Everytime I get
All I can say
I really ought to improve
And so I bid thee adieu
I is off to the
Everytime I get
All I can say
I really ought to improve
And so I bid thee adieu
I is off to the
“God, thy will is hard,
But you hold every card
I will drink your cup of poison
Nail me to your cross and break me,
Bleed me, beat me,
Take me, now!
Before I change my mind”
So unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few months or so you must be aware of the latest uproar that a MOVIE has caused among the religiously inclined of the world. I speak obviously of The Da Vinci Code, a rather wishy washy adaptation of a rather twitty novel featuring Tom Hanks as a reluctant hero sporting a crisis of faith and an unfortunate hairstyle. Of course amidst the brouhaha it’s easy to forget that the material is hardly untrodden territory, it’s been done before: gorier in The Passion of the Christ, funnier in Dogma, and just plain infinitely better in The Last Temptation of Christ. Then we have the strange case of director Norman Jewison’s cinematic adaptation of the Andrew Lloyd Webber-Tim Rice concept album/stage phenom, Jesus Christ Superstar, which in my humble opinion packs an emotional wallop far more potent than Mel Gibson’s blood-fest. And all the ‘radical’ hysteria-inducing elements that were explored in these more recent pretenders are in evidence here. The notion of Christ as a man at conflict with his Divine destiny? Check. The controversial relationship with Mary Magdalene? Check. A decidedly sympathetic Judas Iscariot? Check.
It’s all there.
And all set to what has to be Webber and Rice’s greatest, most lyrical collaborative musical effort. (Of course some would argue that it’s the former’s only effort of any worth but that’s a whole other kettle of fish that shall remain firmly lidded). The term ‘rock opera’ might sound like an egregious oxymoron but to those with an affinity for the free-wheeling musical (and other) experimentations of the hippie era, it’s a familiar and favoured title, laid claim to by the likes of Hair, The Who’s Tommy and Quadrophenia, David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust, and Pink Floyd’s The Wall. JCS starts with the ‘running theme’ element of the rock opera/concept album and takes it one very important and clever step further by pairing it with a story as universally resonant as the Passion of Jesus Christ. What we end up with is more than a mere musical; it is a heady, decadently spiritual experience.
“He is dangerous”
Starting life as an ultra-successful double album featuring Deep Purple vocalist Ian Gillan in the role of Jesus, JCS went onto a poorly received Broadway production, but exploded onto the international scene as a theatrical and cultural phenomenon that mushroomed in the even the unlikeliest of locations (Japan, anyone?). Eventually, during the filming of Fiddler on the Roof, actor/singer Barry Dennen (who played Pontius Pilate on the concept album and would go on to do the same in the film) gave the album to the film’s director Norman Jewison to hear, with the suggestion that he make a film out of it. Upon hearing it, a thoroughly impressed Jewison enthusiastically agreed to do the project.
Filmed entirely on location in the Middle East, primarily in Israel at the magnificent ruins of Avdat, the action closely follows the canonical gospels’ accounts of the last week in Jesus’ life, with a significant side-step into the political and personal conflict between Judas and Jesus that largely forms the core of the film. Commencing with Christ’s entry into Jerusalem and culminating with the Crucifixion (though any depiction of the Resurrection is notably missing), the settings, the costumes, the props, the language of the lyrics and of course the music are nevertheless unmistakably twentieth century-modern. With ironic, anachronistic allusions to modern life scattered throughout the political depiction of the events, Jewison manages to capture the universality and timelessness of the story.
The talent on tap here is top-notch. Broadway JCS understudy Ted Neeley’s now-delicate-now-searing low-B-flat-to-high-E tenor replaces Ian Gillan in the title role (the latter decided to go on tour with his band instead). The aforementioned Barry Dennen has perhaps less screen time than the other lead performers but he makes a dynamic Pilate, infusing his cinematic and vocal performance with a remarkable blend of sneering arrogance and melancholic introspection. Bob Bingham’s rich baritone brings to life the character of the priest Caiaphas, and Yvonne Elliman (of Saturday Night Fever’s ‘If I Can’t Have You’ fame), with her sweetly soulful voice, makes a more than memorable Mary Magdalene.
