Blog Post

David Raksin Remembers Kurt Weill

Peggy Sherry

David Raksin working in his studio. Photo: Peggy Sherry

Originally printed in the Kurt Weill Newsletter, vol. 10, no. 2 (Fall 1992), pp. 6-9.

Copyright by the Kurt Weill Foundation for Music. Posted with permission. © All rights reserved.

David Raksin Remembers Weill, Where Do We Go From Here?, and “Developing” Film Music in the 1940s

An Oral History Interview with Peggy Sherry


This interview is an edited version of a longer, formal oral history interview that forms part of the Oral History Collection at the Weill-Lenya Research Center. At the time of the interview, Peggy Sherry was Associate Archivist at the Research Center. She is now Reference Librarian/Archivist, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Libraries.


2 October 1991. Ms. Sherry’ began by showing David Raksin the first few pages of the short score of the music for WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?, the 1945 Twentieth Century-Fox release with music by Weill and lyrics by Ira Gershwin.


Mr. Raksin, how did you come to work on WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?


Alfred Newman assigned me to this picture because Kurt had written the score with, as you say, lyrics by Ira Gershwin. The picture has an interesting sidelight in that originally they had intended to cast Danny Kaye as the lead, along with some very well-known comedian. But what happened, I guess, was that Zanuck and Goldwyn (the heads of competing studios) couldn’t agree on a loan of Danny. So they got Fred MacMurray in his place, who was really not all that bad. Fred MacMurray was very musical, you know. He played the saxophone. The picture was not particularly distinguished, which is a shame, because the music and lyrics were fun. I enjoyed working on it.

Part of Kurt Weill’s deal was that the underscoring [the back ground music to the action on screen] had to be based on his music, exclusively. No other composer’s music could be used. So Al Newman (who knew that I had grown up learning about musicals, which are really a very, very separate, and a fine art) assigned me to it. I notice on this score that I am credited with writing “Magic Smoke” and “The Genie.” This is slightly embarrassing for me. Of course I wrote them, but I had no idea I would ever get credited with them. I’m not even sure it’s legal. The whole picture should have been credited to Kurt, you know. Even what everybody else wrote. That’s not fair, but who am I to demand fairness? Who are they to be fair? Well, OK, I did write those bits and pieces. And, for copyright reasons, they all had to have names.

I went through the picture, writing the various sequences the way one does in underscoring - using Kurt’s material, rather than my own, except in these little things. We were in such a jam on this picture that you wouldn’t believe it, and I think Dave Buttolph was even brought in to do a reel or two. I don’t know how much he did, but I know that he did some, thank heavens. He was brilliant.


Do you know how Weill got hired to do the picture?


I haven’t the vaguest idea. I think Bill Perlberg wanted somebody to work with Ira, and, of course, Kurt and Ira had already done LADY IN THE DARK. Weill was something. He was a real marvel, you know, loved by everybody as a person. He was trusted by musicians, and musicians are not quick to admire other people.

So Weill had a reputation in Hollywood?


He had a reputation everywhere as a first-rate guy. Absolutely. And we did not know how first-rate he was. We knew that he was a marvelous song writer, that he was an adroit musician who knew how to develop stuff. It wasn’t until later that I realized he had studied with Busoni and had written a violin concerto and all these other marvelous pieces. In fact, very few people knew about any of it.
I remember that [the radio cantata]
Lindbergh's Flight was done here in Hollywood. We had a group that used to meet one night a week in an art gallery out on Sunset Strip. I still remember “Schlaf Charlie.” You know, Charlie Lindbergh is falling asleep, and then this sort of genie, or demon, or whatever it is, wants him to fold up; kind of encourages him to fall asleep, which is, of course, all wrong.

Who was in the group?


It was a group of artists, musicians, and writers. The head guru was a guy named John Davenport, who eventually, I think, became an editor of Life magazine. He was an English bird with the appropriate accent. One of his associates was Jerome Moross, the composer, and Jerry knew about Kurt Weill’s music. All I knew about him was, of course, the Dreigroschenoper and Mahagonny, stuff like that. Jerry Moross put me on to his music, so I got to know all those things, and I used to sing them all the time for people and loved them very much. Then I came across Lindbergh's Flight. They did it here with just piano accompaniment and some wonderful guy singing the lead role. It was good. The text is by Bertolt Brecht, of course.

