Star Score

Hearing John William's music score for Star Wars live "surrounds us, penetrates us and binds the galaxy together"

I may have waited half a year for this birthday gift from my wonderful wife, but it was more than worth it. Saturday, August 3, saw the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra’s live performance of the Star Wars soundtrack in Christchurch, accompanying the film projected on a gigantic screen above them. (Yes, I know Lucasfilm marketing long ago demanded we call the film 'A New Hope', but it was just Star Wars when I first saw it, and forever will be to me.)

A very long and snow-plagued drive saw us arrive too late for a photo opportunity with Lord Vader or Chewbacca at the venue, choosing instead to order much-needed food and a glass of wine. Oh how age and maturity changes one’s priorities in life…

Wookiee and Sith Lord console each other over their missed
chance of a photo opportunity with Rose

Back in 1977 (the year of Star Wars) my greatest Christmas gift ever was the The Story of Star Wars album on audio cassette. Essentially the abridged audio track from the film, with rich, deep linking narration by Roscoe Lee Brown , I literally played this so many times the recording completely wore off the tape. So not only is all the film’s dialogue indelibly imprinted on my nerdy brain - but every musical cue as well. Every nuance, phrase, reprise and theme - and if this live performance varied even the tiniest bit I would notice. 

See - it's not called "The Story of A New Hope" is it?
(thank goodness)

 
Not that I feel in any way entitled to pass judgement on the NZSO, or believe that anyone else should give a Wookiee’s hoot about my opinion - but I just literally wouldn’t be able to help it.

I needn’t have worried. From the opening 20th Century fox fanfare to the last fading note of the end credits theme, the NZSO were outstanding. I might have been able to detect a tiny difference in the sound of some horn sections but otherwise it was utterly perfect. Rose, (who’s had this film inflicted upon her many times), said she could completely forget the music was being played live, and was hearing the original recorded soundtrack. Not being even remotely musical, the sheer genius of coordinating a large orchestra to perform in perfect synchronisation with the live screening of a film just staggers me. 

People forget how genuinely funny, and brave, Threepio was in this film.
He got the biggest laughs of the night, and later offers to 'gladly donate'
his own circuits to save Artoo Detoo. (image: newlyswissed.com)

In terms of the music itself - sure, The Empire Strikes Back has the foot-stomping Imperial March. But Star Wars introduces possibly the world’s most recognisable title music, Luke, Leia and Ben’s themes and the stirring medal ceremony fanfare at the film’s conclusion. It also features my own favourite musical section, the almost staccato ’Tie Fighter Attack’ theme. Swelling from the gently ‘see sawing’ strings as Luke and Han climb into the Falcon’s gun turrets, to the full-blown horns heralding the imperial fighters all-guns-blazing appearance, it is pure musical adrenaline.  And perfectly compliments the frantic cutting and pacing of this sequence, which helped set Star Wars apart from anything ever seen before. (The clip was heavily used in the film’s original promotion). It must be hell to play - and is brilliantly analysed here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOV0KmLoLiQ

The final Death Star battle famously sees composer John Williams repeatedly flick his character motifs back and forth, from Luke, to Ben, to Vader - once again, surely not easy for even a national orchestra. And to actually see the ominously booming kettle drums played live as Tarkin gives his final “You may fire when ready” was yet another special moment for me.

Yes, I may at times have shed silent tears in the dark , like a sad old geek who’s spent too much of his life watching this film. But isn’t that kind of response the measure of any truely great live performance of much-loved music?

Only Youse

What do Alison Moyet, James Corden, Kylie Minogue and an A cappella group have in common?

The music scene in the early 1980s might always be a source of bewilderment. This period of intense experimentation is easily and lazily mocked, but beneath all that makeup and electronic burbling there were some truly great songs produced.  You know this much is true.

You might remember Alison Moyet, a hugely talented performer whose less than  anorexic figure would have made a successful career so much more difficult in these more superficial times. But do you remember what she did before her solo career?

She placed an advert for a musical partner in a UK music magazine and attracted the attention of former Depeche Mode musician Vince Clarke.  He bought with him his keyboard and a song which his former band had rejected, and they recorded it together as short lived synth-pop duo Yazoo.  It was an instant hit in early 1982, making an impact on both the the UK and US charts.

The extended version can be found here, which might try your patience but does perfectly encapsulate the studied nonchalance and terrifying asymmetrical haircuts of this bygone era.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPpHLK4SHt8

Only you might seem familiar to you because you’ve most probably heard a version which reached the New Zealand charts in early 1984. Recorded by A cappella group The Flying Pickets, their rendition was a Christmas No1 in Britain before going on to influence other vocal groups like the House Martins. This video has to be seen to be believed.  As wags on You Tube have observed, it appears to feature Wolverine from the X-Men, The Addams Family’s Uncle Fester and the Fourth Doctor Who serenading one another.

Enjoy:

Once again, I’m left with the feeling that this is a very good song which is somehow still waiting for the right interpretation to fully realise it’s potential.  Others have tried, including Spanish singer Julio Iglesias’s son Enrique, but this next one is a version which first made me recoil when I heard about it. Kylie Minogue and friend, comedian James Corden recorded this duet on her 2015 Christmas album.  And believe it or not, it’s rather lovely and certainly the most beautiful way to learn the lyrics.

