very direct and overt picture.
Movie – 00.25.31 Audio 0.21 - ‘Meteor shower’ – used in trailer -
The sensation of ‘inexorable inevitability’ is a

powerful construct of musical drama. Here it is
delivered by the ascending bass line and the chords
The crotchet line on strings / horns / trombones spans two-and-a-half octaves which fit around it i.e. chords which employ
before descending back down and beginning again. This is quite a physically inversions to accommodate the rising bass line
strong phrase which has real drama and excitement
Fig.21
There are also some powerful and colourful extensions, not least the #4 and maj7 (over a minor chord).
The maj7 over the minor chord of course has clear James Bond connotations but being bookended by
the #4 gives it slightly more of a sinister and abrasive edge
PROMETHEUS (Marc Streitenfeld)
Prometheus is a 2012 science fiction film directed by Ridley Scott. Although Scott intended this film to stand
alone, which it does, nevertheless it is widely viewed as the prequel to the iconic Alien movie Scott made 33
years earlier. Ridley Scott’s ground-breaking science fiction films in the late 1970s and early 80s help shape the
genre as we know it today. Whereas the original 1979 Alien was seen by many as essentially an excellent
haunted house movie in space, Prometheus asks searching questions about the meaning and origins of life.
Prometheus is set in the late 21st century and centres on the crew of the spaceship ‘Prometheus’ as they follow a
star map discovered among the artifacts of several ancient Earth cultures. Seeking the origins of humanity the
crew arrive on a distant world and discover a threat that could cause the extinction of the human race.
An even bigger issue than the possible destruction of the human race by aliens from another planet, is, how do
you follow Jerry Goldsmith and James Horner? Goldsmith’s score to the original 1979 masterpiece was
outstanding and Horner’s score for Cameron’s 1986 sequel was equally good; he delivered a masterful score in
two weeks and under ridiculous pressure from Cameron, who had overrun the shoot and the edit and eaten into
Horner’s scoring time.
Prior to his work as a composer, Streitenfeld had collaborated with Scott as music editor, music supervisor and
technical score advisor on several projects, including Matchstick Men, Black Hawk Down and Gladiator. His
score for Prometheus has much in common with the moody, dreamy, ethereal scores of Zimmer and Gregson-
Williams. Indeed Gregson-Williams is credited with assisting with this project. But in answer to the rhetorical
question, how do you follow Goldsmith and Horner, you do it by employing Streitenfeld, who’s score stands
easily alongside the other masters who have graced the Alien franchise. His combination of sweeping melodic
passages and evocative harmonies serves the film well.
The track ‘Life’- portions of which are scattered throughout the film - comes most fully formed at the beginning
of the movie and therefore functions as its ‘main title’. This is a beautifully haunting piece with long,
meandering melodic lines that work well in evoking the gravity of the mission, the vastness of space and barren
landscape of the planet the scientists travel to.
Fig.22 Movie 00.00.45 Audio - ‘Life’
omit3
E E
A E
E
To start at the beginning; people spoke of ‘the haunting horn line’ and said that there was ‘a strangeness’ to the
horn melody’. There is indeed a haunting quality to the horn line but if we examine the surrounding terrain we
find out that what makes it ‘haunting’ goes far beyond the distinctive quality of horn textures. Look at the horn
line again, without the accompanying bass line. As we have often stated in the past, there really is no such thing
as unaccompanied melody; if melody is alone, we attempt to make sense of it by putting the notes into some
kind of order, so that the notes ‘make sense’. We fill in the intervallic context ourselves. Without its bass line,
the in terms of rationalising the melody below, it is a no-brainer. So naturally we would come up with the
following intervals, written below the notes.
Fig.23
1 5 4 7 6 5 4 8 10 8 1 5 4 7 6 5 4
If, however, we put the bass back in (below), the intervals now become wholly different. I have written the
intervals in, some of which are enharmonic.
Fig.24
maj7 b5 maj3 maj6 m6 b5 maj3 maj7 b10 maj7

So, what makes the melody ‘haunting’ is, partly at least, the difficulty we have making sense of what appears to
be a perfectly normal line, but which doesn’t fit or ‘sit’ right over the sub-bass. If we look again at the example
below, which is from bar seven of the original transcription, we can see the ‘crossover’ from the end of the
eerily strange horn line (which is, essentially, delivered a semi-tone lower than it would have been if it were to
make perfect sense) to where the clarinet comes in and eventually the cellos, which play the theme ‘properly’,
‘in the right key’.
Fig.25
b5 b5
1 5 1 5 1 5 1 5 1 5 1 5 1 5 1 5
When the cellos start at bar ten (bar four, above) there is no suggestion of major or minor flavour until the
melody arrives at the downward quaver line which hits the 4th and maj3rd. The delay makes the arrival all the
more effective.
Another very interesting aspect of how and why the harmony and melody communicate so well - especially
creating, at the same time both a majestic feeling but also a sense of desolation – is the way the maj7 is ‘treated’
in terms of its voicing.
Whenever we hear extensions such as the 6th, 7th, maj7th, we rely on integral components of the main chord
(root/3/5) being present in order to contextualise them in a coherent and colourful way. Without the ‘normal’
harmonies present, extensions can cease to represent the kind of colour they are famous for. The archetypal
colour a maj7 exudes is only as good as the voicing that supports it. Without the whole chord, many extension
notes do not function in the same way. In terms of ‘normal’ music this is something to watch out for, but in
terms of film music, this is yet another way in which the composer can subtly manipulate the precise flavour or
colour that an extension note may have. So as far as we’re concerned, the fact that it’s possible to discolour the
extensions in this way, to subvert their message, is great because it means more depth of expression is possible.
When any of the normal harmonic components aren’t there, it draws us disportionately to the extensions. It
exposes them, italicises them, in a way we’re not used to. Check out the chords below:
Fig.26
A voicing
The most The most The most basic voicing of a
Now we have without the
basic basic C7 chord – 1, 3, 5 and 7
a Cmaj7 but 3rd subtly
voicing of voicing of followed by one minus its
changes the
a Cmaj7 with no a C6 3rd, which again, very subtly
maj3rd. way the 6th
chord – 1, Another, softer chord – 1, changes how the chord
Remember interacts
3, 5 and version, this 3, 5 and 6 sounds.
the ‘maj’ with the rest
maj7 time with the
aspect of the of the notes
same intervals
name of the once the
but with the C
Cmaj7 chord ‘glue’ of the
low down and
refers to the 3rd isn’t
the maj7
7, not to the there to do
buried in the
3rd its usual job
middle
In the first three bars of the example below I have re-harmonised a section of the original transcription,
deliberately making more traditional use of the add2 and the maj7 by supporting them with sympathetic
voicings.
Now the maj7 has a full chord to support it with the maj3rd and the earlier add2 is supported underneath by what
it, essentially, a passing chord. The whole thing is very pretty. And it is distinctly different from the version in
the film (fig.25) where the theme is down an octave and the supportive harmony is minimal.
Fig.27
(F#mE )
One might even venture to suggest that for every extension note we use there is a different ‘version’ of it with
fewer contextual supporting harmonies. This ‘other version’ does different jobs and conveys a subtly different
shade of colour or meaning when it is applied. The same logic applies to the 5th of a chord too; without the 3rd,
the 5th sounds different – bare. Of course, as always, it’s worth remembering that it is our own interpretation of
that difference that accords the sound its distinctive flavour. Excerpts from the track ‘Life’ come at different
points of the movie, perhaps one of the most poignant of which is when the scientists analyse the DNA of the
aliens to discover it is identical to human DNA (00.51.30). At 01.12.05 there is a minor version of the same
track where the android ‘David’ is sat in a chair in the alien structure, observing the holographic images of the
alien beings. This is closely followed by a fuller, ‘proper’ version of the track.
Moving through the film we come to one of the great motifs in this score; it appears faintly at 00.29.41as the
scientists arrive at the location of a structure they believe may alien-built. One of the expedition’s scientific
leaders stares up at the giant structure and speaks via her intercom back to the ship, “Prometheus, are you seeing
this?” A few moments later we hear faintly the motif below (fig.28). We hear it again, louder this time, at
00.34.45 when David, the crew’s inquisitive android, finds some gel-like deposits. The cue is clearly meant to
signify danger or apprehension, and does indeed have a portentous air.
Fig.28 Movie - 00.29.41 and 00.34.45 Audio - ‘Going In’
The combination of orchestral and electronic textures used in this motif is quite disconcerting but the notes
themselves are also unnerving, fluctuating as they do between the note of E, it’s major 2nd (F#) and its minor 2nd
(F). The idea does not settle harmonically into any particular feel, and therein lay its great power to disturb. We
are all creatures of habit and conformity and when presented with harmony we can’t categorise or fathom,
sometimes it can disturb. Good composers know how to illicit an almost forensically accurate response from
listeners; for example, the line above is a single line; had it been accompanied by a chord the effect of the
melodic line wouldn’t have been as eerie; it would have detracted from the line.
The cue below (‘Discovery’) provides a backdrop of harmony and texture to accompany a scene which
alternately shows the crew on the ship watching a holographic image displaying the ‘mapping’ of the giant alien
building and also scientists in the structure itself. There is a slightly ominous and threatening air to the piece but
not overt and explicit and overstated.
The root-to-min3 cello line in bars one and two culminate in the final dotted crotchet of the 5/4 bar; this is where
each small phrase hesitates over an Ebm6 chord. This is quite a romantic chord which, in this context, has an air
of subtle tragedy behind it. The hesitancy which makes the bars into 5/4 lengths is also what prevents the music
from becoming too ‘normal’ and ‘regular’. ‘Normal’ (for want of a better word) music is designed with
entertainment in mind. It is designed to be something we can remember, something easily digestible that we can
hum. Music which occupies a different type of less obvious structure manages not to become too predictable.
This is how it manages to blur, fuse and meld with the picture to create one experience for the viewer.
If the music was structured like song the simplicity which makes it accessible and makes us smile and tap our
foot would also distract from the film; it would be like watching a film with music on top of it, rather than a film
that had film music woven into it, dipping at the right time, rising at other times. Often these phrases would have
odd bar numbers; either to accommodate a visual acknowledgement in the film or simply to stop the music
becoming the main event. So, curiously, sometimes in order to create music that offers something meaningful
to a movie but which doesn’t overly advertise itself, we need to create music which is structured in a less than
obvious way; that way it sometimes bypasses us as ‘music’ but gets into the fabric of the movie and helps it
communicate aurally.
What’s also notable about this phrase, which comes at least twice in the movie, is that it accommodates the
‘James Newton Howard chord change’ we have come across several times in volume one and two. We call it
this simply to give it a name, not because JNH is the only one that uses it (although he is arguably the best user
of it). The harmonic device we refer to happens in bar three of fig.29 below, where the phrase moves from the
Bbm chord to the A. The Db note constitutes the min3 of the Bbm chord and then the self-same sound becomes
the C# (maj3 of the A chord). The reason this is notable is that it creates a strange and captivating chord
sequence. The strangeness lie in fact that the same sound (Db/C#) ‘means’ two different things (intervals)
depending on which notes surround it. We therefore hear something change, but not change. What changes is
what the note means as an interval. This is a wholly more subtle experience than a note changing physically.
This kind of thing goes on all the time in music, usually without being even noticed. It is so engrained in fabric
of what harmony actually is that it happens without being realised. What’s different about these chord changes
is the way they italicise the intervallic difference. What’s also odd is that the note that stays physically the same
but which changes what it ‘means’ is the 3rd – the defining interval; the interval that ultimately ‘colours a chord
in’.
Fig.29 Movie - 00.31.48 and 01.07.50 Audio – ‘Discovery’ 00.34
At 00.38.47 into the movie a giant door is opened to reveal, firstly, the head which had become decapitated from
the body the scientists had found behind the door, and secondly, an enormous human-looking face carved into
stone. At this point the phrase below (fig.30) begins. It works well in this context because it is quite understated
and low in the mix; it has to be listened to deliberately. Texturally, with the creeping basses and cellos, there is a
curious whiff of cliched and dated horror music to the phrase; but harmonically the phrase conjures up a real
sense of fear, dread, anxiety and trepidation.
Fig.30 00.38.47
The intervals if the

phrase is heard ‘in E’ 1 2 #4 2 7 1 2 1 1 2 maj3 min3 1 #4 2 1
As to why it summons up such precise fearful feelings, beyond the textures we need look at the low, deliberate,
plodding nature of the delivery and the octave writing, which exemplifies this kind of style. But we need also to
look at the implied harmonies in this unaccompanied melody. Unaccompanied melody has no obvious physical
accompaniment but any melody that it any way ‘makes sense’ owes at least part of that sense to a feeling of
harmonic order within the line; the feeling that it has structure and integrity. That usually means that a harmonic
system can be, and usually is, imposed on the notes. By this I mean we rarely hear unaccompanied melody as
sound; we hear the intervals the line suggests. For example a line which went F#, A, C# would automatically
garner a sense of F#m. We would ‘hear’ that in our heads as the line progresses.
Lines which are suggestive of harmony are referred to as ‘horizontal harmony’; they transmit a sense of
harmonic colour and consistency and integrity not vertically in groups of notes played simultaneously but
horizontally – gradually. This can often be a lot more of a subtle way of writing. With all this in mind, we would
hear two distinct harmonic devices in this phrase which would both create colour and also wrong-foot the
listener. The colour comes from the #4 and the sense of hearing something unexpected comes from the min3rd
appearing straight after what we hear as a maj3rd (bar three, fig.30).
But there is more; we often talk about polyharmony and there is a tendency to presume that polyharmony
(something which creates a feeling of two simultaneous chords) only happens in vertical harmony. It’s pretty
amazing that a single unaccompanied line can even convey one chord but surely it is impossible for a singular
line to convey not one harmony but two? Not only is it possible, but it is precisely this harmonic device that is
partially responsible for the strangeness in the line in fig.30. Below I have transcribed the same line again; this
time in addition the bottom row of intervals that state how we principally hear the notes, there are two separate
bunches of intervals which convey another alternate but simultaneous way of ‘hearing’ the notes in that
particular bar.
The intervals if these

Fig.31 notes are heard ‘in D’
{1} {2} {3} {2}
The intervals
if these notes (1) (2) (1)
are heard ‘in
F#’
The intervals if
the phrase is
heard ‘in E’ 1 2 #4 2 7 1 2 1 1 2 maj3 min3 1 #4 2 1
Once again I feel minded to reiterate the fact that this is not just a case of finding a convenient theory that fits
the facts; these theories are reason practical reasons as to why this melodic line has so much character embedded
deep within it. Such things are, more often than not, simply not visible by looking at the notation. We have to
analyse the way the mind interprets unaccompanied melody by imposing on it an intervallic system (albeit
subconsciously) and then ask ourselves whether the mind is capable of realising, and benefitting from, a line
which implies different and simultaneous chordal accompaniments.
In the last cue we’re going to examine, we’re going to look at how to write brief, effective bursts of harmony
which function almost as sound effects or sonic identifiers, rather than music. We looked at similar cues in the
movie Signs (‘Rooftop Intruder’, fig.23, page 29, chapter 1, ‘Science Fiction & Fantasy’) and in the movie Star
Trek II - The Wrath of Khan (‘Khan’s Pets’, fig.49, page 38, chapter 5, volume 2). This time in Prometheus this
burst of sudden colour exerts shock, surprise and fear; all with a three-note piece of dissonance. It comes at
01.10.09 when the scientists inside the alien structure discover the dead body of one of their crewmates. As his
body is turned over the camera focusses on the dead scientist’s face inside his cracked helmet. Perfect synergy
between film and music comes as the chord in fig.32 is played. Once again, as with so many examples of film
and music, it is the music that does two jobs; it confirms your worst fears and it instructs you how to feel. The
scene alone is fairly powerful but with music it almost bursts out, alien-like, from the fictional unreality of the
screen and onto the actual reality of your life.
Fig.32 Film - 01.10.09 Three-part dissonant semi-tonal clustered harmony

stands virtually no chance of being understood by
listeners, or indeed anybody. None of the groupings
resemble a chord of any kind and the intervals are too
close to gain anything from this experience other than
the chaos and confusion it is supposed to offer.
SOLARIS (Cliff Martinez)
Solaris is a 2002 American science fiction drama directed by Steven Soderbergh. It is based on the 1961 science
fiction novel ‘Solaris’ by Polish writer Stanisław Lem. Soderbergh promised to be closer in spirit to Lem’s
novel than the critically acclaimed 1972 Russian film ‘Solaris’, which was itself preceded by a 1968 Russian TV
film. Soderbergh’s version is a deep, often dark, meditative psychodrama set almost entirely on a space station
orbiting the planet Solaris, adding flashbacks to the previous experiences of its main characters on Earth. The
score was another masterpiece of electronic music from Cliff Martinez, who delivered a wonderfully
understated score which brought to the film not just ‘music’ but an entire extra level of vivid colour via
distinctive clustered harmonies, delivered by the uniquely electronic malleable textures of electronic sounds.
Following problems on the space station clinical psychologist Dr Chris Kelvin, played by George Clooney, is
approached by a corporation operating the space station. They relay a message sent from Kelvin’s scientist
friend Dr Gibarian, who requests that Kelvin come to the station to help understand an unusual phenomenon.
At 00.06.30 Kelvin is asked to embark on a solo mission to the space station. “We feel confident that if you can
manage to board the ship you can negotiate their safe return” says one of the team. A good example of
Martinez’s writing and how it seeps into the mind of the film’s narrative comes a few seconds later at 00.06.40
as Kelvin looks apprehensive about the trip. This track has a deep, ethereal feel; an eerie, ghostly, otherworldly
feel, which benefits the scene and the overall narrative.
The intervals created by the notes in the first chord are listed next to the chord. The intervals created by the self-
same chord (in bar three) move down because the inclusion of the low D note recontextualises not just the
theoretical name we give the chord or the names we now give to the intervals, but, more importantly, the way
the notes actually feel and sound. Referencing theory to make a point doesn’t amount to a hill of beans unless
the point being made is actually noticeable and therefore of practical benefit to any composer wanting to learn
the craft of film score writing. In bar eleven the self-same notes change their intervallic colour yet again because
now they are underpinned by a rich C chord at the bottom. These chord changes sound subtle and understated;
almost as if it’s not the chord that’s changed but the ground beneath the chords that has shifted slightly.
Fig.33 Movie – 00.06.40 Audio - ‘Is that what everybody wants?’
A = 13 A = 12
G = 12 G = 11
D=9 D=8
A=6 A=5
G=5 G=4
E=3 E =2
C=1 C=7
Cluster chords are

effective; particularly
the two separate single The ‘rhythmic counterpoint’ between the top stave line and the third stave
tone intervals and the line prevents any feeling of pulse or time developing
use of 6/9 for colour
A = 13
G = 12
D=9
A=6
G=5
E=3
C=1
There is what could be described as a ‘minor version’ of the piece transcribed in fig.33. This comes 00.31.07
Richinto
bottom chord
the film in aoftrack
C resonates andIcontextualises
called ‘can the sequence
sit next to you’.
Below is another piece that begins almost as a minor chord version of the previous cue. The chord at the
beginning of the ‘Cm version’ (fig.34) sounds profoundly different to the Cmaj version, obviously because the
piece is in a different key; but when we look deeply into the issue of why complex / cluster chords sound that
much different with just one note changed (the 3rd) we find there are many more harmonic dynamics at work.
Fig.34 Movie 00.31.07 Audio - ‘Can I sit next to you’
The ‘local’ chord is Eb
The minor chord with a maj 6th

is one of the Bond chords. This chord is Because of the complex way in which
slightly altered by the addition of the D (9th) the context of harmony guides us,
which gives the A-D interval (4th) a slightly despite the mass of notes underneath,
‘square’ sound the D, F and G on the top stave ‘sound’
like a Bb6 chord despite having no Bb
– this is because we hear the D note as a
3rd . This is largely because the previous
chord (Cm6/9) had acclimatised us to
hearing notes in a certain way
Whilst this can be deemed purely of theoretical interest, it does leak into practical compositional context
because it explains why a relatively minor change sounds so different.
Fig.35 13 How we’re used to rationalising intervals: everything is seen in context of its
12 relationship to the root. Because of the way we’re taught theory we tend to believe
9 that the greatest dynamic worth knowing is the way the intervals interact with the
root of the chord; that is, after all, how the various intervals and extensions get their
maj 6
name.
5
min3
1 In the major chord version all that’s changed is one note – the Eb (min 3rd) moves to
Fig.36 the E (maj 3rd) but the difference in the relationships between the maj3rd (and the
13 rest of the notes in the chord) and the min3rd (and the rest of the notes in the chord)
12 is profound.
9
maj 6
5
maj 3
1 Below (fig.37) I have detailed the notes in both chords, not vertically but
horizontally, laid out from left to right. We can see that the relationship the maj3rd
has with each of the rest of the notes in the chord of C6/9 is different from the
relationship the min 3rd has with the rest of the notes in the Cm6/9 (detailed in blue).
Only one note changes (the E/Eb) but the changes between the 3rds and the rest of
the notes are crucial in determining the precise flavour of the sound.
Fig.37
th th
th 12 13
9
th
rd
th 6
5 th
m3
1st 13
th th
th
12 13
9
th
th
5 6
rd
st
maj3 1
DEEP IMPACT (James Horner)
Deep Impact is a 1998 American science fiction disaster film. The plot describes the attempts to destroy a 7-
mile wide comet, which was to collide with the Earth and cause a mass extinction. Notably, Deep Impact was
released in the same summer as a rival, Armageddon, which fared better at the box office despite being,
according to scientists, wholly less plausible.
The music is classic James Horner; full of harmonic and textural colour; often the colour is overt and clear but
sometimes it is beautifully suppressed, sounding soft, delicate and contemplative. James Horner is a master of
the fine art of blending harmonies and textures to create specific mood and colour, in much the same way
impressionist painters would create specific mood through the use of actual colour. His music, in films such as A
Beautiful Mind, is a triumph of colour. His music does far more than italicise the moments and emphasise the
emotions of the films; his music frequently brings new colour and context to movies. His music, in films like
Sneakers and Apollo 13 for example, brings the audience closer to the films. He doesn’t just write music; he
almost reconfigures the film. When a director is done filming a movie and has extracted every ounce of emotion
they think is possible, James Horner shows them what music can bring.
The first cue we’re going to examine is forty seconds into the movie. In particular we’re looking at the way the
cue starts, from with the DreamWorks logo to the opening shots of the kids astronomy club gazing innocently
up into the night sky; we will look at the way the mood of the music changes in accordance with the visuals.
Eventually we’ll examine Horner’s use of harmony and instrumentation to create the emotional backbone of the
music. We will look in detail at elements of his writing and arranging technique including chord voicing and
distribution of colour and texture.
Fig.38 Movie – 00.00.40 Audio ‘A Distant Discovery’