That’s correct.


Brecht. Not God’s gift to integrity and niceness. Oh, everybody knew about him. He was a very, very remarkable man, but he was also a drip. You know, he was a bounder.

You were a pretty young guy at the time that this movie was being made. Were you well acquainted with the world of composers at the studios?


Oh sure. Remember, I’d been out here since 1935. I came out to assist Chaplin on the music of MODERN TIMES, so I’d been out here about ten years by the time I went to work on WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

I gather it was kind of a rough world for a composer to find a niche.


Well, for me it wasn’t. I mean, I had my rough periods, but they were because I was construed as arrogant, which might even have been true. You see, people out here would call you arrogant if you would not automatically say yes every time a producer nodded. And I didn’t figure I was there for that reason. I was there to tell them what I thought as a musician. So there were times when I didn’t work. But, for the most part, everybody wanted me because I had started out with Chaplin.

I’d like to ask you some specific questions about this score. What part of the film-making process was it prepared for?


Oh, the score you have here is made after the film is totally finished. You don’t do the main title and all the underscoring until the picture is finished, or nearly finished. If you’re working on incomplete footage you’re going to have to do it over five times, and that’s just gruesome. There isn’t time or energy for that. Remember, this music is created under extreme duress. You get maybe four or five weeks to do something that should take three or four months

Pages from the short score of Where Do We Go From Here? Left to right: First page of the main title music, as developed by David Raksin; “All At Once,” as sung by Fred MacMurray; excerpt from the Finale, where Raksin introduced the Twentieth Century-Fox theme. Images provided by the Kurt Weill Foundation for Music.

So, is this a conductor’s score?


This is what’s made from a conductor’s book. What it is, really, is a little Particell. It’s a reduction of the score. This one was probably done by a guy at Twentieth Century-Fox called Elton Kohler. He would manage, also under duress, to reduce all the stuff in the score down to a conductor’s book. There are a lot of places where it just says “brass.” It doesn’t say which brass, but that’s all there is.

Were there other scores?

Or is this, as far as you know, the only one that was left? Is this the only type of score that would have been preserved?
Well, of course, there were orchestral scores, made by Maurice de Packh from my sketches and made by various other guys like Eddie Powell - who probably orchestrated some of Kurt’s stuff - and Herbert Spencer. But, you know, there are conductor books all over the place. I have just a few, but they made them all the time.

So, when it says next to the title “Dev.,” what does that mean?


Devised, or developed. Let’s say you are starting with a composer’s thirty-two bar piece of music. There are times when you play the whole thirty-two bars. Other times you can’t do that because you have to adapt it to what the action is, and the action may call for all kinds of other stuff: stops and starts; changes and developments; doing the tune backwards, upside down, or whatever.

So you didn't work together with Weill.

No. I did not. I wish I had.


Since you did the developing for the underscoring, you worked on the music after he was finished with it?


Absolutely. He'd written all the music, and they gave it to me and said “go.” When you do development and devising, what you're doing is composing.

Can you explain to me the whole process, starting with the ideas in the composer's head and ending with the finished product of the film with the sound track?


Well, first, the composer gets assigned to the picture. He works with the producer and the director, maybe the script writer, and anybody else. (In this case, Weill probably would have worked with Darryl Zanuck, the head of the studio.) The composer and lyricist decide what they're going to do, where the music will be, and who's going to sing it. Then they work with guys from the music department, who will tell them the singing range and vocal capabilities of the cast, in this case Fred MacMurray. A pianist is assigned to MacMurray, and they try out the music to make sure it's OK for him. At that point, Ira and Kurt would have written any extra bars that are needed. (If there's going to be action, chances are they won't mess with that because they don't know how it's going to be cut, and it would be a waste of time to prepare music for any but the final version. They would leave that for a guy like me.) And then, when their songs are ready to go, they are recorded. Actually they're pre-recorded.

Do you know if Weill did any coaching during the pre-recording sessions?


I wouldn't think so. Usually, that came before. I can't remember who was under contract as a rehearsal pianist at the time, maybe it was Urban Thielmann. But let's say the rehearsal pianist taught MacMurray the song. Then Kurt and Ira would come in, and they'd sit with Ratoff and Bill Perlberg to listen to it, and Weill would have suggestions to make. If you're the composer, believe me, you have them.

