FUN FACT: The University of Oregon is actually where they filmed “Animal House.” No university approached would touch the script, but Oregon’s president had been burned once before, when as an administrator at USC, the school had withheld permission from the makers of “The Graduate.” So he said carpe diem and full speed ahead. His only condition: that his name not appear in the finished film.
So, you see, the University of Oregon is even a better fit as home base for broadcasts of my weekly radio shows than you might have previously suspected.
As my own contribution to academic notoriety, I’ll be celebrating graduation season this morning on “Sweetness and Light” with a program of processionals and scenes from campus life – including a shocking number of works based on student drinking songs. Composers represented will include Jean Sibelius, Johannes Brahms, Franz Liszt, Johann Strauss II, Sigmund Romberg, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, and of course Sir Edward “Pomp and Circumstance” Elgar.
Hide the empties from your folks and join me in cap and gown. We’ll be disguising our breath and churning out responsible citizens when we reel to the platform to claim our parchment on the next “Sweetness and Light,” this Saturday morning at 11:00 EDT/8:00 PST!
This week on “The Lost Chord,” there may not be glorious Technicolor or breathtaking Cinemascope, but what would Cole Porter say, to hear Sir Edward Elgar in stereophonic sound?
Elgar was one of the first of the great composers to endeavor to set down “definitive” interpretations of his own works on recordings. Or so it has been thought. But did Elgar really regard these performances as definitive? In fact, Elgar took great care to “grade” the various takes from his recording sessions. Some of these, he instructed, were to be destroyed outright; others were held, as the composer took the time to consider.
What emerges, upon listening to a 4-CD set, “Elgar Remastered,” on the SOMM Recordings label, are the impressions that (1) Elgar was fairly meticulous when it came to preserving his legacy, and (2) he also understood that there’s more than one way to skin a cat. Rediscovered alternative takes make clear that the composer was amenable to looking at his own works from a variety of perspectives.
For their parts, the conscientious engineers at EMI employed multiple machines to guard against technological failure. This was back in the late 1920s and early ‘30s. Now, for the first time, the elements have been brought together and skillfully combined to create a kind of “accidental” stereo.
Engineer Lani Spahr has worked wonders with these recordings, from the private collection of Arthur Reynolds, chairman of the North American Branch of the Elgar Society. He also goes into considerable detail in his liner notes – in fact, to a degree that would be impractical to relate here.
A good deal of the set is devoted to recordings and alternative takes of Elgar’s Cello Concerto. As on the composer’s authorized recording, issued on EMI, Beatrice Harrison is the soloist. These include the first complete electrical recording, from 1928 – the one which would ultimately be published, in mono – with previously unissued, alternative takes from the same sessions. There is also an earlier, truncated recording from 1920, set down using the acoustic process, and a performance of the concerto’s Adagio movement alone, with Harrison accompanied at the keyboard by Princess Victoria.
The gem of the set is Harrison’s celebrated 1928 recording, heard here for the first time entirely in stereo, or what passes for stereo.
Harrison was Elgar’s preferred soloist. He lavished praise on her performances, even as she took liberties with the score. At the session for this particular recording, he was overheard to say, “Give it ‘em, Beatrice, give it ‘em. Don’t mind about the notes or anything. Give ‘em the spirit.”
Worlds away from the effusive, heart-on-the-sleeve approach of Jacqueline du Pré, Harrison’s interpretation is nonetheless riveting on its own terms. As with the other recordings in the collection, it is a kind of time capsule of period performance practice – with swooping portamenti (audible slides between notes) – and the musicians’ flexibility in regard to both tempo and phrasing.
And Elgar can be such a volatile conductor! In addition, we’ll hear a cracking rendition of the “Cockaigne Overture” and a performance of the prelude to the oratorio “The Kingdom,” which really takes flight.
Yes, this is the same Elgar who wrote that ubiquitous graduation march. Join me to hear him as you’ve never heard him before – in “accidental” stereo – on “Pomp and Happenstance,” on “The Lost Chord,” today, on the eve of the anniversary of his birth, now in syndication on KWAX, the radio station of the University of Oregon!
Clip and save the start times for all three of my recorded shows:
PICTURE PERFECT, the movie music show – Friday at 8:00 PM EDT/5:00 PM PDT
SWEETNESS AND LIGHT, the light music program – ALL NEW! – Saturday at 11:00 AM EDT/8:00 AM PDT
THE LOST CHORD, unusual and neglected rep – Saturday at 7:00 PM EDT/4:00 PM PDT
“…To crush your enemies… to see them driven before you… and to hear the lamentations of their women!”
