April 12, 2012

A fragment of a pinky bone and a tooth twice the size of today’s average molar are the only remnants of a species we now know lived at the same time and place as modern humans—and interbred with them.  They are a part of us we never knew existed.   What did these 'people' look like? And how do they fit into what we thought we knew about our biological development as a species?

Lisa Quijano Wolfinger: Senior Producer

Owen Palmquist:  producer & writer

Jed Rauscher: Editor

Lacy Clark: Associate Producer

Tim Johnston: Post Production Supervisor

Jared Flynn: Motion Graphics

Chris Bailey: Managing Director/Production Manager

Hans Indigo Spencer: Music

April 1, 2012

I'm a creativity book whore. I love reading about how people come up with great ideas. There's one called What a Great Idea which opens with an interview with Yoshiro NakaMats, one of the most prolific inventors of our time. He described his process of spending a good deal of time holding his breath underwater while writing his ideas down on a special plexiglas tablet.

There are many other such books ranging from the fun "Whack on the Side of the Head" to Howard Gardner's case studies of early twentieth century creative revolutionaries "Creating Minds".

But right now I'm creeping through Jonah Lehrer's latest book, "Imagine: How Creativity Works", and it's got me thinking a lot about how we work together across our various disciplines in the media world.

Lehrer starts off detailing how Bob Dylan completely quit writing songs and retreated from the music scene only to have "Like a Rolling Stone" come gushing uncontrollably out of him. Then he goes on to describe the institutional creative process at 3M that gives rise to a myriad of products including Scotch Tape and Post-it Notes.

They make their engineers switch divisions every few years, alot time during the workday for creative play, and have events devoted to cross discipline sharing.

And they do this to facilitate connections between the disciplines because they know that breakthrough innovation happens when the brain makes unexpected connections, when people see surprising ways that their domain is like an otherwise unrelated one.

Since I work alone in a collaborative field, I yearn to find these electric connections with my colleagues.

So this is what I muse on when I'm scoring a documentary: How are the different elements in the show like each other? How do they balance each other out? How is the writer's process like the editor's process and how is that like the DP's process, etc. How is my process like that of the researcher's?

My music is always at the service of the story, and I strive to keep it (as Brian Eno so aptly put it) "as ignorable as it is interesting". It's the knife edge I live on, and it's never easy.

So here are some connections. They are more formal than metaphorical; They are not poetic or inspiring. Instead, they aim to broadly span many of the "time arts" (You are a choreographer, video editor, producer, teacher, lover, writer, storyteller, director, author, software developer, instrumentalist, animator, sound designer.)

1. Time: This is the underlying dimension shared by all time arts (duh), and though it's an obvious truism, bearing this in mind helps to conceptualize many disparate elements along a common timeline.

2. Structure (being that the parts are subdivided down from a whole): When I was teaching in the public schools, I became aware that planning a lesson involved as much attention to structure as did composing a piece of music. I found myself asking questions that I continue to ask today as I compose: Are transitions clear? Where should elements be repeated, whether musical themes or concepts? What ideas need to be repeated in order to be understood?

3. Teleology: That all the elements give the audience a sense of heading TOWARD something, whether it is a moment, a climax, a conclusion. You name it. How does what I am doing support how the other domains are developing an emerging sense of inevitability?

4. Information: every time art carries some level of information. I wish there was a way to measure and compare how much information a narration is presenting compared to the visuals on the screen, and then put that up against the sound content of both the score and the nat sound. Early drafts of my cues often start with too much; they're too busy. But then with careful weeding, the important elements reveal themselves until only the essential ingredients remain.

5. Energy: how your work sends out energy to the user or audience. In some way, though perhaps only metaphorically, your product generates an energy field. With music, it's an actual field of vibrating molecules in the air. Colorists are charged with making sure the light energy is the right intensity, hue, and so on to convey the tone of the show. What about ideas? Do they have energy? As a voice over or man-on-the-street adds their thoughts to the narrative, how is the energy coming out of that glowing box changed?