What happens next?


The singer or actor goes on the stage and pre-records the song with Al Newman conducting, who is the best conductor we ever had here in town. Then they play that stuff back on the stage, and the actor lip-synchs while they film the whole thing. The picture is then put together, and they decide where they need underscoring. For that they talk to a guy like me.

And then you do the underscoring. 
I do the underscoring…

With the development.
Yes, that’s right. Taking the material and developing it.

And stretching it out?


Yes, and cutting it down, dovetailing it, stuff like that. What you do is - if you’re really an honorable guy - you stick as much as you can to the composer’s music. In this case, as I said, it was possible until I got to the very end, where I had to diverge from that.

Sheet Music Cover and Kurt Weill in Hollywood in 1944, when Where Do We Go from Here? was being finalized by the studio.

Tell me about that. The divergence.


Well, at the very end of the picture, the hero - let’s say Fred - has been sentenced to death. And I think a guy who’s his rival for the affections of the girl is egging on the execution. Fred, at the last minute, manages to get away in a little cart - you know, drawn by a horse or a goat, or God only knows what. And he’s going like mad, while they’re pursuing him. And then ensues this chase through the centuries. You go to the sixteenth century, in which case he gets into a coach, drawn by several horses. Everybody’s costume changes. Then he goes into the seventeenth century, God only knows what he’s riding in there. Then the eighteenth century, then the nineteenth century, and finally, as he gets around to the twentieth century, he’s driving a Cadillac, or something like that. It makes kind of a tour and all of a sudden the screen says “Twentieth Century.” Well, there needed to be music for that. But after several days of working, I said to Al Newman. “I’m never going to be able to make this on Kurt's music. I can’t make the right kind of scherzi out of it. Sure, I can make anything fast, but it’s not going to work.” He said. “If you can't do it, I don’t think anybody else can either. So, why don’t you do whatever you want, and I’ll go in between you and the studio.” And so I did.
I remember the recording session; everybody was on the stage. I guess Grischa Ratoff must have been there, and Bill Perlberg. You know, it’s fun when you record. When we got to the last sequence of the chase (it’s done in pieces), all of a sudden “Twentieth Century” comes on, and you hear [he sings] the Twentieth Century-Fox signature, which Newman himself wrote. He nearly fell off the stand. I just thought it would be a funny thing to do, and it was. Everybody thought it was great, and Zanuck left it in. He would have thrown it out if he thought it was inappropriate. Anyhow, I did that bit, and all the rest of the finale. I was waiting to hear what Kurt would say, but I didn’t see him until maybe a year or so later.

Oh? Why not?


Well, he was already in New York, probably getting lessons in the method of living from Madame Weill. Anyway. I went to a concert down at the old Philharmonic Hall and, during intermission, I saw Kurt. I walked up to him, you know, figuring he’s not going to hit me on the head, although he might. He was with Maurice Abravanel, that wonderful old gent, that conductor. (They were very good friends, and I think somebody who was a buddy of theirs was conducting.) So I walked up to him, and he smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, shook my hand, and said “Very, very good.” I said, “What about the last sequence?” He just laughed: “I couldn't help wondering what in God’s name you were going to do with that, but it turned out very well.”

So after your contribution, what was left to be done?


Well, they did previews, and things like that, and they brought the picture back. Maybe they edited it a little bit. I mean, they wouldn’t think of leaving it alone so the music score wouldn’t get damaged, because I think in director’s and producer’s school they teach you, if you don’t mess around and louse up the score, you haven’t done your work.

How much control did you have over the editing?


Oh, I had no control over the editing whatsoever.

How about Weill?


He certainly could have expressed his opinion. And if he said, “Look, why did you cut out so and so? It’s important.” Perhaps he could have convinced them it was important to the story. But generally they didn’t really like it when we messed around with that.

And what about the success of the film?


I know very little about that. I’m sure that the snotty guys in New York looked down their noses at it. Sometimes the only way of knowing you’ve done the right thing is when they don’t like it. Because they’re really ignorant. If they weren’t ignorant, they’d be composers.

Whose idea was it to make this particular film into such a big musical film?


I haven’t any idea. Probably Bill Perlberg’s.

Did you know Weill personally? Did you see Weill often after that project?


No. I wish I had. I mean, I would have loved to. because he was such a charming, wonderful guy, and somebody I looked up to as well.

