A weird discovery: The Willow score and Bulgaria
Mar 23, 2020 21:20:30 GMT -5
Post by dedran on Mar 23, 2020 21:20:30 GMT -5
So when I initially discovered this forum, one of the first things that I did was make a thread asking for more information on a particular low, muffled, chanted voice that often appears in dungeon synth and medieval black metal (think "Arise in Gondolin" by Emyn Muil or "Stjernefodt" by Mortiis). I wanted to figure out if there were actual examples of this vocal style in pop culture that might have influenced these genres, or if its familiarity could somehow be solely chalked up to genetic memory in some weird, fascinating way. Some posts suggested a connection with 80's fantasy films, particularly their more esoteric and bizarre characters, like Rock Guy from the first NeverEnding Story film, and I think there is something to that possibility -- although why my two-year-old brain would absorb Rock Guy so permanently and not something from, say, Captain Planet is still an interesting question that I sometimes come back to.
Regardless of the answer, this led me to revisit a lot of those 80's films, partially with the intent of discovering whether their soundtracks might resonate with me in the same way that a lot of obscure underground music does within that entangled web of subgenres. What I found was more interesting than I expected, in spite of my bucket list being undesirably small (Willow, NeverEnding Story, Conan, Beast Master, Ewoks movies, Dark Crystal, Last Unicorn).
The original Ivory Tower theme, by the way, is very likely a subconscious influence on some music creators in the early 90s. Throw in some samples of Rock Guy and it's almost as simultaneously uplifting and arcane as "Arise in Gondolin."
After this theme, which I hadn't heard in some twenty years, blew me away all over again, a second, more melancholy theme did the same, but minus the synthesizers: Willow's theme from the movie of the same name:
The actual melody within this piece begins at 1:30.
Now don't get me wrong, James Horner was just a huge part of my childhood in general (especially Land Before Time), but one thing that I was slightly disappointed by in my search for obscure moments of childhood fantasy that might have left strong mental impressions was the lack of dungeon synth-ish instrumentation. Sure, there were some 80's synths here and there, but Horner in particular stuck to traditional symphonic orchestration for his scores and didn't venture too often into using weird period instruments, or aim for some kind of pedantic historical accuracy in his works for fantasy films. Was it really just the melodies that felt almost too familiar, or was something still missing? Why did these moments strike such a chord in my childhood brain if they were just backed by nice melodies played on modern instruments and nothing more?
Well, along a completely unrelated path of research, I wound up discovering Bulgarian folk music -- often richly polyphonic, highly dissonant, raucous -- and loved it immediately. The majority of it is acapella, but surprisingly complex and emotionally charged for something largely pagan that predates the arrival of Western musical theory centuries later.
Here is an example:
On the surface, there appears to be little connection with the obscure cluster of music subgenres that I've become obsessed with over the years; where are the keyboards that sound like crumhorns, ocarinas, trumpets, harpsichords, or ancient war instruments?
And yet, there it was, on an album of Bulgarian folk songs that I'd recently grabbed: the Willow theme. Almost note for note.
I immediately did some Googling, and where I expected to find nothing, leading me to conclude that this was a bizarre coincidence, I instead found that James Horner had actually taken this ancient Bulgarian melody in its entirety, modified it slightly, and placed it into his score. I knew that he was influenced by Celtic folk music, but this was something else. Somehow, as a toddler of the 1980's, I had been privileged to experience -- and remember subconsciously -- an ancient pagan melody through a lighthearted fantasy movie about a midget -- and I dare say that, without the movie score embellishments before and after the surging of the melody itself, it's better in its untainted form, with vocals and ancient instruments.
I don't know why this fascinates me so much, but it does. I still wonder if someone living in a 12th century hillside on a misty, rainy morning in a secluded village rarely visited by the lords and nobles of the region might have heard a melody or two on occasion, had some children, then passed the experience onward through the generations epigenetically. It probably isn't the case, but sometimes really old music is really good regardless, and that's probably good enough.
Regardless of the answer, this led me to revisit a lot of those 80's films, partially with the intent of discovering whether their soundtracks might resonate with me in the same way that a lot of obscure underground music does within that entangled web of subgenres. What I found was more interesting than I expected, in spite of my bucket list being undesirably small (Willow, NeverEnding Story, Conan, Beast Master, Ewoks movies, Dark Crystal, Last Unicorn).
The original Ivory Tower theme, by the way, is very likely a subconscious influence on some music creators in the early 90s. Throw in some samples of Rock Guy and it's almost as simultaneously uplifting and arcane as "Arise in Gondolin."
After this theme, which I hadn't heard in some twenty years, blew me away all over again, a second, more melancholy theme did the same, but minus the synthesizers: Willow's theme from the movie of the same name:
The actual melody within this piece begins at 1:30.
Now don't get me wrong, James Horner was just a huge part of my childhood in general (especially Land Before Time), but one thing that I was slightly disappointed by in my search for obscure moments of childhood fantasy that might have left strong mental impressions was the lack of dungeon synth-ish instrumentation. Sure, there were some 80's synths here and there, but Horner in particular stuck to traditional symphonic orchestration for his scores and didn't venture too often into using weird period instruments, or aim for some kind of pedantic historical accuracy in his works for fantasy films. Was it really just the melodies that felt almost too familiar, or was something still missing? Why did these moments strike such a chord in my childhood brain if they were just backed by nice melodies played on modern instruments and nothing more?
Well, along a completely unrelated path of research, I wound up discovering Bulgarian folk music -- often richly polyphonic, highly dissonant, raucous -- and loved it immediately. The majority of it is acapella, but surprisingly complex and emotionally charged for something largely pagan that predates the arrival of Western musical theory centuries later.
Here is an example:
On the surface, there appears to be little connection with the obscure cluster of music subgenres that I've become obsessed with over the years; where are the keyboards that sound like crumhorns, ocarinas, trumpets, harpsichords, or ancient war instruments?
And yet, there it was, on an album of Bulgarian folk songs that I'd recently grabbed: the Willow theme. Almost note for note.
I immediately did some Googling, and where I expected to find nothing, leading me to conclude that this was a bizarre coincidence, I instead found that James Horner had actually taken this ancient Bulgarian melody in its entirety, modified it slightly, and placed it into his score. I knew that he was influenced by Celtic folk music, but this was something else. Somehow, as a toddler of the 1980's, I had been privileged to experience -- and remember subconsciously -- an ancient pagan melody through a lighthearted fantasy movie about a midget -- and I dare say that, without the movie score embellishments before and after the surging of the melody itself, it's better in its untainted form, with vocals and ancient instruments.
I don't know why this fascinates me so much, but it does. I still wonder if someone living in a 12th century hillside on a misty, rainy morning in a secluded village rarely visited by the lords and nobles of the region might have heard a melody or two on occasion, had some children, then passed the experience onward through the generations epigenetically. It probably isn't the case, but sometimes really old music is really good regardless, and that's probably good enough.