7. Affect: Our work is going to affect someone else, and this is always paramount to the way we think. Even though we sit in darkened rooms through the deep hours of the night, under pressure, under intense scrutiny, the ultimate receiver of our pitch is the audience: will they get the idea? Will this or that nuance be noticed consciously or will it add humbly to the rich texture of what the audience receives? Can we imagine the end result as we slog through myriad details?

Well, that's enough of this rant for now. I'd love to hear your thoughts.  How much did I leave out?  How little did this make sense?  Are you out there planning or creating something that relates in any way to this way of thinking?  What do you think?

March 9, 2012

We're putting the finishing touches on this show, Titanic discoveries like never before… Check out the AP article

January 5, 2012

Many of my clients and collaborators preface their notes to me with "I don't know much about music, so forgive me if I'm using the wrong terms…" 

They think that they need to have some kind of special training or vocabulary to describe what the right music for their project.  And this is a commonly held belief among the wider public about music: talking about music is shrouded in mystery and faraway languages. 

But that's all wrong. 

You don't need to know Italian, German or music theory or "music appreciation" to convey to your composer what you are looking for.  Any terms work, and it's up to your composer to develop a common lexicon with you that you both understand.  You might want something that is "edgy, new, a little like Trent Reznor, but with a more hopeful quality".  And it is the composer's mission to turn that into something that hits the mark. 

By using scratch music, common reference tracks, and multiple sketches, before long your composer should know exactly what you mean when you ask for something "sunny with a hint of sinister".  More importantly he should know what to change when you say, "That's too much like a romantic theme.  It needs to be bolder."

Undoubtedly, you already are doing these things to communicate with your composer or music editor.  The important thing is that you not hold back from throwing out any terms that come into your mind when you are describing what the music to do in a cut.  As you know from writing, "go for the jugular".  The same goes for giving notes to your composer.

The more richness and depth you can give in your direction, however it is conveyed, the more nuance your composer can impart to support your story. 

Any composer who looks down on using "non-musical" words hasn't yet shed his conservatory ego or figured out how to get out of his own way.  He is trying to prove something best proven by sharp ears.

January 3, 2012

It was like being at camp for six weeks.  Where I usually work alone for many hours in a dark studio, for Snow Queen I was surrounded by amazing people every single day.  All day.  Where I usually send cues off to clients via ftp, for Snow Queen, I could watch the director and actors alike as they reacted to how my music fit (or didn't fit) with a scene.

And now I miss it!  It was such a thrill to be out in the world everyday, performing to sell-out houses for the whole run, taking a bow, working with actors young and old.  Everyone I worked with for the last two months was extremely giving, committed, supportive and talented. It filled me with purpose and joy!

But now, as with all works of ephemeral beauty, the Snow Queen has gone away.  The set is struck.  The cast has gone on to their next thing.  The interns and other staff at the theater are busily preparing the next production.

And I prepare my next project, ready to put all the heart that went into the live show into this next round of television work.  See you next time, Snow Queen!

December 23, 2011

I can't believe that this run is almost over.  It has been a wild ride that has included illness, diagnosis, recovery, lots of soup, and many, many hours creating and playing the score for this Portland Stage winter show.  We've done 31 performances, I think, and brought a lot of joy to our audiences, both young and old.  I've done a lot of scoring to picture over the last few years, and when I do that, the work is done when it's mixed, and then it's over.  Performing live is a whole different ball game:  I only have one instrument (the piano) and every night, I find new things I want to stick in there, new connections made across the narrative, and new differences amidst the many iterations of the same scripted show.  There are new themes to refine and connect, and new glitches in my admittedly non-virtuosic piano skills. 

I'm really going to miss it when we close on Saturday, 12/24.

This kind review has more information…

September 23, 2011

Hans Christian Andersen (1805 – 1875)

I found this quote as I'm doing research on 19th Century Danish music.  I'm composing music for the upcoming Portland Stage production of Snow Queen, authored by Andersen, and adapted by Anita Stewart.

He also said, "life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale."  I could use some help buying into that one at the moment.