I miss the CD store.
Which is not to say that they're all gone, though to the best of my knowledge a lot of the major chains have either folded or closed up a lot of shops since the 1990's. There are still places where you can go to buy CD's, should you be so inclined. I am not including the big box stores here, or even the more specialized retailers like Borders or Barnes and Nobles. I mean the CD store that, aside from a small smattering of posters and other music paraphernalia, only sold music. I know that there are fewer of them, where once they were almost as prolific as Starbuck's.
Perhaps not quite so numerous, but close.
I don't even listen to most of my CD's anymore, honestly. Most of the time I'm on my laptop, and so that's where most of my music is. Not all of it, by any means, as storage limitations mean that the large items like operas or the complete Beethoven's symphonies have been left on CD. The vast majority of what I listen to on a frequent basis is, however, stored digitally, and I confess most of those are the music of known quantities. Musicians where I was already familiar with they're work, and wasn't taking a chance.
Not that some of it doesn't work like that. There are any number of places where I can find new music, and for a not unreasonable sum even purchase it and take it home. (Or download it, if the artist is giving it away for free. Which some of the more esoteric ones I listen to do.) Yet browsing through a blog or an online music store doesn't have quite the same feel to it. Maybe it's not having the CD in hand, or being able to - sometimes - turn to the store clerk and ask about the music in question. Maybe it's the lack of those sections where they say "if you like this, you might also like this."
A lot of it is simply not being able to find those rare gems you might otherwise overlook. One of my favorite blues CD's, for example, came from this little store in downtown Chicago, found while I was getting lunch and killing time until my train arrived. It was a small store, less than the size of the 7 Eleven across the street from it, but it had a steady stream of college students browsing the aisles. It aimed at mostly jazz and blues music, and while I know there are plenty of blogs out there devoted to that stuff, there is an inherent problem with those.
Mainly, they rely on someone's opinions. If a person is posting about music on their blog, it's a reflection of their tastes. And while, for a professional reviewer, that might mean a broader sampling, it still imposes certain limitations. Limitations you were less likely to find in a music store. Even simple things like crossing genre lines, and browsing jazz and blues over here, then new age over there, are made a bit more cumbersome online. Maybe not more difficult, as there is built-in convenience from shopping from home and all that, but you have to hunt in more locations rather than just going to the one spot.
Mostly, I miss being able to walk in and hear something over the speakers which you might never have listened to. Sometimes it was crap, sometimes not, and just sometimes it was something which, after asking the clerk what it was, you'd walk out of the store with. You don't get that online.
Showing posts with label musical cues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musical cues. Show all posts
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Messing With the Classics: Musical Edition
Every time someone announces they are "updating" a beloved classic, I tend to cringe. Sometimes these go well, but more often than not you're left with something like "Kill Mo' Mock: Boo Radley in the Hood." (And if you've never read Bloom County, that reference may well be lost on you until the day comes when I shall explain. Which is not today.) This happens most often with film or literature, but the music world is not immune. The results are, sadly, about the same.
In pop music this is known as "the cover," a term which I, being non-musical myself, have often failed to grasp the nuances of. Sometimes it seems as if a cover is simply the same old song being sung by someone new. This can range from bland and uninspired to changing the way you interpret the song, even if the vocals and the music stay the same. In the hands of anyone else, "I've got you under my skin" doesn't have quite the same resonance as when Sammy Davis Jr sings it. In my mind that has to do with things outside of the song which lend themselves to different interpretations.
Sometimes those wander far afield. The stylizations of the national anthem (for which I blame Whitney) are, technically, not covers. I suppose because they aren't made for commercial distributions. I do however feel, each and every time some current pop sensation feels the need to belt and warble their way through the "Star Spangled Banner," that they are most definitely guilty of messing with a classic. And messing it up.
William Shatner singing "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" is in a class all by itself.
On the other hand, unlike in movies and books, in the music world it seems to me that the true classics are often, for the most part, sacrosanct. Sure, a composer might alter an arrangement here or there, or arrange a piece for instruments different than the composer intended, but you don't usually get the kind of "reinventing" that so often afflicts literary and film classics. There just isn't really much you can do to the "1812 Overture." Cannons are cannons, after all. Same with "Ode to Joy." (Having Beaker from the Muppets sing Beethoven does not fall in quite the same category. I doubt that's meant to be taken seriously on a musical level. Nor am I making that up.)
