What does it mean to be a film composer in 2013?

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What does it mean to be a film composer in 2013?

An assessment on the effect of technology in composition, and the purpose of music in film

narrative.

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Summary

This dissertation will discuss film music, its purpose, its motives and methods of composition

from a variety of viewpoints. It will discuss the views of film theorists (Chion and Deleuze)

and the views of musicians and composers (Kalinak, Bicknell, Wierzbicki). These will be

assessed and compared with an aim to create a singular consideration for composers when

scoring a film. Overall, these theories come together to form a basic approach to consider

when composing, that all aspects of the film – image, diegetic sound and music – move

together in a symbiotic discourse to arrive at the perceived meaning.

It will then move on to discuss digital musicianship, the digital orchestra, and the portfolio

musician. Digital musicianship outlines the dilemma of live performance versus computer

performance, the laptop musician as performer, and the issues surrounding the use of

virtual instruments in lieu of acoustic. This then leads to the idea of a digital orchestra,

sampling libraries, and their benefits/downfalls – discussing opinions on whether realism or

authenticity should take priority over quality of sound.

Finally, it will arrive at the portfolio musician – which is ultimately the answer to the posed

question. For when considering what it means to be a composer for film in 2013, the very

fact that it is 2013 results in this answer: it means being a musician, not just a composer.

The portfolio musician is arguably the only way to earn a living as a professional (but not

famous) musician in 2013 and onwards. This is because the portfolio musician displays every

skill he/she possesses, and develops those skills to each be at the level of professionalism. A

musician from 2013 and onwards needs to be: a composer, a songwriter, a teacher, a

producer, a sound designer, a sound recordist, and a performer.

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Contents

Introduction. 4

Chapter 1: Film-‐music theory 6

Chapter 2: The purposes of film music – from silent movies to contemporary cinema 12

Chapter 3: The composer, the portfolio musician and the use of a digital orchestra. 20

Conclusion: What does it mean to be a film composer in 2013? 26

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Introduction

Here, we will be exploring the century long history of composition for cinema, examining

and interpreting several opinions on the purpose of music in film. Then questioning the

problems and benefits surrounding technological composition as opposed to traditional

scoring.

Composition for film has a long and diverse history. It began in silent film, accompanied by

live musicians. These performances varied in size and purpose, ranging from a single parlour

pianist, to a live orchestral score. As electronic music developed, composers began to

experiment with new sounds. However, during the nineties popular film scoring quickly

reverted back to an orchestral palette.

Modern film scoring today comprises of a largely orchestral soundscape, augmented with

electronic flourishes. However, as acoustic sampling software becomes more and more

advanced, the performance of compositions by a live orchestra is more of an option than a

necessity -‐ this is no longer the only way to produce a quality score.

Theory surrounding film and music is a heavily discussed area, with opinions resonating

from many points of view. Deleuze and Chion cover the advanced film theory direction, and

writers such as Kalinak and Hugill form the musicians’ practical review of film-‐music theory.

For the purposes of differentiation, film music utilizing traditional techniques and sound

ingredients will henceforth be named ‘Classical’ film music to pair it with formalist film

theory – Chion. Similarly, film scoring which uses experimentalism and new technologies will

be referred to as contemporary film music to facilitate a pairing with modern film theory -‐

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Deleuze. This pairing however is not to suggest an inherent link between Chion and

Classicism, nor to impose a relationship upon Deleuze and experimentalism.

Rather, its intention is to pair their aspects. Chion’s theories can be seen as similar to the

Classical approach of simplicity and rules, definitions and categories. In contrast, the

abstract nature of Deleuze’s theory, particularly as quoted here, can be paired with the

abandonment of rules within experimental music: exploring music through an alternate

perspective, and dealing in textures rather than tones. Using these titles, the progress of

technology can be linked to the progression of film music, whilst comparing the purposes of

film music in the early 20th century with the purposes of Film Music in the 21st century.

Moreover, the exponential rate at which technology is advancing can be discussed through

the filter of its affects on the composer; what does it mean to be a film composer in 2013?

Finally, we will be examining the concept of portfolio based musicianship, what it is, and

why it matters to full-‐time musicians in the modern world.

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Chapter 1: Film-‐music theory

“In the classic cinema, we become aware of a visual image as a perception when it is treated

as a representation of a subjective point of view.” (Bogue, 2003, p. 70)

This Chapter will examine two different approaches to film-‐theory, and its consequences

with regards to the composition of music for film: formalist ideas presented by Michel Chion

and Sergei Eisenstein, and Deleuzian film analysis put forward by Robert Bogue and Gregg

Redner. Both fields of theory provide insight into the perspective of the audience, and thus

the role of music as an extension of the viewers’ experience.

