Monthly Archives: July 2009

The sound of news

Ever sat down and listened to TV news themes? I mean, really listened to them?

No reason why you should, of course, unless you’re a geek like me.

As part of my university coursework in 1996 I analysed how the best news music on TV is put together – something I only remembered last night when flicking idly around YouTube and spotting some corking examples.

Well, it’s never too late to share wisdom with the wider world.  So I can now exclusively reveal how to create the mother of all classic news themes.

Pencil sharpened? Manuscript paper at the ready? OK.

The main feeling you need to convey is Order Out Of Chaos. News is a big sprawling mess – what we’re about to do in our bulletin is rein it in and make sense of it. Your title music should depict both parts of that equation: first the chaos, then the resolution.

You will need:

  • Drums – and lots of them. Ideally orchestral drums, including cymbal rolls (to build tension) and timpani (to add power). It’s a violent world out there, and drums spell that out like nothing else. You can dust your music with a smattering of modern percussion if you like (Simmons drums in the 80s; Roland TR909 in the 90s). But big, aggressive thumps and crashes are your core tools, and will never go out of date.
  • Irregular time signatures. Put simply, this means throwing in rhythmic curveballs, and lots of them. If your music is in 8/8 (that’s eight short “quaver” notes to the bar), then you should throw in a few bars of 7/8 too. Maybe some 5/8. Keep ‘em guessing. This is supposed to be chaos, remember – at least for the first few seconds. If you can manage it, make the time signature completely unfathomable.
  • Brass is your friend. It cuts through the musical mêlée like a clarion call. Brass represents the singleminded clarity your bulletin is about to bring to world events. Make it loud, and make it proud.
  • Your chords and melodies are the best chance you have to demonstrate the Order Out Of Chaos principle. In the first part of the theme, you’re aiming for distress, worry, confusion. But suddenly, at the end, all must come good – the viewer should feel calmed and relieved that everything is in hand. If you want to tease, leave your theme harmonically unresolved for a few seconds during a voiceover, before the final chords. If you really want to tease, leave things unresolved as the theme becomes a bed for the headlines. Then, and only then, bring the music to a resolution before the start of the bulletin proper.
  • And finally. There are certain instrumental devices which are shorthand for “journalism”: you can’t go far wrong with tuned percussion (traditionally, the xylophone) tapping away like an old-fashioned teleprinter. Mmm.. newsy!

OK, so those are the principles. Let’s see how the BBC’s offerings over the years have stacked up.

Early Evening News 1986 I like this one a lot. It’s far from the most bombastic theme imaginable, but harmonically it’s pretty dense and unfriendly (a good thing, in news) -  at least until the resolving chord at 0:18. Xylophone and timpani are both present and correct, while the bed beneath the headlines adds tension. And what’s that whole mini-fantasia at 0:11 about? Brilliantly abstract.

Nine O’ Clock News 1987 This time we start with tension – synth vamping underneath a stern voiceover. Things get underway at 0:19 with two straightforward, powerful bars of 8/8 – but the next bar is cut short at the 7th beat (a masterful trick). Everything resolves triumphantly at 0:31, but hey – we’re just toying with you… by 0:35 we’re knee-deep once more in harmonic stress. It’s only after the headlines at 1:10 (35 hold-your-breath seconds later)  that everything’s finally put to bed. Phew. This is music almost enough strong enough to distract from the ridiculous “flying fishfinger” graphics.

Six O’ Clock News 1991 Slightly disappointed by the limited use of percussion here – not a cymbal roll in sight. But you have to tip your hat when we change key just five seconds in, at 0:13, and switch between time signatures with imperious glee (did I spot a bar of 12/8?)  Tension again accompanies an uber-butch voiceover; thank the lord this time it’s resolved just before the headlines at 0:30. What else? Oh yes, some prime Newsnight/Day Today electric guitar!