In closing, I’ll continue the theme of Christmas and comedy.  The cringe humour of The Office is possibly long out-of-date, but we might be forgetting that it ended with a genuinely touching Christmas party resolution to the on-going Dawn and Tim ‘romance’. And the soundtrack to this happy ending?  Have a listen…

May the Scores be with you

Happy Star Wars day - here’s a tune which made Williams...

Much is made of the fact that the Star Wars orchestral film score was a massive hit, despite rubbing shoulders with Donna Summer and the Village People beneath a Death Star glitter ball at the height of disco.
Embryonic Star Wars geeks allowed to stay up late to watch the 1978 Oscars, as I was, were rewarded with this glorious affirmation - when ‘John met John’.

But perhaps it’s sometimes forgotten that record producer and musician Meco (Domenico) Monardo also took a disco-fied version of the Star Wars theme to the very top of the US Billboard charts for two weeks in 1977.

It spent a lot of time on the New Zealand charts, which made friends and I very happy, because that meant it featured on weekly music chart programme Ready to Roll.

We could just about wrap our heads around the idea that this wasn’t the genuine Star Wars theme, but a pop-orchestral knock-off which, despite sounding a little like ‘Born Free’, went down a storm at lunchtime discos.

But what was even weirder was the fact that Ready to Roll often presented us with a completely different version again. It appeared to be a quartet of middle-aged brass musicians possibly bringing a hint of jazz to the proceedings. But what made this unbearably awesome for us all was the generous intercutting with that ubiquitous pre-release teaser (the film was still a good six months from these shores) - footage of the Millennium Falcon’s escape from the Death Star.

As dearly as I’d love to track down this ‘music video’ I haven’t met with any success.

But I did find the following clip, which gives some idea of Ready to Roll’s own Oomph dancers, when they choreographed something similar back in 1977. No, don’t thank me, really...

Planet Earth is blue

“Check ignition and may God’s love be with you…”

 

The 'Thin Wet Duke' in Wellington, 2004 (Image copyright Fairfaxmedia)

David Bowie called me a crazy motherf#*ker, once.  OK, it was me and the rest of Wellington’s full-to-bursting Westpac Stadium, but it was still a magical moment.

We were so-called because his 2004 Wellington concert had to go ahead despite atrocious weather and we all sat in the rain, the lucky ones huddling under bin liners. The paper the next day called him ‘the Thin Wet Duke’, but he promised to persevere through the downpour as long as we stayed - and he did.  It was David Bowie - we might have sat on ants nests wearing hair shirts to see him live.

And now he’s not.

69 seems so ridiculously young.  Just like everyone else, his music has always been a presence in my life.  

My best primary school friend and I sang The Laughing Gnome in the bath together when we were very young (although in the first of many mis-hearances, I recall we thought it was called ‘The Laughing Roman’ (Nice one, Centurian).

Many years later that same friend and I practically rebuilt our friendship with a shared love of Bowie’s music (not shared baths).

“I'm always amazed that people take what I say seriously.
I don't even take what I am seriously.”
David Bowie

Into the early 1980’s, Ready to Roll always kept us informed of Bowie’s current output…  Ashes to Ashes and the theme to the Cat People remake were there, but just sort of taken for granted.  It took another couple of years for me to become aware of his back catalogue - and then it really hit.

Sixth form parties… the odour of cheap beer, a rugby team in one corner and, if you were unlucky, two rugby teams in opposing corners. Alternatively, if you were lucky, there might be girls there. And always… somebody’s record collection.

In the wee hours someone put on an irresistibly infectious, weirdly angular song; a stuttering chorus sung with a mewling, but strong voice.  I know nothing about music, but as much as I can appreciate well-written lyrics and a good voice, for me it’s all about the musical arrangements - the subtle, powerful engine working away beneath the voice and words.  And this was the first time I became aware of a structure leading me through a song, soaring, hovering, darting - surging.

“Who’s that?!” I asked guilelessly - with my eternal cluelessness for coolness. 
“It’s... David...  Bowie...” someone replied slowly, with equal amounts of astonishment and disdain.  The song was Changes and I was hooked forever...

I bought the album the following week, my first ever.

And suddenly, I became aware that Bowie was everywhere - he always had been, of course.

Every party and school dance seemed to end with the single Heroes - your face, flushed from the exertions of a night throwing shapes, resting against your partners’ hot cheek as you shuffled in slow circles, usually with eyes closed.

I puzzled over this ritual - why is it always Heroes?  “Because it’s a song of hope.” maintained my friend Mark, always wise beyond his years.

And just when we needed it - a new album and Australasian tour.  Serious Moonlight hit, as did trendily baggy trousers and perms with shaved sides.  We put on our red shoes and danced the night away.

My final New Year's before leaving home: Bowie’s 1984 blaring in the town square, because suddenly, it was.

So many memories, so many albums which I am so very unqualified to rave about.

The Man who fell to Earth has left, but I think his spaceship knows which way to go.

David Bowie: 1947 – 2016

Festive 4 Play

The difficult fourth album will not be hitting stores shortly, but may be passed onto you soon like a terrifying gypsy curse or persistent conjunctivitis.