Chion’s formalist theory outlines the functions of film sound, ranging from the diegetic

sound of a creaky door, to the score itself. He examines the roles these different types of

sound take in film, their relationship with each other, and their relationship with the film.

“The two perceptions mutually influence each other…lending each other their

respective properties by contamination and projection.” (Chion, 1994, p. 9)

Here, he indicates that sound is just as important as the visuals in establishing and

maintaining mood and emotion, and that the score is not simply associative in its operation

(the film looks sad, therefore the music is sad). Instead, Chion demonstrates that they are

related in a synergetic contract – that one informs the other and vice versa.

“Music can directly express its participation in the feeling of the scene, by taking on

the scene’s rhythm, tone, and phrasing; obviously such music participates in cultural

codes for things like sadness, happiness, and movement.” (Chion, 1994, p. 8)

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The rhythm and tone of the scene may not be immediately apparent, yet the music (and

sound) can accentuate its perceptibility or even alter the feel entirely, creating a

juxtaposition in the film-‐music paradigm. It is clear then, that the film score is not separate

from the image. Instead, it engages in mutual influence with the scene, and effects,

enhances, and in some cases diverts the interpretation of the visuals.

We must then begin to think about how a composer might go about scoring a scene, what

perspective he/she chooses to take, and how they will affect the mood of the scene.

“Mitry suggests that the cinematic image in fact is…always ‘semi-‐subjective’

representing ‘the anonymous point of view of someone among the characters”

(Bogue, 2003, p. 72)

This interjectory idea from Jean Mitry, as quoted by Ronald Bogue, allows the composer to

ask him/herself the question, ‘Who is the audience?’

The anonymity of the audience by dint of standard camera practice, means they are the

objective character within the story who is always watching, never doing. Therefore, when

composing character themes, one must bear in mind that a theme for a character must

always be based entirely on their most basic elements, as the audience are perceiving the

events as an impartial non-‐entity who has no bias. For example, Darth Vader’s theme (The

Imperial March by John Williams) does not precede his true identity – because the audience

does not know of his lineage. This only changes when his most basic attributes alter (when

we find out he is Luke’s father), which allows a more lamenting theme at his death.

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We can also use Chion’s writings on film music theory to examine the power music can

have on continuity and time.

“In the music video there no longer exists an audiovisual scene anchored in coherent

time and space” (Chion, 1994, p. 82)

This demonstrates how film scores are held outside of the film-‐image, and yet can provide

a powerful means of defying natural or ‘coherent’ time, which is otherwise necessary in film.

For example, a protagonist can travel great distances or across many years in an instant if

the music suggests the passing of time.

Deleuzian theory resonates strongly around the concept of pure sensation, or a “bloc of

sensation” (Deleuze and Guattari, 1994, p. 164), the idea that all sensual stimulation,

auditory and visual in particular, can be regarded as a singular ‘sensation’. This enables

discussion that can move freely between the impact of visual and auditory stimuli, removing

any barriers between film and score. This conjecture, “The work of art is a being of sensation

and nothing else, it exists in itself” (Deleuze and Guattari, 1994, p. 164), removes any

distinction between the visual stimulation in a film and the audio stimulation from a score,

by reducing the movie to pure ‘sensation’. Hence we can now link together the worlds of

diegetic (foley) and non-‐diegetic (score) sound.

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Gregg Redner presents to us the idea that the Deleuzian concept of ‘sensation’ is gained

from a rhizomatic discourse between diegetic and non-‐diegetic music.

He derives a diagram as we see below:

Figure 1: Redner 2011

This diagram depicts the idea that percepts are independent of perceptions, and affects are

separate from affections – for instance, “the landscape before man, in the absence of man”

(Deleuze and Guattari, 1994, p. 169). Ronald Bogue further suggests that the percepts and

affects do “not arise from subjects but instead pass through them” (Bogue, 2003, p. 164).

This means that the rhizome[1] of the percepts and the rhizome of the affects make-‐up the

‘sensation’, and that the ‘sensation’ moves through all subjects (painting, sculpture or film)

via the percepts and affects. Likewise, the ‘sensation’ moves through both diegetic and non-‐

diegetic music. This is conceptualised by Redner in the diagram.

We can then consider an extension of this diagram by “introducing the concept of

imperceptible musical sensations in the form of soundwaves above the bloc of sensation and 1 Rhizome – a multiplicity of entities, mutually influencing one another but behaving with a singular directive.