So it was with some trepidation, mixed in part with curiosity, that I listened to an album that put a modern, semi-electronica spin on Beethoven. It was, for the most part, a good listen. I shelved it - metaphorically speaking - in with the rest of my classics and will listen to the album again. It wasn't groundbreaking by any means, but it was respectful of the source and entertaining. The only tarnished spot for me was when the composer took on the 5th.
Now, I shall insert a caveat by saying of all of Beethoven's works, the 5th is the one that least impresses me. In part this is just the musical stylings of it, but it is also due to the fact that, of all of Beethoven's pieces, this is the one that has been most often abused and maligned. It was even once pressed into service for a series of answering machines messages. It is therefore forever associated in my head, not with the original the way it was intended, but all the "reimaginings" or "revisitings" or "updatings" or just plain "it was in the public domain and free so we took it and used it" recordings that have been perpetuated in Beethoven's name.
Which is the risk with doing this to any piece of classic work. Should the newer piece be sufficiently bad enough, no one remembers the power of the original. Instead you get the knockoffs. I think this may explain the treatment of the national anthem by almost every celebrity who has sung it since Whitney. They've forgotten the original, and only remember Whitney. In film I think you can thank Kenneth Branagh for bringing Shakespeare to new audiences, but I for one hold Frankenstein against him. The maligned monster hasn't had a decent big-screen or literary debut since. (More on that some other time.)
Does this mean the classics should never be open to interpretation? Probably not, as then you'd have to include pieces which were re-written for the piano or some other instrument, and some occasional tweaking can keep things fresh. But as for the rest, well....
I say we keep those cannons handy.
In pop music this is known as "the cover," a term which I, being non-musical myself, have often failed to grasp the nuances of. Sometimes it seems as if a cover is simply the same old song being sung by someone new. This can range from bland and uninspired to changing the way you interpret the song, even if the vocals and the music stay the same. In the hands of anyone else, "I've got you under my skin" doesn't have quite the same resonance as when Sammy Davis Jr sings it. In my mind that has to do with things outside of the song which lend themselves to different interpretations.
Sometimes those wander far afield. The stylizations of the national anthem (for which I blame Whitney) are, technically, not covers. I suppose because they aren't made for commercial distributions. I do however feel, each and every time some current pop sensation feels the need to belt and warble their way through the "Star Spangled Banner," that they are most definitely guilty of messing with a classic. And messing it up.
William Shatner singing "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" is in a class all by itself.
On the other hand, unlike in movies and books, in the music world it seems to me that the true classics are often, for the most part, sacrosanct. Sure, a composer might alter an arrangement here or there, or arrange a piece for instruments different than the composer intended, but you don't usually get the kind of "reinventing" that so often afflicts literary and film classics. There just isn't really much you can do to the "1812 Overture." Cannons are cannons, after all. Same with "Ode to Joy." (Having Beaker from the Muppets sing Beethoven does not fall in quite the same category. I doubt that's meant to be taken seriously on a musical level. Nor am I making that up.)
So it was with some trepidation, mixed in part with curiosity, that I listened to an album that put a modern, semi-electronica spin on Beethoven. It was, for the most part, a good listen. I shelved it - metaphorically speaking - in with the rest of my classics and will listen to the album again. It wasn't groundbreaking by any means, but it was respectful of the source and entertaining. The only tarnished spot for me was when the composer took on the 5th.
Now, I shall insert a caveat by saying of all of Beethoven's works, the 5th is the one that least impresses me. In part this is just the musical stylings of it, but it is also due to the fact that, of all of Beethoven's pieces, this is the one that has been most often abused and maligned. It was even once pressed into service for a series of answering machines messages. It is therefore forever associated in my head, not with the original the way it was intended, but all the "reimaginings" or "revisitings" or "updatings" or just plain "it was in the public domain and free so we took it and used it" recordings that have been perpetuated in Beethoven's name.
Which is the risk with doing this to any piece of classic work. Should the newer piece be sufficiently bad enough, no one remembers the power of the original. Instead you get the knockoffs. I think this may explain the treatment of the national anthem by almost every celebrity who has sung it since Whitney. They've forgotten the original, and only remember Whitney. In film I think you can thank Kenneth Branagh for bringing Shakespeare to new audiences, but I for one hold Frankenstein against him. The maligned monster hasn't had a decent big-screen or literary debut since. (More on that some other time.)
Does this mean the classics should never be open to interpretation? Probably not, as then you'd have to include pieces which were re-written for the piano or some other instrument, and some occasional tweaking can keep things fresh. But as for the rest, well....
