Jerry Goldsmith in Glasgow

A colorful film music concert

by Alexandre Tylski (Trax Zone)

It was a celebration of the 70th birthday of one of the most imaginative film composers ever, and I had never attended a film music concert (performed by one of the best current orchestras). The film short on which I am working and my ferocious cold were only tiny details compared to my great excitment in seeing, at last, with my own eyes, an exceptional movie composer conduct his own music.

Glasgow, Scotland. February the 20th

In Glasgow, or in Scotland in general, the weather is usually unpredictable and unsettled with occasional bright intervals from time to time. A ray of sunlight might break through at any moment, but the rainy wind can suddenly annihilate the most luminous sunny spells. The Scottish seem to be perfectly accustomed to the capricious mood of nature there. Always very warm, the natives show an obvious inner strengh which enables them to feel confortable despite the hostile and savage powers of Scottish climate.

Glasgow is surrounded by thousands of green fields, but the town itself is monochromatic; the monument walls are black and white, the taxis are black and people's faces very pale. Even though the buses and telephone boxes are red, nothing, or almost nothing, can break the supremacy of the white sky, of the dark roads and of the chessboard-like walls. Yet, Glasgow is not a monotonous town (there are lots of students), its seeming austerity hides an authentic human heat. The Royal Concert Hall. The 20th, 7 p.m.

Warmly welcomed to the Royal Concert Hall, the Trax Zone team has the privilege of being very well situated in the theater. We are seated just a few meters from the conductor's music stand. Around us, people are arriving more and more noisily till almost no empty seats can be seen except those of the musicians. A well-dressed man arrives on the stage with the sheet music and lays it down reverently upon the music stand. The stage is lit with an amazing purple light, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.

Then, one by one, as a communion, the musicians walk in from each side of the stage and a loud silence suddenly accompanies them in the immense theater. Each member of the audience seems to seek a part of Jerry Goldsmith in the musicians' eyes. His absence is felt more and more keenly as the minutes pass. No one can tell from which side he will arrive and anticipation crackles through the waiting audience. The mystery and legend surrounding Goldsmith is more apparent than ever.

The musicians start warming up and a sort of musical chaos suddenly permeates the theater; the trompetist, toward the middle of the stage, plays a few notes from the Star Trek theme, the pianist, on the left, warms up with some amusing glissandos and the violinists, near us, produce very high notes. A magical and surreal hubbub then invades the Royal Concert Hall. The impression one gets is of hearing experimental music, almost in the style of the "Planet of the Apes" score.

It is also interesting to observe the little rites of each member of the orchestra: some of them are calm and make jokes, while others appear anxious and nervous. One cellist remains still, overwhelmed by stage fright. At her side, her colleague, a little older than she, is smiling, relaxed. The first violinist (Edwin Paling) comes in, alone, and asks his partners to tune their instruments with his. Then silence. A silhouette comes out of the dark from the left. Those closest to the figure begin to applaud and the rest of the crowd joins them seconds later when they, too, identify the silhouette.

Jerry Goldsmith.

Jerry Goldsmith decends a small set of stairs and approaches the music stand. An almost magical aura surrounds him, and his light and elegant way of walking gives the impression that he floats on air. He smiles serenely, then jumps on the platform without saying a word. His mythical ponytail, shorter than before, waves to the audience as he turns to face the orchestra. He raises his arms and the musicians take up their instruments and launch into an energetic rendition of the STAR TREK: INSURRECTION score which explodes, like cannon fire, within the hall. Colourful lights blaze forth, stars spinning around the orchestra like a whirlpool. A vortex created by the sidereal music perhaps.

Yet, I am inexorably drawn to the eye of the cyclone, the conductor; able to transform a musical chaos into an invincible army with a magical baton. The musicians, who were talkative and mischievous earlier, are now determined soldiers. Those who seemed nervous and vulnerable now seem to feel in their element, forgetting the good thousand people who have come to witness the exhibition of Goldsmith's treasures.

Goldsmith is as a ship's captain, able to unite the individuals who comprise his crew, enabling them to express their inner selves, to express the invisible, just as his motion picture scores "show what is not seen on the screen." Aboard this ship of sound and light, the audience is priviliged to have the sublime vision of a window opened upon Goldsmith's inner world. A world his virtuosity allows us to enter and share.

What a visual show a film music concert is! Contrary to what one might think, a film music concert is not separate from the kingdom of images. On the contrary, even if the listener does not see the movie stars' faces he can see those of the the musicians' who are not paid to lie. The emotion one reads in a violinist's look, for instance, is a marvellous experience. And the cellists' will can be seen in the energetic relationship between his body and his instrument. A concert is a very physical and stimulating experience.