So, if you think about the other music of Weill that you know, how would you compare that with the music he wrote for WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?


Well, look, you’re asking the wrong guy, because I refuse to make a great differentiation among these things. If a man has the gift of being able to write in several different worlds of music, he is still the same man, and the same musical characteristics will appear there. Otherwise he’s a phony. You see? A guy like Aaron Copland writes things like Rodeo, and then he writes the Third Symphony, or the Piano Fantasy. You cannot differentiate among those things. It’s ridiculous to do that.

You hear similarities, is that what you’re saying?


It’s not just that you hear similarities. You hear the man in them. The man remains constant. One time I was interviewing Aaron Copland, who was an old friend. I said to him, “Aaron, you know, it’s so odd. Here you are, a person who is universally loved, everybody in the profession loves you dearly, and yet, when I listen to your music, sometimes I hear all this implicit violence.” And he gave me one of those angelic smiles, and he said: “If it’s in the music, it’s in the man.” Same thing with Weill. His show music was the way it was because he was the man who studied with Busoni. You see, and he is the guy who wrote a violin concerto, and he is the guy who wrote Lindbergh's Flight, To have that degree of sophistication and somehow do it so that it can be said in a simple way is marvelous, like one of those line drawings of Picasso.

So, suppose there are types and symbols and archetypes of Weill, the man, as you say, that are constant, and you wouldn’t necessarily say that there are themes or passages from his First or Second Symphony that show up in this film with Fred MacMurray?

I mean, it’s not as if one is being borrowed from the other?
 Yeah. The thing that remains consistent is the spirit of the composer. You’re going to hear certain things. Absolutely. Other guys tried to do them, you know, like Krenek, and, God forbid, Hanns Eisler. They would have died if they could have written a melody, a real melody, but never. Writing a tune is the scarcest thing in the world today. A real tune.

