Film & TV Music Composer's Conference

You have to picture the setting. After a half hour of welcoming remarks, the moderator of the opening discussion, Jon Burlingame, a professor of music history at USC, announces that his first guests, director Ridley Scott and composer Trevor Jones, are no-shows, off in London on business.

He introduces another director-composer pair who agreed to come on at the last minute, and a pleasant, if quiet, hour of discussion ensues about the role between the director and the composer. Then Randy is introduced for a solo interview. This is great, as I am expecting him to be on a six person panel, with little time to speak. The change Randy brings to the procedings can hardly be described. It was like Robin Williams following 90 minutes of Al Gore. The audience, made up mostly of music composers, both established and neophite, went wild with Randy's every remark.

Jon Burlingame is a quiet, serious fellow, and he did his best to keep up with Randy, but he was out of his element. Randy broke the ice on the first question:

JB: Describe the element of trust between the director and composer.

RN: Fuck, are you kidding? (long pause for hysterical laughter)

RN: My advice is: do your job, get out of there, and don't look back.

RN: A director is a guy who owns a CD player and thinks he's an expert on music.

RN: True story - directors always like music to be brighter than it is, no matter how bright it already is. On one picture, the director asked me to move the clarinet part up an octave. I did. Then he asked to move the flute up an octave. I did. Then he wanted the oboe up an octave, but I told him that would take the oboe outside its range. So the director asked me to bring the oboe up half an octave!

RN: You know, I'm not really like this! No wait, I am! I just don't show it to directors anymore.

JB: Well, that pretty much covers the issue of trust. With what director did you have the best relationship?

RN: Milos Forman, because he never came to any of the recording sessions.

RN: Working on the two animations for Disney was my best experience. They are hands-on people, and they actually know music. But they are the scariest people to deal with since Torquemada.

JB: Is it harder writing music for animation?

RN: Yes, because when the character falls down, the music has to do it too. James and the Giant Peach was my biggest challenge. The counterpoint in that film was a technical stretch for me.

JB: Do you always get a song in each movie?

RN: Not in Avalon, and not in The Natural. I tried to talk my way into a song in The Natural, but they wouldn't go for it [RN bursts into song, singing to an intentionally dissonent tune in a W.C. Fields type of voice]"Oh what a guy, the Natural! He hit the ball and loved them all!"

RN: There's never enough time to write a score. I would sacrifice anything for time - money, even family - I hope you remember what I was talking about at the beginning of this sentence.

JB: What are your feelings about temp tracks? [as I learned, most movies are first screened for test audiences with temporary music added, because the real music isn't finished-JF]

RN: I hate them. Directors fall in love with them. I also hate doing comedies, yet I keep doing them. I keep forgetting to tell myself I hate them. They always have a lot of last minute changes. Someone belches and the music has to be redone. Directors keep asking for funnier music. What is funny music, anyway? I could stick the baton up someone's ass while we were playing, and then at least the orchestra would laugh. Once I tried banjos, but the music was awful, banjo vomit over everything. The problem is that directors have contempt for the audience. They think they'll never get anything subtle, that it has to be spelled out in simplistic terms. I keep saying that these audiences may not know algebra, but they know movies. My nightmare is a director asking me to put literal laughs in the score [and here Randy makes a sound halfway between a muted trumpet and a laughing duck] WAUK, WAUK, WAUK!

RN: Working with orchestras are the best days of my life, which makes it hard when someone comes in and interferes. I know it's his movie, so I have to go along with it, to some extent, since I am an employee. No matter what happens, my main objective is to do what is best for the movie. But it is hard to take when someone tells you that a part you've worked on a long time stinks. Or someone who doesn't know music says "I hate that low thing..." The best directors are more indirect. They know how to first praise, then criticize. And since artists are all children, they need praise. You can't overpraise an artist. When someone prefaces a comment with "You probably hear this a lot ..." you want to listen real carefully to what comes next. I used to get very upset at any criticism, but not anymore. I notice I work more now.

JB: Do you use synthesizers?