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the affective intuition of ‘emotion’ below.” (Redner, 2011, p. 35). This helps us to visualise

the ‘bloc of sensation’, as the physical soundwaves of the score lie between the percepts

and the non/diegetic sound.

The intuitive emotional response lies between the affects and the non/diegetic sound.

As humans, we can experience physical and emotional reactions to music – which are

represented in the above ‘sensation’ diagram. The art-‐sensation permeates through the

music, and it affects us all emotionally whilst simultaneously resulting in physical

perceptions from the sound-‐wave percepts.

“In order for Julie to become-‐woman and for the score to become-‐music, it is

necessary for both to be pulverized and reduced to a position of molecularity.”

(Redner, 2011, p. 113)

Here, Redner suggests that in order for the composed music to become part of the

narrative, and to thereby flow and change with the story, it must be reduced to its most

fundamental parts – the very nature of the waveform must be considered and carefully

Figure 2: Redner 2011

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planned. Redner speaks about the dilemmas involved with using a score completed prior to

filming. He says that the score “cannot enter into the mise-‐en-‐scène because it is whole”

(Redner, 2011, p. 117) at the start of the film. In this particular case, Redner is assessing

Kryzyszytof Kieslowski’s Blue: the music cannot be a complete piece at the start of film

because the composer in the story has not yet completed his work.

“In order to enter the mise-‐en-‐scène the score...will be precipitated by the same

‘event’ that facilitates Julie’s Molecularization” (Redner, 2011, p. 118).

The score for this film is introduced in fragments, much as the character Julie is fragmented

by the ‘event’. The music is similarly introduced piece by piece, as is the information

regarding key elements of the husband’s character.

“For the first 8’52” minutes of the film no music is heard. Indeed, we are

not...aware…that...Patrice was a composer” (Redner, 2011, p. 119).

This perfect marriage between narrative and score, and their mutual influence on one

another, can also be seen in Settling the Score by Kathryn Kalinak (which we explore later as

part of Chapter 2).

“Every character should have a theme” (Max Steiner in Kalinak, 1992, p. 113).

This clearly draws attention to the necessity of musical territory for each key character. At

the pre-‐beginning of the film, each character exists within their own “circle of property”

(Redner, 2011, p. 88) a safe place in which they remain unchanged. However, when ‘events’

occur they are immediately fragmented, and begin their journey of “becoming” (Deleuze

and Guattari, 1994, p. 9). Likewise, the music should be fragmented by ‘events’ and

‘become’ score.

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Chapter 2: The purposes of film music – from silent film to contemporary cinema

“Max Steiner’s music [in Gone with the Wind] adds motion and emotion to the long narrative

of Civil War days in Georgia, It sets the atmosphere melodically and motivates the action

before the picture itself flashes on the screen” (Goldmark, Kramer, and Leppert, 2007, p. 21)

This Chapter will pose questions about film scoring: What is it supposed to do? How does it

achieve this? Why does it affect us like it does?

The purpose of these questions is to explore different approaches towards creating

successful film scores, and also to discuss possible attributes that result in an unsuccessful

score. We will be examining the opinions of composers and academics about the life of

cinema, and its accompanying music, from its conception to its current state in the 21st

Century.

When considering the possible functions of musicians in the first major motion picture

screenings, Wierzbicki debunks the idealistic notion that the scores for early cinema were

purposefully written to accompany the visual narrative. Instead, Wierzbicki notices, “the

pianist performed in the relatively long interludes during which one reel was exchanged for

another” (Wierzbicki, 2009, p. 20). The music heard during the early cinema experience

should be viewed as more of a fanfare, and less of a cinematic symbiote to the film.

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As the 19th Century drew to an end, music slowly began to form a more intimate

relationship with film.

“Audience members at Keith’s Opera House in September 1896 heard the orchestra

play ‘a jig to which [a pair of] frogs kept time’.” (Wierzbicki, 2009, p. 22)

Early film music was then comprised mostly, if not entirely, of parallel composition –

directly copying or representing the action on screen. This is could be because the early

orchestra, if playing during the film at all, had to function as both the diegetic and non-‐

diegetic sound (both sounds that appear to originate from the film and those that do not).

The orchestra provides both the sounds that belong in the world of the film, and those

which simply underpin it.

Furthermore, the large amount of parallel composition in early cinema could be explained

by Tom Gunning’s opinion on early film, which he describes as “exhibitionist cinema”

(Gunning, 1986, p. 64).