As the camera pans down on a bunch of teenagers doing a
‘DEEP IMPACT’ on - science project, the music is more open and light
The horn line, although only ‘accompanied’ by
one string note, almost creates the slash chord screen acknowledged by
the crunchy low piano (omit5) (omit5) (omit5) (omit5)
chord
E/D E/D
Partial harmony and rhythmic left hand accompaniment gives a light,

fresh, vibrant air to the music and therefore to the scene
Outer space shots under DreamWorks logo 8va A/D and G/D tuned percussion through this section
(omit5) (omit5) (omit5) (omit5)

#11 9 9 6
I have written ‘feels like G/B’ because the chord is

incomplete
#11 9 9 #11 9 9 6 #11 9 9
The first proper close-up face shot of one of the main

characters is accompanied by the first proper, full chord
#11 9 9 6 #11 9 9 #11 9 9 6

#11 9 9 6 #11 9 9 #11 9 9 6
If we look once again at bar ten to twenty one we can observe how Horner italicises to great effect how the
interval can be employed almost separately to the ‘tune’ and used as a great writing tool. By this I mean that
initially the piano motif is used in the key of D (I have placed the intervals over the notes), but the same melody
reappears later (bar eighteen) over the chord of G which means that although the notes are the same as before,
they now ‘mean’ something new. It is the interval that talks, not the note.
I have written ‘feels like G/B’ because the
chord is incomplete
Fig.39 Played over these chords the melody is simple….
1 5 8 3 1 3 1 8 5 1 5 8 3 1 3 1 8
Played over these chords the melody lights up

5 9 12 #11 9 10 8 9 6 5 9 12 #11 9 10 8 9
Looking at bar eighteen-twenty one (transcribed separately, below) we can see the chordal accompaniment
clearly. But we can also see that although the chord on the lower stave (strings, woodwind, brass) is a G add2 the
string voicing (with the add2) and the horn line manage to inject the feeling of an A chord alongside the G
chord. This gives it a very transparent, open and vaguely polytonal feel (fig.40)
Fig.40
C# A E C#
A A
The next cue to listen to and analyse is the grand, majestic and almost stately theme which accompanies the
launch of the Messiah, the rescue ship tasked with destroying the asteroid hurtling toward earth. The same
theme also manages to sound faintly anxious and uneasy. The reason it manages to fulfil both functions quite
well is, once again, down to the subtleties of chord choices, voicing and orchestration. Looking at the
transcription below we can see Horner employs a selection of voicing approaches. He also uses the same kind of
‘lumpy’ harmonies and sonically ambiguous voicings he has used in many films, including Apollo 13, Sneakers
and A Beautiful Mind. Also if we look closely we can see the contrary motion between the horn / woodwind line
and the bass contour; this gives the piece more fluency and helps it breathe properly. One final thing; the
tensions Horner injects into his music are subtle but effective; check out the subtle clash between the G melody
note (4th) at the beginning of bar two of fig.41, and how this subtly clashes with the F# (inverted bass of the D
chord). Under normal circumstances you would barely feel the brief sus4 passing note but placing it on top of a
chord inverted over its 3rd ensures we will feel the tension.
Fig.41 Movie - 00.38.00 and 01.56.18 Audio - ‘A crucial rendezvous’ 0.30
Bare, Bare, Bare, Inversion

Root, 5th and Inversion Filmic chord
Type of chord / square square square with
3rd gives the with change
voicing chord to lumpy chord chord lumpy
chord D - Am
start the voicings voicings
resonance
phrase at the at the
lower end lower end
The next, and final, cue from Deep Impact to analyse is a track entitled ‘Our best hope’, which, again, is
resplendent with the kind of colour we associate with Horner. This comes in the film subsequent to the launch of
Messiah when the ship is preparing itself for its mission. The first few bars accompany routine conversation but
during the cue at the same time as members of the crew glance out of the window to observe the sight of the
asteroid, causing one to say “Jesus, that’s big” and another to say “Holy shit”, the flavour and character of the
cue subtly changes from one of routine to one of excitement and anxiety. This kind of attention to detail is easily
missed by viewers because of the ease with which the change grafts itself onto the movie. People would miss
the music but if the same scene were played minus music, or with lesser music, it would be obvious. Thus
sometimes music does not really function ‘as music’ in a conventional sense; it is so completely and
convincingly buried in the narrative of the movie that the character of the harmony becomes part of the
character of the film; indeed it guides the way we interpret the film. In that exact moment when the crew glance
out of the music, listen for the change in the music, not to the movement or the architecture or the texture, but to
the harmony, which shifts in gear slightly, almost imperceptibly, to become ‘anxious’.
Fig.42 Movie - 00.40.03 Audio - ‘Our best hope’
Notice that the piano plays a different version of the Dm, adding the 4th and 11th while the strings play the
chord straight. This is an important point; usually when instruments are lightly orchestrated there is little
duplication. Instruments play subtly different versions of the chord to italicise different aspects or expose
different colours.
The change
Let’s take a closer look at the change in character again. Bar one, below, is the last bar before the change and
bar two is bang on the change. The chord goes from Dminor to D+5 (aug 5th).
If only the 5th If only the But if the 3rd and the 5th
Fig.43 The change is raised on 5th is raised are raised on a minor
the Dm on a major chord the chord goes
chord then it chord it from minor to major, with
becomes a becomes the major also having an
Bb/D augmented aug5.
This is a This is a
normal chord normal chord This is not a normal chord
Analysis of change change change; minor to major with an
harmony augmented 5th represents two big
shifts. This is what gives the
transition the ‘larger-than-life’
exciting but anxious feel
One final observation is that when the chord changes to

D+5, alternate chords feature a C+ over a D+, which
gives the sequence an almost mystical, magical quality
which is the result of simultaneous augmentation and
polyharmony
SUNSHINE (John Murphy / Underworld)
Sunshine is a 2007 British science fiction film directed by Danny Boyle. In 2057, with the Earth in peril from
the dying Sun, the crew is sent on a mission to reignite the star with a gigantic nuclear bomb. The story is more
to do with the psychological journey encountered by the characters than a ‘space disaster movie’. Seen by many
as a romantic homage to 70s Science Fiction cinema, certainly it shares some of the Alien spirit in that it offers a
subtle, ordinary, working environment rather than glitz and the spectacle. Like Alien it is a brooding, dark film
which doesn’t try and glorify ‘space’ or turn characters into heroes. Previous science fiction films that Boyle
cited as influences included Kubrick’s 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey, Tarkovsky’s 1972 film Solaris, and
the 1979 science-fiction horror film Alien. Science Fiction cinema has enjoyed a commercial renaissance over
the past couple of decades and films like Sunshine are the reasons why. It was ambitious conceptually and
featured some stunning imagery. The soundtrack complimented the film beautifully by providing a mixture of
pure texture and traditional composition; a wonderful combination of contemporary ambient music with some
traditional romantic harmonies. Like some other notable science fiction movies, Sunshine has a noir feel to it.
What is often overlooked is that the ‘noir feel’ is at least partly created by the music.
The music for the film is written by John Murphy and electronic band ‘Underworld’. Some tracks were
collaborations whilst some were exclusively written by one or the other. ‘Underworld’ has collaborated with
Boyle before, having featured on the soundtracks to Trainspotting, A Life Less Ordinary, and The Beach. There
was a significant delay to the digital release amid rumours of legal/copyright issues between ‘Underworld’ and
Murphy.
The first track we’ll look at is one entitled ‘Capa’s Last Transmission’. This track is typical of the excellent
ambient vibe but also the distinctive textures which help the chords and various lines interact with the movie
and communicate to the audience.
Fig.44 Movie 00.06.00 and 01.34.50 – Audio track 2 ‘Capa’s Last Transmission’ by Underworld
D9
G D A G
add4
Bm7 A
There are several contributory factors to the effectiveness of this music. We’ll deal first with how it interacts
with the context of the scenes it accompanies and secondly with what harmonic and textural factors define its
character. It comes first around six minutes into the movie after the crew learns they will soon be out of range of
earth contact, in the ‘dead zone’.
One of the crew delivers a message to his family. The message is curious mix of bravado, pride, reassurance but
there is also a melancholic, worried, even mournful air in the sequence. The music captures this not in an
obvious way but it has a slightly dreamy quality, texturally, and a monotonous pedestrian quality structurally,
which creates an almost dream-like weariness. The accompanying chords bleed into each other creating some
harmonic ambiguity which aids the hypnotic feel
Musically the piece benefits from tiny pockets of clusters in the top line from bar three (highlighted below). This
creates a sense of blurred harmony which is also helped by the piece seeming to have no palpable sense of
timing; because the 3/4 framework is not italicized we hear the relentlessness of the quavers but not a greater
sense of rhythmical unity or structure. This enhances the effectiveness of the combination of the quavers and the
clusters.
Repetition is created by the consistent C chord on the third line down, which remains throughout the piece.
There is an effective moment on bar three when the quaver line on the second stave down, kicks in; because the
line begins on the low D, the notes contained in the C chord (third stave down) are recontextualised. The notes
don’t change; what they mean changes. As we have established before, notes have two characteristics; what they
are (their sound/note) and what they mean in a greater context. If you play a chord of C with your right hand and
then add a low D bass note, the notes in your right hand assume a new harmonic identity. Likewise if you play a
C chord with your right hand and then add the F with your left hand, the right hand notes assume a different
flavour. This is one of the fundamental ways in which harmony operates. The crucial thing when notes change
their identity without moving physically is that our own interpretation is more a factor. With a physical note
move, the contextual change is done for us; when the change is purely intervallic our own perceptions are
central to our own ability to notice the difference.
The notes on the top line from bar twelve are identical physically but change what they mean due to the
intervallic change (highlighted below). The final thing to mention on this track is the way the chords on the
lower stave (bar twelve onwards) are played on ambient, spatial sounds which makes the chords glide into each
other. Thus the G chord hangs over into the D and the D chord bleeds into the A chord, making for a curious
sense of ‘dreamy’ polytonality.
Fig.45
D9 Tiny pockets of clusters
9
Monotony of repetition
E – 10th
C – 8th E – 9th
G – 5th C – 7th
C – 1st G – 4th
C – 7th
5 9 9 5 9 9 5 9 1 5 5 1 5 5 1 5 8 4 8 8 4 8 8 4
5 9 9 5 9 9 5 9 1 5 5 1 5 5 1 5 1 4 1 1 4 1 1 4
5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 4
11 4 4 4 4 4 4 4
11 11
Chords glide into each other. ‘Chords’ do not make music; they are simply static groups
of notes. It is the relationship between chords that make them into music.
The following track comes just over fourteen minutes into the movie when the crew is gathered round watching
the planet Mercury fly in front of the Sun. Visually the sequence is stunning, benefitting from some excellent
special effects and photography which make the scene completely convincing. Again, the accompanying music
possesses a similar, ethereal, dreamlike ‘spacey’ quality. The gritty guitar sound works well, lending the
sequence a low-fi vibe. The chord change from G to Em9 works well with the pictures, coming just before a
side shot of a female crewmember gazing out of the ship. The piece has some interesting harmonies in that, for a
piece that sounds quite simple, there are a few notable omissions involved which take valuable components
from chords. Bar one contains octave Gs. Bar two features a prominent maj3rd on top but bars three to five are
all ‘omit3’ chords, which gives the harmony a slightly fragmented, partial feel, which create a slightly
mysterious, sterile vibe. This then makes the eventual move to the Em9 feel expansive and spacious, not to
mention colourful. Harmony is all about relationships; reactions and responses. An Em9 chord on its own is one
thing, but an Em9, voiced spaciously, coming right after a Gomit3 will sound spectacular; it will sound as if
someone has just flooded the piece with harmony.
Fig.46 Movie 00.14.36 Audio track ‘Mercury’ 00.23 (John Murphy / Underworld)
The track ‘Freezing Inside’ comes about 01.21.45 into the film during a tense part of the story which sees one of
the characters stuck inside a freezing cold chamber. There is no conventional ‘melody’ as such; the melodic
lines are counterpoint and function as extensions to the chords. Drama is created by an inexorable feeling of the
harmonies ‘rising’; but this is only half the story. A combination of rising top line counterpoint together with
‘square-sounding’ intervals between the two notes and colourful extensions being hit is what conspires to make
this a particularly exciting piece. If you look closely at the transcription though, it is only ever the top stave
notes which ascend; the bottom stave notes are static.
Fig.47 Movie - 01.21.45 Audio - ‘Freezing Inside’ (John Murphy)

01.21.57
5th and # 4th intervals 5th and4th intervals 5th and4th intervals
between the notes between the notes between the notes
Octave melody regularly hits colourful extensions such as 9th, 7th, maj6
(over a minor chord), major7)
The last track from Sunshine and from this chapter is entitled ‘Adagio’. Like the last track we looked at, this too
has an insatiable sense of direction and a sense of inexorable inevitability. Unlike many films we have looked at,
but similar to a few we have analysed, the music for Sunshine doesn’t succeed in confounding the expectation of
the listener; rather it plods slowly through a series of unremarkable chord changes. What galvanises listeners
and draws them into the musical world created by Murphy on this track is the way he has sculptured simple
chord changes by adding in an almost constantly evolving and ascending ‘melody line’ (which is, essentially,
the top note of each chord). Listeners are drawn to the lines Murphy has drawn into the chords by often giving
them top and bottom lines that are contrary; there are a few occasions when the top line and the bass line go in
opposite directions; this adds to the sense of movement in the piece.
Fig.48 Movie - 01.26.14 Audio - 00.40 ‘Adagio in D minor’ (John Murphy)

As the piece moves on and becomes louder in volume and intensity, so the top lines move ever-upwards. Like
most great film music though, this is only half the story; the scene is the rest. A good composer leaves the
pictures to fill the creative space he/she deliberately leaves; if composers create/duplicate the entire mood of a
scene then effectively they are composing a musical version of it. This is usually overkill; at best it will simply
replicate what the director did and at worst you will confuse the story. Generally speaking with incidental music
it should complement, not overshadow. It should not seek to tell the same story through music; it should add to
the story in a way words or pictures cannot.
Music is capable of producing emotions in a way that pictures or words simply cannot achieve. The subtle
nuances created by something people love but don’t understand will always add a dimension that wasn’t there
before. M.Night Shayamalan said he crafts what he believes to be the perfect movie, a movie which doesn’t
need anything else adding; one which is complete. Then he gives it to James Newton Howard, which of course
proves that there was something left to do; something there to italicise, to expose; to acknowledge. Directors
often say they are overwhelmed by the addition of well-crafted music to their movies; they say that they simply
never realised more could be added. How could they? How can you hear what’s not there yet?
But in one sense at least, this is exactly what composer have to do; they have to imagine something that’s not
there. They have to create something that others will only ever experience as ‘finished music’ but which they
have to create from imagination, thought and process and then assemble in their heads, on paper or in a
sequencer, or both. Then they may have to add a live orchestra. Only when it finally becomes ‘music’ does it
confirm the composer’s expectations. Hopefully.
LAST DAYS ON MARS (Max Richter)
Scientists are about to finish a six-month stay on Mars. This well-made film is based on the 1975 short story
‘The Animators’ by Sydney J Bounds and is essentially a neo-zombie film set on Mars. This does not glorify the
role of astronauts and concentrates at first on the banal, day-to-day existence of the crew in the same way as
Alien did. The spacecraft Aurora is inbound from Earth to collect the team by lander from a prearranged site but
scientist Marko Petrović has found samples that may point to life on the planet. He visits the site of the
discovery, after which a fissure swallows him. Later a Martian biological agent mutates members of the crew
into aggressive, zombie-like creatures with blackened skin and no trace of their original personalities. The music
is written by Max Richter, whose work we looked at separately in the movie A Perfect Sense. The score for Last
days on Mars is typical of his ambient, effective, laboured and elongated music which has worked so well in
underscoring the subtext of the films he’s done over the past few years, such as A Perfect Sense, Shutter Island
and the TV series The Leftovers.
The first cue to examine comes 00.07.22 into the movie following a scene showing an astronaut/scientist
venting her frustration about having to finish science experiments and return to the transport vehicle and return
to the base. Following a terse exchange the camera shows firstly the Marian landscape from the inside of the
Rover and then various shots of the inside of the base without dialogue until we hear characters talking around
00.07.50
Without the music these are essentially simply shots of the inside of the base, but the context of the frustration
shown in the previous conversation, together with Richter’s music, lends the scene a sense of melancholic
contemplation, reflection and thoughtfulness. The music is light, wistful, vaguely sad and slightly pensive. The
music alone doesn’t manage these emotions; the perfect relationship of the music with the pictures and the
context of the film is what deliver this perspective. Once again we see the dynamic created by, on the one hand
things which can be easily rationalised and understood by the viewer – i.e. the pictures and the words, which are
literal and unambiguous, and the music, which although simple in construction, lacks the literalness and
absoluteness of a more literal / visual form of communication. This vagueness, this lack of a distinct, absolute
message and therefore the need by the listener/viewer to interpret and translate, is what creates the dynamic that
allows people into the story.
Fig.49 Movie 00.07.22 – Audio track ‘Lost in Space’
The harmony is horizontal, not ‘chordal’, which means

the colour is distributed gradually, cumulatively
Richter uses a well-known harmonic device, one which, as an example, James Newton Howard uses, in the same key, in ‘Signs’. This
is where the chord goes from Cm to B (with the Eb is the min 3rd) to B (where the same note is now the D# (the maj 3rd). The point is
that the sound doesn’t change, just our interpretation of it, caused by the shifting surrounding harmonic terrain.
The cello enters in bar seventeen; on bar eighteen it hits

the G note which functions intervallically as a rich major
3rd. This same note then shifts to become the 5th of the Cm
The next cue comes just over ten minutes into the movie after the mission leader has reluctantly given in to a
request from a scientist to go outside for one last journey to a dig site he’d been analysing. As he and his
assistant sit in the airlock and prepare to go outside, the track ‘airlock’ starts. It is an extremely atmospheric
track and used as it is, with pictures but no dialogue, it serves to underscore the tension beautifully, not with
duplicative music which would simply replicate, but with an effective and simple, serene, chord trick; C to Em.
The bass line is quite effective too, lending the piece a sense of subtle rhythm. The rich 10th interval creates a
real sense of warmth; this is slightly juxtaposed by the rather busy bass line.
Fig.50 Movie 00.10.43 – Audio track ‘Airlock’

