Interstellar's Soundtrack

Christopher Nolan's 2014 grand scale science-fiction story about time and space, and the things that transcend them.
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antovolk wrote:The admin at http://hans-zimmer.com/index.php?rub=disco&id=1256 has contacted the OST producer to find out about the docking scene.
There we go. Cool. Hope they can make something happen.
SINCEPTION wrote:
Bacon wrote:Can someone PM me the deluxe edition? Also, would it possible to recreate the docking music using Day One Dark and Mountains?
honestly no, it's not like make mountains higher BPM and mash it up to day one dark, it could sound similar but not the same, i might try doing it
Go for it. It'd hold us over until whenever (if ever) it comes out.

EDIT: Also, it seems that those who pre-order the star edition are getting a download for it tomorrow. Will that download include the extra music they're supposedly getting? And is the extra music just the music that comes with the iTunes version? It seems that it might be the 23 iTunes tracks + 5 Z+ App tracks. Dunno. People on that website are commenting on it.

We can have First Step which is apparently just the teaser music, which I believe is the exact same thing as the last 2 minutes of Day One, but we can't have this?

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Listening to What Happens Now?....

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Im keen as any of you for that docking music, but I was hoping it would've been Michael Caine reciting the poem in Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night... :(

Also, hi, been lurking for a while. :gonf:

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From the booklet:
D A Y O N E
Each successive film I’ve done with Hans, I’ve tried to involve him at an earlier and earlier stage. Adding music to a film doesn’t work for me - it’s the reason I can’t temp a movie (edit using some other movie’s music to be replaced later). To me the music has to be a fundamental ingredient, not a condiment to be sprinkled on the finished meal. To this end, I called Hans before I’d even started work on INTERSTELLAR and proposed a radical new approach to our collaboration. I asked him to give me one day of his time. I’d give him an envelope with one page - a page explaining the fable at the heart of my next project. The page would contain no information as to genre or specifics of plot, merely lay out the heart of the movie-to-be. Hans would open the envelope, read it, start writing and at the end of the day he’d play me whatever he’d accomplished. That would be the basis of our score. Hans agreed. I think he shared my frustration with trying to wrangle the mechanics of a massive film right at the tail end of a years-long process of construction - the sheer difficulty of trying to see past what you’ve all built and get back to the beating heart of the story, as a great score must. He understood that what I wanted to do was turn
his usual process inside out, giving his musical and emotional instincts free reign, so that the seed from which the score would eventually grow would be fused with the narrative at its earliest stage. Such experiments rarely get beyond the chatting phase, but Hans took me at my word, and several months later, he gave me my day, forcing me to start my own creative journey by sitting down to write out my page. I handed it over, and left Hans to his work, trying not to count the hours. At about nine p.m. he called. The drive to his studio was pure anticipation. As I sat down on his couch a glance at his screen told me there was a track there, at least three or four minutes of music. He hit play, and I smiled as I heard a deceptively simple piano melody tell me the emotional story I was already struggling with on the page. Our peculiar experiment had worked better than either of us could have hoped. Then I had the unique thrill of revealing to a collaborator who had already spoken to the heart of the story that the project was, in fact, a massive science fiction project - the biggest film we’d yet undertaken. Hans was delighted with the disparity between the human intimacy of my one page and the otherworldly thrills of the overall film for which the music would serve as emotional guide. He gave me a CD with the track on it. He’d called it “Day One”. We toyed with the idea of a day two or day three, but somehow we knew that the seed was already planted, and that I and my other collaborators needed to do our part
before Hans could go further. I listened to Day One countless times as I worked on the script, and as we shot. It served as my emotional anchor, just as it serves as the
emotional anchor for the entire complex and thrilling score that Hans went on to create almost two years later. Few artists would so cheerfully have embraced such a direct
challenge to their usual working methods- but the productive use of process to inform inspiration is one of the many things that I have learned from Hans himself. He is
a creator who embraces the thrill and mess of reality’s disregard for abstract intentions - the making of the thing is the thing itself. For INTERSTELLAR Hans pulled
off the ultimate version of his desire to “sneak up” on his work. It might be this that has made it one of his most intimate and individual scores, even as it takes us across the
vastness of space and time.
CHRISTOPHER NOLAN October, 2014
It all started with Chris’ idea: “How about using a pipe-organ for this score ?”
Church organs have evolved over hundreds of years and stand as an example of our restless scientific ingenuity to come up with technological solutions. By the 17th century, the pipe-organ
was the most complex man-made device: a distinction it kept until the invention of the telephone exchange. A vast, crazy, dizzyingly complex maze of pipes, levers and keyboards surrounding
the organist - sitting like an astronaut in his chair - with switches and pedals at his feet. The enormous power of air within its bellows pushing through thousands of huge pipes creates a
sound sometimes so low and powerful it’s like a fist punching into your solar plexus and, at other times, the sound is something so beautiful and fragile that it feels like a children’s choir. These
were the first digital keyboards with the mind of a synthesizer. And, of course, this was the perfect metaphorical instrument for writing the music for INTERSTELLAR.
But first I had to find one...
I don’t compose on paper. I write straight into a computer, which is essentially a musical word-processor that allows Chris and me to hear the music right there and then - ‘virtually ’. It’s
generated electronically and synthesized. Because computers have given us this ability, the start to each new project turns into a mad hunt for sounds - things that I sample or spend days
synthesizing in my laboratory that then become the palette of sonic colors for the film.
Early in 2013, I was introduced to Brett Milan, a gentleman who had recorded the thousands of pipes of the 1877 Salisbury Cathedral “Father Willis” Organ (each pipe individually), and had
programmed this vast data into something that could be played from a keyboard into my computer. It had taken him well over two years to do so. The “Father Willis” is a magnificent and
awesome sounding machine. You feel the great, rasping breath inside the bellows like a monster waking deep inside the earth. At other times, the shyest, gentlest, intimate sound would
morph into the mighty roar of the tempest unleashed… You feel that each note is shaped and given life by great gulps of air, like us humans existing by the grace of breath to breath. The
acoustics created around this organ by the cavernous environment of Salisbury Cathedral amplifies this vast soundscape such that it becomes totally immersive. You need more than the
organ. You need to actually feel the space itself.
For me, this was a homecoming of sorts. I always suspected that all movies about the future are actually nostalgic and intensely personal. I grew up in a small village in Germany. Our home
was close to a medieval tower that had been converted by an elderly organist to house a 2500-pipe baroque organ. He was a family friend and I’d regularly (as a five-year old), go and lose
myself all day playing music in his remarkable home. My feet couldn’t quite reach the pedals yet, but I vividly remember the triumph when my legs had finally grown long enough to stomp
on the bass-pedals and make the house shake to the rafters! What, to my parents, was just their child making an awful noise, were truly daring harmonies to our friend. He was endlessly
encouraging and this had a great influence on me becoming a musician.
I hadn’t touched a pipe organ since those early days. But, locking myself into my room and unleashing the Salisbury Cathedral Organ took me back to that place - a world of sound and
playfulness in a magical space. I became a hermit. I locked myself into my writing-room, stopped going out and stopped speaking with other people. I wrote, went home, went to bed, forgot
to eat and got back the next day to write more – obsessively... At times, Chris would come by and I’d play him some new ideas which would spark endless conversations and yet more ideas.
Our sonic world became more and more defined and more specific during these discussions - mainly by establishing rules about what we didn’t want to do! No big epic action drums. Gone
were the propulsive string ostinati that had worked so well for us over the past ten years, to be replaced by large sections of woodwinds, four concert grand pianos, harp and marimbas. I
started synthesizing sounds of air and wind. Large choirs became an investigation of exhales rather than melodies, and creating impossible to sing soft harmonies which served as a human
reverb for the pianos. Every day, every meeting and every conversation was about pushing boundaries and exploring new territories by both of us for the film.
I never got to finish a single piece! Music would be abandoned in mid-chord by our impatient excitement about the next ‘Big Idea’. Whenever a piece was even half-way done, Chris would
take it to the cutting room where he, Lee Smith and Alex Gibson would fit it to a scene. I never had the actual film in my studio to look at while I wrote. Chris and I like the music and the
images to flow in their own autonomous rhythm and space. And, rather than having our imagination constrained by the mechanics of the cut, I wrote by recalling the very personal emotions
I had held onto from the first time I read his words in the script. This is far from random. It forces us to constantly recall the emotional heart of the story and only deal with the things that
truly resonate within us.
By the time Lee and Chris finished their cut, we had completed the music and dubbed it into the film, with every note played solely by me. This created an interesting dilemma for us. There
was something extremely powerful in the singularity of each note of the orchestra being performed and shaped by one person only. Usually, a single person’s composition becomes a more
diffused emotional interpretation by all the members of the orchestra. My ‘one-man band’ gave us an unusually laser-sharp emotional focus, while still making a big, orchestral sound with
an interesting melancholic loneliness.