“This is a cinema that displays its visibility, willing to rupture a self-‐enclosed fictional

world for a chance to solicit the attention of the spectator” (Gunning, 1986, p. 64)

With this in mind the music for such ‘exhibitionist cinema’ – film designed to simply flaunt

the capability of technology at the time – was simply there to accentuate and accompany

the marvels on screen, the purpose then was to be predictable. With no flowing narrative,

the music became simplistic and jovial – however this by no means made it less effective.

The next noticeable change in film music was during the 1950’s post-‐war conditions, when

a shift in film consumption led to the use of counterpoint composition for film.

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“The European aesthetic...favored music that...enhanced the filmic narrative by

somehow playing ‘against’ on-‐screen action or emotion...To Hollywood’s chagrin

...American moviegoers preferred the European products.” (Wierzbicki, 2009, p. 117)

Counterpoint composition is scoring where the obvious on-‐screen content is not repeated

in the music. Rather, sub-‐textual elements are depicted in the melody and harmony. This

became very popular with an increase in psychological and thriller films, as it allowed the

music to presuppose the events in the narrative.

Here, Kalinak compares music scoring to script writing, and suggests that the meaning of

written direction hence needs to coincide with the meaning of the music:

“Music is a coherent experience, and because it is a system of expression possessing

internal logic, it has frequently been compared to language” (Kalinak, 1992, p. 4)

However, to coincide is not blunt representation. If we view the concept of film music as a

language (through the lens of Deleuze) then the ‘percepts’ of music must be the emotion

portrayed by the film-‐image.

Virtual emotions represented by the music must echo the affects of the film. Music can be

juxtaposed with the image and still echo the same meaning. For instance, during the scene:

“The Council of Elrond” (The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring), a solo horn is

heard when the character Boromir speaks. The horn melody alone does not symbolise the

kingdom of Gondor, nor is Boromir inherently representative of it. Yet, in the symbiotic film-‐

music narrative the partnership of the horn and Boromir manage to translate the feelings

that the audience relate to Gondor (strength and honour), tinged with the loneliness of a

single Gondorian.

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“Mood, emotion, characterization, point of view, even the action itself are

constructed in film in a complex visual and aural interaction in which music is an

important component...not reinforcing the suspense of the scene; it is a part of the

process that creates it.” (Kalinak, 1992, p. 31)

Similarly this linked to Chion’s views on the audio-‐image relationship, and hence can be

examined by drawing a similar parallel to Deleuze’s concept of the rhizome. The music

combines with the image to form an experience: a circumstantial affect on the audience.

Neither part accounts for the perception of the film, but together they form something new.

A rhizome in its most basic form displays the interaction between two parts, creating a third

perceived part. Sound and image interact to form film.

It is clear thus far that film and music behave rhizomatically or symbiotically, but this

theoretical approach doesn’t go very far to answer the questions: How can a film trigger an

emotional response from the audience? What part does music play in this affect?

Using Bicknell’s documentation on the SEM Project (Strong Experiences of Music) we can

begin to unpick the meaning behind human response to music.

This is an example from the SEM project’s report on a listener’s experience of Sibelius’

Finlandia.

“I remember how the music penetrated my consciousness entirely. How I gradually

lost contact with the ground and experienced an ecstasy of all my senses. Yes, it

wasn’t only my hearing that received its share!” (Bicknell, 2009, p. 46-‐47)

The listener had cried during the finale, falling victim to the suspense and crescendo of the

piece. It is interesting to note here the potential uses of this kind of reaction, something

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many have already experienced in the cinema. They feel a genuine connection to the story,

one that triggers a memory or true emotional response, so strong the flashing images

become real people, real events. This is perhaps only made possible by the effectiveness of

the film score, and more importantly, its synergetic relationship with the image.

The SEM project also records testimony to the opposite response, where music is so harsh

and tense that it too draws emotion from the listener:

“The largest part of this symphony is heavenly Mahlerish stale stuff ...But then,

there it was. A chord so heart-‐rending and ghost-‐ridden that I had never

experienced before... A dissonance that pierced my very marrow.” (Bicknell, 2009,

p. 54)

Here, we see another physical response to aural stimulus, this time undoubtedly painful.

Again, it is very useful to note the possible applications of such dread-‐ridden reactions. This

technique of composition has been used in film-‐music since the horror genre began.

Perhaps most famously in the shower scene of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, the dissonant

strings evoke fear in the audience, and also create a musical motif for the act of murder.