I say we keep those cannons handy.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Twelve Lords Milking?
As the holidays are upon us, it is time once again to dwell upon the mysteries and conundrums of the holiday. Such as whether some new musical atrocity shall replace "Grandma vs the Reindeer" on the "most hated" list. Or where all those camels come from for the live Nativity scenes. Or what we're going to do with the bad fruitcake we'll inevitably get. (Doorstop? Anchor for the boat? Keystone for that new building?)
And, of course, what the heck is the order for the Twelve Days of Christmas?
I figure most people out there can make it up through five with out any problems. Singing it properly, without belting out "Five G-O-L-D rings!" at the top of your lungs and in tune is another matter entirely, but we do all seem to know the carol from the partridge and the pear tree through those rings. (Speaking of which, who needs five gold rings? Given what a gold ring symbolizes these days, one is left to wonder if the male caroler is perhaps spreading a little too much Christmas cheer under the mistletoe.) It's what comes after the rings where the trouble lies.
Which is a little odd, given that every year some of us will be bothered to look it up. There's that joke about the restraining order that makes the rounds, and it's played on innumerable carol programs and sung in countless schools. There are even many picture books devoted to illustrating the carol in fashions both wacky and sincere, and if you have a little child that you read to you've got that reinforcement. All of which should firmly ensconce in our heads what order everything comes in.
And absolutely none of which seems to make any difference, because year after year, Yuletide after Yuletide, we get it wrong. Then proceed to argue about it, debate it, insist that we're one hundred percent sure there are only ten pipers – or is it twelve? – and inevitably be called upon to sing it when we really have no idea what comes after the five gold rings. (I myself only ever manage to retain the song through the coterie of birds. Beyond that I'm lost.)
Which is why we belt it out at the top of our lungs, in the sincere hope that no one will notice we're just mumbling our way through the next seven days.
To that end, as a public service announcement, I present to you, courtesy of the Muppets, "The Twelve Days of Christmas." In proper order.
So that next year, you can look it up here, again, and stop mumbling.
And, of course, what the heck is the order for the Twelve Days of Christmas?
I figure most people out there can make it up through five with out any problems. Singing it properly, without belting out "Five G-O-L-D rings!" at the top of your lungs and in tune is another matter entirely, but we do all seem to know the carol from the partridge and the pear tree through those rings. (Speaking of which, who needs five gold rings? Given what a gold ring symbolizes these days, one is left to wonder if the male caroler is perhaps spreading a little too much Christmas cheer under the mistletoe.) It's what comes after the rings where the trouble lies.
Which is a little odd, given that every year some of us will be bothered to look it up. There's that joke about the restraining order that makes the rounds, and it's played on innumerable carol programs and sung in countless schools. There are even many picture books devoted to illustrating the carol in fashions both wacky and sincere, and if you have a little child that you read to you've got that reinforcement. All of which should firmly ensconce in our heads what order everything comes in.
And absolutely none of which seems to make any difference, because year after year, Yuletide after Yuletide, we get it wrong. Then proceed to argue about it, debate it, insist that we're one hundred percent sure there are only ten pipers – or is it twelve? – and inevitably be called upon to sing it when we really have no idea what comes after the five gold rings. (I myself only ever manage to retain the song through the coterie of birds. Beyond that I'm lost.)
Which is why we belt it out at the top of our lungs, in the sincere hope that no one will notice we're just mumbling our way through the next seven days.
To that end, as a public service announcement, I present to you, courtesy of the Muppets, "The Twelve Days of Christmas." In proper order.
So that next year, you can look it up here, again, and stop mumbling.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Getting Outside Your Range
Placido Domingo is singing as a baritone. Mind you, I only know he's a tenor, normally, because of that thing he did with the other two guys - only one of whom I can name off the top of my head. Not that I don't listen to opera, as I do, but I don't listen to it frequently enough to really know much about any of the stars or recognize them by voice. In part because my local radio doesn't carry that "Sunday at the Met" program, assuming it's still airing at all. Also in part because I just don't listen to that much opera.
None of which really relates to my point today. It turns out that Placido started as a baritone, and then early in his career moved up to a tenor. Where he proceeded to make his career. Now, in part because his voice is aging, and in part just because he wants to, he's come back down (musically speaking) to a baritone. By the sounds of it, he's just as comfortable as a baritone as he was as a tenor, but I am reasonably sure it took a bit of an adjustment. I'm also sure, because the guy on NPR said so, that having sung as a tenor Placido now brings a little extra something to being a baritone.