The overture piece ends triumphantly to thunderous applause. Goldsmith takes a bow twice, asks his musicians to get up and takes the microphone, shaking : the old tar is in fact impressed by the multitude of fans coming to see him. He becomes more human and vulnerable when he speaks to the crowd, but as soon as he turns back to his musicians, he is, to us, a sort of faceless divinity. Tonight, Goldsmith is a double creature, half man, half god. We are in awe of both.

The Concert.

The concert has lasted nearly two hours. Here is what has been performed (in chronological order) :

• STAR TREK: INSURRECTION
• Medley of motion picture themes: THE SAND PEBBLES, CHINATOWN, AIR FORCE ONE, A PATCH OF BLUE, POLTERGEIST, PAPILLON, BASIC INSTINCT, THE WIND AND THE LION
• Theme from L.A. CONFIDENTIAL
• Music from PLANET OF THE APES: The Search Continues, The Clothes Snatchers, The Hunt
• Music from THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS

Interval

• Music from FIRST KNIGHT: Main Title, Arthur's Farewell
• Tiny Creatures: music from SMALL SOLDIERS and GREMLINS
• Medley of television themes: THE MAN FROM THE U.N.C.L.E., DR KILDARE, ROOM 222, STAR TREK: VOYAGER, THE WALTONS, BARNABY JONES
• Suite from MULAN (Goldsmith + Matthew Wilder)
• Theme from THE RUSSIA HOUSE
• The Generals: Themes from MacArthur and PATTON
• Fanfare for Oscar

Each piece of music performed is lighted in a different way: white, yellow, green, red or blue. Sometimes, the light is spectacular, other times it is more intimate. The lights ideally serve the tone of the music, just as film music is supposed to serve the images in movies. This time, the roles have changed, but it is still a visual and musical show. The colours of the concert seem, in a way, to counterbalance the black and white town that is Glasgow. Goldsmith becomes the spiritual and luminous guide of a people deprived of a colourful existence.

However, Goldsmith seems to have unconsciously recreated the unpredictable nature of Scotland through his orchestration, which is sometimes sweet, but tremendously stormy at other moments. The audience was even startled at one point during the evening when a sudden drum beat burst forth. As has every good composer, Goldsmith has translated, through music, the wild and untamable dimension of nature. The musical violence that arises from the selected themes comes, at times, close to being purely savage.

Gradually one comes to realize that the concert has turned out to be not a mystical experience, but rather a very primitive and authentic one. One begins to see beyond the mythic persona of Goldsmith, who symbolically disappears with each succeeding piece, because it is the music that matters. Little by little, one begins to disregard the conductor and feel something stronger. While Goldsmith still conducts the orchestra with his conductor's baton in his right hand, he now clasps his left fist to his chest, eyes closed. One now sees the humanity behind the legend.

Jerry Goldsmith is not, then, a god but an adept, passionate and in love with beauty. Behind his music stand, he appears to communicate with each of his musicians, person to person. The performers respond, speaking with or questioning him through the music; the barriers have been broken down. Every form of hierarchy has become absurd since everyone speaks the same language and exchanges his own views. A strong collaboration exudes from these dialogues, sometimes amusing, other times serious.

Metephorically, the conductor is now standing in front of a mirror. When he looks toward the pianist, Goldsmith may identify his own image, he may see himself playing at the piano, composing or performing the piece. There is a return to the past, to the origin. What we witness is nothing more nor less than the bits and pieces of Goldsmith's life, we witness his own memories. We can eventually see who he is and, thus, who we are. The unveiling of his humanity and identity enables us to reveal ourselves.

The composer's personality inevitably shows through the concert. He has a mixture of humor and great seriousness. Between each piece, he talks about the movies he has worked on. He speaks very fast, with a typical Los Angeles accent. He always seems impressed by the audience, but he succeeds in winning them over with his wit and depth.

In his remarks, Goldsmith compares the composer's solitude to that of a painter, talks about his friendship with Sean Connery whom he saw three weeks before, and tackles the Oscars and the period when he worked for television. He also tells us that we should not be afraid of coughing or making noise when the orchestra is performing because he is accustomed to hear his music hidden by helicopters or explosions in the movies!

Farewell.

The Royal Concert Hall audience gives a standing ovation to Jerry Goldsmith and asks him to return for an encore, unwilling for the excitement of this night to end. Goldsmith accepts and announces that he will conduct the fanfare he has written for the Oscars. He raises his arms to begin but orchestra does not perform the fanfare. Instead, they all play "happy birthday" to the immense surprise of Goldsmith and the crowd.

Goldsmith seems to be extremely touched by his musicians' kindness and he thanks them all. Everyone in the theater starts singing "happy birthday Jerry" accompanying the Royal Scottish National Orchestra. It was a unique moment. It was a man's 70th birthday, a man with magnificent wrinkles on his face and hands, a man with an eternally young and authentic heart. It was a colourful film music concert in a black and white town. It was an initiatory journey, a return to nature, a rejuvenating experience. It was one of the greatest moments in my life.

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