How Film & Television Music Communicate – Vol.3 Text © 2015 Brian Morrell
Chapter 8
THRILLERS
This chapter examines the music from several films within the ‘thriller’ genre. I have tried to include an eclectic
selection of films which feature interesting and varied music. As always the music featured is not highlighted
because the film is neccasarily perceived as being ‘good’; as always we feature music either because it is
representative of a style or approach worth examining, or because the music helps frame the film narrative in a
particularly interesting way.
Films and music analysed include
Jack Reacher (Joe Kramer) Buried (Victor Reyes) Enemy of the State (Harry Gregson Williams & Trevor
Rabin) The Fugitive (James Newton Howard) Catch Me If You Can (John Williams) The Firm (Dave Grusin)
Shallow Grave (Simon Boswell) The Siege (Graham Revell) Unstoppable (Harry Gregson Williams) The
Sweeney (Lorne Balfe) The DaVinci Code (Hans Zimmer) The Conspiracy (Darren Baker)
JACK REACHER (Joe Kramer)

A man drives a van into a parking garage across from a river, pulls out a rifle and shoots dead five people. Clues
lead the police to James Barr, a former army sniper. Thinking Barr will confess when realizes the weight of
circumstantial evidence against him, he surprises detectives when he says simply, ‘get Jack Reacher’. Reacher
investigates and begins to find inconsistencies in the police version of events. The music below is taken from the
opening ‘Paramount Pictures’ graphics, leading into the ‘Skydance Productions’ logo and eventually into the
opening scene. The opening music reaches a brief point of hesitation and tension (bars seventeen to nineteen)
during a scene showing bullet being made, followed by a side-shot of a moving vehicle (bar twenty).
Fig.1 Movie: 00.0010 - Audio: Main Title
Strings
Woodwind
Brass
This is a great example of how music can frame the way we perceive the movie before the story has even begun.
Having the film’s rather dark, difficult and uncomfortable music playing over the Paramount / Skydance
company credits works well because it creates a feeling of foreboding which the viewer associates with the
movie. Bars seventeen to nineteen accompany the pictures well, culminating in the rhythmical phrase at bar
twenty, to accompany the camera following the car.
Fig.2
The initial opening chord, indistinct and slightly harmonically
blurred (fig.2) sets the scene well; it does so thanks to the lack of a
3rd (a defining interval) but also the addition of the 2nd and 9th (the
same note an octave apart). The interval between the Db and Eb is
quite dense and a little lumpy sounding. Together with the 9th an
octave higher and a bare 5th above the Ab this creates a subdued and
Strings
uninviting sound, creating subtle suspense. If we observe the chord
Woodwind voicings on the lower stave in bars three, five, nine, eleven of fig.1
Brass (the A/C# chord) we find the slightly lumpy harmony continues by
virtue of the A and C# notes low down on the bass stave. This brief
and subtle ambiguity creates a transitory and fleeting sense of
tension. It prevents the chords becoming too clean; too tidy, too
normal.
It is the sonic density and dislodged harmonies that create a sense of unease which frames how we rationalise
the film intro. In a situation like this if the music is ‘normal’ it simply creates a carpet of sound which, in most
situations, might as well not be there for all the good it does.
There is an important harmonic convention used in this piece; the same bars I have just mentioned. When the
chord changes from Db to A/C# we benefit from the consistency of the same bass note ‘sound’ whilst
benefitting greatly from the note’s intervallic alteration.
Interval of root note

Fig.3
1 3 1 1 3 1
The Db becomes a sound which is treated intervallically as the major 3rd of an A chord. This is a well-known
and well-worn harmonic filmic trick which takes the listener emphatically outside the key centre of the initial
chord whilst retaining the sound/pitch the note makes. The gravity of this manouvre can perhaps best be
emphasised by looking at the following bass line, which shows a Db ascending to an Ab via the F note. The
easiest way to rationalise this intervallically, especially bearing in mind the key signature, is as a root, 3rd and 5th
of Db.
Fig.4
1st 3rd 5th
However, if we switch off from the tyranny of the key signature and refuse to be beholden to it when deciding
the nature of subsequent chords, we could call the third note in the phrase a G#, not an Ab; same note, different
meaning (as in fig.5). The note has loads more possibilities now that we see it as a G# and not an Ab. We could,
for example, treat the G# as a maj3 of an E chord, as Debussy did in ‘Clair De Lune’. The point is that the ‘loads
more possibilities’ were always there; we simply needed to think outside the box of the key centre to be aware
of them. We are only hostages to the tyranny of the key centre if we allow ourselves to be.
Fig.5
Fig.6
If we look at bar eleven of fig.1 (transcribed separately, left, fig.6), we can see
the slight harmonic distortion created by the Eb note (middle stave, beats 2-3)
which goes from being an add9 of the Db chord to the #11 of the A/C# chord.
#11 The #11 is passing and its effect is in some ways more subtle than would
8 9 normally be the case because it is the interval change we perceive, after the
note has begun.
#4
1 2
Fig.7 Harmonic appropriation and iconic symbolism
If we look once again at the simple horn motif which comes at the beginning of the main theme, we can see
straight away the subtle appropriation of the Star Wars and Superman aesthetic, via the use of root-5th. I say
subtle because texturally there is world of difference between a subtle, mellow horn rendition and the trumpets
which articulated the phrase in the memorable Williams scores. Despite the textural differences which separate
Williams’ motif and Joe Kramer’s use of the same interval in the intro to Jack Reacher, the harmonies still
communicate a feeling of drama. The slightly slower, more subtle and gentle use of the interval, on horns, is
suggestive of power, gallantry, courage and bravery. Also, the movie’s narrative bleeds over into how the music
is perceived by its audience. This is clearly not Star Wars or Superman; it is a fundamentally different narrative.
But despite this the harmony is clear and unambiguous and its message and meaning still delivers a subtle
version of the more direct and emphatic version in Star Wars and Superman.
As I said earlier the opening main title theme reaches a brief point of hesitation and tension in bars seventeen to
nineteen of fig.1 (transcribed below separately, fig.8). Because of what precedes this section, we hear the top F
note as 3rd of a Db chord. What makes this section so furtive and suspicious is, like many great film music
moments, it completely confounds the expectation of the listener.
Fig.8
Along with the sudden textural softness created by strings, we
suddenly hear the F differently, as a #5 of an A chord which then
becomes and A(#5) over an E. The E clashes with the top F, which
further disfigures the chord. As I have mentioned before the
majority of listeners will be oblivious to how their sense of emotion
is manipulated by the harmonic tensions composers make use of,
but they are the beneficiaries of these effects. You only need to
understand the reasons in order to comprehend how and why. You
don’t need to understand in order to simply ‘appreciate’. People
understand and appreciate music in a multitude of different and
complex ways. Although there are similarities in our cognitive
abilities which, for example, allow specific harmonies to cause
similar emotional reactions in most people, one does not ordinarily
need to comprehend the vastness of harmony in order to be the
beneficiary of its effect.
BURIED Victor Reyes

Buried is a 2010 Spanish/American psychological thriller. The film revolves around Iraq-based American
civilian truck driver Paul Conroy who, after being attacked, finds himself buried alive in a wooden coffin, with
only a lighter, flask, pencil and a mobile phone to help him before the oxygen in the coffin runs out. As time
runs out a US government employee [Brenner] tells Conroy that they have found his location and are beginning
to dig him out. Sand begins to fill the coffin to dangerous levels, giving him seconds to live. When the group
digs up a coffin, it turns out to be that of a previous hostage and not that of Conroy. The last thing Paul Conroy
hears as he suffocates while his coffin fills with sand is Brenner apologizing to him, saying “I’m so sorry Paul,
I’m so sorry”.
Fig.9 Movie 01.28.10 - Audio ‘I’m so sorry Paul, I’m so sorry’
Movie 01.29.00 - Audio – 00.48

As always trying to figure out how and why a certain music approach works involves trying to figure out what
emotions it conveys to the listener. Such emotions are not literally embedded in the music; they are embedded
within our response and reaction to a specific musical approach.
Frequency is a reality of science and nature but pitch represents the imposition of a classification we created to
make sense of the world of sound and music. In the same vein emotion and meaning do not literally reside
within notes or chords: they are a construct of our creation; a way which enables us to classify and enjoy the
music we hear and put it in some kind of order.
So, bearing all that in mind, the music fulfils two types of function within context of the film; firstly it signifies
a sense of propulsion but also a feeling completion, resolution, conclusion and ‘end’. It contains a feeling of
inevitability; an inexorable sense of certainty. What it also contains is a sense of anguish, torment, suffering,
pain, anxiety and loss. All these emotions can be reasonably attributed to this music, especially used, as it is, in
conjunction with the final scene.
The question for us, then, as always, is how? A sense of certainty, completion, resolution, conclusion, ‘end’, is
probably a mixture of fairly physically static and cumbersome accompanying harmony (the chords in most bars
are semibreves) but also the sense of inevitability created by the downward bass movement, which has its own
contour, its own narrative. The downward bass line is not just a product of the chords; it is a path it has carved
out for itself by virtue of the inversions which enable it to happen. The sense of anguish, torment, suffering, pain
and anxiety is even more subtly created by the effect certain harmonic devices have on us, due to their relative
unconformity and oddity.
Below the same piece (minus its intro) this time featuring annotations to highlight the tensions alluded to.
BAR 13: Two things: firstly the closeness of the middle two notes BAR 14: We have the lumpy harmony again thanks
on the lower stave create a type of sonically ambiguous and to the A, C# and E on the lower stave but we have a
‘lumpy’ harmony; secondly a combination of the 2nd inversion and slightly ambiguous chord in the second half of the
the maj7 (the low B and the D’# melody) almost superimpose a bar insofar as the inverted C#m chord doesn’t sit
feeling of a B chord over the E inversion wonderfully well with the added 4th (the F#).
Fig.10
BAR 15: The E
melody note (the
add4) clashes
lightly with the D#
(3rd) an octave
lower
BAR 17:
The add4
again
BAR 25: Not as severe but still a causer of tension is the

interval between the G# (lower voicing of the top stave
harmony) and the higher F# (a 7th) and between the same
G# and the lower F# (a 9th)
BAR 27: The A melody note clashes mildly

with the G# with the C#m chord. These
kinds of clashes happen all over the place BAR 30: The lower BAR 30: The chord on the top
and are not fleeting, lasting two beats. This chord of B/F# clashes stave, with its 2nd and 6th,
particular clash is made more pronounced mildly with the interval sounds unilaterally almost like
due to the #4 interval between the top two of a7th between the top a C#7, which, when set against
notes B and the lower C# (the the lower B/F# chord, sounds
9th). polyharmonic
BAR 34: The bottom stave

goes from an A chord to a
C#m/G# but this clashes with
the top ‘version of events’
where there is still a semblance
of an A chord. This once again
represents a subtle clash
The interesting thing about this analysis is not just that it shows where, why and how the tensions exist, but that
it reveals consistencies; for example the use of the add4 and also the use of more than one extension at a time,
creating internal dynamics and vivid colours within chords.
ENEMY OF THE STATE Harry Gregson Williams & Trevor Rabin

Enemy of the State is a 1998 American spy-thriller. NSA director Thomas Reynolds is angry that he can’t
blackmail a congressman into supporting a law giving the NSA greater snooping powers, so he decides to kill
him instead and make it look like a heart attack. Unfortunately for Reynolds the murder is accidentally taped;
the tape ends up in the hands of a lawyer who is forced on the run to stay alive. The action is fast-paced and the
narrative is exciting and pulsating throughout. In terms of the music we look at a theme which book-ends the
movie, coming first after the opening scene at the introduction credit roll and again during the end titles
sequence. It is interesting to see what works musically to distill the film, firstly in terms of how it delivers and
frames the film, musically, and finally how it ties up the movie in its final credit roll. How films are delivered
musically is a crucial aspect of how we perceive the story; similarly how movies are tied up at the end is
important. How we remember the film affects how we choose to ‘frame’ the movie; end titles music can greatly
enhance our perception of the movie experience we’ve just had.
Fig.11 Movie: 00.04.28 & 02.06.00 – Audio: Main Title
Anticipated
phrases
Anticipated
phrases
Disrupted
timings
Disrupted
timings
Clearly the pushed, syncopated phrases in bars three/four and seven/eight add a palpable sense of momentum,
motion and drive to the piece, adding to the excitement. Also the rough textures give the piece a rugged sound
which makes the phrases stand out. But also worth mentioning are the serious ‘jolts’ we experience when there
is a rapid and totally unforeseen change in pulse and timing. Just when we were getting to know the piece and
feeling familiar with its delivery, the composer delivers a surprise which has the function of keeping excitement
and nervous energy pumping. The chord which leads into bar eight has a real emotional intensity; there is a tiny
nod to the James Bond vibe thanks to the Em6 chord.
THE FUGITIVE James Newton Howard

The Fugitive is a 1993 American thriller film based on the 1960s television series of the same name. When Dr.
Richard Kimble (Harrison Ford) is wrongfully convicted for the murder of his wife and escapes from federal
custody, he is declared a fugitive. He sets out to prove his innocence and bring those who were responsible to
justice while being pursued relentlessly by a team of U.S. Marshals, led by Deputy Samuel Gerard (Tommy Lee
Jones). The following music plays over the film’s intro title sequence which bleeds into shots of the night city
skyline interspersed with black-and-white slow-motion footage of a violent struggle involving a woman and a
perpetrator.
Movie: intro – Audio: Main Title

Fig.12
If we listen to the opening cue we can definitely detect an anxious air; sinister even. Clearly the initial low
strings create the potential for this to be dramatic music, but we need to look at the horn motif, which sounds
bare and stark. This is primarily because the interval the horns state is a bare 5th, empty and devoid of character,
sounding quite square. The feeling of harmony is delivered to us in small doses; the initial horn chord has no
minor or major 3rd, but the following horn notes of Gb and Db effectively create almost an Ebm7. The music is
not slow but the harmony is. The horn notes (in their second entry) go from Eb and Bb (5th) to F and C (also a
5th). This second chord is what, once again, delivers a sense of darkness and emptiness to the piece.
The sense of key comes via the cello line beginning on bar nine, which sees an Ebm arpeggio create a bed of
harmony. The maj6 interval (over a minor chord) plays a part too in bars thirteen and fifteen, creating a furtive
air. This is the cue’s James Bond moment, where it becomes overtly stylistic.
The piece really lights up and delivers its dissonant punch in bar twenty-one, where we see a cello quaver line
based around Am but with the dissonant accompaniment of a high string melody beginning on the C#; thus we
have simultaneous minor and major chords being implied. Bar twenty-six (transcribed again, separately below)
contains an extremely colourful and emotionally provoking section in which there is a ‘bed of consonance’ on
the lower stave by virtue (firstly) of the Eb/G chord with cellos fluctuating between root and 3rd, and (secondly)
a B/F# chord featuring cellos moving between the root and 5th. In contrast to this normality the top line offers a
quite searing, distinct and discolored line which ascends over a two-bar period. The interesting thing here is that
the type of dissonant line is consistent if you look at the intervals and not the notes. The success of this passage
is the colour of the intervals. The chords which support this line simply move to accommodate the need for the
same melodic intervals to appear whilst maintaining a continued downward trajectory of pitch.
I mention this because people often think that, simply because dissonance sounds ‘weird’, that in some way it is
more ‘hit and miss’ or chaotic in structure, when in fact it is meticulously manicured to produce an almost
forensically specific effect. Also people often think that something which sounds ‘weird’ or ‘dissonant’ is
entirely made up of dissonance, when in fact in this case as with many passages we have looked at which sound
dissonant, only one aspect of it is actually dissonant. The piece depends on the interplay between melodic
dissonance and chordal consonance.
The ‘bottom half’ is entirely normal and consonant and the top half ‘sounds dissonant’ by comparison. Thus,
dissonance sometimes sounds as it does due to a contrast between normal and ‘abnormal’. Often the best
dissonance is to be found when it is bolted on to a piece of ‘normal’ harmony. It is the sense of dislocation
which affects us. This is an entirely different concept to dissonance based on things which are random or
deliberately chaotically oriented.
CATCH ME IF YOU CAN John Williams

Catch Me If You Can is a 2002 American film based on the life of legendary criminal and fraudster Frank
Abagnale, who successfully performed cons worth millions of dollars by impersonating a Pan-Am pilot, a
Georgia doctor and a Louisiana lawyer. His primary crime was check fraud; eventually he was caught but
ultimately the FBI recruited him to help catch other check forgers. We covered one of the other main themes
from this movie in a volume one of How Film & TV Music Communicate, which dealt with a specific harmonic
approach. This time however, we look at a small section of the music which appears at the end of the movie,
roughly 02.012.00, as we see Abagnale busy working for the FBI. As the camera moves away from him we see
various facts about Abagnale’s life and career.
The question therefore is, how do you distil the emotion of the film into one piece of music? What character
would the piece have? How would it address the multitude of contexts and subtexts in this film?
Fig.13 Movie 02.12.00 – Audio: Reprise and end credits

The real charm of this piece is that it betrays emotions of comfort and consolation without becoming
melodramatic or ‘too happy’. It conveys a sense of contentment and solace with just a hint of sadness and
melancholy. John Williams manages all this and still retains a slight sense of cheekiness. From a timing and
structural perspective, it fluctuates between 3/4 and 4/4. The time changes are less obvious because the quaver
piano motif plays throughout and almost obliterates any sense of metre. This gives the piece a slightly
mesmerising feel, which can make it seem a little distant, which in turn can cause a melancholy dreamy feel.
The melody line sounds quite normal; playful even. Williams has done what he has done a thousand times
before; he has made the complex sound effortless. Which begs the question, why bother making it so complex if
it ends up being interpreted as ‘normal’. The truth of course is that if it seems normal then sometimes it only
seems that way. There are tiny pockets of tension and squirts of colour which cause emotion. For example, there
is his use of partial or incomplete harmony throughout. Most of the harmony is the result of horizontal
movement, not vertical stacks of notes. Within this use of sparse, incomplete harmony delivered horizontally,
there is the sense of a greater context; from bar eleven onwards (particularly in bar thirteen / fourteen) I have
named the chord symbol ‘G13 feel’. This is because there is an overall suggestion of the 13th chord. There is a
flavour of the 13th chord despite it not being there. This is primarily caused by the quaver fluctuation between
the C and D on the top stave, together with the presence of the octave E to F movement crotchet movement (also
on the top stave). Similarly in bar twenty seven there is the feeling of a greater context, which is why the chord
symbol states ‘Cmaj9 feel’. One of the greatest harmonic devices is where a specific flavour is conveyed or
implied, rather than absolutely and unequivocally stated.
THE FIRM Dave Grusin