That's the part that got me thinking about how at least once in your life you ought to try something outside your normal range. Speaking as a writer, you could probably substitute "genre" for that last word without too much trouble, as that's really what I'm talking about here. However, it also applies to dabbling in poetry if you normally writer novels, or short stories if you write poetry, or something that requires you to follow a different set of guidelines than you normally do.
It does violate the old trope of "write what you know" but let's face it, in this day and age research is at the tip of your fingers anyway. There are limits on the usefulness of any rule like "write what you know" anyway, at least if you're going to be too much of a stickler about it.
This has a couple of advantages, not least of which is exercising some of your creative muscles that you might not normally use. If you spend most of your time thinking about spaceships, writing about a modern-day setting, or even getting historical, presents brand new challenges for you. Good writing is, of course, good writing, regardless of genre. And you don't necessarily need to come all the way out of your normal comfort zone to make it work. Stephen King's "The Dark Tower" series contains elements of the Western and high fantasy that don't show up much at all in his other works, for example, and it remains I think some of his best writing. (Hated the ending, no matter how much it fit, but that's another entry altogether.) Robert Parker has also written some fine westerns that are far removed from the streets of Spencer's Boston.
The results aren't always good, of course, and sometimes writing exercises are just that and no more. But another advantage to when they do work is a fresh perspective. When you normally write in a particular genre, you can get too accustomed to the trappings of that genre. Switching can help shake you out of those trappings, and not just by getting you to work within a new set of guidelines. A different mode of writing can liven up some of the tropes - which every genre has - not only in the genre with which you are experimenting, but then when you return to your comfort zone. It's like taking a vacation, appreciating the change of scenery, and then coming home and appreciating what you have anew.
Then again, some people go on vacation and decided to stay.
None of which really relates to my point today. It turns out that Placido started as a baritone, and then early in his career moved up to a tenor. Where he proceeded to make his career. Now, in part because his voice is aging, and in part just because he wants to, he's come back down (musically speaking) to a baritone. By the sounds of it, he's just as comfortable as a baritone as he was as a tenor, but I am reasonably sure it took a bit of an adjustment. I'm also sure, because the guy on NPR said so, that having sung as a tenor Placido now brings a little extra something to being a baritone.
That's the part that got me thinking about how at least once in your life you ought to try something outside your normal range. Speaking as a writer, you could probably substitute "genre" for that last word without too much trouble, as that's really what I'm talking about here. However, it also applies to dabbling in poetry if you normally writer novels, or short stories if you write poetry, or something that requires you to follow a different set of guidelines than you normally do.
It does violate the old trope of "write what you know" but let's face it, in this day and age research is at the tip of your fingers anyway. There are limits on the usefulness of any rule like "write what you know" anyway, at least if you're going to be too much of a stickler about it.
This has a couple of advantages, not least of which is exercising some of your creative muscles that you might not normally use. If you spend most of your time thinking about spaceships, writing about a modern-day setting, or even getting historical, presents brand new challenges for you. Good writing is, of course, good writing, regardless of genre. And you don't necessarily need to come all the way out of your normal comfort zone to make it work. Stephen King's "The Dark Tower" series contains elements of the Western and high fantasy that don't show up much at all in his other works, for example, and it remains I think some of his best writing. (Hated the ending, no matter how much it fit, but that's another entry altogether.) Robert Parker has also written some fine westerns that are far removed from the streets of Spencer's Boston.
The results aren't always good, of course, and sometimes writing exercises are just that and no more. But another advantage to when they do work is a fresh perspective. When you normally write in a particular genre, you can get too accustomed to the trappings of that genre. Switching can help shake you out of those trappings, and not just by getting you to work within a new set of guidelines. A different mode of writing can liven up some of the tropes - which every genre has - not only in the genre with which you are experimenting, but then when you return to your comfort zone. It's like taking a vacation, appreciating the change of scenery, and then coming home and appreciating what you have anew.
Then again, some people go on vacation and decided to stay.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Steampunk Music
A quick definition, for those not in the know, borrowed from the Wiki gods:
Steampunk is a sub-genre of fantasy and speculative fiction that [...] denotes works set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used [...] but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy [...]. Other examples of steampunk contain alternate-history-style presentations of "the path not taken" of such technology as dirigibles, analog computers, or digital mechanical computers [...] with a presumption of functionality. (original article here)
This is one of the concepts that may be best understood with a visual, so take a moment to look here and then again here, and you'll get the idea.
