MARC FARIS

Composing the Music for First Note:
Music, Emotion, Collaboration (and My Big, Fat Artistic Ego!)

I'll start by admitting something that doesn't sound very nice: Until January, I was convinced that I knew a whole lot more about music than most other people. It's not like I went around bragging about it, but I was very comfortable and confident in my field of work. I studied composition at the Eastman School of Music, and am close to receiving a Ph.D. in composition from Duke University. I've performed in all kinds of settings, from orchestras and chamber ensembles to rock bands and improvisational groups. I teach guitar and composition privately, and I lead college classes on music theory and history. There's not an hour in the day when I'm not writing, playing, listening to, talking about, or just thinking about music. Little did I know, my comfort bubble was about to burst.

John Meyers contacted me about composing the music for his film early in January. I'd read through the script, and I was intrigued by the ideas and images. I was also excited by the opportunity to work on my first film score. John needed the soundtrack composed, recorded and mixed by January 24. That was just over two weeks away, but I'm a fast composer, and I was sure that I could easily meet John's deadline. So, having made an agreement over the phone, off I went. Over the next two days, I worked quickly and confidently, making very rough sketches on an old 4-track cassette recorder. When at the end of the second day I mixed this all down and created an MP3 file for John to hear, I felt like I had nailed it.

I'll admit to something else now: I really believed that I knew, even better than John himself, what kind of music he needed... which made it all the more perplexing when John called and told me, in the nicest possible terms, that he didn't think this music was right at all. I was stunned. I was so sure of myself; it seemed unthinkable that I could be wrong! I asked him to be specific: what was wrong with it? Was he maybe responding to the poor quality of the recording? Was he comparing it too much to other music? John was fair but firm; he respected what I'd done, but insisted that it was wrong for his film.

Indignant, I returned to my desk. This time, I created two different sets of music, but with little more luck than before. John still felt like I was missing the boat. By this time, it was Sunday, Jan. 12. The recording session was set for the following Saturday, and the performers would need to see the music in advance. So now, a bit dejected, I was getting panicky about the timing. Something big had to change. As I often do when I'm in a slump or experiencing writer's block, I took a long walk. Somewhere in the third mile, I realized what was going on.

My prior experience as a composer, though wide-ranging enough, had still been fundamentally informed by what I think of as a Western system of artistic value, where the creator of an artwork is thought to be inspired beyond critique. Think about all the Great composers you know: nobody ever told Bach, or Beethoven, or Stravinsky, that his music just wasn't "right"! The thing is, I had never realized how deeply rooted these ideas were in my artistic thought. Simply put, it felt weird to have someone seriously questioning my musical output. So, what to do about it?

It may sound odd, but I've never thought about my music as related to specific emotional states or images. I just don't consider my music as being "happy" or "sad," "danceable" or "like water," or... you get the picture. Instead, I tend to conceive of it more abstractly, in terms of tension and release and pitch classes and timbral resolutions and a bunch of other technical jargon. The fact is, John had been giving me very clear clues all long, but I'd been ignoring them. When he said, for example, that the music should be "trippy" or "relaxed," I responded in a very superficial way. As I turned the corner and arrived back home, I realized that it was up to me to create the climate for a successful collaboration. I needed to move away from my musical routine, and to the extent possible, I had to see the film and hear the music through John's eyes and ears.

I cleared off my desk and started working from scratch. John wanted the solo cello music to be "melancholy," but also "instantly striking" to an adolescent boy. And the rock song, "quietly triumphant" and somehow evoking the "endless possibilities" open to Peter in his musical life, needed to sum up many things; as John described it, the entire film builds up to that song. I started thinking about the music that had made me want to be a musician so many years before. I thought about the great joy and exhilaration I got out of my early achievements in music. I tried to imagine what kind of music would make other people - not only John, but also everyone who watches this film - feel those same feelings. Slowly at first, then with increasing confidence and excitement, I watched as the music evolved.

When I finished, I was exhausted, and also a little afraid to let John hear it. I knew that I had created something really worthwhile; all the same, this way of working was so foreign to me that I didn't know how to assess the music. Fortunately, John was overjoyed! Over the next week, I retooled some parts and then gave the music to the performers, and on Saturday, January 18, we recorded the score to First Note. With distance, I can see now how closely the music matches John's cinematic concept, and I'm proud of what we were able to achieve in such a brief amount of time. (I had good help, too: Chris came through heroically in his cello performance, as did the other members of The Sames, and Zeno's engineering know-how and willingness to experiment allowed us to create a score that sounds memorable!)

In the sense that I had to think about music from a whole new perspective, this score was probably the most difficult project I've undertaken to date. Yet it was also one of the most rewarding! John's film is an extraordinary one; I'd know that even if I hadn't been so closely involved, and I feel privileged to have been asked to help him realize his artistic vision. This experience reminded me (and my ego!) that music is so amazing because of its ability to inspire and galvanize, in different ways, with different meanings, for different people. I am grateful to John for helping me to remember that crucial fact; I know I'll be a better composer for it.