In this drama, based on the best-selling novel by John Grisham, Tom Cruise plays Mitchel McDeer, a young
high flying law graduate. Memphis-based Bendini, Lambert, & Locke offer Mitch a lucrative contract and
eventually he accepts. Before long Mitch discovers that the vast majority of BL&L’s business is tied to
organized crime, with crime boss Joey Morolto using the firm to launder Mafia money. The FBI attempt to get
Mitch to help them make a case against the firm while BL&L’s security director is blackmailing him to do as
he’s told. Pretty soon Mitch is on the run from both the FBI and the Mob.
In volume one of How Film & TV Music Communicate we looked at this film and its music, focusing on a track
called ‘Mitch and Abby’ which comes around 00.12.33 as Abby (Mitch’s wife) is about to move to Memphis
with husband Mitch. The music is happy, playful but the broken chords help articulate the scene; perhaps they
help describe how Abby feels about the move; melancholic, apprehensive, nervous but happy. By contrast the
piece we focus on now comes at the end of the movie, following a tumultuous few months Mitch and Abbey
have had in Memphis. Due to a unique plan Mitch hatched to avoid being chased for the rest of his life by the
Mafia, he and his wife now leave Memphis in the same beat-up car they arrived in months earlier. Grusin uses
the same thematic idea in a track called ‘How could you lose me’ but this time the theme’s treatment is
noticeably different. The entire film was scored just using piano, but because Grusin is such a master of colour
and harmony, you never feel the need for more. Even the textural similarity caused by every cue being on piano
never becomes too overpowering. This is because Grusin squeezes every inch of harmonic variety from the
piano. The sheer intensity in the performance makes the piano alone sound like the perfect instrument to
articulate the movie’s narrative.
This time the ‘tune’ has a serenity and tranquility that the version at 00.12.33 didn’t possess. There is a
peacefulness and composure to the piece.
Fig.14 Movie 02.23.23 – Audio: ‘How could you lose me?’
Leaving aside the melodic contour (highlighted in fig 14) which appears in different guises, there are also other
harmonic devices in use. The cluster chords (highlighted with circles) are a big part of the sound, creating a real
and palpable but blurred sense of subtle ‘fluffy’ harmonic ambiguity. There is also one moment (bar two) when
Grusin uses a maj2ndharmony to illicit a subtle splash of colour.
Over and above the cluster harmonies, is there a consistent type of chord which could be described as a
harmonic identity? Harmonic identity is sometimes obvious to spot visually and aurally but sometimes it is so
deeply absorbed into the fabric of the harmony that it is hard to hear. The point being that, even if we are
unaware of the elements that give the piece its harmonic character, the elements are still there and they’re still
doing their job. Below is the same transcription again, but this time highlighting a specific and reoccurring
intervallic character (4th). The use of the 4th gives the piece a consistent flavour; it creates a consistent sense of
disturbance and subtle mild disruption.
4
Fig.15
4 4
4
4
SHALLOW GRAVE Neil Barnes Paul Daley (aka Leftfield) & Simon Boswell
Shallow Grave was the feature film debut of Scottish director Danny Boyle and was a dark, black comedy about
a trio of Edinburgh roommates whose greed fuels murder and betrayal. Seeking a fourth boarder to share the
rent for their stylish flat, three professional flat-mates settle on Hugo. Hugo’s reserve masks criminal
involvement, however, as the roommates discover when they find him dead in bed from a drug overdose, with a
suitcase containing enormous amounts of cash.
The intro music (by ‘Leftfield’) is extremely effective in framing the movie as a dark, urban, gritty thriller,
which juxtaposes perfectly the black comedy influences which enter the narrative. The music paints a bleak but
urban, energetic and ‘cool’ picture which belies the chaos and tragedy which befalls the main characters. The
movie launched the careers of the then relatively unknown actors Ewan McGregor and Christopher Ecclestone,
and it is Ecclestone’s character who narrates through this first piece.
Fig 16 Audio ‘Shallow Grave’ Neil Barnes & Paul Daley (aka Leftfield)
Shallow Grave has been compared to films like Pulp Fiction (both were released in 1994). The energetic visual
style and black comedic approach to the crime-thriller genre has much in common with Tarrantino’s style but
there are also significant nods to the Coen brothers and even Hitchcock. The into track works extremely well in
highlighting those comparisons; it works well as the intro to this film largely due to the textural tone it instantly
sets, but it’s important to note that the piece contains some important and fairly classic harmonic film music
devices. Two important chords in the piece are the Ab/C to C(omit3). We hear the omit3 chord as a Cm because
it is preceded by, and thus framed by, the Ab. Bars one and two of the sequence below feature Cm and Ab/C,
virtually identical to the two Shallow Grave chords. Bars three and four contain the same two chords, this time
with the beginning of a familiar motif of Danny Elfman’s from the Tim Burton Batman movie. Later on we see
Fig.17 the same two chords form the basis of the iconic and instantly recognisable James Bond sequence.
Cm6
Cm to Ab/ is a well-known and dramatic chord change to be found in countless dramatic situations (not all in
Cm but using relative chords). The chords work well in reverse, too; Twin Peaks begins on Ab/C to Cm. One
reason why the sequence works so well is that we react to the G note rising to the Ab (which we perceive as 5th
to m6th).But the other reason is that whilst one note changes physically (the G to the Ab), what we react to is the
intervallic change in the C (which goes from being a root of the Cm chord to being a 3rd of the Ab chord) and
the Eb (which goes from a min3rd of the Cm to the 5th of the Ab). The point is that as listeners we react to the
intervallic change of notes which remain static, which is a much more subtle and personal experience for a
listener as it involves more interpretation on their part.
The next piece we examine from Shallow Grave is written by Simon Boswell and comes several times during
the movie, the first of which is at 00.12.03 as we see the new tenant move into the apartment with two suitcases.
He enters his own room, closes the door and opens one of the suitcases, which we only see from the back.
Throughout and beyond this sequence a memorable piece of music plays underneath, creating a feeling of mild
anxiety, unease and apprehension. There is a meandering, mesmerising feeling to the piece emanating from a
combination of the physical movement of the piano parts and the harmonies they create. The top line piano
moves up and down and so does the left hand, albeit at a much slower pace (highlighted). Because the lines go
up and down at different rates there is an occasional feeling of contrary motion between the parts; this is
important because it ensure the piece never becomes mechanical or parallel sounding.
Fig.18 Audio ‘Theme from Shallow Grave’- Simon Boswell – Movie 00.12.03
Strings
Piano
The contrary motion and the movement in general create a sensation of expansion, of growth, of evolution, of
momentum. If we examine vertically the harmonies that are implied horizontally by the lines, we are aware of
two distinct chords (below).
One does not need to stack harmony in vertical piles to

Fig.19 Definite, strong Sad, melancholic appreciate its colour. Horizontal harmony, where the emotion
is gradual and continuing, can actually be more effective
because the information we need to realise the colour of the
music is delivered a different way. However, the chords being
implied are just as effective. As we can see from the figure
above, the chords are quite clear.
Release Tension
The chords are contrasting; one being definite and the other (not on its own but by comparison) being sad,
melancholic and wistful. The other interesting thing to mention is that the piece contains aspects which prevent
it from descending into anything too normal; in other words it contains splashes of colour; moments of surprise.
The first one is in the left hand of the piano, which keeps returning to the 7th (Db) but doesn’t contain the 3rd.
Thus is has quite a stark, bare feel. The second lay in the right hand quaver motif, which, when examined,
doesn’t follow exactly the path you imagine it would, particularly in the second four-bar sequence (bars five-
eight in the figure below).
Fig.20
The first group of four bars is identical, creating an expectation that, if it changes at all, the change will be
consistent and applied to bars five-eight. In fact this doesn’t happen. Consider the version below in which the
second group of four bars contains the same phrase each bar. In all probability this is what we expected but
didn’t get. It is these tiny, almost imperceptible and subtle changes which confound our expectation and tweak
our excitement.
Fig.21
THE SIEGE Graham Revell

Many people are killed when a Brooklyn bus explodes. An FBI agent joins a Middle East expert and NSA
operative to investigate. An explosion in a Broadway theatre is followed by attacks on a school and FBI
headquarters. When the President declares martial law tanks appear on the streets of Brooklyn. With the Army
controlled by a power-crazed fanatic, the situation deteriorates.
The music we examine succeeds in framing our perception of the film’s overriding narrative; suspicion, mistrust
and paranoia. The music begins the moment the film starts and underscores archive scenes of the aftermath of a
bomb blast, featuring carefully placed footage, along with news reports and even an appearance by President
Clinton.
Because the music is underscoring scenes of chaos at first we only catch the ‘feel’ of the music – the ‘taste’ of
the harmony. We hear odd bits penetrating the sound design and at one point we hear an entire phrase. We do,
however, get the message.
Fig.22 Movie 00.00.25 – Audio: ‘The Sheik’s Abduction’

`
The message is the power of horizontal harmony, which unlike vertical harmony, is gradual and cumulative in
its effect, which means it can sometimes sound vaguer, which can sometimes work better than absolute
harmony. We can see by generating a chord from the notes in bar one (in the edited example below) that the
chord implied by the first bar is technically a C#omit3 with an added m6 (which I have stated in the chord
version in bar two). There is, however, more than a whiff of F#m9 when you listen to it, which means that an
F#m9/C# might well be a more phonically accurate description. Over and above all the theorizing the point I
make is that chords like this communicate two subtly different colours and realities, and this is the power of
horizontal harmony. To merely state the chord I have written in bar two of the example below might be overkill.
But to allude to it, to suggest, to intimate, is much more subtle.
Fig.23
The second phrase, in which the example above starts in bar five, is quite revealing when you apply chord
symbols that the harmonies suggest, i.e. C#omit3 and Domit3, which appear consecutively in bar five and
simultaneously as a polychord in bar six.
UNSTOPPABLE Harry Gregson Williams

Unstoppable is a drama about a runaway train carrying a cargo of toxic chemicals which puts an engineer and
his conductor in a race against time. They’re chasing the runaway train in a separate locomotive and need to
bring it under control before it derails on a curve in the track and causes a toxic spill that will cause death and
destruction. The subtext is probably the tangled and complicated lives of the main characters and their own
relationships with their families. Denzel Washington plays Frank, an aging train engineer forced to indoctrinate
a young conductor named Will, played by Chris Pine. The two begin not liking one another but end up gaining
respect for each other during the unfolding drama of the film. The introductory pictures show a grim industrial
landscape and shows Will waking up, seemingly finding it difficult to face the day.
The accompanying music creates a dual mood; firstly the electronic-sounding semiquaver chords, along with a
distinctive synth line on the lower bass stave, creates a feeling of subtle momentum; of potential drama, rather
than actual drama. The semiquaver riff focusses in and out of sonic clarity, which gives the piece a very
contemporary feel. Some bars radiate a strong, rich min3 presence, creating warmth and emotion.
Also, look at how many ‘omit’ and sus chords there are. These subtly block-out the absoluteness of the chords
and prevent them from becoming too ‘normal’. Although the strings give the phrase some textural smoothness,
the chords are deceptive. Sparse harmonies and incomplete chords are well-trodden harmonic devices for
carving some emotion and colour into pieces, ironically by taking some harmonic elements out of the equation.
This makes the music less ‘normal’ and allows it to fuse with the pictures.
Fig.24
Movie - 00.01.27 Audio – ‘Unstoppable Theme’
Some bars radiate a strong,

rich min3 presence, creating
warmth and emotion.
The semiquaver riff focusses in
and out of sonic clarity
The real colour

starts here
F7
omit3 F omit3
‘omit’ and sus chords
THE DAVINCI CODE Hans Zimmer

The Da Vinci Code is a 2003 mystery-detective novel written by Dan Brown. It follows symbologist Robert
Langdon as he investigates a murder in Paris’s Louvre Museum and discovers a battle between the Priory of
Sion and Opus Dei over the possibility of Jesus having been married to Mary Magdalene. The book has been
consistently criticized for its supposed historical and scientific inaccuracies but this didn’t stop it becoming an
international best-seller. In 2006, a film adaptation was released with music composed by Hans Zimmer. We
have looked at this film before in volume 1 of How Film & TV Music Communicate. This time we look at a
particularly masterful piece of scoring toward the end of the movie. After Langdon’s assistant Sophie is reunited
with her grandmother and others who have vowed to protect her, Langdon returns to Paris. He suddenly gets an
idea after cutting himself shaving in his hotel bathroom and seeing the blood in the sink make a trail. Following
the ‘Rose Line’ markers on the streets of Paris leads him directly to the glass pyramid in the courtyard of the
Louvre. In the final scene of the movie, Langdon recites the poem aloud while the camera shows how each line
of the poem fits with the pyramid's structure, ending with a shot of Mary Magdalene's sarcophagus lying below
the stone, hidden from view. This scene is accompanied by a piece that is probably one of the finest, most
enduring and emotionally communicative pieces of music in the history of film.
Movie 02.41.54 - Audio ‘Chevaliers de Sangreal’
Fig.25
So, why is this so special?

The piece has dramatic, enthralling and transfixing qualities. It meanders and ambles around a sixteen-bar, four-
chord sequence which draws listeners in. There is also a curious but endearing cumbersome awkwardness to the
piece; a slight sense of ungainliness. People have put this down to the ‘dancing’ string triplets but the actual
truth behind why the strings are so penetrating is deeper than the rhythmic nature of their delivery. I will come
to that issue later, but first I want to address the chord sequence. Listeners have often said that Zimmer’s music
contains alluring qualities which draw them in but that often the chords seem curiously ‘normal’. The perceived
wisdom therefore is that his creative use of technology is what defines him; in other words, it’s the ‘sound’
textures and production people respond to more than the harmony. Most chords could be described as ‘normal’;
what gives us the beauty of music is not just what the chords are but mostly the precise architecture and
geography of their delivery. In other words, chord sequences are what give us the contextual beauty that people
often talk about, especially with Zimmer’s music. If we assume that because the chords in this piece are
unilaterally normal then so is the piece, we miss the greater issue, which is the way chords communicate
together. If Hans Zimmer’s music seems harmonically normal then it just seems that way; it also calls into
question what we perceive as normal in the first place. Often, because his music is delivered with cotton-wool
orchestration and deep, dense mixes which swallow the listener into a beautiful wall of sound, we might miss
the importance of the harmonies. The point is that some of his choices of harmony subtly take us places we
didn’t expect to go. Because his methods of taking listeners places they didn’t expect to go are frequently so
subtle as to be aurally virtually unrecognisable, we may presume they don’t exist. But they do exist, and they are
a big part of what defines him as a true romantic.
Listeners often conclude that the ‘melody’ is what draws them in when they listen to music. This is because
melody, like texture, is easily digestible. We can, to a degree, understand it without any particular musical
ability. Since understanding might be considered to be a part of enjoyment, we gravitate towards melody as the
sole answer. But if melody alone was responsible for this piece communicating it would do so because of its
strings and the later melody in the lower register. Melody without words (e.g. instrumental music) is more
dependent on its harmonies because it lacks the distraction, narrative and context words bring. Some film score
writers aren’t always as keen on melody as many might assume. Although on a surface level we tend to
remember the soaring melodies, it is often what’s going on underneath that truly defines and contextualises film
music. Melody is often a superficial device to attract us but harmonies are often what define the emotion of a
sequence; melodies are frequently quite one-dimensional and using that same logic some composers have often
referred to harmony as being the aural equivalent of 3D.
The amount of colour we can derive from harmony is almost limitless. So let’s look at the chords for
‘Chevaliers de Sangreal’ (below, fig.26). These seemingly simple chords hide one fact; they are quite ordinary
singularly but they are not ordinary collectively. Chords communicate singularly but their cumulative behaviour
represents their true power to create emotion. Collectively Zimmer’s chords assume a separate parallel identity
to the singular moment of one chord. For starters they begin on the hugely uplifting but comparatively rare
‘minor-to-relative-major’ sequence. Hundreds of thousands of pieces begin on major-to-relative-minor
sequences; the sequence has been permanently grafted onto the collective consciousness of most listeners since
the dawn of orchestral music and subsequently pop music. But the reverse is not as popular and yet is offers a
sense of mild euphoria and freshness. Whereas F to Dm sounds as if it is a natural, predictable sequence, the Dm
to F doesn’t. Also there is a slight feeling of the sequence having finished once the Csus4 to C has finished.
Even though structurally it hasn’t finished because that would only amount to six bars, we feel like it ought to
return to the Dm, e.g. ‘the beginning’ again. This means that when we actually hear the Am, it sounds mildly
surprising and fresh, even though a C-Am sequence is the most predictable and over-used sequence in the world.
The reason this C-Am sounds different is because it isn’t at the beginning of the phrase and it follows the Dm-F.
Two-chord sequences have their emotional effects altered depending on how, when and where they are used and
how they are delivered. Within context of this piece, the C-Am appears fresh because it seems like an add-on to
the phrase that we didn’t expect. Also the sequence creates a consistent palpable physical contour (highlighted
below).
Fig.26
F x4
Dm x4 C x4
Am x4
Another thing to recognise is Zimmer’s effective voicing of chords, which is low and lumpy, as seen in fig.25,
particularly on the F and Am chords with the 3rd low down in the voicing. On top of all this we have the
distinctive dancing ‘percussive’ quaver triplet strings (seen in the main transcription, fig.25) that Zimmer is so
fond of using in his music. There is, however, something else about this cue which makes it so appealing, so
transfixing, so mesmerising and so remarkable in the way it communicates to us. In order to explain it we need
to return briefly to the concept of polyharmony.
Fig.27
The chord to the left is the distinctive ‘James Bond’ chord. It is
instantly recognisable by most people who have seen the movies. Even
to people who have never watched ‘James Bond’ films, the chord has a
furtive air. Why is this chord so strange? Why does it create such
distinctive and specific identity and emotion? The reason is that the
chord is really several chords.
Looking at the example below we can firstly see the whole chord, then we can see various elements of the three
chords that help create what is, in effect, a brilliant use of polyharmony. It implies and suggests several
harmonies simultaneously.
Fig.28
Contributory
chords
Below is an example which displays all harmonic relations in this chord. The chord is turned horizontally on its
side and displayed as singular notes in succession. There are ten separate harmonic events. When we look at
harmony this way and examine each and every harmonic event rather than see each of the notes as an interval
contextualised by the root note, we perhaps begin to see the gravity of polyharmony and why it is so colourful
and confounding.
Fig.29
5th
Now we have to apply the same logic, the same mind-set, to the concept of polyrhythm. There are actually two
possible rhythmic interpretations in the Zimmer piece. Both are correct. There are two ways of rhythmically
rationalising what we listen to. One (the one we used in the main transcription) has a distinct 3 feel within a 4/4
framework, as below (fig.30).
Fig.30
If we’re listening to this and hearing

triplet strings over four main beats per
bar then we’re hearing a rough
crotchet bmp in our head of 110.
However, having studied the reactions of countless students (and myself, on initially hearing the track) there is a
Fig.31
tendency to ‘feel’ it as follows:
This time we hear straight quavers over

a 4/4 pulse. Perception has changed from
triplet quavers to straight quavers so the
crotchet beat underneath is now moving
at roughly 165 bpm.
I am not trying to confuse the issue or simply apply theory to fit the music in order to make a vague theoretical
point. The simple fact remains that there are two subtly different ways in which we can interpret this piece
rhythmically, which gives the piece a dramatically heightened sense of pulse, almost as if it is dancing between
the cracks of musical rhythmic structure. It is certainly easier to accommodate the 3/4 version in your head until
the ‘bell’ sound makes its second entry on the pickup to bar nine, in the 4/4 version; bar five in the 3/4 version.
In the 4/4 version it sits nicely on the 4th beat of the bar. On the 3/4 version it arrives on the fourth quaver of the
bar, an off-beat. Because the rhythmic feel skirts the edges of two realities, it heightens our awareness
significantly and sounds a little cumbersome but wholly more human.
THE CONSPIRACY Darren Baker

