You all know the sound. That crazy, trilling electronic whistle that dips into a whoop. Or it starts in a trough and shoots up into the super stratosphere. It’s the sound of UFOs and mad science. It’s the sound of the theremin.
The electronic instrument, invented by Léon Theremin in 1928, is played without physical contact. The proximity of the hands to two antennae determines volume and pitch.
We’ll experience the instrument’s distinctive, extraterrestrial timbre, as we celebrate the birthday anniversary of Theremin today, by listening to performances by Clara Rockmore and to Bernard Herrmann’s suite from his influential film score for “The Day the Earth Stood Still” (which basically defined the sound of ‘50s science fiction).
The instrument will be featured as part of a program that will also include birthday celebrations for eclectic Frenchman Jacques Ibert and Afro-English composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor.
Continuing with our ongoing salute to Brazil, to tie in with the Olympic Games in Rio, we’ll also hear Herrmann’s recording of Darius Milhaud’s “Saudades do Brasil.” The twelve dances that make up the suite are named for neighborhoods in Rio de Janeiro, where Milhaud lived for nearly two years as attaché to the French ambassador Paul Claudel.
I hope you’ll join me today, from 4 to 7 p.m. EDT, when we’ll be mad for science and samba on WWFM – The Classical Network and at wwfm.org.
Is Bernard Herrmann the greatest film composer who ever lived?
I can’t think of a single other composer who had a more assured sense of precisely what sound would perfectly complement a specific onscreen image. Most scores by film composers of Hollywood’s Golden Age were melody driven, and while Herrmann certainly could write a heart-rending melody with the best of them, he seemed to be more interested in timbre. What sounds could he create, no matter how outlandish, that would best convey the experience of fighting a giant crab?
Only Herrmann would resolve to score a film like “The Day the Earth Stood Still” using two theremins, two Hammond organs, a large studio electric organ, three vibraphones, two glockenspiels, marimba, tam-tam, two bass drums, three sets of timpani, two pianos, celesta, two harps, electric strings and brass. On paper and in execution, it was the height of lunacy. Yet all at once, the theremin became shorthand for 1950s science fiction.
Despite his stand-apart genius, Herrmann was honored with only a single Academy Award, in 1941 – the same year he followed Orson Welles to Hollywood to write the music for “Citizen Kane” – for “The Devil and Daniel Webster” (also known as “All That Money Can Buy”). He was nominated for his work on “Kane,” and then late in life for the music he wrote for Brian De Palma’s “Obsession” and Martin Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver” (both 1976). He died in his sleep only hours after completing the recording sessions for the latter.
Yet he left behind dozens of beloved and classic scores for films like “The Magnificent Ambersons,” “Jane Eyre,” “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir,” “The Day the Earth Stood Still,” “The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad,” and “Jason and the Argonauts,” to say nothing of those from his landmark association with Alfred Hitchcock, for films like “North by Northwest,” “Vertigo” and “Psycho.” How could “Psycho” not have received an Academy Award? It wasn’t even nominated!
Almost certainly the reason for Herrmann’s neglect on the part of the establishment had less to do with his talent than with his prickly personality. He was a notorious crank. Many found him intimidating, but his acerbic behavior made for some great stories. Steven Spielberg, who had recently enjoyed his first great success with “Jaws,” met Herrmann at the recording session for “Taxi Driver.” When the young director expressed his admiration for the veteran composer’s work, the cantankerous Herrmann shot back, “Then why do you always hire John Williams?” He disagreed violently with studio executives and cab drivers alike – in fact seemed to go out of his way to do so – but many also attested to his kindness and warmth in private.
Curiously, though his concert works have their moments, they don’t grip me from start to finish in a way that certain pieces by fellow film composers Erich Wolfgang Korngold, Miklós Rózsa, and Jerome Moross do. His was a peculiar kind of genius. He was perhaps the greatest film composer who ever lived.
This week on “Picture Perfect,” prepare to get “lost.” We’ll have an hour of music from fantasy films set in lost worlds.
In “King Kong” (1933), filmmaker and entrepreneur Carl Denham hires a ship to an uncharted island, known only from a secret map in his possession. There the crew discovers the titular gorilla and other outsized and should-be-extinct creatures. Kong is abducted from his natural habitat – and you know the rest. The composer, Max Steiner, pulls out all the stops. “Kong” was one of the first films to demonstrate how truly powerful an orchestral soundtrack could be.
Then we travel to the earth’s core, courtesy of Jules Verne, and “Journey to the Center of the Earth” (1959). James Mason is the professor who leads the expedition. The film sports one of Bernard Herrmann’s most outlandish soundscapes, the orchestra consisting of winds, brass and percussion, but also cathedral organ, four electric organs, and an obsolete Renaissance instrument called the serpent. Watch out for that giant chameleon!
“One Million Years B.C.” (1966) is a guilty pleasure if ever there was one. Produced by Hammer, the studio that gave us all those repugnant yet somehow delicious Peter Cushing-Christopher Lee horror team-ups, the film features special effects by the legendary Ray Harryhausen and an equally legendary fur bikini, worn by Raquel Welch. The music is by Mario Nascimbene, who wrote one of my favorite scores for Kirk Douglas, for “The Vikings.” We’ll be listening to the film’s climactic volcano sequence.