This week on “Picture Perfect,” we venture very far from Turner Classic Movies territory with an hour of guilty pleasures, as we listen to music from sword and sandal flicks from the 1980s.
These include “The Beastmaster” (1982), a film that was once so pervasive on cable that comedian Dennis Miller branded HBO as “Hey, Beastmaster’s On!” and TBS was known in some circles as “The Beastmaster Station.” I still haven’t seen it, believe it or not, but I know it has something to do with swords, sandals, two ferrets, and Tanya Roberts.
The music by Lee Holdridge (who celebrated his 80th birthday on May 3) is given the royal treatment, in a performance conducted by Charles Gerhardt, of RCA’s legendary “Classic Film Scores” series, on an album produced by George Korngold (son of Erich Wolfgang Korngold).
To prove that I have no reason to lie to you about not having seen “The Beastmaster,” I enthusiastically embrace the fact that, as a 15-year-old, I totally lapped up “The Sword and the Sorcerer” (1982). And since I still love everything now that I did when I was 15, you can draw your own conclusions.
A pre-“Matt Houston” Lee Horsley stars as Talon, a mercenary-warrior of royal blood, who wields an improbable sword with three blades that can be projected, by unexplained means, like lethal rockets. There’s also a hideous wizard played by Richard Moll, who went on to play Bull on television’s “Night Court,” king of the B-movie villains Richard Lynch, and George Maharis.
This is the best example I can think of of a really trashy movie with a fantastic score. Revisiting the music for “The Sword and the Sorcerer” merely affirms what I’ve known for a long time – that 1982 was a kind of second Golden Age for film scores, when even the terrible movies had fabulous music. The first Golden Age, of course, was roughly 40 years earlier – though the movies were generally better.
English composer David Whitaker, a veteran of 1970s Hammer Films, relates in the album’s liner notes that he wrote and orchestrated 75 minutes of music at white heat. The result sounds like one of the great scores of three or four decades earlier. If you like Korngold, John Williams, or Vaughan Williams, for that matter, definitely check this one out.
“Clash of the Titans” (1981) had a much more distinguished pedigree. It was the last film of stop-motion special effects genius Ray Harryhausen before his retirement. Harryhausen was responsible in large part for such classic films as “Mighty Joe Young,” “It Came from Beneath the Sea,” “Earth Versus the Flying Saucers,” “Jason and the Argonauts,” and any number of Sinbad movies.
The supporting cast employed Sir Laurence Olivier as Zeus, Claire Bloom as Hera, Maggie Smith as Thetis, and Ursula Andress as Aphrodite, alongside Burgess Meredith and Flora Robson in her final film appearance. It was also the film that introduced Harry Hamlin, as Perseus. Hamlin went on to success on television’s “L.A. Law.”
Laurence Rosenthal, who studied at the Eastman School and with Nadia Boulanger in Paris, wrote the score. Rosenthal was responsible for the music for, among others, “A Raisin in the Sun,” “The Miracle Worker,” and “Becket.” This one actually does turn up on TCM from time to time.
While “The Clash of the Titans” was an end of an era of sorts, the success of “Conan the Barbarian” (1982) sparked a sword and sandal resurgence. Of course, most of the imitators it spawned were low-budget affairs that nobody ever saw. “Conan” proved a high-water mark of its kind. It also made Arnold Schwarzenegger one of the biggest stars in Hollywood.
It sports unquestionably the best-loved score of its composer, Basil Poledouris. The music is regarded in soundtrack collector’s circles as a classic. The original soundtrack was revived in a lavish 3-CD set on the Intrada label, featuring all the available music, with alternate takes.
If this hour serves to illustrate anything, it’s that the overall quality of a film (or lack thereof) need not hinder a composer. At least back then. If you decide to stick with it, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.
Release the Kraken! Then slip on your man-flops for an hour of ‘80s sword and sandal flicks, on “Picture Perfect,” music for the movies, now in syndication on KWAX, the radio station of the University of Oregon!