I haven't yet managed to find a way to over-lay a 'clap track', but there's always next year...

This year’s carefully selected compilation of unforgivable hits once again features Christmas singles which you may have never heard before (and may not wish to hear again).  A request that this year’s album contain a little more in the way of traditional carols has been noted (kind of) combined with my  usual remit of finding ‘interesting’ recordings by well-known performers.  Lets lower the needle and get started.

1. Closing of the year (Bentley Jones)

Last year’s campstravaganza opening track by the Pet Shop Boys was never going to be matched, but this boy-bandish yet soulful number by Bentley Jones (perhaps better known under his mix pseudonym of PHUNKST★R) isn’t a bad attempt.  Believe it or not, the song first appeared in the Robin Williams film Toys, and was written by none other than 'film score-meister' Hans Zimmer!

(The original version, from the film Toys)

2. White Wine in the Sun. (Tim Minchin)

The guardian newspaper called Australian Tim Minchin’s song ‘a contrarian carol’.  Minchin himself says: “Christmas means much to billions of people who don’t believe in Jesus, and if you think that Christmas without Jesus is not Christmas, then you’re out of touch, and if you think altruism without Jesus is not altruism, then you’re a dick.”  He acknowledges the contradictions inherent in celebrating a festival he doesn’t believe in, but concedes that he still really likes it.  It’s about seeing his family at Christmas, who’ll be waiting… drinking white wine in the sun.  Sound familiar?

3. Oi to the world (No Doubt)

A ska/punk play on Joy to the world sounds like light-hearted fun, but the rapid fire lyrics actually tell the story of a bloody, racism-fuelled encounter between a Skinhead called Trevor and a Sikh Punk called Haji.  Despite a violent showdown, it’s the spirit of Christmas which ultimately triumphs. Another example of the infinitely adaptable message that we should all make an extra effort to be nice to each other at this time of the year.  The lyrics are well worth a read:

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nodoubt/oitotheworld.html

4. Angels from the Realms of Glory

Otherwise known as the one with the tricky chorus which no-one can actually sing.  Annie Lennox can, and even this older, throatier version of her instantly-recognisable voice makes it sound heavenly. Excelsior!

5. I have an ugly Christmas Tree (Oh, Hush)

Here’s a happy little number, recorded by Oh, Hush (Chris Sernal) a ‘secret artist’ who apparently has never played live or posted a single image of himself.  But he wants to keep his tree up until February and loves finding pine needles in July, so he’s my kind of guy.

6.The Holy and the Ivy (The Mediaeval Baebes)

Does anyone else remember the Mediaeval Baebes - an ensemble of young women who recorded traditional songs from the middle ages, in the 1990s? It’s a haunting sound, perfect for this years ‘ancient pagan chart-topper dressed up as a carol’.  One theory suggests that it was originally a battle of the sexes ‘sing-off’ between the masculine Holy and the feminine Ivy, which is eventually resolved beneath the mistletoe.

(Sadly I couldn't find the video for this particular carol,
but here's a different one by the Baebes instead)

7. I want you for Christmas (Cheap Trick)

Remember in Love Actually when Bill Nighy’s ageing rock star makes an assault on the festive charts by cynically shoe-horning the word Christmas into a former hit single?  Here Cheap Trick do that for real, but it was their song originally, so that makes it OK.  And besides, they aren’t taking themselves seriously for a second - they’re having fun and so will you.

(Once again, not quite the video you're looking for -
this is the original song from 1979)

8. Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle (Ariel)

A change of pace here - a 16th century French Carol recorded by US singer-songwriter Ariel Tebben on the Celtic Harp.  To this day in the Provence region, children dress up as shepherds and milkmaids, carrying torches and candles to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, while singing the carol.

9. Snoopy’s Christmas (The Royal Guardsmen)

Making their fourth consecutive appearance  - what would a New Zealand Christmas be without Snoopy and the Red Baron? 

And speaking of which:

10. A New Zealand Christmas (Chris Jones)

A celebration of BBQs burning into the night and, on the radio, the Red Baron making one more flight… It’s a New Zealand Christmas - the kind we all love.

11. Hark! The Herald Angels Sing (Busted)

I quite clearly know nothing about music, but this single by English band Busted seems to me a surprisingly sincere and enthusiastic take on the traditional carol, with some rather sophisticated musical arrangements.  Mike Oldfield-esque electric guitar, strings, piano and bells?  I’m there!

12. Christmas Lights (Coldplay)

Recorded in 2010, the video features Simon Pegg, as one of three violin-playing Elvis’s. A street level, reality-intrudes Christmas tale of a similar ilk to the Pogues’ Fairytale of New York, but set in London’s Oxford street.

13. Blue Christmas (Sheryl Crow)

Ms Crow’s breathy rendition of this popular Christmas standard provides a stripped down alternative to other heavily orchestrated tracks on this compilation.  