Scoring to terrify as well as composing to delight both function under the Deleuzian

concepts of ‘sensation’ and ‘becoming’. It is apparent that the purposes of film music are to

enhance and underline mood, be it sub-‐textual tension or obvious emotive joy.

The task of the composer is to engage in a symbiotic relationship with the film, in order for

the music and image to merge into the desired meaning. The image on its own does not

adequately portray the mood or emotion of the characters nor the scene. Neither does the

successful film score alone portray the mood and ambience.

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From this analysis, a new question arises: Why do the vast majority of successful film-‐

composers still use the orchestra?

Since film music began in narrative cinema, the orchestra was used. Initially a live

orchestra would perform, creating a more energetic atmosphere. However, with pre-‐

recorded scores becoming more commonplace in recent years, with timing accuracy taking

priority over performance, why have there been so few exceptions to the use of orchestras in

film?

Examining Laura Mulvey’s book, Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema, we can see that the

power of cinema lies in its environment – not dissimilar to the effect that hearing a live

orchestra in a concert hall has on the audience. The sight of approximately one-‐hundred

players on stage is just as, if not more important, than the music itself. Likewise in cinema,

the darkened room and the enormous screen are just as important as what is seen or heard.

“The audience is confronted with the difference between the darkness in the room

hall and the light of the screen.” (Hein, 2006, p. 7)

This is inclusion by exclusion; the atmosphere of the cinema/theatre allows each audience

member to view it in his/her own private space. The music is also part of this illusion, acting

as an external accompaniment to the images, but at the same time appearing internal. The

music seems as if it accompanies the audience members’ own interpretation of the film.

We have grown accustomed to the orchestra and its function in film, and this could account

for the few diversions from the norm. In film music, familiarity is key – allowing the music

feel internal, becoming almost unnoticeable (subtly effecting the way we feel).

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It is this familiarity though, that has also led to some of the most successful non-‐orchestral

scores. In films such as Pulp Fiction and Donnie Darko, popular music is effectively taken out

of its usual context, and is instead used to convey new moods within the film itself.

At this point we should now examine attributes of film scoring that does not achieve a

symbiotic relationship with the visuals. It is just as vital to understand why these scores do

not work with the images, as it is to analyze the scores that do.

Here, Dickinson clearly talks of the fine line that score must walk in modern cinema:

“The musical unit, which is often created in another decentralized zone, may stand

out successfully as both an integral part of the film and an extractable component to

be purchased…yet it can also scream its independence and marketability too loudly,

meaning that we reject it” (Dickinson, 2008, p. 29)

The ideal score is one that sits perfectly within the emotional themes and pulses of the

narrative, not to be noticed by the viewer, only accepted, while simultaneously being

appealing enough to be sold as a separate commodity (a soundtrack album). It is easy then,

to imagine that a score could over or under achieve in either of these aspects. The music

could sit so far in the background that it does not stand alone as a separate commodity, and

can therefore not be sold independently. Conversely, it could be a truly awe-‐inspiring

masterpiece, so much so that it sits in complete ignorance of the film narrative. This

outcome is just as undesirable as the first.

Again using Deleuze’s concept of ‘sensation’, we can now see that an unsuccessful score

will not ‘become’ meaning with the film. It does not necessarily need to match the emotion

portrayed on screen, however any juxtaposition should engage with the visual in a

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rhizomatic discourse, in order to resolve into the desired meaning. For example, a

recongnisably pleasant tune can be repurposed with the use of visuals to become deeply

disturbing (i.e. the use of nursery rhymes in horror films).

When exploring scoring possibilities, we can now jump into the synthesizer revolution in

films from 70s to the 90s, which utilised the now commonplace keyboard synthesizer in lieu

of the traditional acoustic/orchestral palette. These scores presented a variation from the

norm, and hence came with a new set of problems:

“The synthesizer produces notes composed of much fewer overtones and so sounds

emptier than more familiar instruments. This lack of depth – in all sorts of senses –

complicates its position within horror scoring” (Dickinson, 2008, p. 124)

Whilst Dickinson is referring solely to horror scoring, this conjecture could be applied to all

film scoring. Perhaps answering, from a different perspective, the question: Why is the

orchestra still commonplace within film scoring? – for depth of sound. This also goes a long

way to explaining why electronic augmentation of orchestral scoring is more widely used in

film composition, as opposed to total electronic composition. The desirable qualities of

electronic music can be taken advantage of without losing the richness and depth provided

by acoustic instrumentation.

Perhaps then the answer to this question: Why do the vast majority of successful film-‐

composers still use the orchestra? is simply that they don’t just use the orchestra, but rather

every sound that is available to them (where and when it is appropriate). The orchestra adds

a world of depth and warmth, but where that does not fulfill the need of the narrative, then

electronic sounds can be used alternatively or in collaboration with the orchestra.