Clip and save the start times for all three of my recorded shows:
PICTURE PERFECT, the movie music show – Friday at 8:00 PM EDT/5:00 PM PDT
SWEETNESS AND LIGHT, the light music program – ALL NEW! – Saturday at 11:00 AM EDT/8:00 AM PDT
THE LOST CHORD, unusual and neglected rep – Saturday at 7:00 PM EDT/4:00 PM PDT
The combination of Spock with “Where’s Waldo?” is a million-dollar idea. Too bad it appears I didn’t get there first. But even if I did, I probably would have thrown it away for free on Facebook or tossed it off as a quip to entertain my friends, like I do with so many of my other million-dollar ideas, and then leave it out in the sun to blanch with the rest of my cavalier creations. If only I had a Boswell to follow me around and document my genius, or a sheepdog to nip at my shanks and corral me into actually doing something with them.
Be that as it may, this post isn’t about me; it’s about Spock. I’m not quite sure why “Star Trek III” (1984) bears the subtitle “The Search for Spock.” It’s not like nobody knows where he is. The big question, once it’s figured out WHY he is, is how to get him back. Undoubtedly, this conundrum will be addressed as part of our conversation this week, when we talk about the film on “Roy’s Tie-Dye Sci-Fi Corner.”
Spock, of course, nobly sacrificed himself at the climax of the greatest of the “Star Trek” movies, “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.” “Kahn” was popcorn entertainment with resonance, the installment that proved, after a lumbering start to the celluloid franchise, that “Star Trek” could successfully make the leap to the big screen, with an exciting adventure story and compelling characters (Ricardo Montalban, clearly making use of his gym membership), and still honor its sacred roots.
I remember at the time there was a lot of behind-the-scenes wrangling, with Leonard Nimoy wanting to leave the series. After all, this is the guy who titled his autobiography “I Am Not Spock.” (He later recanted with a second memoir, titled “I Am Spock.”) Clearly, this was a guy who was conflicted about his legacy. But he never played Spock, in whatever incarnation of “Star Trek,” without great integrity. Perhaps it’s for this reason that Spock remains, arguably, the most fascinating (you see what I did there?) character in the entire “Star Trek” canon.
Anyway, that tension hung over “Star Trek II,” and, in those days before the internet, fandom was abuzz with the question, “Will Spock die?” Kirk even tosses off a coy remark, early in the film: “Aren’t you dead?” “Star Trek III” continues to play with audience expectations by not listing Nimoy among the actors in the opening credits. But hey, he directed the film, and his character’s name is right there in the title. He had better come back!
“Star Trek III” hopes to replicate some of that “Kahn” magic by coming up with another sacrifice to equal the emotional wallop of Spock’s loss, and I’m sure it’s one that hit hardcore Trekkers where they live. But come on, it ain’t Spock. At the end of the day, when the fanboy tears dry, what’s sacrificed can be easily replaced, and has been, how many times?
But looking back, as someone who graduated from high school in 1984, the loss takes on a certain loaded significance, I admit, as, like the crew of the Enterprise, my ongoing mission to seek out new life and new civilizations would never again be quite the same. The life would be there, but where’s the joy in uncovering new civilizations without the comfort of old, familiar things?
Roy and I will reflect on this and other matters, as we take a nostalgic trip back to “Star Trek III: The Search for Spock,” for the 40th anniversary of its release. We’ll be joined by our friends, Mike & Marybeth of SciFi Distilled, who certainly know a thing or two about “Trek.” In fact, one of them will be joining us from the Star Trek Original Set Tour in Ticonderoga, NY. Without their kind assistance, no doubt, Roy and I would run long and perspire.
We’ll be searching for you in the comments section for a group mind meld, on the next Roy’s Tie-Dye Sci-Fi Corner. To miss it would be illogical, as we livestream on Facebook, YouTube, etc., this Friday evening at 7:00 EDT!
Before John Williams, there was Erich Wolfgang Korngold.
Korngold’s music for “The Adventures of Robin Hood” (1938) was every bit as influential to me, in terms of introducing me to the wonders of orchestral music, as the score to “Star Wars.” Clearly, it also impacted John Williams, as the music for his biggest blockbusters adheres to the Korngold template of leitmotifs, lush orchestration, and swashbuckling action cues.
Williams has cited Korngold’s main title music for “Kings Row,” in particular, as one of his inspirations for “Star Wars.” The bold, opulent, classic Hollywood imprint is obvious. Listeners coming cold to “Kings Row” detect the influence immediately. Which is interesting. It’s there in the orchestration, of course, and in the bold fanfares, but it isn’t so blatant as some of the other, more brazen allusions that occur throughout Williams’ score, which I’m sure I’m not alone in contending is a post-modern masterpiece. It’s only little minds that scream theft. Good artists copy; great artists steal! (I believe Stravinsky stole that from Picasso.)