(This is a different version to the unaccompanied
track which appears on the compilation)

And it gives you a chance to prepare yourself for what’s coming next:

14. Jingle Hell (Christopher Lee with Li Li)

I know I’m going to be defending the inclusion of this one for months to come.  But let me just say: unless we mere mortals really believe that we could record a Heavy Metal Christmas single at the age of 91 which breaks into the US Billboard top twenty, maybe we should just pull our heads in before you-know-who bites our jugulars.  Besides, this magnificent track by the late Sir Chris and classically- trained soprano Li- Li is on last so that you can always pretend there are only 13 tracks on this album (though why you’d ever want to do that is beyond me)

(Caution: the novelty of this video may pall as quickly as the single itself does)

Sync-along

One of those catchy songs with a nonsensical chorus (see also Radio Ga-ga and The Police's De-do-do-do) has got us hooked on a new series recently

Music has no nationality?
These eight people all appear to like the same song... at the same time.

We've embarked on yet another promising netflix production - the Wachowski TV epic Sense8. (Our Kiwi predilection to leave the last syllable off words and many years of attempting martial arts always makes me hear the title as 'Sensei' and flinch in anticipation of a beating, or at least a silly amount of press-ups .

A couple of like-minded friends at work raved about this series, and although I find the Wachowski's very hit and miss, we decided to give it a go. Sense8 is a slow burn which doesn't go out of its way to provide quick and easy answers, and certainly challenges sexual stereotyping, but it wasn't really until the third episode that we started to really care about the characters.  The fact that it is co-created and co-written by a certain Joe Straczynski (http://fasmatodea.blogspot.co.nz/2015/03/high-five.html) certainly helped me to persevere.

And then in episode 4 we got this scene; which illustrates the unexplained and unpredictable psychic bond between the eight leads in a joyous and humorous way which might just leave a grin on your face.

Surprisingly not titled "What's going on" (to avoid confusion with the 1971 Marvin Gaye hit), What's Up is the 1993 'one hit wonder' by American group 4 Non-blondes. It did well across the English speaking world, but also ranked highly in singles charts in South America and various European  countries, which makes it very appropriate given the disparate nationalities of the Sense8 characters.

I'm assured the programme continues to get better, but I'll be interested to see how they top this. And if we eventually even discover "what's going on".

Anno Tom-ini

Feline groovy?  This could be the song for you...

As Louis Armstrong once intimated about Jazz, somehow you just know the difference between a song which is a classic, and a song which is merely old - when you hear it.

Glasgow-born Alastair (Al) Ian Stewart's Year of the Cat is part of the soundtrack of my immediate pre-teenage years (along with many far lesser songs of that time). Released in early 1976 (!) but slow to make an initial impression, it charted well in many countries towards the end of that year and into 1977. Wikipedia tells me that it reached #15 in New Zealand, but I seem to recall it being as prolific as a top ten hit.

At a time when school was barely touching on analysing poetry and literature, Stewart's lyrics created vivid images in my mostly empty head: 

"She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running like a watercolour in the rain"... immediately paints a clear picture in the mind.  Similarly the "blue tiled walls near the market stalls" which Stewart sings about in the next verse conjure an image of a North African/Moorish village more palpably than any number of travel brochures.

But mostly, I just liked cats, so this song stuck in my mind.

Many years later, I was coming to the end of my days as a student and my flatmate bought Al Stewart's compilation album Songs From The Radio, on vinyl. One of our many flat parties was winding down and Year of the Cat found its way onto the turntable.  Not a dance-able number, to be sure, but when the lengthy instrumental break reached the electric guitar section one of those rare, unplanned, but perfectly-synchronised moments occurred:  

A couple of friends suddenly balanced on one leg and held the other horizontally; to mime strumming those soulful chords with as much 'Rock Star posturing' and gurning as this precarious stance would allow.  A diverting enough sight, but when the guitar segued into the equally emotive sax solo the 'guitar legs' suddenly became saxophones; and  knees simultaneously rose to their mouths with dangling foot sticking out like the 'bell' of that instrument.  Despite losing balance, one of these accomplished virtuosos gamely continued to 'rock' that imaginary saxophone from his new position: rolling about on the floor with knee still determinedly held to his puffing face.  It was too much and by now I was also rolling about on the floor.

A tradition was born, and even now the impulse to accompany Mr Stewart in this fashion is nigh on irresistible. 

Now about that instrumental break: to call it famous is not hyperbole and it certainly elevates what would otherwise have simply been another folksy Al Stewart number to classic status.

Legendary sound Engineer Alan Parsons at Abbey Road studios and equally legendary guitarist Tim Renwick apparently instigated this: a progression of solos transitioning from cello and violin, to acoustic guitar then electric guitar (both played by Renwick) and finally saxophone which elongates the song well beyond the standard airplay length of the times.

Stewart began working on the song itself almost a decade before it's release, inspired by seeing Tony Hancock on stage in the mid-sixties, and the flash of insight he experienced of the comedian's great inner unhappiness. Hancock's subsequent suicide was among the factors causing Stewart to rewrite the lyrics to those we are familiar with, and rename the song after a sign of the Vietnamese zodiac. Year of the Cat is taken at face value as the story of a random romantic encounter during a visit to a foreign town by most, but some try hard to ascribe hidden meanings pertaining to drug use, while others get hung up on the Casablanca references.  Personally I think the best approach is suggested by this on-line comment: 

"This song is magic. I just wish people would stop trying to analyse it and simply feel it..."