The Conspiracy is a great film; it adds a new angle to the tired ‘conspiracy thriller’ genre and also finds new life
in the increasingly lackluster ‘found-footage’ genre. Two documentarians (Aaron Poole and Jim Gilbert – the
actors’ real names) are producing a film on a conspiracy theorist named Terrance, an old, unkempt, haggard old
man who fits the classic conspiracy theorist profile marvelously. Terrance is building his own database of
almost every conspiracy theory out there, by attaching newspaper clippings to his wall in order to prove his
points and discover timelines between events. What makes this different is that the two documentarians are
skeptical. To them Terrance is just another ‘lone nut’ proposing wildly speculative and unprovable theories.
But when Terrance disappears, Aaron begins to suspect that Terrance may have been right about some of his
ideas. He develops Terrance’s theories, which eventually leads the journalists to the Tarsus Group, which is
presented almost as an amalgam of the Bilderberg group and the Illuminati. The film-makers’ obsession with
Tarsus leads them to infiltrate, with concealed mini-cams, one of the group’s highly secret gatherings, with
terrible consequences.
At about seventeen minutes into the film, after Terrance has disappeared, we see the two documentarians
looking over their own film of Terrance on the street ‘preaching’ his theories about world events, world history
and his belief in conspiracies. Aaron Poole slowly says, “Terrance and guys like him….you know, if they’re
wrong it’s really fucked up that they could be so delusional…[but] if they’re not…” During this statement the C
note of the cue ‘Pattern Recognition’ begins. We see Aaron’s facial expression as he watches footage on the
screen of 9/11, and then the arpegiated synth phrase begins.
Fig.32 Movie - 00.17.28 Audio – ‘Pattern Recognition’
So, what could be so compelling about this cue to have such an effect on the film? Although the lone C note
sounds a little eerie initially, there is something warm, entrancing and captivating about the textures and the
octave arpeggios when the piece begins to move. The vertical harmony creates a chord of C, so, initially at least,
there are no dissonances. I think the key to the success of the piece lay in the hypnotic natures of the music; the
trance-like nature of the sound, with its Contagion-esque soft, muffled EQ, is inviting, pleasant. The hypnotic
element is helped by the fact that for the first few bars there are no actual chords; the harmony is created
horizontally by the rapid arpeggios. Also because the harmony is transitory there is no semblance of root-based
harmony; the C move rapidly to E, G and C. The harmony doesn’t gravitate to a specific interval at the bottom
of the chord because there is no chord, only notes which, when joined together by the listener, form a quasi-
chord.
The warmth is also aided by the apex of the octave arpeggio landing on the maj3rd. As we have established in
many examples, the 3rd is the ultimate ‘warm’ interval; we have referred to it as the ‘defining interval’ because it
literally colours the chord major or minor (or neither, if it is not there). There is almost a rush upwards to the 3rd,
after which the arpeggio falls downward, only to begin the upward journey again.
A combination of these factors, alongside the anticipated nature of the rhythm is what gives the piece such a
bewitching character. But how do the bewitching, entrancing, hypnotic and enchanting characteristics help the
film? They help the film because they distil the scene where Aaron contemplates carrying on Terrance’s work.
A mixture of Aaron staring into the TV in a distant, troubled and pensive way, together with the music’s
characteristics and communicative qualities is what makes you believe. It makes you trust that Terrance might
have been right. It makes you feel sorry for him and it makes you feel empathy for the two journalists. Rarely in
film is there such a perfect consummation of film and music that utterly brings you under the spell of the story.
As the piece progresses the high string chord joins the arpegiated section and the final icing on the cake is the
transition from C chord to Em chord. This well-known chord trick exudes warmth but the arpegiated nature of
the synth delivery is what makes it original and so, so effective.
The cue comes again at 00.23.40 when Aaron, having studied Terrance’s data, reveals his theory of what
Terrance was working on when he disappeared. As Aaron looks across at Jim Gilbert, we see Gilbert look and
appear to be reasonably convinced. We then hear a voice-over from Gilbert, who is obviously speaking
subsequent to the events portrayed in the film: “It was loose…assumptions…built upon other assumptions, but
I’ll give it to him; he found a pattern; he connected the dots”. Then we cut to a filmed interview with Gilbert,
again subsequent to the events that unfold in the film, where he says, poignantly, “Terrance would have been
proud of him.”
How Film and TV Music Communicate – Vo. III – text © 2015
Chapter 9
S O N G S, S O U N D T R A C K S A N D L I B R A R Y M U S I C
Do songs work in films simply because people recognise them or because they work well irrespective of
whether they’re remembered or not? Do they work because of the power of association or simply because they
sound good with the movie? Usually the power of a song in film is mainly associative, where the context of the
original piece cannot be disassociated from its use in film; indeed the main rationale for using songs in film is
that they carry with them an original context which is helpful to the movie. The endless debate about whether
the use of song in film ‘works’ tends to generate more heat than light with opponents and proponents equally
convinced of their positions. Composer Ernest Bazelon referred to the use of song as ‘title song mania’. Years
later even the progressive Jerry Goldsmith (the man who said that one day the symphony orchestra would have
five sections, not four – the fifth section being electronics and synths etc) referred to songs in film as ‘a real pain
in the ass.’ The title song operates as a kind of leitmotif; in the same way early film scores used themes
associative to characters or places, the theme song worked in the same way by identifying the film outside of its
film context. ‘Pop scores’ as they became known, were attractive to the increasing demographic change in
cinema audiences. Many pop score composers were already well-established pop writers, such as Burt
Bacharach (who wrote the songs and the score to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid).
The 1950s saw what could be described as the commercially successful use of jazz in film. Concurrent with the
jazz developments was the idea of attaching a song to a film. ‘Do not forsake me oh my darlin’ – from the film
High Noon was one of the earliest examples. ‘Three coins in the fountain’ (1954) ‘Love is a many splendored
thing’ (1955) and ‘Around the world in 80 days’ (1956) were also early examples of successful songs attached
to movies. The existence of songs in films inevitably produced hysterically heated responses from traditional
score writers: David Raksin said “this business of having rock and pop in everything is absurd.” Traditional film
composers felt threatened and thought the film score would disappear under a mountain of what they saw as
trivial commercialism. Songs were the most serious challenge to the supremacy of the classical score and in
many ways overshadowed what might have been a fruitful long-term association with the jazz score. The
reaction accorded to songs in film was almost identical to how some later saw the inclusion of electronic music.
Composers openly referred to the synthesizer as ‘the mockingbird of musical instruments’. But Gorgio Moroder,
who wrote the score to Midnight Express said, “The synthesizer is an extension of musical history in the same
way automobiles were an extension to travel history”. Establishment feathers were ruffled when Midnight
Express was the first electronic score to win an Academy Award.
Movies can and do generate secondary interest in a song, sometimes long after its initial run. The soundtrack to
Wayne’s World was a major success and revived interest in ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, spurring sales of Queen’s
Greatest Hits album and bringing the song back into radio-play 15 years after it was first released; the great
irony is that the film itself actually pokes fun at Hollywood promotional practices such as the use of product
placement. To some extent the use of the songs in film, post 1990, has become cliched, industrialised and
institutionalised; the expensive and time-consuming practice of marketing a film has become much easier now
you can appropriate the power and success of songs in a reasonably predictable way. Before, you bought records
and you saw films. Now you can do both at the same time. But does the close synergy between the song and the
movie actually do either of them any long-term favours? Does it dilute or even cheapen their individual worth
and merit? Does the moviefication and visualisation of songs through films, MTV and YouTube mean that
listeners are viewers and want to ‘see’ a song in action rather than simply listen to it? And even if it does, is this
really the big deal some suggest? Some might say this is no different from listeners wanting to see a band live.
The development of the ‘organised machinery behind the manufacture of hit songs in films’ (Bazelon) is no
different to the organised machinery behind the manufacture of orchestral film scores that happened in the 30s
and beyond. The use of songs in film came about because of the pressure and impact of sociological, industrial
and cultural changes. Whereas some filmmakers were panicked into thinking the only way movies could speak
to a younger generation was through the power of song, some movie makers simply used songs because they
thought the synergy could be profitable. And it was.
Music and film companies, in order to expand and survive, had a tendency toward diversification and
conglomeration. There was an emergence of studio-owned record labels and record company-owned film
companies. This diversification and conglomeration was also the result of the ending of insular restrictive
practices in the US movie industry. The Supreme Court’s ‘Paramount decision’ (1948) blocked film companies
from restrictive practices such as block booking; this created more independent film making but made
companies more determined to make money from different income streams, such as synchronisation deals with
record companies. Decca records bought Universal Pictures in 1952 – several picture companies became
subsidiaries of major corporations which also owned record labels. Synergy beckoned.
The Graduate
The Graduate (1967) was notable not just as a great soundtrack, but also for the fact that it created problems for
the specially commissioned film score as an entity. Many people thought the days of orchestral and/or
instrumental film scores were over. The popularity of the songs written by Paul Simon meant that suddenly
people were thinking in terms of a ‘soundtrack’ (a collection of songs rather than a score). But the success of the
soundtrack to The Graduate lay in the fact that it spoke to a specific and transitory type of younger generation
who enjoyed folk music and embraced the importance of it in context of protest and the counterculture. ‘The
Sound of Silence’, most famously used in The Graduate, was written in February 1964 by Paul Simon in the
aftermath of the 1963 assassination of John F. Kennedy. It was originally recorded as an acoustic piece but the
record company’s producer, Tom Wilson, later overdubbed drums, electric bass and electric guitar, all without
the knowledge or participation of Simon & Garfunkel. During the editing stage of The Graduate they ‘temped’
some scenes to The Sound of Silence with the intention of substituting original music for the scenes. In the end
they realised, or thought, nothing else would work and purchased the sync rights for the song. ‘The Sounds of
Silence’ formed the explicit link between music, alienation and revolution in the film. The song was one of
many popular musical hits which were associated with 1960s counterculture. As it was people needn’t have
worried about the use of songs in film. Directors have used song soundtracks in film and sometimes these are
very effective. But the textural sensibilities of the orchestra and the legacy of classical romantic harmony - more
recently aided by a creative use of technology and production - still stands as the most powerful musical artistic
vehicle for accompaniment of film. Artistically the most effective use of songs in film is when they exist as
more than simply a merchandising tool or even leitmotif. If the lyrics, melody and harmony ‘speak’ for the film
and become just as much a part of the narrative as film music this makes the inclusion of the song crucial to the
success of the film; thus songs exist ‘functionally’ as film music, not ‘music’.
Songs are rarely up to the job of providing an intense, emotional and suitable listening experience to sit
alongside the film, unless they are written for the film, which is unusual, or the message and/or emotion of the
song happens to fall effortlessly into place, such as ‘The Sound of Silence’. Although in the second half of the
1960s there was a brief increased emphasis on unique music for a specific film which encouraged pop music
writers to score films, most did not match the success of Paul Simon’s music for The Graduate. This is because
although the Simon and Garfunkel sound was fresh, folky and anti-establishment in flavour, it was used
conventionally and functionally within the film. The Sound of Silence remained strongly narrative in its use. The
‘function’ of the music was traditional, if anything reinforcing precisely in the classic style of Hollywood
scoring defined by the likes of Steiner and Waxman
A great many of today’s film composers are also great producers, embracing technology. They are products of a
new generation and are not as suspicious of ‘pop music’ or songs as older orchestral writers were. Today songs
are included in movies but they are rarely dominant. Today heavily produced orchestral commissioned music
and song can live side by side. Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, Four Weddings and a Funeral and Titanic are
just a few of hundreds of films which are indelibly associated with their songs. In many respects sync deals
produce a situation whereby the song is free publicity for the film and the film is free publicity for the song or
the artist or band.
Bowling for Columbine
There are, however, a few notable examples where the use of an existing song within a film has produced a
much more stunning result that any amount of commissioned music would have. Michael Moore’s film Bowling
for Columbine sought to shine a light on America’s culture of violence and guns and the way it specifically
affects children. The film was made in the aftermath of the Columbine High School shootings and became a
persuasive counterpoint to America’s powerful gun lobby and pervasive corporate mentality. At one point in the
film Moore interviews an employee of Lockheed Martin, the world’s largest weapons manufacturer. Moore was
trying and succeeding in making a link between the culture of violence in society and the way in which
companies like Lockheed make billions of dollars by arming the world’s armies. Moore showed that the
preservation and perpetuation of wars was an essential part of the US economy, like, for example, oil. At the end
of the interview the film abruptly cuts to a montage of moving and photographic images which display vividly
America’s role in arming some of the world’s most despotic regimes, resulting in the overthrowing of
governments America didn’t like and the killing of hundreds of thousands of people in the process.
This montage would not have been even half as effective were it not for the strains of Louis Armstrong singing
‘What a wonderful world’. Leaving aside the politics and the rights or wrongs on both sides of the argument, the
use of music and the juxtaposition it represented made the sequence unforgettable and iconic, burning it
indelibly into the conscience of everyone who watched it.
The Girl in the Café
An arguably much less-watched film and definitely a little less controversial than Bowling for Columbine was
The Girl in the Café, a 2005 made-for-TV film by Richard Curtis. The film tells the story of Lawrence, a civil
servant who falls in love with Gina, a young woman whom he meets by chance in a London café. The opening
of the film shows Lawrence’s sad but ordered, methodical and regimented life by observing him having
breakfast and trudging to work through the rain. The inspired choice of Damien Rice’s track ‘Cold Water’ plays
underneath the pictures and provides an excellent juxtaposition of music and picture.
To understand the power of film and the ‘movieisation’ of popular culture we need look no further than the rock
band Aerosmith. Their song ‘I don’t want to miss a thing’ was used in the film Armageddon and debuted at
number one on the Billboard Hot 100 (a first for the band after 28 years together). The song stayed at number
one for four weeks from September 5 to September 26 (1998) introducing Aerosmith to a new generation of
fans. The song also stayed at #1 for several weeks in several other countries. The song ‘Up where we belong,
sung by Jennifer Warnes and Joe Cocker and used in the movie An Officer and a Gentleman, captures the
ambition of the two main characters in a way which would have been virtually impossible with ‘film music’.
Once again the synergy worked its magic; the movie promoted the song and the song promoted the movie.
Goodfellas
Martin Scorsese’s 1990 story of the New York underworld Goodfellas shone a light on the Mafia. Scorsese
selected a string of pop songs that perfectly evoked the New York mobsters of the time in which the movie was
set. There is a strong Italian-American flavour to the music with the inclusion of Tony Bennett’s ‘Rags to
Riches’ and Bobby Darin’s ‘Beyond the Sea’. Why do such seemingly happy songs work well with a film which
is mainly about such appalling violence and corruption? Perhaps because firstly many of the artists featured on
the soundtrack trace their roots back to the immigrant communities of New York City and secondly the songs
underpin the startling normality of the violence of the age. Scorsese clearly understands how effective pop songs
can be in evoking a particular time, place and culture in the audience’s imagination. The point is that music – in
this case, pop songs – manage to distil the age more coherently than most other aspects of the film.
Ferris Bueller’s day off
The 1986 movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off features a selection of songs to great effect. The importance of music
within the movie is often overlooked by film historians. One scene in particular comes 56.06 into the movie as
Ferris and his two friends visit a museum in Chicago. The wonderfully shot and edited sequence is beautifully
supported by an instrumental version of Dream Academy’s cover of The Smiths’ song ‘Please please please let
me get what I want’. Moments like this remind us again of the power of music when it is applied to film.
The Spy Who Loved Me
When Marvin Hamlisch composed the score to the movie The Spy Who Loved Me he watched every other Bond
film to try and find something that hadn’t been done; what he did, perhaps more than any other composer in the
franchise, was to utilise current pop stylisation within the main body of the score. Inevitably the one thing that
dates most Bond films is the inclusion of a song at the beginning and end of the movie. Usually this is written by
a songwriter popular at the time, featuring an artist also popular at the time. This gives the movie an injection of
current pop culture but can often make the same movie seem out of date thirty years later. What Hamlisch did
was strange, because although he embedded the 70s disco-style instrumentation within the film score itself
(perhaps most memorably at 00.05.43 when Bond skis down a mountain accompanied by disco rhythms and
wah-wah guitar) and thus dated the film, he co-wrote the title song ‘Nobody Does it Better’ which, except for
the singer and elements of the production, was curiously timeless.
The Killing Fields
The Killing Fields is a 1984 British drama film, based on the experiences of two journalists and the Khmer
Rouge regime in Cambodia. The film won eight BAFTA Awards and three Academy Awards and was directed
by Roland Joffé. The score was composed by Mike Oldfield and orchestrated by David Bedford. The true story
revolves around Sydney Schanberg, a correspondent for the New York Times who covers the invasion of
Cambodia with the help of Dith Pran, a local journalist and translator. Schanberg got out of Cambodia when the
country fell to the Khmer Rouge, along with most of his fellow Western correspondents, but Pran elected to stay
and subsequently disappeared. Schanberg, back home in New York, had given up his friend for dead, when one
day four years later word came that Pran was still alive and had made it across the border to a refugee camp.
At the end of the film the two friends are reunited in a deeply emotional scene. As they see each other for the
first time in years, the radio plays John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ (02.09.00). At the start of the second verse, the song
comes to the forefront of the movie, sonically. It goes from being diegetic to non-diegetic. The song is clearly
appropriate but risked overplaying the scene. What saved it was its contextual move from side-stage to centre-
stage midway through the song and the scene.
Trainspotting
The overdose scene in Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting - his saga of Edinburgh heroin addicts – is all the more
effective due to the juxtaposition between it and the accompanying music - the morose tune of Lou Reed’s
‘Perfect Day’. Character Mark Renton, eager for another ‘hit’ returns to a desolate apartment, where he shoots
up. The film manages to mix the seriousness of the scene with an infectious dark humour. The character
providing the drugs says “Would sir care for a starter; some garlic bread, perhaps?” to which Renton replies,
“No thank you, I’ll proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs”. He takes the drugs and falls into
a stupor, which Boyle represents by having him sink into a hole in the carpet, as if into a grave. This is when
Lou Reed’s flat, monotone and casual voice comes in with ‘Just a perfect day’. As the dealer pulls Renton’s
body on the street to wait for a taxi, Reed reaches the chorus. Dripping with irony and pathos, this is one of
cinema’s most striking scenes. The use of the song goes beyond simple ‘happy song, sad scene’.
SOUNDTRACKS
The film score album is consumed by the audience as part of a much larger experience (e.g. the film) so trying
to understand how it is supposed to function separately, as a stand-alone audio experience, can be difficult. The
only form in which film music is released independently of the film itself is via the bizarrely and misleadingly
titled ‘soundtrack’ album. The soundtrack is primarily a vehicle for selling the music as a stand-alone product
but of course many of the musical cues in the film are not, by definition, designed to work alone. They are often
simply not composed with that in mind. Soundtracks often get round this by sometimes selecting edited versions
of the score, spiced into musically coherent units which are then given titles which theoretically tie the tracks to
different parts of the movie.
Sometimes, but rarely, ‘expanded’ or ‘full’ versions of the soundtrack are recorded. These will often be between
an hour and two hours long and will feature each cue, step by step. These are extremely interesting for a film
score composer or scholar. However, these are a rarity. Some soundtracks may even contain music not heard in
the film itself, it may feature cues which are re-written and re-recorded for the soundtrack and the editing for the
album may be different to the editing for the music’s actual film usage. The choice of track usage will depend
on the perceived unilateral musicality of the cues – how good they sound as stand-alone pieces of music. Clearly
cues that worked brilliantly in the film may not end up on a soundtrack album because maybe they don’t work
in a conventional sense as a stand-alone musical experience. When soundtracks first became available they were
less commercial ventures and more genuine in their desire to release large portions of the film’s music to a
discerning audience. Nowadays because of the commercialisation of film scores and soundtracks they can be an
integral part of the film’s advertising campaign, which means the music has to be accessible to a similar, mainly
young audience, along with other spin-offs such as DVD, videogame, action figures, posters, t-shirts, mugs,
pencils, etc.
The film itself has to work and be accessible otherwise people will not come to see it. The film is an
amalgamation of different art and industry: together it represents an artistic statement and a commercial entity.
Let’s break down the film experience into its central core components: image, dialogue, special effects,
overdubs and music. The only element of a film which is deemed suitable to be released as a separate entity is
music. Film companies do not release albums featuring dialogue only or special effects only (“…track 11: the
door-slam in the scene where Gareth ends up shooting John…”). The idea is absurd because it wouldn’t be
entertaining. But there’s the rub; the only way in which a film score soundtrack would be suitable to everyone
and therefore maximise the revenue of the CD is if it was cleansed of its more ‘difficult’ moments. Nowadays,
because of increasing commercial pressures, corporate branding and the power of association, the pressure on
film music to work commercially and independently has never been greater. But if all film music was
constructed in a way which made it work unilaterally as a ‘nice’ musical experience then we limit the
conceptualisation process and the authenticity of what it is.
The potential dumbing-down of film music
If film score soundtracks are watered down, subject to crass commercialisation simply to satisfy a perceived
market, then how long will it be before film scores fall victim to the absolute need for only ‘nice tunes’. If this
happens it will diminish the music’s potential effectiveness in terms of its suitability for film.
When Jerry Goldsmith was interviewed about his seminal score to Planet of the Apes he said “You’d never get
away with that now.” The score was ground-breaking and it contributed to the film’s iconic status. But the
music can hardly be described as being an easy listening experience. At dinner parties people rarely say, “Say,
why don’t we put the soundtrack to the Planet of the Apes on?” Goldsmith was right, because a few years after
the interview they did indeed remake Planet of the Apes. The score was excellent but it was not the disturbingly
serial masterpiece Goldsmith had been free to conceive.
A recent trick is to release film music CDs alongside the original dialogue for the relevant scenes. Actors are
credited on the soundtrack for their talking roles. In reality this is simply the film minus its image. In effect it is
an acknowledgement that the film-score is a difficult element to justify commercially and thus record and
exploit, which is something we already knew. What’s new is that now it’s a problem. Now in order to release
film music to the public it sometimes has to a) be nice, and b) have the narrative attached. At 01.46.00 into the
movie Four Weddings and a Funeral there is a scene where actor Charles (Hugh Grant) is dripping wet talking
to Carrie (Angie MacDowell), doing his usual brilliant impression of the classically emotionally constipated Brit
in an embarrassing situation. He says “There I was, standing at the church….when I realised that I utterly loved
one person…and that wasn’t the person standing opposite me.” In the movie this is accompanied by a delicate
and unashamedly romantic filmic light string section. On the soundtrack album the same dialogue is there but is
accompanied by the excellent Barry White track ‘My First, My Last, My Everything’. As a listening experience
it’s actually fantastic. But it’s not an accurate rendition of what’s on the film; it’s something else entirely. Thus
in some circumstances the soundtrack album is an entirely separate entity. It is almost like a different version of
the film; the film minus the pictures and with different music.
On the soundtrack album to the movie Hannibal there is a track entitled ‘Dear Clarise’. Again the producers
have kindly and helpfully laced it with the original dialogue from the film in case we are all morons. The
dialogue is accurate and authentic; it features Dr Hannibal Lector reading aloud a letter sent to Clarise Starling.
In the film she reads the letter over the sound of Hannibal’s voice. But on the album there is different music
accompanying the sequence. The original music used in the film is just as good but of course it is written for a
movie scene which shows a character reading a letter with the overdubbed voice of the author reading it aloud.
The music is crafted well around these sonic and visual obstacles. The album version doesn’t have the burden of
the visuals to contend with so it uses an entirely different piece of music; one which might work in a radio
dramatization of the film, which is kind of what this track is. There is nothing wrong with this at all; both pieces
work well. My point is that trying to pass something off as a soundtrack album when it is in fact a different
product is misleading. My further point is that we may be damaging the concept of film music by ensuring that
the ‘soundtrack version of events’ is suitably attractive to listeners and doesn’t burden them with anything
difficult. The danger is that this practice leaks into the movie itself and directors end up only wanting ‘nice’
scores. If all these factors force bidding score writers to write accessible music which works as a stand-alone
experience in the knowledge that without it the music will not be fit for commercial exploitation, then we should
re-evaluate the role of the soundtrack and the negative effect it is having on music. If we are to force film score
writers to write music that exists independently as a stand-alone musical experience then we are changing
forever the whole approach to film score writing, to its considerable detriment.
If we accept without question that the only way in which film music can be heard is if it’s ‘nice’ we are denying
the music’s right to exist as art, and subjecting film-score writing to elements of commercial reality it was never
designed for. As an example of the power of the soundtrack album and the way it is designed more as
merchandise to support the movie, it’s worth looking at the 1989 Batman movie, directed by Tim Burton with
music by Danny Elfman. The ‘soundtrack’ to Batman was a group of songs written by Prince. Prince was hired
by the record company to help sell their expensive, high profile movie. Snippets of a couple of songs, barely
heard under the dialogue of a few party scenes from the film, is all that existed of Prince’s ‘score’ for the film.
Nevertheless the album went platinum and spent five weeks at number 1. Elfman, the composer of the actual
score, waited a month before the release of the orchestral score. The record company didn’t want to get them
mixed up. This prompted Newsweek to say ‘how to sell a soundtrack: First, ignore the movie’.
LIBRARY MUSIC
Library (or ‘Production’) music is a convenient solution for film and television producers. They are able to
license any piece of music in a company’s library at a reasonable rate. By comparison a specially-commissioned
work could be more expensive. Licensing a well-known existing piece of popular music could cost thousands of
pounds. Production music libraries typically offer a broad range of musical styles and genres, enabling
television and film producers and editors to find what they need. The first library music library company was set
up by De Wolfe Music in 1927 with the advent of sound in film. Library music is frequently used as theme
and/or background music in radio, film and television. Some of the most well-known and instantly recognisable
music in the British television music canon were library pieces. Library music composers and session
performers are largely anonymous and rarely known outside their professional circle. Composers such as Alan
Hawkshaw, John Cameron, Johnny Pearson and Keith Mansfield have become iconic figures within the industry
because of the popularity, appeal and longevity of their memorable themes.
In context of this chapter, in which we have also discussed song in film, it’s interesting to note that in many
ways library music could reasonably be compared to song in the way it functions; unless written specifically for
a film, songs have a unique internal emotional dynamic which is created by the composer and the performers
when the song is written and played. When the song is played with the film, it is a mixture of the existing
emotional dynamic of the song fusing with the film which makes it work. Either we get a juxtaposition where
there is an ironic dynamic created by the difference between the two, or, more often than not, we get a
supposedly perfect fit, where the message of the song matches or compliments the scene in a film. The point is,
because the song is usually not written to the film, if it fits the scene, it probably overstates it and exaggerates it.
The fact that the song’s content matches the pictures can sometimes lead to overload. The music, in its new
context, can sound caricatured. Library music is by definition caricatured; it can’t be anything else. It is written
by composers who are deliberately adopting a specific style. But because they lack the actual pictures, what they
write has to communicate in quite a heavy-handed stylistic way. If a library company wants ‘action’ music, the
music is going to have to communicate aurally as action music; whereas if the composer was sculpturing the
music to picture, they would be able to respond more subtly to the images and the narrative. Library music must
aurally mimic, impersonate and imitate a specific emotion, whereas if the composer was writing to picture, it
would be a combination of film and music which creates the action; it would be an interaction, a reaction, a
marriage between what people see and what people hear that creates ‘action’.
Roughly 70-80% of music on television is Library music, which is why often the music is utterly duplicative
and often quite unsubtle. Library music has to make a unilateral musical statement, it has to have an opinion; it
has to be self-contained, because it doesn’t know where it is. It must italicise, emphasise and exaggerate. The
risk with the overuse of Library music within film and TV is that it creates caricatured results; it is often too
obvious and lacks the subtlety and sensitivity that would come with a proper relationship between music and
picture; i.e. one which has been created by composers and directors rather than shoved together in an edit room.
It fundamentally alters and almost deskills the composer, making him/her into someone who writes self-
contained caricatured, off-the-shelf music which communicates unilaterally and instantly, rather than someone
who responds to an idea, a story, a narrative, a film - with thought, intellect, conceptualisation and then music.
How Film and TV Music Communicate – Vol. III – text © 2015 Brian Morrell
Chapter 10
TEMP TRACKS, FILM MUSIC AND THE CLASSICAL TRADITION
Perhaps it is fitting that at the end of the third volume of analysis into film music we arrive conveniently back at
the beginning, where the genesis of film music is to be found; the place where it all began.
The issue of how classical music has been used in movies presents enough material for an entire book by itself.
It has enriched and informed film music for over a hundred years. The biggest single influence on the history
and development of film music has been its textural centre of gravity; the orchestra. By definition the second
biggest influence has been the legacy of classical music, particularly the harmony of classical romanticism,
which casts a giant shadow over the history, evolution and development of film music. Early films employed
music supervisors to choose which classical pieces to use, until Max Steiner convinced one studio to let him
compose a ‘commissioned’ score. In a very real sense movie music was not born in the movies; it was created
in the worlds of opera and musical theatre. The romantic and melodramatic scores of the late nineteenth century
provided a readily available library of material suitable for film underscoring. As film music evolved, although
it stayed fairly loyal to the unique textures of the orchestra, it never degenerated into becoming a wholly
recognisable ‘style’.
This reiterates the point that film music is at its best when it is not a ‘genre’. Film music is influenced by many
different styles, genres and types of music. Almost anything can work as film music so long as the context in
which it is used works. With the enrichment of many new styles and approaches in music over the past fifty
years and with the added benefit technology has brought, we truly stand at a crossroads. Film music can become
an eclectic collection of styles which work within film, or it can degenerate into sameness and repetition. It can
evolve or it can eat itself. There is a fear that nowadays with directors being less inclined to allow serious
conceptualisation from composers and more likely to simply chuck a dozen existing film scores at him or her,
calling it ‘temp’ music, we are more inclined toward the sure-fire safety of homogeny. We will discuss this later
on.
Film music owes its life to people like Max Steiner, born in Austria in 1888 and to people like Dimitri Tiomkin
(b. 1894, Ukraine) and Erich Wolfgang Korngold (b. 1897, Czechoslovakia). It’s easy to say that everything
starts somewhere but if appropriating classical romantic music hadn’t been an option it’s difficult to see how
film music would have worked. Nothing is entirely new; nothing is completely on its own, but if film music
hadn’t initially been the child of classical music it’s difficult to see how, where and even if, it would have
happened. This is why the texture of much film music is so wedded to the orchestra and why the harmonies
within film music are also, more often than not, descended from classical music. Many modern composers have
progressed the art of film music through the creative use of technology and production. Composers such as Hans
Zimmer, John Powell and Cliff Martinez, to name just a few, have used technology to produce new sounds and
textures. The electric guitar and the advent of Rock n Roll are considered to be inseparable but whether the
guitar will always be permanently wedded to pop music is uncertain; similarly the symphony orchestra and the
advent of film music are inseparable, but whether the orchestra will always be the textural and harmonic
mainstay of film music is debatable.
Despite the obvious historical linkage between classical music and film music, there is, and always has been, an
uneasy relationship between the two. Often the arbiter of that context is academia. The lofty debate about what
classical music is, is often conducted in the dusty corridors of colleges and universities, where music is talked
about and where many classical academics busily and actively pretend film music never happened and doesn’t
exist. The problem, initially at least, was probably because some thought the inclusion of classical music in film
somehow cheapened the music. Classical music was often used to create what now might be considered to be
cheap melodrama in films. Some classical composers, perhaps understandably, resented the artistic exploitation
of classical music and the different context in which it was now being experienced.
But none of this explains the continued reluctance to accept the legitimacy of commissioned film music, which
still goes on today, because of the twin characteristics of its commerciality and its functionality. Commercialism
is considered at odds with artistic merit and endeavour and the idea of music being written to perform a
narrative task (and thus being overtly ‘functional’) rather than simply for its own sake, is considered by some to
question its legitimacy. The real world, however, is often a different place to academia. Many film composers
were and still are composers of their own repertoire of concert works. James Horner, Jerry Goldsmith, John
Williams and many others compose their own concert works. This doesn’t seem to cut any ice with many in the
classical world, who are, it would seem, sometimes trying to protect and safeguard the classical canon at all
costs. They have an uncanny ability to see into the past, but are often afraid of the future.
If you look at concert programmes up and down the United Kingdom you will be hard pressed to find a film
composer’s original concert works being performed. Even the likes of Nyman and Glass are frowned upon by
many. Under discussion in this chapter is how classical music used as film music works firstly as music, e.g.
how it communicates, and secondly, how it enhances the film. What characteristics of classical music are
employed in film, and why and how do they work? Does existing classical music work in film simply because
people recognise it or because it works well irrespective of whether it is recognised or not? Does it work
because of the power of association or simply because it sounds good with the movie? If the power of classical
music is purely associative then its effect could be considered to be similar to that of popular song, where the
context of the original piece cannot be disassociated from its use in film; indeed the main rationale for using
songs in film at all is that they carry with them the baggage of an original context which happens to be helpful to
the movie.
For most people, the only time they will hear an orchestra is at the movies. Similarly in most cases the majority
of people who hear elements of the classical repertoire in movies are largely unaware that it isn’t, at least
originally, film music at all. The vast majority of people who watched 2001: A Space Odyssey were blissfully
unaware that the climactic and powerful music they heard for the iconic opening was a segment of Richard
Strauss’s ‘Also Spracht Zarathustra’. The movie reignited interest in the work and had Strauss been around to
enjoy it he would have been the beneficiary of significant royalties. When classical music is used in films it
frequently originates as part of the director’s vision, heard through his/her temp track (the tracks directors use as
references whilst making the movie). Because of this relationship between classical music and the temp track, it
would be helpful to first discuss the context of the temp track and how it is employed by film makers.
Temp tracks
Are ‘temp tracks’ a welcome addition to the evolution and identity of a film score, or are they the anti-Christ of
original, creative composing? It’s very easy to criticise the use of temp tracks and the way composers are forced
down ever-more commodified and formulaic routes by directors hell-bent on creating a sure-fire musical
success through the appropriation of existing music; proven music. But one only has to look as far as such films
as 2001: A Space Odyssey, The Exorcist, Platoon and Alien for proof that, if done well, classical source music
which may well have temped the film originally, can play well. 2001 made spectacular use of its temp music;
the music ended up in the film at the expense of Alex North’s score. 2001 is as famous for its eclectic
soundtrack as it is for the ground-breaking film which the music accompanied. The film is partly renowned for
its low word count in the script. Much of the dialogue is mundane, deliberately so from the point of view of the
director. Kubrick wanted this film to be driven principally by story, pictures and music; less so by mere words.
Kubrick’s temp track was used when Alex North’s score was harshly dismissed. The temp music used has
become part of the culture of the film although none of it actually was film music; ironically in order to capture
a sound to accompany the future Kubrick turned instead to the past and the likes of Khachaturian, Ligeti,
Richard Strauss and Johann Strauss. Kubrick’s choices of classical music had been ‘guide pieces’ during the
film’s production process, and as is so often the case, the director became irretrievably attached to his source
music. In an act of virtually unparalleled insensitivity, Kubrick did not even tell Alex North his score wasn’t
being used in the film; North did not know of the abandonment of his music until after he saw the film’s
premiere screening. In an interview with Michel Ciment, Kubrick explained by saying “However good our best
film composers may be, they are not a Beethoven a Mozart or a Brahms. Why use music which is less good
when there is such a multitude of great orchestral music available from the past and from our own time? When
you are editing a film, it’s very helpful to be able to try out different pieces of music to see how they work with
the scene...Well, with a little more care and thought these temporary tracks can become the final score.” North,
reportedly devastated, said this: “Well, what can I say? It was a great, frustrating experience, and despite the
mixed reaction to the music, I think the Victorian approach with mid-European overtones was just not in
keeping with the brilliant concept of Clarke and Kubrick.”
One point that Kubrick made - “However good our best film composers may be, they are not a Beethoven a
Mozart or a Brahms.” – is a little worrying. Many classical composers were, and are still, viewed as intellectual
celebrities; people whose work was often seen as unparalleled genius. But referring to composers as geniuses
doesn’t get us anywhere. It doesn’t address how the music was conceived or created. It draws a convenient veil
over the whole process, dips it in blind reverence and then smothers it in adulation, adoration and exaltation. In
the last two volumes of How Film & TV Music Communicates we examined very carefully the construct of film
music and the mechanics of how harmony and orchestration conspire to deliver music so powerful that it seems
to defy explanation. The point is that it only seems that way. A majority of music history books faithfully
reproduce a familiar narrative of reverence, astonishment and worship in their discussions about classical music.
So when Kubrick implies that no matter how good film score writers become they will never compare to the
great classical composers, he is profoundly wrong. In The Art of Film Music George Burt writes that North’s
score for 2001 is outstanding and Kubrick’s decision to abandon it was ‘most unfortunate’. Jerry Goldsmith re-
recorded Alex North’s original score many years later and in his notes for the album Kevin Mulhall states that
“there is no doubt that 2001 would have been better if Kubrick had used North’s music” and that “the eclectic
group of classical composers employed by the director resulted in a disturbing mélange of sounds and styles
overall.” Trying to fathom which score served the movie more convincingly is in many ways a pointless
discussion. It is perhaps more fitting to discuss the differences between them rather than ‘which is best’. The
main difference between North’s score and Kubrick’s eventual soundtrack is that North’s score contained cues
designed, understandably, to specifically work to accompany scenes in the film and the overall narrative of the
film, whereas the final soundtrack (excepting the obviously suitable drama of ‘Also Spracht Zarathustra’ which
works brilliantly well) almost exists outside the film, running parallel to the film as a simultaneous but separate
artistic statement. So arguably what Kubrick really ‘bought into’ in choosing the ‘disturbing mélange of sounds
and styles’, was the idea that the music’s function would change. The music was to be heard as ‘music’, not as
film music. This is the only explanation that can square the circle of why, having employed one of the best
composers in Hollywood, you would then instead choose a selection of source music, some of which seems not
to always ‘fit’. Alex North wrote music to accompany the film, and this, apparently, was his biggest mistake. He
wrote music to encapsulate and embrace the narrative whereas what Kubrick went for in the end was a parallel,
but not exact, group of musical statements which, although often not always working with the pictures, provokes
reactions within the viewer which create a heightened sense of emotional awareness.
In a forensically accurate critique Roger Ebert said: “When classical music is associated with popular
entertainment, the result is usually to trivialize it (who can listen to the William Tell Overture without thinking
of the Lone Ranger?).” before going on to say, “Kubrick’s film is almost unique in enhancing the music by its
association with his images.” This is true. Few outside the classical music world know of Richard Strauss’ ‘Also
Sprach Zarathustra’. Post-2001, almost everybody could recognise it, even if most simply knew it as ‘the music
from 2001’. 2001 is a movie which has comparatively little dialogue in context of the length of the film. By
definition and from a purely ‘sound’ perspective the vacuum created by the absence of dialogue is filled either
purely with sound effects and picture, music and picture, or silence and picture. From very early on in
production, Kubrick decided that he wanted the film to be a ‘primarily non-verbal experience’, one that did not
rely on the traditional techniques of cinema, and one in which music would play a vital role in evoking
particular moods, rather than accompanying the film in a traditional sense. The key is to understand that when
he said he didn’t want to rely on ‘traditional techniques of cinema’, he meant, whether he knew it or not, music
too. Indeed even Kubrick might not have realised that the reason his temp track appeared to work with the
movie better than North’s commissioned score was essentially because North was writing film music, whereas
what Kubrick experienced with his own selection wasn’t ‘music for film’, but music which created an intense,
almost primordial emotional reaction, often by juxtaposing the images, therein creating real off-screen tension.
The famous ‘dawn of man’ sequence, 00.04.43 into 2001 had a piece written by Alex North which was primeval
and exciting. It worked well with the scene, encapsulating the desolation and isolation of the scene; you can hear
the track if you get hold of the original Alex North score. However, what Kubrick went with in the end wasn’t a
different piece of music, but silence; no music at all. This also works extremely well in the movie but the point I
make is that Alex North’s problem wasn’t that he wrote ‘the wrong music’ but that he understandably presumed
Kubrick wanted ‘music’ and therefore was concerned with what the function of the music would be in the film;
Kubrick’s vision of the function of music turned out to be ‘no music’, which I suppose technically is still a
function because music is conspicuous by its absence.
In a similar experience to that of Alex North, Lalo Shiffrin’s score for The Exorcist was dismissed by an equally
petulant but brilliant film-maker, William Freidkin, in favour of a temp track made up partly of abstract 20th
century music. The original score was literally thrown out by director William Friedkin, who infamously called
it “fucking Mexican marimba music”. In an interview with Miguel Ordonez in ‘Score Magazine’ Shiffrin was
asked why his score was rejected. He said this: “The truth is that it was one of the most unpleasant experiences
of my life….what happened is that the director, William Friedkin, hired me to write the music for the trailer. Six
minutes were recorded for the Warner’s edition of the trailer. The people who saw the trailer reacted against the
film, because the scenes were heavy and frightening… most of them went to the toilet to vomit. The trailer was
terrific, but the mix of those frightening scenes and my music, which was also a very difficult and heavy score,
scared the audiences away. So, the Warner Brothers executives told Friedkin to tell me that I must write a less
dramatic and softer score. I could easily and perfectly do what they wanted but Friedkin didn’t tell me what they
said. I’m sure he did it deliberately. In the past we had an incident, and I think he wanted vengeance. This is my
theory.”
He went on, “my attorney recommended me not to talk about it, but I think this is a good time. This is the first
to reveal the truth. Finally, I wrote the music for the film in the same vein as that of the trailer. In fact, when I
wrote the trailer I was in the studio with Friedkin and he congratulated me for it. So, I thought I was in the right
way... but the truth was very different.” Freidkin undoubtedly treated Shiffrin badly. Also, if you listen to a
small selection of Shiffrin’s original music for The Exorcist it is every bit as exciting and disturbing as the
music used in the film. That said, The Exorcist is a film that communicates brilliantly to its audience, at least
partly because of its music. Pieces used, such as Penderecki’s ‘Kanon for Orchestra and Tape’ and
‘Polymorphia’ and George Crumb’s ‘Night of the Electric Insects’ create some interesting and challenging
listening experiences. In addition to ‘the weird stuff’ the scene in an early part of the film (00.16.30) which
shows an apparently carefree and unworried Chris MacNeal walking back to her house through the leafy autumn
streets of Georgetown is beautifully accompanied and contextualised by a short excerpt from Mike Oldfield’s
‘Tubular Bells’. The music is not classic horror by any stretch of the imagination and its main benefit to the
scene is in being both simultaneously unsettling and hypnotic but most of all by being emotionally contrary to
the scene itself. The music describes a multitude of emotions and it is this - combined with our knowledge of
what the film is about and what is going to happen – which creates the perfect context. This is yet another
example of how music gels not just with the pictures or the narrative, but with what we know as viewers before
we walk into the cinema. It is this relationship, this bond, which for the most part contextualizes the scene and
determines to what degree the music works. When audiences watch A Nightmare on Elm Street and hear low
octave Ds on basses and cellos, in their heads it is heard as contextually sinister, as if it were a Dm. The flavour
of the sound we hear is a product of the context in which we hear it.
Returning to the issue of temp tracks, it’s a sobering thought that when you criticise temp tracks you go up
against some of the most iconic films ever made, iconic in part because of their music. Whilst there is nothing
wrong with a director choosing source music and applying it to his or her film instead of a commissioned score,
there seems to be something wrong with the idea of a director commissioning a composer to compose music as
close as they can get to the style of someone else. Why not just get the ‘someone else’ to compose your score in
the first place? In the year 2015 when this volume is being written, the current superstars of film music – and
therefore the composers that new composers are told to emulate – are the likes of Thomas Newman and Hans
Zimmer. If we carry on appropriating the work of others by providing pale imitations, we risk disappearing
down the same plughole the mainstream record industry disappeared down; it became engorged and self-
absorbed. It became about stifling new music and instead encouraging sound-alikes. Obviously the evolution of
music has always included elements of appropriation, but the real ‘V1’ moment happens when there is more
emulation than innovation.
As film makers, under pressure from financially burdened studio heads, grow ever desperate for guaranteed
success, they encourage emulation more than innovation; more and more musical approaches that were once
perhaps original and interesting have become copied, absorbed, appropriated and immersed to such an extent
that they risk creating almost a type of ‘film music genre’ I alluded to earlier in this chapter. Film music was
never supposed to be a genre. It was never supposed to be a style. Film music is at its best when it draws from
all styles and genres. Granted there is a generic style of film music delivery and context, but the stylistic origins
of the music itself have been fairly varied and eclectic in the past. These days’ directors increasingly employ the
use of the ‘temp track’ to run both as a soundtrack during the editing stage and to show the composer
structurally and architecturally where music is required, but they also function as an intense stylisation guide.
They are in effect saying to the composer ‘we want you to write some film music, and we want it to sound like
this’. A director might question this sentiment and defend their right to have what they want for their film. But
the problem with this approach is that it leads to ever decreasing circles, artistically; it creates generic
commodified film music and it completely snuffs out any imagination or conceptualisation by the composer and
turns him or her into a ‘contextualiser’ of other people’s music. Some of the greatest movie music is created
when the director simply trusts the composer and doesn’t try and pretend to be an expert in music. Stephen
Spielberg initially thought John Williams was joking when he played him his famous two-note hook idea for
Jaws. But Williams meant it. It’s hard to imagine what would have happened if Spielberg had simply handed
Williams a stack of temp tracks and ordered him to emulate rather than innovate.
Michael Tronick, a music editor, said, in an interview for the book ‘On the track’, “There is a disease [the temp
track]…a director gets used to a temp track and it shackles the composer’s creativity.” But to see it from the
other side, Director James Goldstone said “Sometimes I’ve been let down when the final music was put on the
film because the temp track was so good.” By contrast Director Sam Raimi said “You’ve got to approach it
through the composer’s original vision of the film, not through a temp track.”
Composer Jerry Goldsmith was extremely unhappy with Ridley Scott’s decision to use an excerpt from Howard
Hanson’s Romantic Symphony in Eb for the end titles sequence to Alien. If, however, you take a non-partisan
look at the music to Alien, the end titles sequence works extremely well with Hanson’s music; the delicate and
subtle harmonic brushstroke’s of Hanson’s music distils the multitude of emotions including relief, sadness,
happiness and anger, which pervade the end of the movie. Anyway, at least with Alien the music was principally
the work of Goldsmith so changing one short part of the film (the final credits) to a piece which the director
thinks distils the movie musically is perhaps no big deal. A scene in Platoon where bulldozers scoop bodies into
mass graves came to symbolise and contextualise the mass-industrial scale slaughter of soldiers and civilians in
Vietnam. It features the poignant and beautifully haunting ‘Adagio for Strings’ by Samuel Barber. This is one
the reasons the scene is so iconic and entrancing. The unavoidable truth is that many examples where source
music is used are excellent. There is therefore an uncomfortable dichotomy at the centre of the debate about
temp music in that we’re complaining about something which, when it is used well, works well. So what we’re
really complaining about isn’t the result; it’s the principal. It’s the fact that directors want to ignore
commissioned music in favour of something they chose. It’s the apparent lack of belief or trust in the concept of
new music. The point is; are we using temps to make a valid and artistic statement or are using them as a short,
crude, lazy way to short-circuit the system and avoid the risk of a wholly original conceptualised score? We’re
doing both. Most definitely temp tracks are more widely used nowadays because of technology – not because
they’re a good idea per se, but because they’re cheap and quick. Technology allows directors to mock up entire
film scores prior to a composer ever being involved.
The polar opposite of the temp track would be directors who work with composers in new and exciting ways;
M.Night Shayamalan works with James Newton Howard sometimes by showing him storyboards and
explaining the concept of the movie, often before its shot. Howard then starts scoring so in essence he’s scoring
the movie through a prism of an initial vision of its maker, added to by a new vision of the composer,
uncluttered by moving pictures. Much though many might question whether this is ‘music to picture’ the idea of
the composer being involved conceptually from the very start of the process rather than at the last minute, post
temp track, is a comforting one. The problem with composers writing to the picture is that by definition it is the
last part of the process. It is hurried and rushed and it is ripe for a panic situation whereby a director feels he/she
needs the safety net of the temp track. At the bottom of all this is a basic reluctance on the part of directors to
trust the composer. But this itself has to be understood in context; it’s not usually simply a naked lack of faith in
the composer, it is a symptom of a director’s lack of musical training or ability to conceptualise music as they
might be able to, for example, conceptualise lighting or costume or location or the angle of a shot. A director
can communicate his or her wishes to a lighting director easily because they inhabit the same world, but in order
to communicate with a composer the director essentially sends what amount to smoke signals in the form of
temp tracks until the composer ‘gets it’ and understands the director’s musical vision.
Perhaps one might say, cynically, that the existence of a temp track simply makes official the widespread
practice composers have of copying one another. An ‘original’ film score is never truly and wholly original, just
as any music is not. Or any book. Or any thought, if we are being honest. Although we allow temporary
intellectual ownership of our ideas through copyright, ideas are always created in some way by incorporating or
appropriating existing popular styles, approaches, methods, harmonic sequences and instrumentation, textures
and technology. But to bring to a close this brief section on the use of ‘temp tracks’ a sobering contextualising
fact to remember is that Danny Elfman’s legendary and much-appropriated style for the movie Edward
Scissorhands ‘was purely Danny’ as Tim Burton put it. Elfman’s knowledge and understanding of music is
undoubtedly the result of innumerable factors, not least of which is his absorption of the Ska styles of the 70s.
There was no temp track for this film; there was no overt meddling. One of the defining scores of the 20th
century, although undoubtedly influenced by many things, was the result of the composer and the orchestrator.
There was no temp track. It was purely Danny. The one great thing you should get from a commissioned film
score which is written independent of too much unwanted advice or the temptation of a temp track, whether you
like it or not, is a degree of conceptualisation and originality.
The list of composers, followed by the relevant work and finally the film(s) in which the work was used, is as
follows: Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings (Platoon) Tomaso Albinoni Adagio in G minor (Gallipoli,
Welcome to Sarajevo) Gabriel Faure Requiem ‘In Paradisum’ (28 Days Later / Endeavour) Claude Debussy,
Claire De Lune (Ocean’s 11, The Game)
ALSO SPRACHT ZARATHUSTRA (RICHARD STRAUSS)