But, it has to be said, the star of the show is unquestionably the absolutely electrifying Carl Anderson (Judas). With a raspy, resonant vocal quality reminiscent of Marvin Gaye and the Temptations’ David Ruffin, Anderson is a soul n’ funk powerhouse who sets afire the hard-edged rock solos and at the same time is able to effortlessly come down to gentle, murmuring tones for the more mellow, reflective passages. This gift is immediately in evidence in his very first number ‘Heaven On Their Minds’, a rumination on what Judas sees as Christ’s inability to control his followers. Starting with a soft verse, the score is suddenly shaken with a piercing, impossibly tuneful scream of “Jeeeeesus!” The pattern of soft and steely repeats itself throughout the song, and is skillfully employed as Judas’ motif, establishing him as a conflicted, tragic figure who must betray his messiah. Note if you will the incredible contrast between a fevered number like ‘Damned For All Time’ in which Anderson is like a vocal locomotive hurtling at breakneck speed with its brakes removed, and his broken, plaintive reprise of the ballad ‘I Don’t Know How To Love Him’ in which his voice hits the tenderest of notes.
“Think while you still have me,
Move while you still see me,
You’ll be lost
And you’ll be sorry
When I’m gone”
As with any musical epic, JCS has the solid opening overture that presages the score’s major numbers, and also showcases the instantly recognisable goose-bump-inducing six-note guitar riff that has been imitated many times over since. The piece has an eerie, haunting quality, taking off with a wailing guitar lick that burgeons with ominous intensity to a frantic mélange of sounds. Layer upon layer of anxious riffs and fragments blend with orchestral flourishes, hard rock’s biting tension, and electronic sound effects, until the rhythmic cacophony finally boils together into a ravishing celebration of the chorus to the title track, which is immediately cut short by faint wailing voices and discordant notes. Exhausting and exhilarating all at once.
Christ’s simmering frustration with his impatient followers finds a jazzy outlet in ‘What’s The Buzz’ in which Neeley’s smooth, supple vocals are accompanied by a funky Moog melody and the incessant and infectious chorus of “what’s the buzz/tell me what’s a-happenin’”. This upbeat tune segues into Judas’ disdainful view of Jesus’ tolerant, nay affectionate attitude towards Mary Magdalene in ‘Strange Thing, Mystifying’, and that in turn melts into the gentle, swaying air of ‘Everything’s Alright’ in which Mary and a women’s chorus try to soothe the messiah’s worries with song.
Point-counter-point also crops up as a regular lyrical motif, aptly demonstrated in the rollicking ‘Simon Zealotes’ with the marvellous Larry T. Marshall on vocals urging Jesus to seize power by leading a mob against Rome:
Christ you know I love you
Did you see I waved?
I believe in you and God
So tell me that I’m saved
Jesus, I am with you
Touch me, touch me Jesus
Jesus, I am on your side
Kiss me, kiss me Jesus
There must be over fifty thousand
Screaming love and more for you
Every one of fifty thousand
Would do whatever you ask him to
Keep them yelling their devotion
But add a touch of hate at Rome
You will rise to a greater power
We will win ourselves come home
You’ll get the power and the glory
For ever and ever and ever
You got the power and the glory
For ever and ever and ever
But Tim Rice’s cryptic lyrics coupled with a sudden down-tempo at once undercut Zealotes’ hedonistic tone, as Jesus quietly laments:
Neither you Simon, nor the fifty thousand
Nor the Romans, nor the Jews
Nor Judas, nor the twelve
Nor the priests, nor the scribes
Nor doomed Jerusalem itself
Understand what power is
Understand what glory is
Understand at all
Understand at all
If you knew all that I knew
My poor Jerusalem
You’d see the truth
But you’d close your eyes
But you’d close your eyes
While you live
Your troubles are many
To conquer death
You only have to die
You only have to die
Indeed, Rice’s contribution to the power of the score cannot be emphasised enough for his is a supremely difficult task, combining contemporary slang and actual quotes from the gospels to not only imbue the songs with emotional power but also to keep them faithful enough to the source material. For instance, Christ’s famed matter-of-fact pronouncement of his impending betrayal at the hands of those closest to him is expressed thusly:
Peter will deny me in just a few hours
Three times will deny me,
And that’s not all I see.