As he did with the Indiana Jones films, director Steven Spielberg turned to B-movie source material for his visual inspiration for “Jurassic Park” (1993), based on the novel by Michael Crichton. The herky-jerky dinosaur effects of yore are replaced by state of the art computer-generated effects, in the story of a safari park on a remote island gone wrong.
Sure, we’ve come a long way from Raquel Welch getting carried off by a pteranodon, but admit it, we all still want to see people fight dinosaurs. Instead of fudging history, now we can feel superior by fudging science. “Jurassic Park” plays on the most recent scientific thinking, with DNA extracted from mosquitoes trapped in amber, cloning, and the theory that dinosaurs were not lizards, after all, but rather birds. The music is by long-time Spielberg-collaborator, John Williams.
I hope you’ll join me for music for these “Lands That Time Forgot,” this Friday evening at 6 EDT, with a repeat Saturday morning at 6; or that you’ll listen to it later as a webcast at wwfm.org.
We’re thinking big this week, on “Picture Perfect,” with outsized thrills from movies featuring gargantuan creatures.
We’ll begin with “Godzilla” (2014), the most recent incarnation of the pop-cultural icon, originally a metaphor for the destructive power of nuclear weapons, but now seemingly more of a jack-of-all-trades restorer of natural balance. Either way, it’s generally man’s overweening pride that brings on the destruction. The composer for this latest version was Alexandre Desplat.
Then we’ll take a storm-swept hot air balloon to “Mysterious Island” (1961). Jules Verne’s novel becomes the framework for a series of battles between a band of castaways and giant creatures at an uncharted locale in the South Pacific. The great Ray Harryhausen provided the special effects – including giant bees, birds and crabs – and Bernard Herrmann underscored the outlandish situations to perfection.
Henry Mancini gained world-fame for his breezy melodies for “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and the “Pink Panther” films, but he got his start writing for B-movies of the 1950s. In “Tarantula” (1955), scientists conduct experiments on animals in order to develop a super food nutrient, as a preemptive strike against future overpopulation and world hunger. However, as the countryside becomes littered with cattle carcasses and pools of arachnid venom, clearly something has gone awry. Mancini collaborated on the score with 1950s science fiction maestro Herman Stein. Don’t go into it expecting “Moon River.”
Finally, we’ll hear selections from literally the 800-pound gorilla of giant monster movies, “King Kong” (1933). Oscar Levant memorably described “Kong” as “a symphony accompanied by a movie.” The music was certainly a great part of the film’s initial – and enduring – success.
Max Steiner’s concept and execution of the music for “Kong” was really the first of their kind. Thanks to “Kong” and other early efforts by Franz Waxman and Erich Wolfgang Korngold, a prototype of the Hollywood sound was formed, and the spectacular images onscreen, especially those characteristic of the fantasy and adventure genres, were expected to be accompanied by equally lavish and outlandish orchestras.
No doubt, Hollywood would have figured it out eventually, yet it’s very gratifying to say, if it weren’t for “Kong,” there would be no “Ben-Hur,” there would be no “Star Wars,” there would be no “The Lord of the Rings.” At any rate, “Kong” got there first.
I hope you’ll join me for these outsized musical adventures this week, on “Picture Perfect,” tonight at 6 ET, with a repeat tomorrow morning at 6; or that you’ll listen to it later as a webcast at wwfm.org.
Today marks the birthday anniversaries of two composers who, in their own individual ways, gained fame through their invaluable contributions to American popular culture. Interestingly, both died 40 years ago.
Leroy Anderson (1908-1975), whose fluency in foreign languages (especially those of Scandinavia) made him an asset to the U.S. Army during the Second World War, was more or less staff composer for the Boston Pops.
His early work for the Pops was as an arranger. It was Arthur Fiedler who recognized his talent and began requesting original work. Good call. Anderson turned out to be the Irving Berlin of American light orchestral music, producing hit after hit after hit: “Blue Tango,” “The Typewriter,” and “Plink! Plank! Plunk!” among them. Johnny Mathis scored a gargantuan success with his vocal rendition of “Sleigh-Ride,” for over half a century a holiday staple. Anderson’s “The Syncopated Clock,” a favorite from the start, became further entrenched in the popular consciousness as the theme music for “The Late Show,” the late night movie, shown on CBS.
Bernard Herrmann (1911-1975) was staff conductor on CBS radio. In this role, he introduced American audiences to an impressive array of comparatively arcane music for the era, including works by Charles Ives, Nikolai Myaskovsky, Gian Francesco Malipiero, Edmund Rubbra, and Richard Arnell (Classical Discoveries’ Marvin Rosen!).
He fell in with Orson Welles, with whom he worked on radio shows like “Mercury Theatre on the Air.” When Welles went to Hollywood, he brought Herrmann with him to write the music for “Citizen Kane.” This led to decades of finely-crafted film scores, always orchestrated by Herrmann himself (an unusual practice in Hollywood) and always perfectly suited to the images on screen, or their psychological underpinnings.
Of course, Herrmann is best-known for his collaborations with Alfred Hitchcock, but he also wrote top-notch, ear-opening scores for producer Charles Schneer and special effects artist Ray Harryhausen (including that for “Jason and the Argonauts”). Amazingly, he won only a single Oscar, for his work on “The Devil and Daniel Webster,” in 1941. Herrmann died of a heart attack shortly after conducting the recording sessions for Martin Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver,” in 1975.