In case you are unfamiliar with his backstory, years before he came to Hollywood, Korngold was a child prodigy, the toast of Vienna. Gustav Mahler declared him a genius, and Richard Strauss claimed he was terrified by the amount of talent exhibited by one so young. His works were championed by the most esteemed musicians of the day. He was especially highly-regarded for his operas, with “Die tote Stadt” (“The Dead City”), given a double premiere in Hamburg and Cologne, the high-water mark of his success.
Korngold first came to Hollywood to assist Viennese theatrical impresario Max Reinhardt in bringing “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” to the big screen for Warner Bros. This is the version with James Cagney, Olivia de Havilland, and Mickey Rooney (as Puck). So impressed was Warner with the score, freely adapted from the music of Mendelssohn, that they didn’t want to let this world-class composer go. He was a particularly nice fit for the pageantry and swagger of the Errol Flynn classics.
Fortunately, Korngold was at work on “Robin Hood” when the Nazis marched into Austria. He and his family found refuge in the company of many other notable European exiles on the paradisal West Coast of the United States. But the luster soon dulled. Korngold vowed to compose no concert music while Hitler remained in power. After the war, he produced a Violin Concerto, which was savaged by one critic as “more corn than gold,” and a heart-breaking Symphony in F-sharp, which exudes longing for a lost world. Both assimilated themes from his film scores.
He never lived to see his reputation rebound. However, since the 1970s, the popularity of his film music and critical esteem for his concert music have been on an upward trajectory.
I’ve always loved “Kings Row,” even though the film is something of a curate’s egg. It’s actually a very grim story, anticipating the work of David Lynch, in some respects, as it gradually reveals the dark underbelly of small-town life in the Midwest. But it’s nowhere near as dark as the source material, a bleak-as-hell novel by Henry Bellamann.
“Kings Row,” the book, is a massive downer. Somehow, it also became a runaway bestseller.
Interestingly, Bellamann also had a musical background. Following his graduation from Westminster College (unrelated to the Princeton institution) in his hometown of Fulton, Missouri, he studied piano at the University of Denver. He went on to teach music at several girls’ schools in the South, while in the summers, he continued his studies in Europe with Charles-Marie Widor and Isador Philipp. Bellamann would hold several prominent administrative and teaching positions in the U.S., including director of the Juilliard Musical Foundation, dean of the Curtis Institute of Music, and professor of music at Vassar College.
As you can imagine, the book caused quite a stir in Fulton, but not because of its success. Rather, a few too many people and institutions recognized themselves in the extremely unflattering narrative! Allegedly the book was banned from the town library, and Bellamann was the target of at least one indignant editorial in the local newspaper.
“Kings Row” is one of the most subversive films of Hollywood’s golden age. How it managed to get around the Hays Code is anybody’s guess, but I’m putting my money on Korngold’s score, which breathes uplift and hope into what could have been an unrelentingly bleak story (as it is in the novel). Also, the ending was changed, such an obvious overcompensation, with the climax an almost ludicrous eruption of joy. It’s a neat trick, as somehow, in the film, not only is the wicked in human nature balanced by the good, but the whole is infused with an undercurrent of nostalgia for a passing world. It’s kind of like how people choose to remember “It’s a Wonderful Life,” even though you have to go through hell before you get to heaven.
Amusingly, from the title, Korngold thought he was being assigned yet another historical adventure, which is why the theme is so wildly over the top. By 1942, Korngold could do pomp and braggadocio in his sleep. When he learned of his mistake, he just kept it. And what a happy accident! The film is so much better – and so much more bearable – than it would have been without it. After all, how much madness, suicide, amputation, and incest can one take, especially in the 1940s? It really is quite the sleight of hand. Now I want to watch it again!
To this day, I waver as to whether Korngold or Williams is my favorite film composer. There are others I may revere more than either of them, but these two give me the most pleasure.
May I obey all your commands with equal pleasure, Sire! Happy birthday, Erich Wolfgang Korngold!
“Kings Row”
John Williams talks Korngold with Leonard Slatkin
Good nine-minute primer on E.W.K.
Violin Concerto
Music as good as spring itself: the Sinfonietta, composed at 15
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