A very accomplished 'fan-made' video to accompany this song.
Of course, most of us have our own Year of the Cat imagery,
so you might prefer just to play the track.

War of the Words

One hundred years ago, international tension was fermenting, about to erupt into our first global conflict.

The 28th of this month marks the 100th anniversary of Austro-Hungary's declaration of war against Serbia, in response to the notorious assassination of the Heir to their throne in Saravejo.
What could have been yet another minor European un-neighbourly squabble quickly escalated as heavyweights Russia, Germany, France and Britain took sides according to which treaties were in place at the time. As the great powers' dominions and colonies joined the fray, even the United States eventually stepping into the ring in 1917, the cataclysm known as the first Great War raged for four years and claimed approximately 17 million lives.
It's a complex and tragic series of events which are still being unravelled today. Humour is an unexpectedly powerful learning tool which the BBC is no stranger to. Even the brilliant Black Adder Goes Forth made sharp and lasting observations about the Great War, not the least being the closing moments of the series.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vH3-Gt7mgyM

In a similar, but catchier vein, the BBC commissioned a Rap Battle from Balista Media, with key players present their points of view in Hip Hop style, as part of the WW1 100th Anniversary programming.

Daniel Page as Serbian assassin Gavrillo Princip and Morrison Thomas
as Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Joseph.

The over-worked writer eventually needed exploratory surgery when his larynx swelled to twice its size as a result of all the shouting into microphones he did while putting the tracks together. And on the shooting day military buttons pinged through the air as the performers aggressive gesticulations stressed the historically accurate uniforms.
The result, however, is genius: a masterclass application of music and humour to relate a complex and important story. But don't take my word for it:

(With thanks to Gary for bringing this, yo.)

Afflicted with a Medley

The early 1980s resounded with a Segue of Extraordinary Gentlemen

Louis Clark conducts the Royal Philharmonic orchestra - from a promotional video
for the 30th Anniversary concert of Hooked on Classics in 2013.

 It's too easy to be cynical about the early eighties - I strongly suspect that there is a strong core of affection and longing for the past beneath every 'run with the pack' sneer directed at this bygone age.  I learned recently that the much-overused term nostalgia actually means a painful recollection (nost(os): 'return home', algia: pain), and this means that using it here is going to be very appropriate.
I can't offer any meaningful social commentary about the year of 1981 as I was young and stupid. But I do recall having a mid-week lunch with my parents at home (College was just a short walk from my house) and first hearing a 'mash-up' of Beatles tracks on the radio.  A few lines of each song strung together and overlaid with a dance beat which somehow unified this patchwork of Lennon/McCartney mimicry.  We were listening to Dutch studio group 'Stars on 45' ; and the age of the medley had arrived.

Abandon hope all ye who click here

This single, also called Stars on 45 was a huge hit, reaching number 2 in the UK and knocking Kim Carne's Bette Davis Eyes out of the US number 1 slot for a week. Even my parents bought Stars on 45, on 45.  I dimly recall that similar pop blends were to follow featuring The Hollies and The Beach Boys.
In fact, there was something of a deluge of these records.  Stars on 45, (the group), released at least two more (including a Stevie Wonder medley!) while elsewhere even Presley and Hendrix were given the 'happy clappy' treatment.
My friends took their music very seriously: some clung to punk and the emerging new wave; others had taken piano lessons since they were foetuses and were prone to spontaneously combust at any hint of musical bastardisation.  One of these pubescent pianists might have felt a tiny bit conflicted when Hooked on Classics was released later that year.  On the surface it was more crass and vulgar than could be imagined in the worst nightmares - treasured classics from the great Composers disinterred, dismembered, stitched together like some musical Frankenstein's monster and then forced to cavort and stumble about to a disco-esque drum beat.  Oh, the horror, the horror...

It's exactly this kind of image which gives the whole thing a bad name...

Except... Hooked on Classics wasn't simply stitched together, it was meticulously arranged by one Louis Clark, who had done the same for the Electric Light Orchestra, a group which was much beloved by that same classically-trained friend, and probably remembered with at least affection by most if us.
 I had no musical knowledge whatsoever and literally didn't know any better, but I also knew what I liked.  In order to trigger what has been labelled 'disco-fied nostalgia', Clark had cherry picked the most recognisable phrases from a plethora of classical pieces and wove them together, and even I recognised key snatches of Beethoven, Mozart and Tchaikovsky.

The cassettes of Hooked on Classics volumes one and two became the highlights of my Christmas stocking haul for the next two years.  Friends recoiled as if I'd just happily admitted to pouring distilled excrement into my ears (in fact, that's exactly what they thought), but these two albums were educating me.  Under the beat track were brief samples of beauty and genius, glimpsed peaks of human artistic achievement and I wanted more.  The deceptively subtle and accomplished suture-work of Mr. Clark and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra became my index for exploring the great composers, and by the time I'd finished with volume 2, I was adding real Symphonies, Sonatas and Concertos to my record collection.  That airbrushed musical clef/fish-hook and I went our separate ways, and the Hooked On series continued for many years, most recently resurfacing for a thirtieth year anniversary concert.
Who, what and why I bought and listened to afterwards is a discussion for another time, but my introduction into this glorious world of classical music didn’t come from an inspiring teacher or a formative concert experience. And certainly not from any effort to learn an instrument: but thanks instead to a sequin-strewn, disco-frequenting pop tart with one overly made-up eye fixed lasciviously on the top of the music charts.  I'm happy to have been hooked.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SStdJ59OII

Go on, click: you know you want to! Take it away Mr Clark...