Therefore, almost everyone around us thought we were finished - except that Chris and I had always planned some grand experimental musical expedition to London, to see what the
extraordinary musicians and the magnificent acoustics of two great churches could bring to our project. We were pretty exhausted by this point and it was tempting to agree to just stay with
my electronic score. But, inevitably, this film and this story itself, became the sub-text and driving force in how we approached our work. This movie virtually dictates that you recklessly
throw everything in - that you put everything on the line, keep the laboratory doors wide open and experiment to the very end.
So, we booked an enormous orchestra in London! These were all musicians we know very well; musicians that we’ve worked with on many scores over the years and that we knew would
help us maintain that elusive ‘singularity’ we had achieved. I, of course, wanted to go and record them all in Salisbury Cathedral, eighty miles outside London. I was quite prepared to have a
hundred musicians get on the train each morning! Luckily, my life-long friend, the great composer Richard Harvey, suggested Temple Church right in the heart of London and it’s organist,
Roger Sayer.
Setting foot into Temple Church is like stepping into profound history. Founded by the Knights Templars and surrounded by the Law Courts, it truly is the seat of power. When a lawyer is
‘called to the bar’, he is really called to the altar in Temple Church. Great intellectual discourse made over centuries echoes here and you can’t escape the feeling that so many decisions about
our future as humanity have been made within these very walls. Ghostly stone effigies of the knights are carved in the floor and gargoyles are staring down at you from the walls. We set our
string section up in the round tower at one end, with a string quartet balancing the sound and adding intimacy at the altar end. Abbey Road Studios built us a makeshift control room in the
sacristy. Temple Church houses one of the most magnificent organs in the world that had been perfectly restored in 2013.
I’m a perpetual worrier. Usually with good reason! My greatest gamble and concerns were the organ and its organist. Organs are notoriously difficult to play in tempo, since there is usually a
significant time-delay between pressing the key down and the mechanism sending the air to the pipes. It’s akin to a bad transatlantic ‘phone-call with a horrible echo on the line. Furthermore,
I had never heard Roger Sayer play. How would a man (perhaps used to playing Sunday hymns and choral works) cope with our music? It’s not as if I’d held back! There is no limit on the
computer to be tempted into writing outrageously intricate and devilishly virtuosic organ parts. I never censored my imagination by wondering if it was even humanly possible to play. But,
on the ’plane, as we got closer to London, I started getting more and more anxious that this whole endeavor could turn into an embarrassing and very expensive disaster. I quietly confided
my worries to Chris. We agreed to pragmatically lower our ambitions, such that if we even came away with only one interesting sound or one great experiment, then the trip would have
been worth it.
When I finally met Roger Sayer I was instantly taken in by his warmth and humor; his gentle voice and the confidence in his manner. ‘The English’ have a marvelous way of making the
impossible sound like a walk in the park, to trivialize difficulty and to be humble about their talents. Apparently, he had taken a casual look at the parts, which seemed quite alright to him,
and said “maybe we should just have a little play .” He climbed the stairs up to the organ loft, pulled out the stops and I knew from the very first note that my fears had been unfounded…
Roger is an artist. Roger is a virtuoso. Roger tames the beast , and Roger, the quintessential English Gentleman, shreds! Not only could he play with lightning dexterity and precision,
he inhabited my very style and phrasing, while adding all the secret little touches of a true master who is totally in command. No more worries about tempo and timing. No worries about
diluting my very personal performance by another’s interpretation. He managed to completely interpret my emotional intent. For a glorious week the movie became “The Roger Sayer Show”.
Meanwhile, at our usual place, AIR Studios (another church), Richard Harvey had consented to lead and conduct the woodwind and brass sections. A master musician himself, he threw
himself whole-heartedly into our world of reckless experiments. We didn’t just want the right notes. No! Direction like “can you make it sound more like bowed metal sheets?” or “can we
make the sound of wind howling through a cornfield?” brought out his very best explorer spirit. I think Richard summed it all up when he said: “You know, Chris, they’ve spent their whole
life learning not to sound like this!”
But, the film required us to push the limits. The limits of what musicians are capable of; the limits of what could be recorded and the limits of everyone’s stamina, commitment and invention...
And I think we got it.
This was truly no time for caution.
HANS ZIMMER October, 2014
https://vk.com/doc106510666_342644900?h ... 323a45381d

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It feels so weird downloading the Interstellar Soundtrack again.

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Thanks so much for posting that. Can't wait to own this set, physically.

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Location: “Where are you?!” “HERE.”
thegreypilgrim wrote:Listening to What Happens Now?....

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LMFAO

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Sad that there's no docking scene track... just like there's no (spoiler for Gone Girl below)
track for the scene in Gone Girl where Amy slits Desi's throat. Consummation is close, but the actual track used in that scene was slightly different...but I digress.
Why they gotta do this to us???

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First step, flying the drone and What happens now? are so great.
Last edited by Havoc1st on November 17th, 2014, 11:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Not Hans reciting TARS' line during one of the best scenes for which the official version of the soundtrack is nowhere to be found...

Seriously.

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