Starkville’s House of El Podcast

Before we continue, let me explain myself a bit. The work load I have experienced during this season of Smallville has been quite heavy. I had every intention of commenting on *each* and every episode, but it simply became impractical to do so. Writing the best music I possibly can is my highest priority, and that means that other projects, such as this blog, have been put on the back burner. I will do my very best to write as many of these “entries” as I can (I truly enjoy doing so), but covering every episode will not be possible. Alright then, let’s start catching up a bit with the following entry…“Rabid”…

Zombies. A composer’s dream come true. Creepy and horrifying, they’re perfect in their simplicity. No subtle shadings of emotion there, just panic, horror and gooey drool. So why was I having to *think* so much about this score?

Things start out strangely enough. Clark regains consciousness at the Watchtower. Puncture wound in his arm (*can* he be punctured?). And he’s alone. Really, really, creepy “where have all the people gone” alone. There’s a different tone here, something strange and scary and oddly compelling about the imagery. So I do the only thing I can do; roll up my sleeves and dive in, head first, into zombie world.

Again this week, the orchestral palette I normally call upon just doesn’t give me exactly what I’m wanting, but I know that over-thinking seldom yields fruit worth eating, so I let that part of me that does all the driving while I listen to the radio, or keeps my body going through the complex set of motions we call “walking” while I daydream do the composing for me. I just start writing music, and next thing I know, Clark is facing a ferocious and repulsive looking Lois! Say it ain’t so! Not Lois! The silence *itself* becomes a musical element in a score like this. How does one amplify the feeling of desolation? Less seems right. Much less. Music that seems to blend with those sounds that make us feel the emptiness of the place more acutely, the wind, the creaking of signposts. I begin creating a variety of low, quiet drones. What exactly makes a *sound* seem menacing, or foreboding? I wonder. Theoretically, we composers have a wide range of sonic “tools of the trade” available to cover such requirements. But I feel the need to reinvent. The only problem is that, invention takes time. It’s always a risk to devote *composition* time to something other than putting notes down, getting minutes of music done. But the reasons here are compelling, and I begin to experiment. After a few hours, I have a variety of textures that make me feel the sort of emotions I’m looking to enhance. Almost a day is gone, but the first scene is taking shape. I like it. It works.

I rely on equipment. Computers, synthesizers, video playback systems, digital clocks, a mountain of boxes with pretty lights that perform extremely complex chores. Sometimes I take the time to marvel at the fact that this collection of electronic workers are so reliable, doing what they do day in and day out. Without them, my work as a composer would simply be impossible. Should a particularly critical component fail, the entire studio could become paralyzed. So naturally, this week, some of my equipment decided, as if machines had the volition to make such calls, to act up, or fail outright.

It’s amazing the effect those chemicals our brains release into the bloodstream can have on the human body. The combination of fear and increased energy can often work wonders. My mind jumped into warp drive. Why can’t I hear *any* sound when I strike a key? Is it the keyboard? Cables? Computer? MIDI? Is the amplifier on? Did some arcane software set up (one I would be utterly incapable of understanding) suddenly become corrupted? None of it really measured up to this one fact; my studio was at a stand still, not working, not making any sound whatsoever. The next logical question was -How long? How long before it works again? Minutes? Hours? Days? With a deadline 3 days away, and absolutely no room for error, the level of panic can reach extraordinary levels. Each minute the studio is down is a minute I have to spend doing something *other* than working on the score, and the level of anxiety can reach epic proportions rather quickly. All there was left for me to do, before calling my exceptionally skilled tech, was reboot the entire studio yet again. It didn’t work the first three times. Of course, calling would mean much down time – he may take many hours to arrive, and success could be several hours beyond that – a full day maybe, or two? The fourth time was the charm. Everything worked perfectly, without so much as a hint of trouble. I never, ever take my studio for granted. It’s almost an organism, beautiful and frightening. I cross my fingers, and thank *it* in a loud voice, should it have the capacity to perceive my gratitude. Don’t judge my insanity too harshly – I tend to talk to my equipment . “Good morning gentlemen, we have one *hell* of a day ahead of us” and so on. No, I don’t spend the entire day talking to machines. Just a quick hello in the morning, is all. And why I should consider my “team” as all masculine, I don’t know. Don’t ask a madman questions…

One late morning I find, in front of me, a beautiful scene. Lois reverts from her grotesque state into her *self,* while Clark holds her, patiently and lovingly waiting for  her painful ordeal to be over. As she emerges from her tortured state, there is a beautiful moment; She and Clark stand there, in the rain, while the world around them returns to its normal state. There was something so very moving about this. When I feel myself reacting emotionally to a scene, I know something good will come of it. I let my emotional self do the writing. I let some inner part do the driving, automatically and nearly entirely on its own volition. It’s a strange sensation, to witness that inner voice speaking, creating something in a seemingly autonomous way. I sit back, and watch it happen.

As the last file is transfered to my music editor’s server, I look at the desk next to me, breath deeply, and begin loading video files of the next episode. It’s always the same feeling for me. How on earth am I going to let Rabid go, and begin work on an entirely new episode? It feels like the end of a relationship. But the end is good. Amicable. Needed. The spotting notes for Echo await.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 8th, 2009 at 1:14 pm and is filed under Louis. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.