Queen’s Greatest Flicks

" So don't become some background noise, a backdrop for the girls and boys... " sang Queen in 1984. But their many appearances on movie soundtracks have sometimes even eclipsed the films themselves.

Original Flash Gordon serials screened on television in 1979, when science fiction was riding an unprecedented wave of popularity. Star Wars was still booming, and perhaps George Lucas’s much-quoted crediting of these serials as his inspiration convinced a canny television programmer to haul out this vintage fare.
Sure enough, each episode of Flash Gordon began with the introductory ‘crawl’ which Lucas pinched wholesale for his own film opening, and the accompanying music was ‘classical’ - a particularly heroic excerpt from Franz Liszt’s Les Preludes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BZgte0ObLw

('Flash Gordon' begins at around 2:40).

When Dino de Laurentiis announced his Flash Gordon ‘remake’ shortly afterwards, I assumed Liszt would be joining Flash, Dale and Zarkov on the big screen; Les Preludes was the Flash theme, after all.

But whatever else the eventual film achieved (I remember disliking it at the time but have since well and truly joined the delirious party which I initially failed to realise this camp extravaganza is) that assumption was altered forever. Flash’s Theme is, now and always, the pounding bass rhythm, a lightning bolt sound effect accompanying the exclamation ‘Flash! Ah-ahhh…’ and Brian Blessed booming “Gordon’s Alive?!”

Queen’s first (and arguably only) movie soundtrack elevated de Laurentiis’s gaudy space pantomime to cultural icon status. The album is a riot of intentionally hilarious dialogue, retro sound effects (boasting a fully-fledged laser battle punctuated by Mr Blessed bellowing with murderous glee, including the prophetic line “Who wants to live forever?”) and towering, baroque instrumentals (only two tracks feature lyrics).

Perhaps because the chart-topping single and album contain so many easily-repeatable snatches of dialogue, an element of ‘audience participation’ has crept in, ensuring lasting popularity amongst we ‘pathetic earthlings’. But for every ‘Hail Flash; saviour of the universe’ there is a rich and evocative refrain, or an action score of pure electronic adrenaline.

Several years later, another fantasy film co-starring a James Bond was also elevated by music from Queen. But whereas Flash Gordon had all the publicity and hype which was de Laurentiis’s stock-in-trade behind it, Highlander snuck into cinemas in 1987.

  

Friends and I loved it at first sight, even if the rest of the world was slow to catch on – but, contrary to popular belief , Queen didn’t actually produce the soundtrack to Highlander.  The soundtrack is credited to composer Michael Kamen, and Queen only contributed songs – great songs.  It’s a kind of Magic became the unofficial Highlander theme, and the achingly beautiful Who wants to live forever? completely transcended it’s origin as a last minute addition to a film soundtrack (and a line shouted by Brian Blessed in a gold helmet and wings).

It's long, but worth it to see Mercury perform live,
and hear the now poignant remark he makes at the beginning.

Like Flash Gordon, Queen’s contribution to Highlander has surpassed the film the music was written for and taken on a life of its own. In the absence of an official soundtrack release, Queen released their songs for Highlander on the album A Kind of magic. Freddie Mercury’s typically barnstorming rendition of New York, New York sadly doesn’t feature, and the single Hammer to fall, also heard in the film, was from an earlier album The Works.
Connor MacLeod himself: French actor Christopher Lambert, has cited Queen’s music as a major factor in convincing him to take the role.
Queen’s enhancement of movie viewing experiences doesn’t end here. Since FM in 1978 (see here: http://fasmatodea.blogspot.co.nz/2013/12/stardust-memories.html), the ‘stamp-stamp-clap’ of We will Rock you has appeared on no less than eight film soundtracks, a total shared by We are the Champions (first heard in Revenge of the Nerds, 1984) and Under Pressure (most memorably in Grosse Pointe Blank, 1997).
There might never have been a better musically-choreographed scene than the use of Don’t stop me now in Shaun of the Dead (2004), where a jammed jukebox and some misappropriated pool cues make a zombie sorry he ever returned from the dead.

 

Often their songs are covered - Brittany Murphy’s exuberant rendition of Somebody to Love in Happy Feet, (2006) succeeds by sounding so completely different to Queen. But perhaps the ultimate Queen ‘cover’, (OK, ‘sing-along’) and most memorable use of their song in a film, ever, must go to Wayne, Garth and their most-excellent friends:

Suite Sounds

Mike Batt wrote chart topping hits for the Wombles and forever associated Art Garfunkel with rabbits. In 1979 he played a new card
– a whole suite of them.