One of you here dining,
One of my twelve chosen
Will leave to betray me
“One thing I’ll say for him, Jesus is cool”
Probably the most well-known breakout hit from the score is of course the ballad ‘I Don’t Know How to Love Him’, which seeks to humanise not only Mary but also, through her words, the object of her reverence. “He’s just a man” she sings but herself sounds unconvinced. With simple orchestration consisting of flutes and strings, the song strikes a delicate balance between being a ‘love’ song and a hymn, in which the speaker grapples with the dilemma of trying to sort through her feelings for a man of God who in all probability cannot return her love. And even:
If he said he loved me
I’d be lost
I’d be frightened
I couldn’t cope
Just couldn’t cope
I’d turn my head
I’d back away
I wouldn’t want to know
He scares me so
I want him so
I love him so
“Judas, must you betray me with a kiss?”
Christ’s own fears about his fate are given voice in the astounding ‘Gethsemane’. A one-way conversation with God set to a driving rhythm on guitar, Neeley truly sings his heart out here, belting out the words of doubt and reluctant acceptance with scorching passion.
Judas’ spirit returns for the grand finale backed up by a soulful female chorus as they together belt out the title track ‘Superstar’. Designed as a showstopper to end all showstoppers, the tune more than does the job; one can just imagine the audience up on its feet and swaying like an old-time gospel chorus as Judas opines cheekily:
If you’d come today
You could have reached the whole nation
Israel in 4 B.C. had no mass communication
Admittedly, Jesus Christ Superstar deals more with classical values than with strictly modern ones, despite the electric guitars and rock riffs and all; some have called it classical motifs dressed up as rock statements. But whether you agree with its rock opera status or not, one thing is for sure, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice created a one-off masterpiece whose score and lyrics are woven together with seamless harmony.
What’s with all the fonts?? Beats me…
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain… Time to die.”
Replicant Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer)’s dying words long ago became the stuff of cinematic history, oft quoted by sci-fi geeks and high falutin’ critics alike as some of the best dialogue written for the screen. The film that these unlikely words inhabit also underwent a renaissance, or at least, a rediscovery of sorts. A big, fat turkey at the box-office when first released in 1982, Ridley’s Scott’s screen adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s sci-fi novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? has since achieved true cult status and finally been recognised and hailed by initially snippy critics for what it really is: a masterful and visually stunning work of filmic art that takes a look at the vagaries of an age of technology and capitalism run amok. Criticised initially for being clinically all style, no substance, even a first viewing today makes it plain how laughable that appraisal was. At once unflinchingly dark and devastatingly poignant, Blade Runner is what I, Robot should have been.
Set in Los Angeles circa 2019, Blade Runner employed some of the most remarkable and audacious art design ever devised for a feature film; who can forget those iconic pyramid structures, the gigantic chimneys belching fireballs into the night sky, and the neon advertisements of the geishas singing that eerie siren song? The film famously defied the conventional view of a sanitised, hyper-modern future world: the landscape of Blade Runner is nightmarishly bleak, a dystopia of perpetual night choked with sleaze and pollution and what seems to be a constant drizzle of acid rain. It also contains what is arguably Harrison Ford’s best, most complex performance, as the film’s ‘hero’ Rick Deckard, as well as a host of superb supporting performances from Hauer, Sean Young, the incredible Daryl Hannah as Pris, and cult fave James Hong as Hannibal Chew.
But what we are concerned with here is obviously the film’s music. And here is one soundtrack which has, like say that of Reservoir Dogs or Pulp Fiction, achieved a solid cult status quite independent of the film. Composed mainly by Greek synthesist Vangelis, it was a more than worthy follow-up to his Oscar-winning music for Chariots of Fire a year earlier.
For more than ten years after the film’s release, the soundtrack was unavailable commercially. An orchestral version of the score was released but was generally considered a poor cousin of the original. As a result, it became an elusive holy grail for serious film music collectors. It was also thus saved from the cheese factor which has plagued many a film score thanks to abundant use in numerous PTV soaps, among them the aforementioned Chariots of Fire, as well as Nino Rota’s otherwise glorious score for Franco Zefferelli’s Romeo & Juliet (1968).
Finally seeing the light of day in 1994, the Blade Runner soundtrack was more than worth the wait. Consisting of electrosymphonic scores that play with shadowy timbres and otherworldly percussive rhythms, threaded with dialogue from the film, it exemplifies the term ‘evocative’. You don’t GET more evocative than this.
Long viewed by purists as a blight on the landscape of ‘serious’ music, the poor synthesiser finally gets a break in Vangelis’s capable hands. The combination of sounds and effects and the tonal variations that he urges from it set a suitably cybernoir-ish mood that reflects the film’s own blend of sci-fi and 40s film noir. Chillingly tinny here, hauntingly full there, the music travels a roller coaster of moods and emotions, albeit in an admirably subtle fashion.