2001: A Space Odyssey
Also sprach Zarathustra is a tone poem by Richard Strauss, composed in 1896 and inspired by Friedrich
Nietzsche’s philosophies. When we examine why the piece resonates with so many people, although we are
drawn to its commercial usage being chiefly responsible for its contemporary popularity, we have to remember
that prior to 2001: A Space Odyssey its popular exposure was minimal. Not many people knew the music before
the film; therefore to most it didn’t communicate because they remembered it, it communicated because it
worked as film music. The emotional underpinnings of the music itself are what make the music so suitable for
the film. The piece starts down in the sonic depths of the orchestra, almost out of the range of human hearing.
Then the trumpets enter in unison, playing a dramatic figure based on perfect intervals of root, 5th and octave.
Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man opens on a similar motif - G (5th), C (octave) and G (the 5th an octave
higher).The effects are similar and have almost primordial qualities.
Within this piece there is drama, fanfare, breadth, optimism, grandeur and so much power. The opening phrase
is repeated three times, each time gaining in intensity, until it finally breaks free and arrives at a dramatic,
climactic and majestic cadence in the key of C major. Apart from the Cm chord, it uses only the white keys on
the piano; for the most part there is no chromaticism which makes the piece very open, accessible and resonant.
Stanley Kubrick’s decision to use this as the opening music for 2001: A Space Odyssey underpinned his desire
to elicit a primordial emotional response from viewers. He wants viewers / listeners to contemplate the vastness
and possibilities of the universe and to bring forward the same questions that Nietzsche proposed in 1885 about
God, about humankind and about our existence. Whether you ascribe to Nietzsche’s philosophies or not has no
bearing on the fact that this music, composed so painstakingly by Richard Strauss, holds the power to
profoundly move us.
Fig.1 Also Sprach Zarathustra (Richard Strauss)
If we delve deeper into why this piece is so filmic, why it is so special, we’re drawn to its characteristics in
terms of texture, instrumentation, orchestration, instrumentation and melody. Essentially we’re distilling the
sound we hear into its specific musical constituents. The music has been variously described as dramatic,
intense, melodramatic, powerful, extreme, forceful, sensational and passionate – descriptions which could be
distilled into a single word; emotional. But to examine one of those tributary words, music which is
‘melodramatic’ sometimes doesn’t work in movies; it can overcook and overplay. If a scene already engenders a
certain emotion, then in adding more of the same with music you risk aesthetically ‘bumping into yourself
coming back the other way’. But when melodramatic music is set to an opening sequence with graphics rather
than moving pictures and dialogue, it can work well because, along with the visual intro, it can pre-empt and
foretell the drama and gravity of the movie in music, setting the audience up for the story.
The simple move from C to Cm and subsequently Cm to C offers a distinct, sharp and quick out-of-key-centre
harmonic exchange, one we’re not used to, at least at that speed of change. There are comparatively few pieces
which indulge in such a disorienting chord change. In this particular piece listeners have no chance to
acclimatise and react until the manouvre is over, so the sound of these quick-fire changes creates more of a
disorientating emotional effect than a musical experience. This creates a sense of drama and excitement within
listeners. Also worth remembering is the simple but often overlooked fact that it is precisely the imperfections
of human performance that sometimes give music its nervous energy and its distinct and specific edge - its
flavour - creating feelings of drama and unease. This is one thing that truly talented composers can exploit for
artistic reasons; they can use an orchestra’s natural imperfections as part of the drama. In context of this piece
specifically 80 musicians are never going to hit the last semiquaver (of bar six, ten and fourteen) and the
subsequent semibreve (in bars seven, eleven and fifteen) exactly simultaneously. The hardly noticeable but
slightly scrappy characteristics give it a mild, almost imperceptible feel of panic.
If we were to painstakingly reconstruct the piece using samples in Midi, as some have done, we would begin to
see that the reason the piece sounds better ‘played’ by real musicians isn’t just because the instrumental textures
are real, but also because of the human imperfections of so many musicians interpreting an incredibly specific
rhythmic phrase simultaneously. Other seemingly innocuous things also come into play too: 1st and 2nd trumpets
stay on the C note during the aforementioned semiquaver-to-semibreve exchange. The common belief of
listeners is that there is a tiny dead stop in the sound prior to the semiquaver note at the end of the bar, but the
continuation of the drone-like C note on two trumpets and the pedal C note on Organ helps subtly distort the
sound; two trumpets will never play exact unison; the slight imperfection in the dual sound is actually one of
unison’s most endearing characteristics. This is also why unison works better with live musicians than sampled
ones, unless of course you’re listening to a sample of two different human beings playing the same note.
In addition, there is an initial perception that the Timpani notes (in bars eight and twelve) are ‘straight’ quavers;
but when you listen to how many notes are played before the next trumpet phrase you realise there are too many
so presume that more notes are squashed into the same space, which is kind of what happens, because the
timpani notes are actually quaver triplets. There is nothing to acclimatise us to the quaver triplets; no aural road
signs. This tiny issue is typical of how music which denies our expectations in the smallest of ways can be so
subtly effective; the success of music and in particular our emotional engagement with it, is largely down to how
our perceptions are either confirmed or confounded. This timpani phrase is, at least for a moment,
unfathomable. Musicians and non-musicians alike benefit from the same experience equally.
Fig.2
The manouvre between the chords of C and F is