by Pascal Dupont 10 May, 2024
Charles Allan Gerhardt English version adapted by Doug Raynes - FRENCH VERSION AND COLLECTION had a reputation as a great conductor, record producer and musical arranger. His major work at RCA on the Classic Film Scores series earned him recognition from film music devotees of Hollywood’s Golden Age, as well as other renowned conductors of his day. Born on February 6, 1927 in Detroit, Michigan, Charles Gerhardt developed a passion for music and percussion instruments from an early age. At the age of five, he took piano lessons, and by the age of nine, had established a solid reputation as an orchestrator and composer. He spent his early school years in Little Rock, Arkansas, then after 10 years, having completed his schooling, moved with his family to Illinois for his military duties, he served in the U.S. Navy during World War II as a chaplain's aide in the Aleutian Islands, then became an active member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. He went on to study at the University of Illinois, at the College of William and Mary, and later at the University of Southern California. Throughout his time at school Gerhardt was attracted not only to music, but also to the sciences. Passionate about the art of recording, he joined Westminster Records for five years, until the company ceased operations, and then joined Bell Sound. One day, he received a phone call from George Marek to meet with the heads of Reader's Digest, to discuss producing recordings for their mail-order record business; a contact that was to secure his musical future and a rich career spanning more than 30 years. Gerhardt's first job for Reader's Digest was to produce a record; “A Festival of Light Classical Music”; a 12 LP box set that he produced in full. One of Gerhardt's finest projects was the production of another 12 LP box set, “Les Trésores de la Grande Musique (Treasury of Great Music)”, featuring the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by some of the leading figures of the day: Charles Munch to Bizet and Tchaikovsky, Rudolf Kempe to Strauss and Respighi, Josef Krips to Mozart and Haydn, Antal Dorati to Strauss and Berlioz, Brahms 4th Symphony by Fritz Reiner and Sibelius’ 2nd Symphony by Sir John Barbirolli. In the 1950s he conducted works by Vladimir Horowitz, Wanda Landowska, Kirsten Flagstad and William Kapeli. In the early 1960s, Gerhardt lived in England, where he made most of his recordings, but kept a foothold in the United States, mainly in New York. Often, when he went to the United States after a period of recording sessions, he would stop off in Baltimore and spend some time listening to cassettes of his new recordings. Gerhardt loved percussion instruments, especially tam-tams. One of his favorite recordings was the Columbia mono disc of Scriabin's Poem of Ecstasy, with Dimitri Mitropoulos and the New York Philharmonic. He had great admiration and respect for the many conductors he worked with, starting with Arturo Toscanini, with whom he worked for several years before the Maestro's death. It was Toscanini who suggested that Gerhardt become a conductor, which he did! His career as an orchestra director began when he had to replace a conductor who failed to show up for rehearsals. It was a position he would later occupy for various recording sessions and occasional concerts. His classical recordings include works by Richard Strauss, Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Ravel, Debussy, Walton and Howard Hanson. Hired by RCA Records, he transferred 78 rpm recordings of Enrico Caruso and other artists to 33 rpm. He took part in recordings by soprano singer Kirsten Flagstad and pianist Vladimir Horowitz. He worked with renowned conductors such as Fritz Reiner, Leopold Stokowski and Charles Munch, from whom he learned the tricks of the trade. Still at RCA, he assisted Arturo Toscanini, with whom he perfected his conducting skills. Then, in 1960, he produced recordings for RCA and Reader’s Digest in London, and joined forces with sound engineer Kenneth Wilkinson of Decca Records (RCA's European subsidiary), The two men got on very well and shared a passion for recording and sound quality, making an incredible number of recordings over a 30-year period. Also in 1960, RCA and Reader's Digest entrusted him with the production of a 12-disc LP box set entitled “ Lumière du Classique (A Festival of Light Classical Music) ”, sold exclusively by mail order. With a budget of $250,000, Gerhardt assumed total control of the project: repertoire, choice of orchestras and production. He recorded in London, Vienna and Paris, and hired such top names as Sir Adrian Boult, Massimo Freccia, Sir Alexander Gibson and René Leibowitz. The success of this project, in terms of both musical quality and sound, earned him recognition from his employers. Other projects of similar scope followed… A boxed set of Beethoven's symphonic works with René Leibowitz and The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. A boxed set of Rachmaninoff's works for piano and orchestra with Earl Wild, Jascha Horenstein and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, the above mentioned 12 LP disc set “Trésor de la Grande Musique (Treasury of Great Music)” with the Royal Philharmonic conducted by some of the greatest directors of the time: Fritz Reiner, Charles Munch, Rudolf Kempe, Sir John Barbirolli, Sir Malcolm Sargent, Antal Dorati and Jascha Horenstein, with whom Gerhardt had sympathized. In January 1964 in London, Gerhardt joined forces with Sidney Sax, instrumentalist and conductor, to form a freelance orchestra. This successful group went on to join the National Philharmonic Orchestra of London, an impressive line-up that would later become Jerry Goldsmith's orchestra of choice. With Peter Munves, head of RCA's classical division, he conceived the idea of recording an album devoted exclusively to the film music of Erich Wolfgang Korngold, one of his favorite composers. Enthusiastic about the project, Munves gave