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Chapter 3: The composer, the portfolio musician and the use of a digital orchestra.

In this chapter, we will examine the problems facing the modern composer in the computer

age. With sampling technology becoming so advanced that a composer can now write,

perform, record, edit, and produce an entire soundtrack in the same instance; whilst

achieving results comparable to the traditional method of writing, scoring, notating, hiring

an orchestra, recording, editing, and re-‐recording. The power of computing today means

that there can be no distance, theoretical or physical, between the composer and the music.

This then concludes with the portfolio musician, and its implications for the modern-‐day

composer.

Hugill makes the observation that the modern producer/musician is a digital composer:

“Compare, for example, a violinist in an orchestra with a musician performing with a

laptop computer...In the case of the violinist, the composer is a remote figure...In the

case of the laptop musician, the composer is probably the musician him or herself”

(Hugill, 2008, p. 99)

This very clearly leads to the solution of a problem that has plagued composers worldwide

since the dawn of notation. There is and always has been a chain of misinformation and

misinterpretation: flowing from the hand of the composer, through the conductor, and to

the performer. However, with current technology a film composer can record and produce

his/her music in the same process as the composition itself. This thereby results in a film-‐

score that is exactly as it was intended to be.

A new question is again posed: Would a digital score be more sensible given that it is

cheaper, faster and more accurate?

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Here, Hugill notes Sophy Smith’s opinion about being a digital musician today:

“It allows me to experiment in ways that would not be possible with ‘real’

instruments...I can experiment with, and where necessary change, aspects of my

music very quickly, which would not be possible without digital technology.” (Hugill

2008, p. 225)

Sophy presents a strong case for digital, rather than traditional, composition for film and

visual media. It is easier and more beneficial to take risks in composing in the digital world

than in the acoustic one. Imagine a composer has written an unusual harmony for

orchestral French Horn, in a piece for a film that may either work really well or not at all.

He/she goes through the lengthy and expensive process of hiring an orchestra to perform

and record the piece, only to find out the unusual part doesn’t work in context. It now has

to be re-‐written, re-‐performed, and re-‐recorded. Now consider the digital alternative: using

sampled instruments a composer can write, perform, and record an orchestral work on

his/her own computer – instantly altering and shifting any instrumental part within that

piece. It is obvious then, that the digital composer is more likely to take risks and innovate.

This is because there is no potential waste of time, money, or resources in doing so.

There are however, some problems to consider when using digital sample libraries over a

real orchestra. There is a potential loss of the emotions involved in a live performance (as

previously discussed). This is because most of what makes a performance by a live orchestra

so emotive/effective, are the imperfections caused by players performing in slightly

different ways.

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Asher now presents the issue that sometimes sample libraries, by their very nature, can play

parts that acoustic instruments cannot achieve.

“For instance, with a slide trombone playing the B flat a 9th below middle C to the B

natural a half step up means going from 7th position to 1st position so there will

always be a gliss.” (Asher 2012)

This issue is not present when using samples, but should this limitation be simply endured

for the sake of using a live trombone player?

We come now to the question of authenticity, or “Real…or…Good” (Asher, 2012). Does a

live orchestra always sound better than a digital one, when the digital samples sometimes

have less limitation and more room for expression?

“How we approach the craft of composing with these tools is somewhat determined

by our philosophy and that of our clients. The reality is that some parts we conceive

of in our mind and ears that would sound stunning with a real orchestra may not

sound good with the libraries we own or any available . Conversely, we may be able

to conceive of parts with the samples that real players simply cannot do” (Asher,

2012)

This is not to imply that a live/real orchestra is not good, nor that digital sampled music is

somehow inferior, or inherently not real. Asher instead questions whether or not it really

matters if the sound is produced by a bow on string or by a click of the mouse. Arguably, the

answer is a resounding no.

A film score, at its fundamental core serves one purpose – working with the visuals to

create the desired mood. On occasion, this may be impossible with anything other than a

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90-‐piece symphonic orchestra, or it could only be achievable with a digital orchestra

performing note changes that live players physically cannot. However, it is far more likely

that the most effective, and measurably better, score will come from an amalgamation of

live performers and digital sampled instruments. The point being that if the score works in

whichever formation it is in, the composers should feel no pressure to alter it for the sake of

authenticity.

