I’ve been forging a career for 25+ years as a media composer, which means I write music for film tv and computer games. I’d consider myself a “Sunderland” of composers sometimes playing in the premier league but spending most of my days either in the relegation zone or fighting my way out of the lower leagues. I’m a journey man, a jobber, a hack.
Through sheer necessity I set up a business that catered for composers who, like me, weren’t rich and successful (Although plenty of the rich guys became patrons too). We made stuff (orchestral samples) that were hitherto unaffordable and as a consequence the whole thing kicked off.
Like big time.
At the point of writing these first journal entries we had a couple of million users and a workforce of 140. I was, and still am I guess, an accidental entrepreneur a reluctant businessman and by all accounts a terrible manager of people. All of which you will bear witness to over the course of this Journal.
I suspect I’ll be taking the reigns on the first part of the story but hope the wonderful people I work with find time to contribute in due course. But until then, you’re stuck with me I’m afraid.
So back to the journal. In the opening leaves it says “because you are lucky”. I am, and anyone who is successful would be ill advised to say otherwise. Yes I work hard, yes I seem to have an un-learned aptitude of sorts for what I do. But as they say luck is when good fortune meets practise and I’d practiced lots.
Such was the case during these opening pages of the journal. I had nailed a massive multi-episodic series with a major streamer from a cold-call, moreover had bagged the biggest commission of my career. A big computer game, for a massive franchise with one of the biggest entertainment corporations on the planet.
As always in our trade the contracts were not signed, but I have often had stuff TX (air on TV) without so much as a signature on a dotted line. As a head of department it is my duty to manage time, manage budgets but most of all make sure my team and I don’t get fired.
I know my own limits compositionally and I know the shortcomings of samples. In order to do something truly original and in order to hit the ground running with no risk of blank screen syndrome, writers block, and / or a nervous breakdown. I always undertake a very expensive form of procrastination. Sampling. Which meant spending thousands upon thousands experimenting, recording and creating a bespoke library of sounds for both these projects.
In the pictures you see us working away in a hall in Glasgow with the alarming crackle of my own money burning to a cinder. But after 25 odd-years of doing this I know the immense value of a private library, one that I own the master recordings of. One that will deny the evil spirits of imposter syndrome their place at the most fragile of moments – working with a new client on a new job in which they are trusting (in part) the success of their enormous endeavours on.
I’d booked four days in this hall in Scotland with a mixture of players. Big string sections, smaller ones, and then some unusual percussion sessions. Beyond these days I had hired two guys to edit the whole thing together for me and make them into my own fancy library. Shit doesn’t get better than this. Even if it always sends my accountant into spasms. Little did he know that I’d also booked Air Studios and an absolutely fucking enormous band in a few weeks time. What we were doing in Scotland was just R&D! But there was nothing to fear because my major client would be picking up the tab for the Air Sessions. As the contract wasn’t signed I had to personally vouch for the time booked and bands availability checked. But again, as always, this is not uncommon, I’m a head of department or HOD. I’m my own business and ensuring the best possible client experience and to fend off any fears of disappointment (London studios are notoriously hard to get into). I’d made the personal guarantees necessary to move stuff along.
As I said before, I’m an old hack. What could possibly go wrong…