interesting (left, fig 2). There is no attempt in most
of the voicings to mitigate the chord change which
goes up a 4th; usually if you were voicing a chord
of C followed by a chord of F, you may re-voice
the internal voicings to make the manouvre
smoother and less parallel (as an example, looking
at the top stave of woodwinds, the semiquaver E,
C and G at the end of bar two might resolve to an
F, C and A).
In bars two and three of fig.2 the oboes and

clarinets jump by a 4th as do trumpets 3 and 4.
Horns and strings also jump by a 4th. This quite
severe and parallel voicing accentuates and
exaggerates the chord change.
Towards the end of the section (fig.1, bars fifteen-

seventeen) there is a delightful chord change from
F to Fm6 with the C note (5th of the F chord) rising
to the D note (maj6th of the Fm6 chord) at the
same time the maj3rd of the F chord (the A) lowers
to the min3rd (the Ab).
CLAIR DE LUNE (DEBUSSY)

Ocean’s 11
Danny Ocean combines an eleven-member team to rob three casinos; the Bellagio, the Mirage and the MGM
Grand, all owned by Terry Benedict. At the end of the film when Benedict is facing losing his money, Danny
asks whether he would give up his partner Tess – an old flame of Danny’s - in order to get his money back. He
replies, ‘Yes.’ The room is bugged, Tess hears the remarks and leaves the hotel, but not before she tells Terry,
“You of all people should know, Terry….in your hotel, someone is always watching.”
At this point a piano rendition of ‘Clair De Lune’ begins. After a few bars and immediately following a black
screen, the orchestra enters as we see Danny Ocean’s team walking out of the shadows. Meanwhile Danny is
picked up for parole violation. In the final scene the remaining team of ten watch the fountains in front of the
Bellagio. Then, one by one, they each walk away. If we look and listen to ‘Clair De Lune’ there are many aural
and visual clues as to why this music works so well, but before we look at these, lets return to concepts we
discussed earlier; the idea that the reason this might work so well is precisely because it is detached from the
film. A film score composer, given the images and the context of the move, is highly unlikely to come up with
anything as overtly serene as this. But whereas few people knew of or had heard of ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’
prior to 2001, it’s likely that slightly more people (but still a minority) had heard ‘Claire De Lune’ prior to
Ocean’s 11, so we’re still talking about the music ‘working’ because of the emotion it creates, not just because
of the power of association. We’re talking about a piece working because it’s so unlike anything a film
composer would come up with; therefore it lacks the predictability and formula we are used to.
This in turn suggests that film music may have become a ‘style’ or a ‘type’ of music whose character is in
danger of becoming homogenised to the point of becoming predictable (something we discussed earlier). Maybe
in order to engage audiences and get them to experience something beautiful rather than something they
expected is sometimes what’s required. Maybe in order to engage people you have to significantly remove
yourself from the pictures and the narrative and instead try to distil purely the emotion.
Fig.3 Clair De Lune (Claude Debussy)
Sometimes music communicates on a deeper level if the manner of its structure and construction is slightly less
obvious. Sometimes structure can be a binding and limiting concept; sometimes if there are tiny, almost
imperceptible devices which make the piece phase in and out of structural consonance, it can engage the listener
more and draw them in as they try and fathom and rationalise what they’re listening to. In this piece
occasionally there is no exact feeling of time or pulse. I refer to the way in which the piece seems to speed up
and slow down; this is not due to many actual ralls or accelerandos but is to do with how the phrases are placed
into the body of the time signature, which determines how they ‘feel’. The very first phrase begins after a quaver
rest but as listeners we don’t hear the initial silence as music and so presume that the first thing we hear is on the
first beat. The fact that it isn’t is one of the things that makes the piece seem to glide in and out of time. Similar
to how contrary motion is often described as being, harmonically, how a piece breathes in and out, so subtle
alterations in how we perceive a sense of time and pulse could also be described as how a piece gains a sense of
organic, pliable (and not robotic) forward momentum. Also we have the tuplets which appear regularly, having
the effect of slowing the piece down. We hear combinations of quaver triplets and tuplets which are effective in
dislodging the sense of pulse we automatically try to impose on what we hear. We also have the architecture and
consistency of the downward lines of the violas (bars two-seven) which helps to give the piece a sense of
effortless inevitability. Perhaps one of the most emotionally striking sections is from bar fifteen (featured again
separately below). This section has some real harmonic colour, thanks to the 9th chords being vertically
bookended by the 2nd/9th (F note) played by violins and cellos. Within the five-part voicing of the Ebm9 there
are three F notes, creating a disproportionate emphasis on the 2nd/9th, especially italicising the one on cellos,
right next to the m3rd (Gb) in violas.
Fig.4
This ‘close’ harmonic device of vertically bookending the chord with the colour of the extension (i.e. placing the
2nd/9th of the m9 chord at either end of the harmony) has been used regularly in popular music. Ray Charles,
George Shearing and Stevie Wonder are just three popular pianists who use the device in order to create striking
harmonic colour. Coming finally to the famous Debussy ‘three chord trick’ which he uses in ‘Clair De Lune’,
it’s interesting to look firstly at the following bass line.
Fig.5
If we were to place chords above the notes in fig.5 what

chords would they be? Maybe we would just use one chord
over which every note of the bass line would fit (i.e. Db).
Or we could place the chords of Db, Fm and Ab over the bass notes. Or Db, F and Abm. Maybe we could invert
one of the notes, making it a 3rd or 5th of whatever chord we use. What we would be unlikely to do is to
reinterpret one of the bass notes enharmonically, as Debussy did.
If we reinterpret the last note as G# (same sound, different Fig.6

name, different context) this opens up a whole new key centre
in terms of possibilities and choices. If we contextualise the G#
as an inverted bass note of the E chord, the relationship
between the chords of Fm and E is less stark and chromatic
and instead has a real sense of colour. Db Fm E/G#
But why does this chord manouvre contain such harmonic colour and emotion? The way it effortlessly strays
outside its key centre and crosses the enharmonic boundary into a different key centre is certainly the main
reason, as already stated; but the other reason is that although the last bass note is comprehensively
reinterpreted, making it have a different intervallic context, the context we expected (the note ‘as an Ab’) still
lingers. In other words, there are almost two realities in play; one in which we hear the bass notes as Db, F and
Ab and the other in which we recognise the Ab as sounding simultaneously the same but different (as a G# with
an E chord placed over it). Add to this the beauty of contrary motion, heard as the Fm chord goes downward to
the E whereas the actual bass note goes up from F to G# and the interval the bass note occupies goes from being
the root of the Fm upward to the maj3rdof the E.
The ‘new’ harmonic reality which goes
Fig.7 The ‘normal’ harmonic reality which lingers
outside the key centre
Chord: Db Fm E
G#
Below is the same three-chord trick in use in ‘Clair De Lune’ (boxed, bar three/four, fig.8). While we’re on this
section it’s worth looking at the preceding two bars (bar one and two, fig.8) leading up the red-boxed section.
These two bars feature delightfully endearing and romantic harmonies and lines which deliver us perfectly into
the hands of bar three. The blue lines beside the violins and violas denotes the same sound but different contexts
of the Ab/G#. She same sound is contextualised as 5th, maj3rd, 4th and 1st. The real colour is created by the
physically downward cello line, the physically static but intervallically different Ab/G# lines on violin and viola
and in particular by the two chords in the middle of the four-chord phrase; the two chords really italicise the
enharmonic differences inherent in the Ab/G# dynamic. The first chord of the four-chord phrase is ‘normal’
with the Ab used as a 5th and a 1st, whereas the middle two the same sound is used as maj3 (G#) and a 4th (Ab).
The major3 usage is odd only because of the enharmonic shift and the subsequent note is slightly odd due to the
colourful 4th interval.
Fig.8
5
4 1
maj3
5 4
maj3
1
FAURE’S REQUIEM, GABRIEL FAURE