“The aesthetic pursuit of “real” is never factored in for me. They ALL sound real if I

use them well and all will sound obviously fake or "synthy" if I do not. With sample

libraries as with real players, you need to write for the players.” (Asher, 2012)

Asher now discusses how the realism of samples should never be a deciding factor in which

ones are used during composition. He states that as long as they don’t sound immediately

false, that they then have potential to create a successful film score (so long as the music is

written with them in mind). Treating a sample library as a collection of players, the

composer should henceforth write to within their specific capability.

“One of the reasons samples are so important in film music is that their use allows

the director, and other people involved in the film-‐making process, such as the editor

or producers, to hear how a piece of music (usually referred to as a cue) is going to

sound against the film” (Mark Wherry, 2007)

This shows that even six years ago, samples played an important part in Hollywood film

production – they allowed for a more accurate representation of the final product. Since

then, sampling libraries have moved forward in leaps and bounds to the extent now where

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the movie consumer has undoubtedly heard several films scored entirely from a computer,

and not realised it.

What is a portfolio musician and why is it important?

Picture from Musician’s Union ‘the Working Musician’s report 2012’

This chart shows what a portfolio musician is, and exactly why this is the reality for most

modern musicians. Nowadays it is not enough to be just one of the above. In order to

survive and earn a living from music in 2013, it is clear that most (if not all) musicians will

need to develop an impressive and varied portfolio of career aspects. For example: teaching,

performing, session playing, composing, recording, and producing. All of these are equally

important skills required of the modern musician.

This is an interesting insight into the reality of modern musicianship. 58% of the musicians

interviewed identified most with the idea of live performance being their career, whereas

only 20% found teaching to be their calling, and as little as 7% felt a draw to composition.

When we then look at the percentage of where most of the money is made, a wider spread

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is shown. While the perceived aspirations of these musicians present a varied focus group,

the percentages of earnings show a situation where the majority of these musicians are

working in all of these fields to earn a living.

“Musicians need to develop skills to sustain their portfolio careers beyond those

associated with being a musician such as, business, marketing, teaching and

community engagement skills. Above all they need to be adaptable” (Musicians’

Union, 2012)

Therefore, a modern musician needs to be ‘adaptable’, they also need to be able to market

themselves and hold a strong business technique. It seems that in 2013, specialising in the

music industry is a luxury and not a choice.

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Conclusion: What does it mean to be a film composer in 2013?

In conclusion, a composer in 2013 and forwards should consider the following when scoring

a film:

Sound waves engage with the percepts to form the physicality of the diegetic and non-‐

diegetic sounds, and the affects interact with the emotional aspect of the diegetic and non-‐

diegetic sound – all moving in a rhizomatic motion with ‘sensation’ (Deleuze and Guattari,

1994, p. 164). In simple terms, the physical aspects of the sound and the emotional reaction

influence each other to create the ‘sensation’ of the sound. Hence, all parts of this rhizome

must be considered when scoring for film, particularly when the composer is not also the

sound designer. This is because both are musicians who have to engage themselves in

rhizomatic behaviour of mutual influence, in order to achieve the ‘sensation’ required in the

film.

Moreover, Chion’s theories present another, yet more straightforward synergy to consider.

The sound, both score and diegetic, are simultaneously influencing and being influenced by

the film. This confluence brings sound and film together by either harmonious

entanglement – a triumphant score and the clashing of swords, paired with the hero arising

victorious from a great battle; or by jarring juxtaposition – a children’s lullaby or nursery

rhyme, and diegetic silence, to accompany a horrific horror sequence. Although these two

approaches are clearly worlds apart, they seem to utilise a similar technique, and

demonstrate mutual influence between film, composer and sound.

The SEM project is an important aspect of this dissertation when considering what it means

to be a film composer in 2013, as it sheds some light on the potential power music

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possesses for energizing the senses of the listener. A well-‐constructed, character-‐driven

story combined with an effective, and emotionally charged score can create responses in

audiences akin to those they experience with real people in their lives. The protagonist’s

emotions can become those of the viewers, and they can experience reactions from all

senses in response to the film.

The composer must maintain a symbiotic relationship with both the image and the diegetic

sound in order to create an effective, and true emotional message. Music that simply

mimics or accompanies is not sufficient in the narrative of a movie, it needs to push and

challenge the image, driving the mise-‐en-‐scene to its intended conclusion.

The power that lies within film sound as whole is accentuated by the idea of inclusion by

exclusion – the cinema is plunged into darkness and the powerful speaker systems enhance

the separation each audience member experiences. This isolation then creates an individual

relationship with the on-‐screen characters.

