Dispatch #331: The Music of John Barry, Part Two

 

  Today's dispatch continues my reflections on the film music of John Barry. You can read Part One here.

  By the time I became aware of John Barry's work in the early 1970s, he'd already won three Academy Awards—two for Born Free (1966) and a third for The Lion in Winter (1968). He would eventually go on to win two more—Out of Africa (1985) and Dances with Wolves (1990)—for a total of five Oscars.

  As I got older, I began seeking out Barry's work beyond the James Bond series, which led me to discover the wonderful music he wrote for films such as Seance on a Wet Afternoon (1964), The Ipcress File (1965), Midnight Cowboy and The Appointment (both 1969), Monte Walsh (1970), and Robin and Marian (1976).

  While tracing the Barry's film career, I noted the evolution of his sound—from the early big, brassy, Stan Kenton-esque Bond films to his later, lushly romantic scores. 

  This later period produced not only his gorgeous work on the classic cinematic love stories Somewhere in Time (1980) and Out of Africa (1985) but even—believe it or not—a beautiful romantic theme for George Lucas' Howard the Duck (1986). 

  

  His work on the later Bond films reflected this evolution, which is evident in tracks such as Bond Lured to Pyramid from Moonraker (1979), Wine with Stacey from A View to a Kill (1985) or the evocative Mujahadin and Opium from The Living Daylights (1987).

  

  As a devoted John Barry fan, I love all of his wonderful film scores, but I suppose my personal favorites are The Lion in Winter, Somewhere in Time, and Out of Africa. 

  Like all great scores, they perfectly complement and enhance the images they accompany onscreen—but also exist as beautiful music that can be enjoyed by itself.

John Barry (1933-2011)

There's more to come in the next dispatch.

©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #330: The Music of John Barry, Part One

 

Composer John Barry

  As a long-time film score aficionado, Jerry Goldsmith and John Barry top the list of my favorite composers. Today's dispatch focuses on the Yorkshire-born John Barry.

  In the early 1970s, the James Bond films began airing on American television for the first time, usually on the ABC Sunday Night Movie. 

  The first of these broadcasts I remember watching was Thunderball in September of 1974, followed by Dr. No two months later. As a kid, I was thrilled not just by the action and exotic locales in both films, but by the stirring music, too—although at the time I didn't note who'd composed it.

   A year later, ABC aired Diamonds Are Forever in September of 1975, followed by You Only Live Twice in November. This time I watched the opening credits closely to learn the name of the composer: John Barry.

  Each film contained thrilling sequences set in outer space: in the climax of Diamonds, a satellite laser weapon wreaks havoc on military targets, while YOLT opened with the abduction of an American spacecraft in Earth orbit. 

  John Barry's lush score elevated both sequences: in Diamonds, it's his track 007 and Counting, while for YOLT, it's Capsule in Space.

  The following year, in December 1976, the Dino DeLaurentis remake of King Kong hit theaters. Although it paled in comparison to the 1933 original (which I'd already seen on TV by that point), I loved the '76 Kong for all its flaws. 

  In fact, King Kong became the very first film I ever went back to see more than once in the theater (it would be five months before I would do so again—when Star Wars came out in the summer of 1977).

  

  Aside from Kong himself, a big reason I returned to see the film was to experience the magnificent John Barry score. I mean, who'd have thought a movie with a guy running around in an ape suit would contain tracks as lovely as John Barry's Arrival on the Island?

  I'd recognized Barry's name in Kong's opening credits as the same fellow who'd done those terrific James Bond scores, and the burgeoning movie music fan in me quickly claimed him as one of my favorites. 

  A few months later, when I stumbled across the original soundtrack LP for Barry's On Her Majesty's Secret Service in the bargain bin at Musicland, it became the first film score I ever purchased—inaugurating a life-long hobby and cementing an appreciation for the talented composer—both of which continue to this day.

  There's more to come in the next dispatch.

  ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #307: Sondheim's Sunday

 

   As a follow-up to Dispatch #306, here's a lovely version of a beautiful song: Stephen Sondheim's Sunday, from his Pulitzer, Tony, and Olivier Award-winning 1984 musical, Sunday in the Park with George. This YouTube clip is taken from Sondheim: A Celebration at Carnegie Hall, a 1993 Great Performances presentation on PBS. 

   

  Embedded below is another performance of Sunday—this time from the Sondheim 80th birthday concert which aired on PBS in 2010. In the clip, the composer is brought to tears by the moving tribute.