‘28 Days Later’ and ‘Endeavour’
Twenty-eight days after Jim was knocked off his bike and injured in a car accident he wakes up from his coma
to find the world has changed. London is deserted, cars are abandoned; litter is everywhere. A virus called
‘Rage’ has been unleashed on the world, turning the population into psychopaths driven only to kill. Danny
Boyle’s movie takes elements familiar from zombie movies and sci-fi but transports them to a contemporary
narrative. Boyle describes it as “kind of flirting with the zombie genre”. His selection of music for the film is
effective and eclectic and in many ways is one of the defining creative elements of the movie. Much of it is
written by John Murphy (we examined perhaps the most famous original track ‘In the House’ in a previous
volume of How Film & TV Music Communicate).
For a scene which sees Jim and a small group of fellow survivors driving north in a black taxi cab Boyle uses a
section of Gabriel Faure’s Requiem (‘In Paradisum’ or ‘into paradise’). There are some particularly evocative
harmonies which work well in a moving image context, summoning up a mixture of melancholic, plaintive
sorrow but also warm, emotional feelings, which work effectively with the scene and the underlying narrative.
There is despair but there is also hope. Before looking at the section it’s worth examining Faure’s approach,
because the harmonies were typical of someone who helped establish a distinctive French style which carved a
path along which the development of the Impressionist style of Debussy and Ravel travelled. Like the
impressionists who followed Faure and the film score composers who followed them, implicit in his music are
the very subtle but meticulous colour created by his use of harmony.
Fig.9 Audio – In Paradisum - Film - 00.57.29
11111 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
As we have discussed elsewhere, normally music communicates a sense of meaning in quite definite harmonic
ways; it is designed and used to create a reaction within listeners. Chords and melodies form together to deliver
something which our senses usually convert into a particular feeling or mood or ‘meaning’. A large part of our
ability to listen and interpret and ultimately enjoy, involves categorising, comparing and classifying the things
we encounter. If everything we ever listened to was listened to without any referencing every experience would
be completely new. Part of our cognitive ability involves the ability to store and retrieve; often without even
realising we’re doing it. We classify and categorise so that when we hear music we can map it against what we
already know. This is one of the main reasons we respond so predictably to music; because most of what we
listen to is sufficiently like the rest of what we listen to for it not to be too much of a taxing experience. There
are subtle differences in harmony and melody and these are what interest us. So a combination of familiarity and
surprise guide us.
This is why particular chords often garner predictable and formulaic reactions; we recognise them and we
respond. Emotional characteristics do not literally reside within a chord. How could they? Notes and chords
have no inbuilt emotion; their emotional characteristics are a product of us; they reside within us; within our
emotional and aural cognitive reactions to certain notes and certain sequences. In terms of harmony, if a specific
chord type is perceived to create a specific feeling, this is something the listener creates within him/herself. The
fact that people respond in similar, uniform ways to music is a product of the similarities of our reactions.
If a tree falls and no one is there to Tweet about it, does it still happen?
The famous quote “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” is a
philosophical thought that raises questions regarding observation and knowledge of reality. To apply this to
music is probably not a great idea, but let’s do it anyway: if someone is affected emotionally by something they
are intellectually unaware of, it still happens. A vast majority of people do not understand how or why they are
affected by music in the way they are; but they still are. They do not neccasarily need to understand it musically
or intellectually in order to benefit from it. This is part of music’s great charm; with most arts or sciences people
have enough of a grasp to understand what they encounter, precisely because they are beneficiaries of seeing
and hearing. With music they are profoundly affected emotionally by something they cannot see, don’t fully
understand and can only hear. That said, the more you know music, the more you will understand it, and
knowing how and why you’re responding in a certain way is part of the pleasure of enjoyment.
The fact that specific chords can garner similar feelings within most listeners is a credit to the exactness and
specificity of the harmonic shapes and the uniformity and consistency with which it is interpreted by most
people. People behave in predictable ways. If a student walks into a lecture theatre twenty minutes late, most
people will turn to look, especially me; can’t help it. People react in formulaic ways, so it is perhaps no surprise
that we react in similar ways when presented with specific visual stimuli and specific harmonic design. With
this in mind, there are several characteristics of Faure’s piece which create a sense of them having
‘communicated’ specific emotion and mood; one of which is its use of subtly indistinct harmonies which
succeed in shaving the edges off the certainty which characterises and pervades most harmony we listen to. This
is of course one of the central hallmarks of impressionism; that it shaves the certainty from our reality and
makes us question what we hear. You may wonder how we could call ‘subtle indistinctness’ an identifiable
style, but of course given that most of the harmony we’re confronted with is quite specific, the blurring of
harmonic colour is, ironically, something which has a kind of specificity; it is rare, it is odd. It has an identity
borne out of its unconformity. People react to something they don’t recognise.
The indistinctness I refer to happens in every odd-numbered bar from bar five (of fig.9) where we see the chord
of Dsus2/sus4. The sus2 replaces the 3rd of a chord, leaving it with neither a major or minor flavour. This
harmonic device is usually supported by the 5th of the chord, which offers stability. If the 5th itself is replaced by
the sus4 this creates an unusual and indistinct feel. The dual suspensions blur our senses, aurally, of what is right
or wrong, left of right, up or down. One might wonder why the harmonic groupings (in bars five, seven, nine,
eleven and thirteen) weren’t simply referred to as an Em7: the addition of the A note within the semiquavers and
the ascending bass line (D, B, A) effectively prevent the chord being referred to and, more importantly, heard as
an Em7. Similarly we might wonder why it wasn’t referred to as an A7sus4, but the ascending bass line (D, B,
A) ‘sound’ as if they function as root, 6th and 5th of a D chord. Clearly the chord is gently and subtly indicative
of more than one chord.
A harmonic grouping such as the one we’re discussing, because of its dual-sus characteristics, could
theoretically be called any of the three chord names we’ve suggested. But as we have discussed elsewhere, a
chord symbol isn’t just a name we give to a group of notes; it is not merely a means of visual identification,
description and classification; it describes the way something sounds and therefore ‘feels’. The reason this chord
sounds a little blurred is because it can be theoretically and aurally rationalised as any one of the three chord
possibilities. Even if most listeners are clueless as to what these possibilities are or that they exist at all, this
doesn’t change the fact that they do exist and that listeners are affected, irrespective of their ability to know. We
do not have to understand or even be aware of everything that affects us to appreciate it. Indeed, as I alluded to
earlier, one of the most magical things about music is that for most people it communicates without being
understood. TS Elliot said ‘great art communicates before it is understood’. Perhaps we could take that one stage
further and suggest that music communicates so wonderfully because it isn’t understood; thus, communication
doesn’t require comprehension. The three possible chord symbols I mentioned earlier act as both proof and
explanation of the three subtly different aural characters and colours this chord creates within the listener. The
dominating chordal flavour and harmonic centre of gravity is probably ultimately determined by the intervals in
the melodic line in bar three (of fig.9); the richness of vocal texture and the pivotal and descriptive maj 3rd
interval lends the melody line in bar three a real palpable sense of emotion. Also the arpegiated organ line has an
almost mesmerising and transfixing quality. The colour of the maj3rd element of the choir melody (bar three, fig
9) is consolidated by the organ line and the regularity with which it lands on the high, exposed F# notes*.
Equally the ‘suss-ness’ of the indistinct chords is highlighted by the precise semiquaver line which is played (A,
D, G, bars five, seven, nine, eleven and thirteen of fig.9); the horizontal 4th interval between the semiquavers in
the line italicise the squareness of the chord.
There is also a curious indistinctness to the timing and pace of the piece overall; the lilting up-and-down
semiquaver movement initially sounds like it would be more comfortable with the first two groups of
semiquavers simply repeating within a 4/4 context (fig 10).
Fig.10
In fact the actual groupings, shown below (fig.11), exude a slight unevenness which is caused principally by the
upward direction of the last group of notes in each bar being virtually repeated in the subsequent bar, resulting
in a break in the regularity of the contours.
Fig.11
To underscore the importance of the last point I made, take a look at the contour lines above each bar in fig.11
and then take a look at them below, ‘joined up’. They look at feel as if there is an inexorable upward feel, which
is what stops each of the bars above actually sounding repetitive.
It’s doubtful whether a film score composer would have come up with anything as romantic, calming and serene
as this for a scene such as the ones it was used for; this simply isn’t the ‘kind’ of thing a film composer would
think of because he/she wouldn’t perhaps always be detached enough from the film to allow themselves to think
purely in terms of emotion. This once again raises the issue that sometimes (nearly always when directors have
placed music in a film which wasn’t written for the film) we can end up with a scene that communicates
profoundly. Often it communicates precisely because it is different or detached or slightly at odds with the
pictures. Obviously film score composers possess the ability to think radically and outside the box if allowed to
do so, but whether they would replicate the kind of ultimate detachment Faure had (having not been around
when the film was made) is doubtful. If a film composer is writing music for a film it would be counter-intuitive
to ignore the movie, as Faure was able to do.
The music was also used in the pilot episode of the television drama Endeavour, which tells the back-story to
the iconic Inspector Morse series, showing the detective as a young man beginning his careers with the police.
A scene about three and a half minutes in shows Endeavour Morse on a bus with a group of other young officers
drafted in to help with an enquiry into the disappearance into a young girl. We know this because one of
Morse’s colleagues reads an article out loud about the missing girl and the drafting in of extra police, stating
“well that’s us, that is.” A previous scene shows Morse writing a letter of resignation; evidently he has decided
to leave the police service. This is important because it brings context to the scene on the bus, explaining why
Morse is deep in thought. At one point a colleague asks Morse a question, only for Morse to be in a world of his
own, staring out of the window as the bus enters Oxford. This is when we hear the Faure piece and it is so
effective in articulating the scene and the context. It is interesting because we rely on pictures and words to
describe the surface level context (Morse writing the letter of resignation and the colleague offering viewers the
context of the enquiry by reading aloud from a newspaper article) but in order to articulate Morse’s state of
mind as he stares out of the window, words fail us; it is music we turn to in order to articulate the scene –
something that communicates in a much subtler and less obvious way than words and pictures. As we have
stated before in these books, one of music’s great powers is precisely the fact that it doesn’t communicate with
the same accuracy and precision as words and pictures. The meaning it creates within us is more blurred,
clouded and indistinct than words and pictures, which usually require little interpretative power. As alluded to
earlier, because most people cannot visualize music and do not know the terms which describe the colours that
harmony offers, they are effected by something which stimulates them, but not in the same unequivocal ‘known’
way that pictures and words achieve. Being ‘moved’ by something we don’t understand but which creates
emotion, is a strange sensation because we lose our sense of control over what we are experiencing.
Is there anything common to the scene in Endeavour and the scene we talked about before, from 28 Days Later,
apart from the music? Yes, there is; a feeling of movement, of evolution, of momentum. The pictures of the taxi
moving in 28 Days Later and Morse staring out onto Oxford in Endeavour as the bus moves both offer a
potentially slightly entrancing and mesmerising feel. Add Faure’s Requiem to the mix and the potential becomes
a reality. Music does its job; it joins the dots.
ADAGIO FOR STRINGS (SAMUEL BARBER)

Platoon, Sicko, The Elephant Man, Band of Brothers, Amelie and many more
Adagio for Strings has been immersed into our musical culture thanks to the sheer number of films and
television series it has appeared in, perhaps notably Platoon directed by Oliver Stone. Platoon is an anti-war
film (not an anti-soldier film or an anti-American film, as some have suggested). The director does not point the
finger; he sees all his characters as victims of war rather than heroes or villains. Platoon is a film that
emphasizes the pain, horror, and human costs of armed conflict. While some films have criticized armed
conflicts in a general sense, others sometimes focus on acts within a specific war, such as the use of poison gas
or the genocidal killing of civilians (e.g., Hotel Rwanda, 2004). In Platoon Chris Taylor is a young, naive
American who gives up college and volunteers for combat in Vietnam. He is torn between two sergeants. Barnes
is the battle hardened brutal murderer who uses the war as an excuse for his sadism. Elias is the other side of the
spectrum. He has compassion for his fellow man. A line is drawn between two sergeants when an illegal killing
occurs during a village raid. As the war continues, Chris himself heads toward psychological meltdown. Oliver
Stone perfectly captures the inherent absurdity of war; the filming is frantic, seeming to document rather than
fictionalise; it disorientates us, just as the soldiers were.
Often we have no idea who is being shot at, and neither do they. We follow the war at ground level and see the
brutalities first hand. Stone served in Vietnam and the film is very loosely based on his time there. One piece
which has come to symbolise the film and indeed the sentiments within the film, is Adagio for Strings, by
Samuel Barber. This piece was known before Platoon but the film created new interest from a new generation,
so much so that this piece, along with some other notable pieces (theme from Harry’s Game by Clannad,
analysed in vol.1) have found themselves immortalised and reborn in the dance music genre.
Fig, 12 Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings
Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings is used in several scenes in the movie. It provides a deep, reflective and
emotional mood for the scenes and the poignant subtext of the movie. It has been described ‘effortless and
sublime’ and ‘exquisite and tragic’. Over and above the soft textures of the string section, there are many other
subtle factors which are pivotal in determining the communicative qualities of this piece.
Fig, 13
Sweet Anticipation: revealing the intervallic ‘colour’ of the

harmony subsequent to an initial single note is a well-worn
device to create a sense of anticipation.
When we hear the initial Bb note it lacks the usual harmonic

surroundings that give it its crucial intervallic context and aural
colour. The lack of intervallic context and the lack of a melodic
line that would create its own harmonic context, leave us with no
information, except perhaps the unconscious assumption that the
note is the root of a chord.
When we hear the eventual chord (the Ebm7), this ‘release’

creates a heightened sense of awareness in the listener.
Something as simple as a two-beat rest which leaves us
pondering - can be an effective compositional tool.
Fig, 14
Another aspect – this time barely perceptible – is that the first
stated chord is only one note away from being a different
chord; the entire top four staves of the Ebm7 chord in bar one
constitute an inverted chord of Gb (boxed). Because the low
Eb is nearly two octaves lower than the viola part, we almost
hear the Eb as being separate from the ‘main body’ of the
chord, which means we subtly experience a Gb chord and an
Ebm7 at the same time. This may sound odd because the two
chords are so similar, but normally a m7 chord would be
voiced in such a way to make the identity unequivocal.
Add to this the fact that the interval which vertically bookends
the Gb chord voicing, from the Bb at the top down to the Db,
is a maj6th. This is worth mentioning because, although this
interval lies inside the actual full chord and doesn’t take into
account the low bass, we do hear the interval independently
because the top Bb and the lower Db ‘stick out’ due to the
depth of the Eb bass. The leap of a maj6 is a romantic interval
which has been used in many songs and other compositions
for emotive effect. ‘My Bonne Lies over the Ocean’, ‘My
Way’, ‘Angels’ and ‘Take the A Train’ and ‘Music of the
Night’ are just a few that benefit from the interval.
If we look now at the melody line, we can see that the line has a curious ‘three feel’ within the 4/4 structure,
which crosses the bar-line. This slightly and subtly disturbs the feeling of timing. Also, the melody line (below)
which has been variously described as hypnotic and transfixing, hits the romantic maj3rd ‘descriptive’ interval
regularly.
Fig, 15
Fig, 16
Another fact is the brief and,
again, almost imperceptible
harmonic tensions contained in
the first few bars. The first is the
passing tension and release
between the Bb (first beat of bar
two) and the A note on 2nd
violins. The second and third are
on the last beat of bar four
between the violin and viola (Db
and C – min2nd) and the viola and
cello (C and lower Db – maj7th).
The lumpy harmony between the
1st and 2nd cellos is also a factor.
A min6th interval isn’t in itself a
dense harmony but played fairly
low between two cellos, it creates
a tiny sonically ‘lumpy’ and
texturally dense effect. Such
tensions are brief and ‘passing’
but their combined effect changes
the listening experience, creating
tiny pockets of aural tension and
sonic ambiguity which makes the
harmony less certain.
The final thing to say about this piece is the curious way the melody is slightly out-of-sync with the chords.
Melody notes which ‘go’ with the Gb chord actually begin before the chord appears and likewise melody notes
which ‘go’ with the Ab begin before the chord itself. Thus there is the faintest whiff of polytonality prior to the
harmonic resolution caused when the melody and chords begin to match and ‘stack up’.
Fig, 17
GIAZOTTO, ADAGIO IN G MINOR

Gallipoli
The Adagio in G minor for strings and organ continuo is a neo-baroque composition referred to as ‘Adagio in G
minor by Albinoni’, but it has been established as an entirely original work by its arranger, Giazotto. The piece
is most commonly orchestrated for string ensemble and organ, or string ensemble alone. Like many pieces it has
achieved a level of fame seriously at odds with the context of its origins. It has permeated popular culture,
having been used as background music for such films as ‘Gallipoli’, television programs and in advertisements,
to the point of becoming a cliché for self-consciously ‘sad’ moments. Do people react emotionally because they
know the piece - because they recognise it - or because it works well with the movies it is used in? As with the
Richard Strauss piece from earlier, it’s highly unlikely that many people knew the piece before they heard it in
the movies. Over and above the fact that it has an overtly ‘classical’ sound, it possesses other characteristics
which make it suitable for film. So, what are they? What makes it ‘filmic’?
As we can see from the transcription below, the piece has a consistent melodic bass contour, which acts almost
as a secondary melodic line, binding the piece together. Also the major 6th over the minor chord (bar five) is a
classic film chord which has been used in countless pieces to create a sense of melodrama. There is a tendency
to rationalise intervals in context of the root of a chord; it is understandable because it is this measure of
distance which gives intervals and extensions their names. But the reason the minor chord with the major sixth
works so well is at least partly because the interval that separates the minor 3rd (in this case Eb) from the major
6th (in this case the A) is itself a diminished 5th. Any intervallic reaction with the 3rd of a chord is going to be
pivotal because the 3rd is an important, descriptive interval within a chord.
0
The chord manouvre from Cm6, C# to Dsus4 works particularly well, possessing a sense of inexorable
inevitability. The seductive repetition of the Baroque style is also enchanting (boxed, bar nine onwards), as is
the contrary motion of the phrases. The ‘melody’ is shared between violin 1 and 2. Film music frequently
features examples where the traditional relationship between chords and melody is slightly different to the norm
(such as this example). Frequently melodies work better when they aren’t manacled to a specific instrument or
place but are instead ‘shared’. Don’t forget, melody, like everything else, is simply a musical function. Melody
can be whatever or wherever we choose it to be.
Fig, 18 Giazotto’s Adagio in G minor
Bar twelve is also very colourful, containing the maj6 and maj7 over a minor chord. Also the 6th leap from the
maj3rd (F#) of the D/A (bar ten) to the b9 (Eb) in bar eleven is particularly warm.
If we look momentarily at a single stave version with chord symbols, we can perhaps better appreciate the
extensive use of inversions which characterise this piece. Again, this is a popular harmonic device used to create
drama and gravity by reorientating the weighting of the chord.
Fig, 19

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BRIAN MORRELL

HOW FILM & TV MUSIC

HOW FILM AND TV MUSIC COMMUNICATE – VOL III

Music and architecture

History and teaching

How music is written

How do we ‘make stuff up’?

Content, structure and form

The 19th Century and the ‘sacrilisation’ of music

What is skill and what is art?

How we listen and how we write

The illusion of the tune

How music leads us into temptation

What is film music?

Why do people attach such importance to the wordless language of music?

How does music create emotion?

Film / TV music analysed in vol.3

SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY 16,248 words

A Perfect Sense (Max Richter)

THE NAME’S BOND 5,586 words

James Bond Theme (John Barry / Monty Norman)

PBS Space Shuttle Disaster (Gaël Mange/Rodolphe Perroquin/Arnaud de Boisfleury)

Candyman (Philip Glass)

Pierrepoint Harry (Martin Phipps)

Last of the Mohicans (Trevor Jones)

Gravity (Stephen Price)

THRILLERS 8,423 words

Jack Reacher (Joe Kramer)

Platoon - Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings

A PERFECT SENSE Max Richter

Fig.1 Movie - 00.04.40 / 01.19.47 Audio – ‘Luminous’

Bar four of fig.1 (notated separately in fig.2 – left) is interesting in that

Similarly in bar twenty of

Fig.4 Movie - 00.13.00 / 01.23.55 Audio – ‘A Lover’s Complaint’

CONTAGION Cliff Martinez

Fig.6 Movie - 00.41.50 Audio – ‘2nd Plane Crash’

Fig.7 Movie – 00.59.43 and 01.12.33 Audio – ‘Merry Christmas’

Audio – ‘Goldfinger’ (John Barry/Leslie Bricusse/Anthony Newley)

K-PAX Edward Shearmur

Fig.9 Movie – 00.33.40 Audio – ‘Taxi Ride’

This is a wonderfully ethereal piece which makes good use of

LIMITLESS Paul Leonard-Morgan

Fig.11 Movie – 00.01.00 Audio ‘Opening’ – 00.06

Later in the same piece

Any major chord to a minor version of

THE MOTHMAN PROPHECIES Tomandandy

Fig.14 Movie 00.02.15 Audio 00.22 ‘Composed of 12 members’

By bar five there is a physical ascending line creating a physical contrary

Fig.15 Audio - ‘All at once’ 5th

PLEASANTVILLE Randy Newman

Fig.16 Movie - 01.09.17 Audio – ‘Real Rain’

Fig.17 Fig.17 (left) shows the chords in the first

SIGNS James Newton Howard

Fig.18 Movie intro Audio – Main Titles

The functionality and artistry of orchestration

Listening to this section in context of the rest of

The Horns move from G and B (contextualised

Movie – 00.12.56 Audio ‘Roof Intruder’

The very first moment of ‘roof intruder’ (left,