Six O’ Clock News 1996 Oddly I can’t decide if a giant imaginary cut-glass coat of arms floating in midair is more or less visually absurd than frozen food in space. Either way this is a great piece of news music – especially at 0:10 where everything hangs beautifully, tensely, in the air for an age, while french horns sound the news alert. (Note how the first bar of this theme was also used to segue into the “nicer” Breakfast News theme of the same era. Comparing the two themes is interesting – optimism in the morning, pessimism in the evening.)

One O’ Clock News 1996 Like breakfast, lunchtime needs a different musical approach – anything over-strident is likely to cause indigestion. Nevertheless, the same basic tricks apply. We have another rapid keychange (0:06) and some odd time signatures, but this time rendered using a much lighter orchestral palette. Even the tension at 0:21, behind the voiceover, is handled gently. Is that a sun-dappled harp joining in with the arpeggios?

News Channel 2008 I know I’ve jumped a few generations here, but fundamentally one version or another of this, written by David Lowe, has been the sound of BBC News for the last few years. And don’t get me wrong – I do love it, especially accompanied by the full top-of-the-hour sequence you can watch below (the visuals are terrific). It’s contemporary, it’s accessible, and it’s extremely versatile. But I can’t help feeling it could be improved by the addition of a bit more drama and surprise.

Nine O’ Clock News 1990 I saved this one ’til last because, well, it’s genuinely in a category of its own. This is the pinnacle of hardcore news themery. It has the traditional key moments (e.g. harmonic tension at 0:32, resolved at 0:34), but it does them with a level of bombast reached by no news music either before or since. Time signatures are irrelevant. This is the sound of an orchestra pumping away at 11, while percussive howitzers of news are blasted off indiscriminately from all sides. All we can do is duck for cover. I have no idea who composed, conducted and/or produced this, but they did one hell of a job.


New ways to fail

I’ve always loved tales of misfortune – so much so that Stephen Pile’s Book Of Heroic Failures was my favourite book as a kid.

Why the obsession? I can’t explain – but at least the runaway success of Fail Blog suggests it’s not just me. (Heaven forbid I should’ve been born with chemically-imbalanced levels of schadenfreude.)

These days it’s stories about business disasters that draw me in. Especially media business disasters.

Scanning my bookshelves, I seem to own more of these tales than even I realised.

There’s Stealing Time – an account of AOL’s ill-conceived “merger” with Time Warner at the very height of the dotcom boom (i.e. nanoseconds before the whole thing went down the toilet). Fail.

Then there’s Live TV – Tellybrats and Topless Darts: how the Mirror Group tried to set up a UK cable channel helmed by the “what could go wrong?” partnership of Janet Street Porter and Kelvin McKenzie. Fail.

And while Matthew Horsman’s Sky High (“The Amazing Story of BSkyB”) is ostensibly a success story, it’s clearly also a tale of Just About Everyone Else’s misfortune beneath the crushing power of Murdoch’s satellite Sherman tank.

Most notably BSB, whose grandiose plans and studio facilities were – just months after launch -  left looking as risible and anachronistic as their squarials.

Epic fail.

But for truly, truly kingsize tales of misfortune, you have to look to LA.

The lunacy of the movie industry is captured brilliantly in my favourite Hollywood book, Hit & Run. It’s the story of how Barbara Streisand’s one-time hairdresser and his mate became hugely powerful (but hugely wasteful) moguls at Sony Pictures.

One chapter, How They Built The Bomb, describes the making of Last Action Hero – intended to be Sony’s “can’t-miss” blockbuster for 1993.

As the movie’s opening weekend approaches – and, by this stage, already $117 million in the hole – Sony’s top brass file into an LA cinema to observe its test screening in front of a real audience. For the first time.

It bombs. “They looked,” recounts an observer, “like a group of people who had just gotten on a ship and saw the name Poseidon.”

The execs are sent into a flurry of damage limitation – working desperately to improve the film ahead of opening weekend, but crucially, also trying to keep a lid on any bad word of mouth the screening might produce.

Well. If that sounds like a nightmare, consider the situation in 2009.

The Wrap reports that “the [opening] weekend box office has now shrunk to a single day: Friday”. The reason is Twitter.