However, it is also important for the composer to resist their ego when composing for film.

This is because the most successful film score will go unnoticed and simply be accepted as

part of the movie. Hence, the ideal is an emotional and moving score that works perfectly

with the mise-‐en-‐scene to create meaning, yet at the same time can be sold as a separate

commodity (soundtrack album). Moreover then, this part of the composition process lies on

a delicate balance where the score could either become too background, and hence be

unsuitable for sale as a soundtrack, or it could be too grand to fit the narrative.

To be a composer also means being able to fulfill a brief using any technologies and

techniques available, taking into account all new developments in either. Perhaps one of the

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most significant developments of the past decade is the rapid increase in quality and realism

of Virtual Instruments or ‘VSTs’. It allows the composer to hear the final product as it is

being written – two stages of composition that were previously separated by weeks of

organizing, recording, editing, mixing and re-‐recording, re-‐mixing. It also allows the modern

musician to instantly augment an orchestral palette with electronic sounds – again a process

that would ordinarily have been separated by weeks of production.

“Film music is a vibrant and living form of music that breathes in harmony with its

film, to provide a high degree of emotional impact for mass audiences.” (K.J Donnelly

2001, p.3)

Ultimately, composers must accept that their music provides a service, and in its success it

will be met with ignorance, at least initially (a successful film score will not be noticed ).

Furthermore, it stands to reason that while it may be called music, it may not always occur

in a full musical sense.

“When a composer produces work for the cinema, it is customary to retain the term

music for what he writes, even though it normally appears in another form – that is,

a fragmentary form – in a wholly different role, with a wholly different logic, and

above all, in an entirely different context than musical works have traditionally

appeared in Western culture.” (Goldmark, Kramer and Leppart 2007, p.87)

Finally, it means that composers, as musicians must be multi-‐talented and diverse. They

cannot simply compose and let that be the end of it, in the ever-‐saturating digital world a

successful composer must be able to offer something unique, and the most effective way to

do that is to present him/herself as a portfolio musician.

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What does it mean to be a film composer in 2013?

It means being a musician, who happens to compose for film along with many other musical

occupations.

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Bibliography

BICKNELL, JEANETTE (2009) Why music moves us. Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke.

BOGUE, RONALD (2003) Deleuze on Cinema. Routledge, London.

CHION, MICHEL (1994) Audio-‐vision: sound on screen. Columbia University Press, New York.

DELEUZE, GILLES and GUATTARI, FELIX (2004) A Thousand Plateaus. Continuum, London.

DICKINSON, KAY (2008) Off key: When film and music won’t work together. Oxford University Press, New York.

DONNELLY, K.J. (2001) Film Music: Critical Approaches. Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh.

GOLDMARK, DANIEL and KRAMER, LAWRENCE and LEPPERT, RICHARD (2007) Beyond the soundtrack: representing music in cinema. University of California Press, Berkley.

GUNNING, TOM (1986) The Cinema of Attractions: Early Film, Its Spectator and the Avant-‐Garde. Wide Angle Press, Hong Kong.

HEIN, CAROLINA (2006) Laura Mulvey, Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema. Grin, Germany.

HOOVER, TOM (2010) Keeping Score. Course Technology, Boston.

HUGILL, ANDREW (2008) The Digital Musician. Routledge, London.

KALINAK, KATHRYN (1992) Settling the score: music and the classical Hollywood film. University of Wisconsin Press, Madison.

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LERNER, NEIL (2010) Music in the horror film: Listening to fear. Routledge, Oxon.

REAY, PAULINE (2004) Music in Film: Soundtracks and synergy. Wallflower Press, London.

REDNER, GREGG (2011) Deleuze and Film Music. Intellect, London.

ROBERTSON, ROBERT (2009) Eisenstein on the audiovisual: The montage of music, image and sound in cinema. Tauris Academic Studies, New York.

WIERZBICKI, JAMES (2009) Film music: a history. Routledge, London

Online Resources

ASHER, JAY (2012/2013) askaudiomag [ONLINE] Available at http://www.askaudiomag.com/articles/real-‐sample-‐libraries-‐overrated (Accessed 02 January 2014)

The Musicians’ Union (2012) The Working Musician report [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.musiciansunion.org.uk/wp-‐content/uploads/2012/12/The-‐Working-‐Musician-‐report.pdf (Accessed 02 January 2014)

WHERRY, MARK (2007) soundonsound [ONLINE] Available at http://www.soundonsound.com/sos/jul07/articles/pirates.htm (Accessed 02 January 2014)

What does it mean to be a film composer in 2013?

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