Gerhardt carte blanche, and was offered a helping hand by George Korngold, producer and son of the famous Viennese composer, who owned all the copies of his father's scores. The Adventure Began : The Sea Hawk: Classic Film Scores of Erich Wolfgang Korngold. For this first disc, Gerhardt selected 10 scores by Korngold, which he recorded in the Kingsway Hall Studio in London, renowned for its excellent acoustics. The disc thus benefits from optimal recording conditions, favoring at the same time the performances of the National Philharmonic (and its leader, Sidney Sax), a formidable orchestra made up of London's finest musicians and freelance soloists. Each album was recorded in the same studio, with Kenneth Wilkinson as sound engineer and George Korngold as consultant/producer. As soon as it was released, the album's success received strong acclaim in classical music circles and received a feature in Billboard No. 37, a first in this category in December 1972. It took no less than a year to sell the first 10,000 copies in all the specialist record suppliers and the album went on to sell over 38,000 copies, making it the fifth best-selling album in the “classical” category in 1973. On the strength of this success, Peter Munves and RCA entrusted Charles Gerhardt with the production of further discs devoted to other world-renowned composers of Hollywood music. The program includes several albums dedicated to Max Steiner and Erich Wolfgang Korngold plus one each to Miklos Rozsa, Franz Waxman, Dimitri Tiomkin and Bernard Herrmann, followed by 3 volumes associated with specific film stars such as Bette Davis, Errol Flynn and Humphrey Bogart. Then, a disc devoted to Alfred Newman, a composer who was a pillar of the famous Hollywood sound, who Gerhardt admired and had met: “Newman was a charming man, full of good humor. He was friendly, fun and always had a joke. With his eternal black cigar in hand, he was a composer by trade, down-to-earth, discussed little about himself but was a first-rate advisor in my life. “ Gerhardt would consult certain composers in advance about how to recreate suites from their works, or when this wasn't possible, he would rearrange the suites himself and submit them to the composers for approval. "Some critics complained that my suites were too short, but my aim in the case of each album was to present a well-split 'portrait' of the composer, highlighting his many creative facets". Although Korngold, Newman and Steiner were no longer around to lend their support, Gerhardt was lucky enough to still work with Herrmann, Rózsa and Tiomkin as consultants who turned up at the recording studio to lend a hand. Gerhardt also had the idea of creating albums focusing on a single film star. Three specific volumes were devoted to music from the films of Humphrey Bogart, Errol Flynn and Bette Davis. Although these albums suffer from too great a diversity of genres, they still offer the chance to hear and discover rare and previously unpublished compositions. The best conceived album was arguably the one devoted to Bette Davis. Conscious of the important role played by music in her films, the legendary actress took part in the conception of the album, knowing that it favored scores by Max Steiner designed for Warner Bros. The Collection Begins ! Gerhardt's passion for certain composers knows no bounds, but he soon envisages a disc devoted to Miklos Rozsa, including suites for “Spellbound” and “The Red House”, one of his favorite scores, which he will exhume to create one of the longest suites in the series. At the same time, he received various fan wish lists and films to watch, such as “The Four Feathers”, which he had never seen and which gave him the opportunity to discover a splendid score by Miklos Rozsa that he had never heard before. He was disappointed, however, not to be able to conceive a longer “Spellbound” sequel for rights reasons. Despite RCA's full approval, Gerhardt realized that it was not easy to record film music in its original form, as few were ever edited, played and made available for rental. For The Sea Hawks album, things were simpler, as Georges Korngold had copies of his father's scores, and Warner Bros had also archived material in good condition. From the outset, Gerhardt encountered other major problems in the search for and discovery of scores hidden away in other studios, often with the unpleasant surprise of discovering missing or incomplete conductors, or others heavily modified by orchestrators during recording sessions, or the surprise of discovering, in certain cases, instrumentation information noted in shorthand on the edges of the conductor score. For the disc dedicated to Max Steiner, for example, the conductor score for “King Kong” had disappeared from the RKO archives, having been shipped in 1950 to poorly maintained warehouses in Los Angeles where it had become totally degraded and illegible. With the help of Georges Korngold, Gerhardt was able to reconstruct a substantial suite from the piano models left by Steiner at the time. This experience was repeated when the conductor score for Dimitri Tiomkin's “The Thing” was discovered in the same warehouse, in an advanced state of disintegration. Fortunately for Gerhardt, Tiomkin, who was still alive, had been able to provide precise piano maquettes with orchestration information in shorthand, revealing a complex and highly innovative style of writing. Tiomkin always composed at the piano, inscribing very specific information and signs on the edges of the scores in pencil, an ingenious system of his own invention that was difficult to decipher. “Revisiting the score of ‘The Thing from Another World’ was a complex task, involving experimental passages and an unorthodox orchestra. You can understand that I had a huge job on my hands. When I approached the recording sessions, it was not without some trepidation. However, the composer present made no criticism or comment on my work, and was delighted. He was delighted.” For “Gone With The Wind”, Steiner was