Sat in a crappy movie? You no longer need to wait a day, or even hours, before you catch up with friends and slate it. You can do the damage right there, while your popcorn’s still warm and your nachos are as yet undipped.

“The net effect,” theorises The Wrap, “is that a marketing spend that used to take a movie through the weekend now only really takes a studio through Friday evening, east coast time.”

“Has the process of word of mouth become greatly accelerated through technology? Yes,” said Marc Shmuger, the chairman of Universal Pictures. “Does the acceleration of word of mouth alter the strategy of how a studio looks at marketing, once the cloak is off the picture? Yes, but we’ve been talking about this for some time.”

I’m willing to bet those conversations have gone along the lines of: “oh shit”.

It all brings a new meaning to a development mantra that’s become prevalent in recent years – albeit in the world of software, not fluffy media properties.

Fail fast.

New job for a new economy

One of the things I enjoy most about my job (thankfully) is the amount of train travel I get to do.

And one of the best things about travelling is people-watching.

I love guessing what my fellow commuters do for a living. Sometimes it’s tough to tell: one laptop with 3G dongle plus Blackberry is much like another.

Other times it’s obvious. Solicitors still insist on carting documents around in thick, ribbon-tied bundles that would drive (the notoriously paperphobic) me up the wall.

Some advertise their profession via top-of-the-voice phone calls: “these doorway tolerances at Milton Keynes, Adrian, we’ve really got to press them for some action…”

Others sit next to me blithely tapping away at confidential documents in full view. I try not to look, really I do, but faced with sensational headlines like INCIDENT: VISITOR FALLS THROUGH ROOF SKYLIGHT; DIES, you can’t blame me for taking a peek.

The one job you can’t mistake from across the carriage is the trade plate driver. Guys (and it always seems to be guys) with one of these tied to, or sticking out of their bag.

Their job seems simple enough. Drive new/leased car to location. Hand it over. Travel back.

For some reason this seems incredibly wasteful to me – the third part of the task is completely unproductive. It feels like a job from an earlier era; something someone should have worked out a way to streamline. Somehow.

I was reminded of trade plate drivers when I saw a career opportunity advertised by Skyhook Wireless.

Skyhook provide the magic sauce which helps a modern iPhone handset figure out its current location. Part of the magic is GPS (which needs no introduction). Part is “cell tower triangulation” – identifying your location by figuring out how far away you are from two or more mobile phone masts.

The other part is wi-fi. I had no idea until recently that – in a modern, monetised version of this – Skyhook has developed a map of every wi-fi hotspot in major cities around the world. Not just public wi-fi networks, but the wi-fi router tucked underneath my stairs. And yours too.

It’s this map which permits precise geolocation even in built-up areas with limited GPS and patchy mobile reception.

But how is this map developed? You’ve guessed it. Some poor sod has to laboriously drive every street while a piece of onboard kit – presumably buried under a mountain of Ginsters wrappers – takes a note of every router it discovers.

Could this be the dullest behind-the-wheel job ever?

Skyhook do their best to talk the vacancy up.

“Do you like to drive?” Do I ever! “Want to intimately know the streets and hoods of your own hometown?” Streets? Yes. Hoods? Not so much.

“Become an expert on every highway and byway,” they enthuse, “from fancy boulevards to back alleys.”

By this point there could be a teeny bit of sarcasm creeping in. “Oh the places you’ll go,” Skyhook deadpans, “and the sights that you’ll see…”

“So get your maps, your shades, some snacks, and your tunes ready for a driving experience you are not likely to forget.”

Wow. To be fair, the one positive point of becoming a Skyhook driver must be that – unlike their Street View counterparts – they’re unlikely to get run out of town by riled-up locals.

Or berated for failing to check on the welfare of prostrate Australians.

Another revelation. While Googling “trade plate drivers” I came across this blog. John Edale works, like me, in Birmingham – so I’ve probably seen him on a train or two over the years.

If penning this thoughtful, unassuming travelogue is what happens during that apparently-unproductive third bit of the trade driver’s working day – well, I take back everything I said earlier.