RN: I have a very crude setup at home. The instruments all sound too loud and crappy, but it's better than playing an entire score on the piano. It's hard to tell a director "here's where the violins go" and "these are french horns here." He has no fucking idea. But when I work with synths I sometimes feel the ghost of my uncle looking over my shoulder saying "EVIL, EVIL!"

JB: Do you attend dubbing sessions?

RN: Not anymore. It's too painful. They always play the sound too low. There is a place in Avalon where noone is speaking, there is no noise at all, and I still can't hear my music. To my score, they preferred the sound of grass! At the end of The Natural, the director preferred the sound of light towers exploding to my music. And these days less time is devoted to post production, which is a change for the worse. I know I sound bitter. I am bitter!

JB: Do you accept all jobs offered to you?

RN: I turn down most things offered to me, and I've yet to regret turning down anything. I usually do 2 scores a year, sometimes 3.

JB: Do you start before the movie is finished?

RN: Usually after the movie is done. I watch it carefully, and sometimes things you can't read in the script will have a large effect on the music, such as the scenery. I always ask the director if he wants me to raise the music up a notch, which can make the film more important. They usually say yes. And I try to spend as much time with the director as possible, just listening. It reduces the amount of rewrites needed. For example, I found out after finishing the score on Michael for Nora Ephron that she doesn't like classical music. I wish someone had told me that up front. I'd have used a skiffle band.

RN: I Love to See You Smile made more money for me than anything else I've done. I sold it to toothpaste companies, mulepacking teams, anywhere I could. I worked 8 to 10 months on Faust, but never made a dime on it.

RN: I was on Rosie O'Donnell's show the other day, playing for Bonnie Raitt, a straight union local 147 job. Rosie didn't know me, and then someone introduced me, and she said "Oh, the Short People guy." I get that a lot.

RN: I consider writing music for film a noble calling. But it can be discouraging. There'a a key part in Michael where the angel is coming down the stairs. I got myself into a religioso mood and wrote an inspiring piece. The director didn't like it, wanting it funnier, so I lightened it up. They still didn't like it, and ended up putting in farting tubas.

JB: In the old days, the composer was listed in the credits second to last, just before the director.

RN: Hey, that's right. They've been putting me up front, which I thought was good, but you've pointed out that they've been screwing me again. Music is given less and less importance each year. The proof is that the all-important movie previews are done with temporary music in them.

JB: what about deadlines?

RN: I get strict deadlines for film scores, and I find I need them. I have no deadlines with my songs, and whatever self- discipline I had, minimal though it was, is lost. I've released 11 albums in 25 years. Really pathetic. People say, maybe he needs time to kick back - but 2 years for each album? Bullshit. I'd sit in the backyard every day and never move. The gardener and the pool man were my best friends. They had to wheel me into the house when it rained. I am working on a new album now, and I'm setting an artificial deadline for myself, which I plan to fail to meet.

JB: How do you see your chances in the Acadamy Awards against Allen Menken?

RN: I thought I should have won last year for Toy Story over his Pocahontas. I also thought I should have won for The Natural and Avalon. But the Hunchback is one of his best works, and will probably beat James and the Giant Peach. I'll be doing the Menken shuffle again [last year Randy sat at the end of the row and had to get up twice to let Menken pass to get awards-JF].

RN: I've got some new moves worked out. [With this, Randy stands, pivots, and does an ultra-cool double fingerpoint in the direction he wants Menken to move past him, done in the style of a West Side Story dancer.]

*** END ***

After the interview, Joan Manners and I got to talk to Randy for a short time. We asked him what his artificial deadline is for the next album. He said it was April, but he got sick. Now he's looking at June. We also asked if he thought that Faust's problem was that it wouldn't play to people from Kansas. He said not at all, as those folks came in droves to Chicago. We said we hoped he wasn't discouraged by the lack of commercial success for Faust. He said not at all, he got satisfaction in doing it, and is very proud of it. And it could still make Broadway. I told him we'd be at the concert in Santa Ynez in July, and he invited us backstage! (Joan, you've got to go now!)