  Whenever I'm feeling down and my spirits are desperately in need of a recharge, I listen to this beautiful song and always feel renewed and inspired afterward. May it do the same for you.

   There's more to come in the next dispatch.

  ©2023 SummitCityScribe

     

Dispatch #306: Sondheim's Sanctum

 

Stephen Sondheim's music room.

   The works of composer Stephen Sondheim (1930-2021) have long enjoyed a special place in my heart—with their sublime melodies and lyrics ranging from devilishly witty to deeply moving.

  Many believe the creative genius displayed during his decade-long collaboration with producer Hal Prince in the 1970s—which included Company (1970), Follies (1971), A Little Night Music (1973), Pacific Overtures (1976), and Sweeney Todd (1979)—will never be equaled on Broadway. 

   After his passing, Sondheim's 5-story townhouse in Manhattan's exclusive Turtle Bay (where at one time his neighbors included actress Katherine Hepburn) appeared in online real estate listings, giving curious fans a glimpse inside what was the composer's home from 1960 to his death in 2021.

  Jokingly known as "The House That Gypsy Built"—because Sondheim bought it with profits accrued from writing the lyrics for the hit 1959 Broadway musical—it features a 2nd story music studio with a baby grand piano.

 When I think of all the incredible songs born in that room: Another Hundred People, I'm Still Here, Send in the Clowns, Someone in a Tree, Pretty Women, Sunday, Old Friends, Children Will Listen, The Gun Song, (to name just a few) I get the chills.

   According to Broadway lore, my all-time favorite Sondheim show, Sunday in the Park With George, was actually written not in that 2nd floor music studio but outside on the adjoining 30-foot terrace. It's certainly lovely spot—one that inspired (in my humble opinion) the most beautiful compositions in Sondheim's oeuvre.

    There's more to come in the next dispatch.

    ©2023 SummitCityScribe

Dispatch #278: Cannibalism at the Disco

 

     I've been endeavoring to focus my posts this month on all things spooky, eerie, and macabre, and since today's Dispatch deals with cannibalism, I think it fits the bill quite nicely.

     In early 1971, I heard the song Timothy by The Buoys on local radio for the very first time. A disturbing tale of miners trapped underground in a cave-in—and the gruesome things they do to survive—it was nothing like the cheery pop tunes I usually heard on WLYV. 

     Even though I was just a kid, I understood immediately what the song was about and got a juvenile kick out of hearing something that I probably shouldn't have been listening to at that age.

     Of course, I was already heavily into monsters and horror movies at the time, so hearing a creepy rock tune about two trapped miners eating a third didn't give me any nightmares. 

     Songwriter Rupert Holmes went on to have a successful music career. You can read about the history behind his song Timothy here.

    Many years later, while living in NYC, I attended a Morrissey concert at what was then known as The Uptown Ritz (to differentiate it from the Ritz down in Greenwich Village)—located at 254 W. 54th Street in Manhattan. 

254 W. 54th Street in 1992.

     I knew at that time the venue had started life as a legitimate theater before becoming a CBS Radio/TV studio—and then the legendary 1970s disco Studio 54. What I hadn't known then was that in-between CBS and the disco era, the office building had also been the home of Scepter Records.

    Scepter was famous as the label of iconic 1960s girl-groups such as The Shirelles and the Chiffons, both of whom recorded at the label's original home at 1674 Broadway. 

     In 1965, however, Scepter moved to their new digs at 254 W. 54th Street, where acts as varied as The Velvet Underground, B.J. Thomas—and yes, The Buoys—cut studio tracks. I knew none of that history when I visited the Ritz on November 27th, 1992, however.

     I had a great time at the Morrissey show that night. Moz—on tour for his excellent Your Arsenal album—was in fine voice and hadn't yet veered off into the uncomfortable political statements he's infamous for these days. During the set from his opening act, Jet Black Machine, I remember glancing around the venue and thinking about the glory days of disco at Studio 54. 

     I had absolutely no idea back then that just a few floors above my head, Timothy—the song about cannibalism that gave me the shivers as a kid—had been recorded in a Scepters Records studio. Thinking about it now brings a mischievous grin to my face—just like the one I wore as a kid while listening to that macabre little song on WLYV back in 1971.

     Postscript: After the uptown Ritz closed in the mid-1990s, the space was vacant until the end of the decade, when The Roundabout Theatre Company found its home there—where it remains to this day.

     There's more to come in the next dispatch.

     ©2023 SummitCityScribe