I was lucky to have a fairly progressive fourth form English teacher.  His first name was Denis with one ‘n’, and he was forever amused by the fact that his own signature always made the first letter look like a ‘P’, giving the impression he was actually named after the male organ of reproduction.  As well as introducing us to the venerable smut of Chaucer, the imagination of John Wyndham, encouraging us in debating, speech-craft and drama, he also played us music.  Contemporary music – from albums he’d just bought, and then would encourage us to analyse what we heard.  One of these albums was a certain martian invasion-themed magnum opus by someone called Jeff Wayne, but that is a whole other story for another time.

And once, he played us a song which began like this:

There's an eagle in the eastern sky, turning in the wind;
Out across the evening, resting on the wing.
If I had the wings of an eagle
There'd be no holding me
I'd be free
Sailing free.

The song is Run like the wind, written by Mike Batt, performed in usual gravely fashion by Roger Chapman, and is the final track on the 1979 concept album Tarot Suite. 

 I could immediately see why he chose to play us this track, although I might have struggled to articulate it at the time. It is catchy, inspiring and evocative on a somewhat primal level: full of imagery of flight, emancipation and transcendence – and it stayed in my mind, more sketchily remembered with each passing year.

The cover sleeve for the single release of Run like the Wind - with lyrics!

 It took another eight years for me to finally rediscover the album, and I was delighted to find that another personally evocative song I remembered from that same period: Lady of the Dawn, was actually the fourth track of Tarot Suite, once again written and this time performed by Mr Batt.  Apparently the most successful song from the album’s initial release, it did very well in European charts and obviously received reasonable airplay in New Zealand.

 (Caution: lyrics only - not much to see here.)

The next thing I found was that, as a carefully crafted concept album, the tracks aren’t really meant to be listened to in isolation, but are all part of a greater whole – I’m sure you can see where this sentence is heading: yes - just like the cards in a tarot pack

In the sleeve notes, Batt explains that his process of grouping the 22 major cards in order to represent them with ten musical pieces took him longer than the actual writing of the music and lyrics.  The card’s meanings and how he equates them with his musical themes is covered in some depth.

Mike Batt assigns various Tarot cards to the album's tracks.

 To return to Run like the wind, this final track is a good example of the coherence of the album.  The preceeding tracks The Night of the Dead and The Dead of the Night (see what they did there?) are as dark and macabre as the titles suggest.  ‘Night’ is almost ghoulish; with moaning, chittering ‘night things’ audible within heavy, sepulchral orchestrals, which then segues into the still dark but less otherworldly ‘Dead’

Unexpectedly, this short track dissolves into a 'soar' of strings, inescapably conjuring the image of a rising sun, dispelling the oppressive dread of the previous two pieces, and leading triumphantly into the lyrics quoted at the top of this post.  It’s impossible now for me to imagine these tracks as independent of each other.

Of course, this might all be my interpretation, to anyone else Tarot Suite may simply be a self-indulgent relic from the end of one of rock’s least fondly remembered eras.  But it might just be worth mentioning that the ‘band’ featuring on Tarot Suite, later to be conducted on several occasions by the multi-talented Mr Batt, is a small outfit going by the name of the London Symphony Orchestra.

Orchestrated litany of High-lights

The Doctor Who Symphonic Spectacular was a show of many lives and times, and a life-time.

 

New Zealand Mezzo Soprano Anna Pierard led the Orpheus choir in some beautiful choral pieces while stalwart Ben Foster (centre) conducts the NZSO in Wellington.  Who'd ever have thought it?

Really, I had intended never to refer to the 'fiftieth anniversary of Doctor Who (TM)' on this blog again – except for this one last time…
Friday saw the opening of the New Zealand Festival and, I presume with its survival having been threatened by diminishing audience numbers in recent times, this year the organisers gave us Doctor Who.

This once ‘cult’ show has become a demographic-shattering juggernaut in the last nine years, and the colossal recognition factor has been reflected in Britain and Australia by sell-out live concerts of composer Murray Gold’s music, performed annually for almost as long as the show has been back. Beginning as a ‘one-off’ charity concert in 2006, the formula of live orchestra, a star host, huge screens showing relevant clips and ‘monsters’ stalking the aisles has grown to headline the Proms and tour Australia. Having seen recordings of most of the British performances, the highlight is always the cut-aways to the audience and their reactions to the spectacle, especially among the very young fans. 

A Cyberman inspires...ummm... 'terror' on the Wellington waterfront.

A lovely, chatty interview with Murray Gold last October earned me an unexpected but very welcome couple of tickets to the Symphonic Spectacular from the publicists, and a very special event in the vague proximity of my birthday to look forward to. This version of the ‘Symphonic Spectacular had of course been specially formulated for performances in Britain during last year’s ‘fiftieth year’ celebrations, so an unavoidable overlap into 2014 of Golden Anniversary cheer was to be expected.

However, I had no idea just how much, because this concert, unlike all the others before it, was not just about recent years but went to great lengths to embrace music from the entire history of the programme.
So, on top of all the unforgettable highlights the night already offered, was the wonderfully bizarre sight of the New Zealand Symphony orchestra belting out the bellicose 1960s Cyberman music; then accompanying an extended scene from The Sea Devils (thirteen-year-old me: I only wish you could have seen that!) and performing one of my all-time favourites, the spiralling refrain leading to Tom Baker’s regeneration from Logopolis. By now I was shocked to already realise that I wasn’t going to get through the night dry-eyed, but I know I wasn’t the only one. 

