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In which section does the writer mention
1.Michael being unsure which programme his music will be used for?
2.evidence of the wide range of Michael's professional expertise?
3.Michael appreciating the opportunity to try out different things?
4.the need to be strlct about scheduling the composing of music?
5.Michael getting fed up at one point in his musical career?
6.some music which gives the listener a false impression?
7.Michael enjoying a new feeling of being in total control of his work?
8.the difficulty of working for an unpredictable financial reward?
9.Michael briefly forgeting that he was the composer of certain music?
10.the factors which affect how long Michael needs to compose
some music?
Striking the right note
David Waller goes to meet Michael Reed, a compaser of background music.
A. Your ears slowly fill with sound, first with some foreboding cello, then an eerie female vocal and the occasional bang of a drum. The sounds gain in intensity before suddenly breaking into the epic sweep of a full orchestra. Eyes closed, it sounds like the soundtrack for a nightmarish futuristic film landscape, but this is a simple house in Devon, England. Michael Reed welcomes me and shows me to his self-built studio in the basement. There the composer of music for film, commercials and television has a giant sound desk, monitor speakers, piles of dusty synthesisers, and a full drum kit. Reed has produced hundreds of pieces of music in this room, layering a mix of computer samples and live instrumentation. A piece, he says, 'could take anything from 15 minutes to five days, depending on everything
from the complexity of instrumentation to how tired you are. It's really difficult to say, "Right, on this day I'm going to write this bit of music.' But when it comes down to it, you have to."
B. The majority of Reed's output is library music, pieces written to a brief but with no specific purpose, to be picked up later by shows and film trailers that need a soundtrack. It's usually not until he receives his four- monthly statement of earnings that he sees where his work has ended up. In the last period, that meant a soap opera, a cookery show and a documentary about dogs. 1 once went on holiday to Lake Geneva, he says. I turned on the TV and saw an advert for Visit Turkey and my music was in the background. Another time I was in my old house and heard some music I recognised coming through the wall. I liked it. Then I realised I'd written it!'
C. It's an odd way to encounter your own work and certainly it's not the music career he had envisaged. At university, Reed studied musical composition and afterwards had his heart set on becoming a drummer. He ended up playing in sessions at the prestigious Abbey Road recording studios. But the reality of life as a professional drummer was rather tedious, with endless car journeys all over Britain, transporting his drums around. But then some music industry friends introduced Reed to composition work. His first successful pitch for a television commercial earned him $3,000 and provided a valuable lesson: it was better paid and being in charge of the whole process was far more fulfilling. He goes back through his millions of files and digs out samples of his work, from classical pieces recorded with a full live orchestra through pop, drum and bass to specific work he has produced for films.
D. Yet from a business point of view, working in the music industry is like sailing on a rocky sea. Reed risks producing work that he never gets paid for. While his four-monthly earnings statement will have hundreds of individual entries, the total for each individual track could be anything from thousands of pounds to pennies. 'I've been doing it 15 years now and there doesn't always seem to be a correlation between what you' re most proud of and what makes you the most money.' Still, Reed is happy about the unexpected direction his music has taken him in. ‘You have to remember that you can do something cool with each piece and experiment with new sounds. Then you suddenly find yourself really enjoying what you're writing.... I'm really lucky.’
1.Michael being unsure which programme his music will be used for?
2.evidence of the wide range of Michael's professional expertise?
3.Michael appreciating the opportunity to try out different things?
4.the need to be strlct about scheduling the composing of music?
5.Michael getting fed up at one point in his musical career?
6.some music which gives the listener a false impression?
7.Michael enjoying a new feeling of being in total control of his work?
8.the difficulty of working for an unpredictable financial reward?
9.Michael briefly forgeting that he was the composer of certain music?
10.the factors which affect how long Michael needs to compose
some music?
Striking the right note
David Waller goes to meet Michael Reed, a compaser of background music.
A. Your ears slowly fill with sound, first with some foreboding cello, then an eerie female vocal and the occasional bang of a drum. The sounds gain in intensity before suddenly breaking into the epic sweep of a full orchestra. Eyes closed, it sounds like the soundtrack for a nightmarish futuristic film landscape, but this is a simple house in Devon, England. Michael Reed welcomes me and shows me to his self-built studio in the basement. There the composer of music for film, commercials and television has a giant sound desk, monitor speakers, piles of dusty synthesisers, and a full drum kit. Reed has produced hundreds of pieces of music in this room, layering a mix of computer samples and live instrumentation. A piece, he says, 'could take anything from 15 minutes to five days, depending on everything
from the complexity of instrumentation to how tired you are. It's really difficult to say, "Right, on this day I'm going to write this bit of music.' But when it comes down to it, you have to."
B. The majority of Reed's output is library music, pieces written to a brief but with no specific purpose, to be picked up later by shows and film trailers that need a soundtrack. It's usually not until he receives his four- monthly statement of earnings that he sees where his work has ended up. In the last period, that meant a soap opera, a cookery show and a documentary about dogs. 1 once went on holiday to Lake Geneva, he says. I turned on the TV and saw an advert for Visit Turkey and my music was in the background. Another time I was in my old house and heard some music I recognised coming through the wall. I liked it. Then I realised I'd written it!'
C. It's an odd way to encounter your own work and certainly it's not the music career he had envisaged. At university, Reed studied musical composition and afterwards had his heart set on becoming a drummer. He ended up playing in sessions at the prestigious Abbey Road recording studios. But the reality of life as a professional drummer was rather tedious, with endless car journeys all over Britain, transporting his drums around. But then some music industry friends introduced Reed to composition work. His first successful pitch for a television commercial earned him $3,000 and provided a valuable lesson: it was better paid and being in charge of the whole process was far more fulfilling. He goes back through his millions of files and digs out samples of his work, from classical pieces recorded with a full live orchestra through pop, drum and bass to specific work he has produced for films.
D. Yet from a business point of view, working in the music industry is like sailing on a rocky sea. Reed risks producing work that he never gets paid for. While his four-monthly earnings statement will have hundreds of individual entries, the total for each individual track could be anything from thousands of pounds to pennies. 'I've been doing it 15 years now and there doesn't always seem to be a correlation between what you' re most proud of and what makes you the most money.' Still, Reed is happy about the unexpected direction his music has taken him in. ‘You have to remember that you can do something cool with each piece and experiment with new sounds. Then you suddenly find yourself really enjoying what you're writing.... I'm really lucky.’