Now, the concept appeals to me for a number of reasons, not least because the first bit of adult fiction I ever really got into was Sherlock Holmes. (Tolkien and Herbert were in there, too, but their worlds had more limited entries.) Steampunk seems perpetually stuck in a semi-Victorian era level of society. A bit more advanced, as I think dirigibles came slightly later, but with about the same feel. So it appeals to me for that reason alone, as there is just something about that era that I find fascinating.
Also, I find dirigibles incredibly cool, and think that even though it would be slower, modern air travel would be so much more enjoyable if we'd stuck with blimps. Which, yes, is wholly impractical given the number of travelers and the speeds with which they must travel, but really, can anyone argue that a slower pace would really be a bad thing in today's world? And besides... blimps! Blimps!!
Ok, that bit of personal geeky self-indulgence aside, one of the other reasons the genre appeals to me is it has such a visual element to it. Which was pretty much where I thought it began and ended - as a visual medium.
I was wrong. (Probably not for the last time, certainly not for the first.)
There is musical steampunk.
I'm not sure if it expands beyond the band that was introduced on the radio the other day, via one of the NPR programs, but it does exist. The group, whose name eludes me - and we all know how I feel about research on this blog - is primarily a jazz-oriented outfit. Now for whatever reason, they decided to attempt to do modern era music on more traditional instruments. In other words, rock and roll without the standard rock and roll set of instruments. Big band meets Led Zeppelin. Sort of. (Yes, blimps again.)
It was not muzak by any means, which might be the first comparison that springs to mind. They managed to retain the edginess that defines steampunk, and convey that on a musical level. I won't claim it was music I'd run out and buy, but it was decidedly different, and I thought it added another dimension to this particular genre. It reminded me that if you're going to get into world-building, which is sometimes an integral part of both fantasy, sci-fi, and spec-fic (with all the over-lapping those genres do lately), there are always multiple layers of elements to consider.
Which, if it didn't look so cool might be enough to get me to eschew the unfamiliar future for the known element of the present.
Only... there are those blimps to consider.
Steampunk is a sub-genre of fantasy and speculative fiction that [...] denotes works set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used [...] but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy [...]. Other examples of steampunk contain alternate-history-style presentations of "the path not taken" of such technology as dirigibles, analog computers, or digital mechanical computers [...] with a presumption of functionality. (original article here)
This is one of the concepts that may be best understood with a visual, so take a moment to look here and then again here, and you'll get the idea.
Now, the concept appeals to me for a number of reasons, not least because the first bit of adult fiction I ever really got into was Sherlock Holmes. (Tolkien and Herbert were in there, too, but their worlds had more limited entries.) Steampunk seems perpetually stuck in a semi-Victorian era level of society. A bit more advanced, as I think dirigibles came slightly later, but with about the same feel. So it appeals to me for that reason alone, as there is just something about that era that I find fascinating.
Also, I find dirigibles incredibly cool, and think that even though it would be slower, modern air travel would be so much more enjoyable if we'd stuck with blimps. Which, yes, is wholly impractical given the number of travelers and the speeds with which they must travel, but really, can anyone argue that a slower pace would really be a bad thing in today's world? And besides... blimps! Blimps!!
Ok, that bit of personal geeky self-indulgence aside, one of the other reasons the genre appeals to me is it has such a visual element to it. Which was pretty much where I thought it began and ended - as a visual medium.
I was wrong. (Probably not for the last time, certainly not for the first.)
There is musical steampunk.
I'm not sure if it expands beyond the band that was introduced on the radio the other day, via one of the NPR programs, but it does exist. The group, whose name eludes me - and we all know how I feel about research on this blog - is primarily a jazz-oriented outfit. Now for whatever reason, they decided to attempt to do modern era music on more traditional instruments. In other words, rock and roll without the standard rock and roll set of instruments. Big band meets Led Zeppelin. Sort of. (Yes, blimps again.)
It was not muzak by any means, which might be the first comparison that springs to mind. They managed to retain the edginess that defines steampunk, and convey that on a musical level. I won't claim it was music I'd run out and buy, but it was decidedly different, and I thought it added another dimension to this particular genre. It reminded me that if you're going to get into world-building, which is sometimes an integral part of both fantasy, sci-fi, and spec-fic (with all the over-lapping those genres do lately), there are always multiple layers of elements to consider.
Which, if it didn't look so cool might be enough to get me to eschew the unfamiliar future for the known element of the present.