For this official soundtrack release, some of the tracks make use of the film’s dialogue and also some of its iconic sound effects. In the opening track ‘Main Title’ for instance, we hear a sample of the incessant clicking and beeping of the Voight-Kampff empathy testing machine that is such a significant element of the film, giving way to the almost santoor-like soaring flourishes on the synth that suggest a (deceptively) majestic urban horizon. Undercutting the melody is the incredible bass ‘rumble’ which on a good system sounds like a rocket preparing to lift off.
This sense of threatening tension carries over into ‘Blush Response’ but finds a fine counterpoint in the ethereal ‘Rachel’s Song’. Consisting of a haunting wordless female vocal over a water-drop synthesiser sequence, the piece was not featured in the film but was created especially for the soundtrack. In its place in the film is the equally wonderful and melancholy ‘Memories of Green’ which mixes in disembodied notes on an old upright piano with the synthesised strains. It, appropriately enough, marks a point in the film where the question of identity has become a heartbreakingly volatile one.
Two tracks which were used only sparingly in the film are also two of the most interesting ones. ‘Tales of the Future’ is a pseudo-Arabian piece that has a surreal vocal in a voice that sounds like a curious combination of Annie Lennox and Demis Roussos, except that it’s in Arabic. Or is it? Similarly, the ominous, Indian-inspired ‘Damask Rose’ is obviously a futuristic take on the likes of Ravi Shankar. Both pieces capture well the film’s vision of a melting-pot of cultures that is anything but idyllic.
Some people have a problem with the old-fashioned 50s-style ballad ‘One More Kiss Dear’, deeming it an out-of-place rip-off. It is true that it sounds suspiciously like the Ink Spots’ ‘If I Didn’t Care’, but what the hey. Stick a bonnet on my head and call me granny, but I have always liked this pseudo-slice of Old Americana. Firstly, I like the velvety and strangely androgynous vocal. Secondly, its very out-of-place-ness is what makes it a perfect fit, considering the characters’ quest for old world humanity in a world gone techno-mad. Appropriately enough, in the film the song is heard playing at an old-fashioned, grimy Chinese food thela.
Sticking out like a bit of a sore thumb is the somewhat hokey ‘Love Theme’. Cheesy saxophone riffs were the device du jour in the 80s to punctuate lust and romance so one can’t exactly pick on Vangelis for moving with the crowd in this one instance, but it is somewhat of a smirk-inducer. Still, it could’ve been worse: think Titanic and ‘My Heart Will Go On’, and this one doesn’t seem half bad.
All is forgiven with the absolute tour de force that is ‘Blade Runner Blues’. An electrifying mood piece comprising undulating string-like strains that flow unendingly into one another, punctuated by sensuous sax-like notes and heavy, bass bells, this alone should have won Blade Runner the Best Music Oscar that it was nominated for. Fittingly, in the film the piece accompanies a scene of unforgettable beauty and cinematic grace. Zhora, the beautiful replicant is pursued and gunned down by Deckard as she crashes through a store window. And then in astutely used slow-mo, her last throes are captured as the strains of ‘Blues’ come into play, her translucent raincoat indistinguishable from the glass that is cutting through her. It doesn’t get much better than this.
Scratch that. ‘Blues’ is equalled, if not bettered, by ‘Tears in Rain’. Using a sample from Batty’s legendary final speech, the piece is profoundly bittersweet. A natural conclusion to the notes and tones initiated in ‘Blues’, ‘Tears in Rain’ never ceases to surprise with its delicate poetry that is then underscored by a potent depth of bass notes.
A minor complaint I do have with the soundtrack is that it is still incomplete; there are still a number of pieces that are heard in the film but are either left out completely on the CD, or are featured in abbreviated versions. Maybe in another twenty years or so we will finally get a definitive version that will include the whole smorgasbord. Meanwhile, let’s be thankful for small mercies. Even incomplete, Blade Runner is one helluva ride.
I hate computers. Yes yes, I know they make your life easier blah-dy blah, but for me they seem to exist solely to land my bloomers in a tangle. Look, if I want to change fonts, font sizes, if I want to numberize something, I’ll friggin’ DO IT MYSELF, so quit trying to one-up me by pulling all this crap when I don’t friggin’ WANT IT!! That’s all for now.