My giant ear almost eclipses the TARDIS.

Before further gushing, I will balance it by coming back to one of my oldest bug bears – the reserve of Kiwi audiences. The Logopolis clip mentioned above ends with the very first glimpse of a ridiculously young Peter Davison, and given that the man himself was more-than-ably hosting the evening surely some applause would have been appropriate? Like-wise a terrific video sequence towards the end of the concert, set to the choral piece which made David Tennant’s farewell seem even more protracted: Vale Decem, was utterly vindicated by accompanying a beautifully-edited sequence of all the Doctors in their final moments. At this point I desperately wished that the long-lived overseas tradition of fans frantically trying to out-do each other with cheers and applause as their favourite Doctor first appears on screen could only have been adopted here.

But I am , of course, being ridiculously churlish. Our capacity Wellington audience spanned at least four generations, the very youngest possibly never having been up so late in their lives before, and was liberally sprinkled with bow-ties and Fez’s. (Here’s the thing though: those in costume were almost exclusively young women. Certainly wasn’t like that in my time – to quote Paul Simon: “These are the days of miracles and wonders.”) They sat patiently in the late summer heat through the 15 minute technical delay in starting, warmly welcomed Davison’s entertaining asides, goggled at and stroked passing monsters and wonderfully, gave a mighty standing ovation at the close, so what more could anyone ask for?

With only the pulsing logo to keep us company, and a timely reassurance from Peter Davison,
we patiently wait out a technical diffficulty before the concert begins.

Another early sequence showcased the new programme’s first four companions. Catherine Tate’s Donna Noble got a delighted round of applause but the reaction to Billie Piper as Murray Gold’s masterpiece Rose’s theme opened the set was utterly lovely. A sigh of concentrated affection seemed to gust through the auditorium – in less than ten years the ‘new’ series already has its nostalgia buffs. The farewell scene between the Doctor and Rose featured heavily in these clips, a poignant recollection for many - myself included as I remember my Mother astonished to find herself weeping over this sequence back in 2006.

One of the biggest surprises was a performance of music from an episode I would otherwise have been happy to forget ever existed - The Rings of Akhaten. A grim feat of endurance to watch on television last year, somehow it became many people’s highlight of the evening. The broiling sentient sun filled the massive screen as the audience were bathed in suitably fiery lighting, while child soprano Mia Vinaccia, accompanied by tenor Oliver Sewell, broke our hearts. As the spectacular conclusion to the first half of the concert, it left many visibly moved as the lights came up - perhaps this unloved episode should always have been an opera…

To my inexperienced ear the NZSO performed the music to this silly TV show with the same respect and commitment that they would give to the works of classical composers, and despite what I assumed to be a smaller ensemble than at overseas performances, the scores sounded utterly authentic and powerful enough to drown out on-screen dialogue in one of the show’s very few technical mis-steps.

Peter Davison turned the thankless role of halting the spectacle and announcing what was next into a superbly entertaining stand-up routine. Referencing our cricketing achievements, Peter Jackson and New Zealand Customs (“they frisk you for fruit!”) he was a delight and I’d have been very happy to hear more from this experienced pro, and less clowning from Ben Foster. As Davison concluded: “I’ve just got one note for you: don’t give up conducting.”

Perhaps the main draw for some turned out to be the least memorable for me, but no less welcome for that – the monster mash. The TSB Bank arena is not an ideal venue for alien creatures to menace and many appearances were restricted to on or around the stage. The latest iterations of the Cybermen and Daleks earned huge applause, and deserved it for ‘running the gauntlet’ to navigate the aisles (the blue Dalek with a little difficulty it seems). The limited space caused Davison to refer to ‘an alien traffic jam’, but the thrill of seeing these marvelous creations ‘in person’ was still very palpable. The imposing and surprisingly agile Ice Warrior was my personal highlight. 

A cavalcade of creatures brave a hot lunchtime stroll. 
I was strolling too, but completely obliviously past Te Papa in the background!

Could anything have made this show more satisfying? Well, one of the promised highlights was ‘a specially recorded message from the Doctor”. Although we are technically 'between Doctors' at the moment, for many Matt Smith is still the incumbent and I didn’t doubt his not-unwelcome chin would be filling the screen for this sequence.
Instead we got Uncle Tom! Now in his eighties , Tom Baker’s famous, still-piercing, twinkling blue eyes conveyed enormous affection and sincerity when he reigned in his trademark eccentricity and thanked us all for our support over the years. 

Uncle Tom!

No - thank you sir, and thank you New Zealand Festival for what was literally the show of a life-time, both for the programme and the audience.

My hastily scribbled review can be found here:
http://www.stuff.co.nz/dominion-post/culture/nz-festival-2014/9751894/Review-Doctor-Who-Symphonic-Spectacular

Like some more?
Here are two excellent impressions from two excellent matinee session imps:

http://jetsimian.blogspot.co.nz/2014/02/fez-music.html

http://jamasenright.blogspot.co.nz/2014/02/doctor-who-symphonic-spectacular.html