against the idea of remaking a complete soundtrack, as he felt that too many passages were repeated. It was an opportunity for him to revisit his own score, integrating his favorite melodies. This synthesis gave him the opportunity to revitalize his music by eliminating the least interesting parts of the score. Conceived as long suites or isolated themes, the discs reflect the essence of the composers' work. The “Classic Film Scores” series by Franz Waxman, Bernard Herrmann and Miklos Rozsa etc will become a big hit with collectors. For Gerhardt, this will be an opportunity to unearth forgotten or rare scores such as Herrmann's “The White Witch” and “On a Dangerous Ground”, Hugo Friedhofer's “The Sun Also Rises” and early recordings for Waxman's “Prince Valliant” and Rozsa's “The Red House”, all with new, impeccable acoustics. For “Elisabeth and Essex”, Erich Korngold had already prepared a suite in the form of an Overture, which was given its world premiere in a theater. The suite for “The Adventures of Robin Hood” also pre-existed. Franz Waxman created his own suite for “A Place in the Sun”, which was also performed in concert. Dimitri Tiomkin, Miklos Rozsa and Bernard Herrmann acted as consultants and contributed arrangements to their scores. For the continuation of “White Witch Doctor”, Bernard Herrman added percussion to link the different musical tableaux. He did the same for the different parts of “Citizen Kane”. Miklos Rozsa saw an opportunity to add a male choir to the suite from “The Jungle Book”, based on an idea by Charles Gerhardt. For the record dedicated to Errol Flynn, Gerhardt re-orchestrated the theme “The Lights of Paris” from Hugo Friedhofer's “The Sun also Rises”, as the original was no longer available. “I wanted to go back to that time and systematically explore the very substance of the great film scores of the late 30s and 40s, sending them back directly to their images as dramatic entities. The desire to rediscover tunes we know and to take into account the contexts in which they were originally used. I decided to recreate these scores with their original orchestrations, and this could only be done by returning to the ultimate sources, as the composers had originally conceived them.” Keen to open up the collection to other genres, such as science fiction, Gerhardt dedicated two further albums to the series in 1992. The first featured contemporary sequels to “Star Wars” and “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, promoting the work of John Williams, a leading composer of new film music. Then another called “The Spectacular World of Classic Film Scores”, presenting a disappointing compilation of scores that had already been recorded, except for the creation of a sequel to Dimitri Tiomkin's “The Thing From Another World” and Daniele Amfitheatrof's rarely heard theme “Dance of the Seven Voiles” from Salome. In 1978, the collection was published in Spain by RCA Cinema Treasures. In the USA and Europe, the Classic Film Scores LP series was reissued in the early 80s with a black art deco cover and colored star index. All Volumes in the First Series Were Reissued : By the end of the '80s, the series was running out of steam, and Charles Gerhardt planned to relaunch his collection with albums dedicated to famous American actresses, a new volume for Max Steiner and the Western, a volume reconstructing the score of Waxman's “The Bride of Frankenstein”, followed by volumes devoted to Alex North, Hugo Friedhofer, Victor Young and Elmer Bernstein... But RCA would not support Gerhardt in these projects, preferring to release the collection on CD for the first time. In early 1990, RCA asked Gerhardt to supervise and co-produce the collection, which he saw as an opportunity to revisit some of the volumes, inserting tracks that had not appeared on the LPs or extending certain suites. The volume devoted to Franz Waxman, “Sunset Boulevard”, was the first to be released. The CD did not benefit from any particular promotion, but sold very well, as did the other CDs that followed... A collection marked by a new design in silver pantone. The CDs series was reissued in 2010, still under the RCA Red Seal label, but distributed by Sony Music Entertainment. RCA Victor's Classic Films Scores series represents a unique collection in the history of film music recordings. 14 recordings of rare quality, produced by Georges Korngold and Charles Gerhardt to become one of the revelations of the reissue phenomenon. Other Concepts... Later, Gerhardt spent most of his time in London, continuing to make recordings. After retiring from RCA in 1986, he returned to independent work for Readers Digest and other record labels, a position he held in production and musical supervision until 1997. Since 1991 he had lived in Redding, California. In later years, he did not appear professionally, refusing all public invitations because of his desire to remain discreet. In his entourage he was close to three cousins, Lenore L Engel and Elizabeth Anne Schuetze, both living in San Antonio, and cousin Steven W Gerhardt of St. Pete Beach, Florida. In late November 1998 Charles Gerhardt was diagnosed with brain cancer and died of complications following surgery on February 22, 1999. He was 72 years old. Thus ends this tribute to Charles Gerhardt and the most famous collection of film music records: The Classic Film Scores series.
by Doug Raynes 24 Jan, 2024
Following on from Tadlow’s epic recording of El Cid, the same team – Nic Raine conducting and James Fitzpatrick producing – have turned their attention to a completely different type of epic film for the definitive recording of Ernest Gold’s Academy Award winning score for Otto Preminger’s Exodus (1960). The score is something of a revelation because aside from the main theme, the music has received little attention through recordings. Additionally the sound quality of the original soundtrack LP was disappointing and much music was deleted or cut from the film.
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