Only... there are those blimps to consider.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Stories Set to Music
This is not going to be about musicals, just so you know. I went through a phase where I listened to some of them, and I confess I still like "Les Mis." I do enjoy opera, I have seen "Cats" .... once .... and that's about where it ends. (Choral music is a different story, and Bugs Bunny is in a category all by himself.)
No, this is a rumination on the role music plays in storytelling. The obvious examples would be modern films, where the score has become an important part of the story on the screen. "Jaws" might not have been as effective with John Williams' foreboding score - and the wisdom of when not to use it. One of the most famous scenes in the movie, that leads to one of the more well known quotes ("We're going to need a bigger boat.") is one that happens without music. By that point in the movie the audience had come to expect the cue, and when it wasn't there to suddenly see the shark creates the shock and surprise that make the scene work.
But there are more subtle examples, too, including ones that happen behind the scenes. I tend to score the scenes in my head as I write, or sometimes before I write. There have been certain scenes in my stories that took at least some indirect inspiration from the music I listen to. (And a scene on the highway that owes its existence to Nine Inch Nails.) This is probably a by-product of having grown up in an era where the music in movies took on a much more prominent role and became a much more intrinsic part of the story.
I say this purely off the top of my head, as aside from a few notable examples like "The Great Escape" and others, I don't remember a lot of the classic films making as much or as significant use of theme music. I'm not sure if it's an accurate statement, but it seems to me that it's a modern trend... though, again, I could be wrong. As I write I have a few more examples springing to mind, but even "Lawrence of Arabia" which has this broad, sweeping theme that suits it didn't quite make use of that theme and others in the same way that films such as "Star Wars" made use of their musical cues.
Of course, I can't actually set my books and short stories to music. I can mention music in the story, as other authors have done, but I have to confess when I first read "The Gunslinger" I was unfamiliar with "Hey, Jude" and so the importance of that piece of music to the story was lost on me. It didn't impact my appreciation for the overall story, but it did mean I wasn't privy to one of the nuances of it. I think this is a risk whenever you make a reference to a particular song. Either your readers will get it, or they won't, and odds are if they don't they may not be inclined to go look it up.
Consequently, though I almost have to listen to music when I write, I don't directly transfer what's coming out of my speakers onto the page.
Though if I get the chance to control what music gets used when my books become movies... well, that's a different story. Anyone have Danny Elfman on speed dial?
No, this is a rumination on the role music plays in storytelling. The obvious examples would be modern films, where the score has become an important part of the story on the screen. "Jaws" might not have been as effective with John Williams' foreboding score - and the wisdom of when not to use it. One of the most famous scenes in the movie, that leads to one of the more well known quotes ("We're going to need a bigger boat.") is one that happens without music. By that point in the movie the audience had come to expect the cue, and when it wasn't there to suddenly see the shark creates the shock and surprise that make the scene work.
But there are more subtle examples, too, including ones that happen behind the scenes. I tend to score the scenes in my head as I write, or sometimes before I write. There have been certain scenes in my stories that took at least some indirect inspiration from the music I listen to. (And a scene on the highway that owes its existence to Nine Inch Nails.) This is probably a by-product of having grown up in an era where the music in movies took on a much more prominent role and became a much more intrinsic part of the story.
I say this purely off the top of my head, as aside from a few notable examples like "The Great Escape" and others, I don't remember a lot of the classic films making as much or as significant use of theme music. I'm not sure if it's an accurate statement, but it seems to me that it's a modern trend... though, again, I could be wrong. As I write I have a few more examples springing to mind, but even "Lawrence of Arabia" which has this broad, sweeping theme that suits it didn't quite make use of that theme and others in the same way that films such as "Star Wars" made use of their musical cues.
Of course, I can't actually set my books and short stories to music. I can mention music in the story, as other authors have done, but I have to confess when I first read "The Gunslinger" I was unfamiliar with "Hey, Jude" and so the importance of that piece of music to the story was lost on me. It didn't impact my appreciation for the overall story, but it did mean I wasn't privy to one of the nuances of it. I think this is a risk whenever you make a reference to a particular song. Either your readers will get it, or they won't, and odds are if they don't they may not be inclined to go look it up.
Consequently, though I almost have to listen to music when I write, I don't directly transfer what's coming out of my speakers onto the page.
Though if I get the chance to control what music gets used when my books become movies... well, that's a different story. Anyone have Danny Elfman on speed dial?
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