Making my Bones in Tinseltown: Part 1 May 26, 2008
Posted by Miles Hankins in : Composing , trackbackMaking My Bones in Tinseltown
(Being the tale of one NYC kid’s musical adventures in the Wild West)
by Miles Hankins
Part 1: The Westward Expansion
Two things happened to me today:
1. After considerable time plucking away at fruitless Google searches, I finally found the secret recipe for Fuddruckers hamburger seasoning.
2. My friend and yours, studio guru Damon Sink, shot me a gentle reminder to submit an entry on StudioFiles.com detailing some of my run-ins with the law as an aspiring film composer coming out to LA.
With a fresh 100% USDA ground chuck patty simmering on the skillet and a good 12 minutes til chow time, I sit down at my Macbook to pen what I can only assume will prove to be…a rather pedestrian experience. Nevertheless, it is the decided opinion of Mr. Sink (and my earnest hope) that some of the accounts detailed herein will serve as a small source of enlightenment to those, like myself, trying to break into this crazy biz.
In 2006 I was living in Manhattan, sitting at a desk on the JPMorgan trading floor wondering what the hell to do with my life. I had graduated from University of Miami’s School of music a few years prior, and had always dreamed of scoring films, but aside from a few indy shorts, a couple commercial gigs, and a brief stint headlining a jazz act on one curiously large cruise vessel, I hadn’t had much luck bringing home the bacon with music. I would sit at my day job searching the web for scoring competitions, “composer wanted” ads, and blogging my heart out on music forums. I found out about the (now defunct, unfortunately) TCM Young Composer’s Competition, and spent my nights fastidiously crafting an entry. To my utter surprise, it got me into the finalist round and out to LA! I didn’t take home the gold that night, but I did meet some very talented composers who have since become friends.
Maybe it was getting to meet Hans Zimmer in his “studio of thunder,” or maybe it was getting picked up at the airport in a stretch limo and bombing out on free gin and tonics all the way to the hotel, but something about LA gave me “the Bug.” After touching back down at JFK I resolved then and there to set the wheels in motion for a little Manifest Destiny- a proper westward expansion.
The plan was to move out to Arizona, where my folks had an unoccupied house, and use that as a launchpad to LA. After giving my day job the peace sign, my girlfriend Becky and I loaded up a rental minivan and headed West into oblivion.
If you’ve never done the cross-country road trip, I highly recommend it. Apart from scores of ludicrous tourist attractions and diners, it’s chock full of salt of the earth human experience. Driving through the heartland and tasting of it’s fruits is, flat out, a must do, at least once, especially for urban rats like myself who so easily forget that there’s a world of raw American culture just down I-70.
Things were going well til just outside of St. Louis. It was midday and traffic was heating up something fierce. I was cruising in the left lane, doing the limit as the law abiding citizen that I am…and then I saw him. Creeping up on the horizon, coming over the freeway from the right side..yep, it was definitely a wild turkey. Correction my brothers, a HUGE wild turkey, doing all he could to fly over the highway. He was just getting airborne when I first saw him. I thought, “there’s no way this guy is going to go for it. He’ll never make it.” Well, he went for it my friends; he went the distance. As I approached that awkward visage, clumsily loping his way through the air, trying desperately to gain altitude, I tried to gauge the timing. I looked right: huge Mac truck. Checked my 6: huge Mac Truck. This is worse than I thought. I can’t slow down, I can’t change lanes and I’m pretty sure this bird is going to be “locked on target “in about five seconds. I looked at my girlfriend, looked back at the avian behemoth, and knew I had no choice but to white knuckle it. “Come on pal, you can do it. Lift! Lift that feathered thorax and FLY!” As I came within range he started to gain vertical thrust. I couldn’t believe it! “He’s going to make it! The crazy dude is actually going to… ”
WHAMM!!!
Windshield; dead center. The whole thing shattered in on our laps. In a fleeting moment of clarity I hit the hazards and lumbered over to the left shoulder. I ran out and looked at what remained of our windshield: a single feather embeded in the glass, wafting gently in the breeze. We were devastated. I trucked back up the median and couldn’t find him anywhere. Maybe he survived it? Once more at the windshield…nope, he’s gone. The next few hours were marked by waiting for a replacement vehicle to arrive and listening intently as the highway patrolman called in the “Vehicle vs. Turkey” report. We finally reached a hotel a few miles out of St. Louis and pulled in for the night. We had light meal (no foul of any kind I assure you), observed a moment of silence for the departed, and headed straight to bed.
After a long night’s sleep and two days of uncharacteristically defensive driving, we pulled into Scottsdale rather worse for the wear.
AZ was a welcomed respite for both of us–the gorgeous red-rocked horizons, the larger than life Saguaro cacti (almost purple at sunset), the vivid celestial viewing after dark, the nightly under-the-pillow scorpion checks. It was a dream come true for two city slickers like ourselves. I quickly set up the studio and spent days writing while Becky worked on her screenplay. The plan was to spend about four months relaxing, writing, and looking for work in LA, and we both needed the break to be sure. I started checking in to the Film Music World jobwire on a daily basis, and sent out a few query letters for various composer assistant gigs. As we are all well aware, a career in film scoring, unlike neurosurgery or campaigning for the US Presidency, is rather difficult work. Unfortunately, there’s no set pathway to success; in fact, there’s no set pathway to mediocre obscurity as far as I know. Most of the A-listers we all revere either fell into it ass-backwards or came straight from the loins of tried and true Hollywood royalty, but very few came out to LA and said “I want to be a film composer, let’s have at it.” The only thing that even resembles a possible means to an end is to apprentice with someone more established than yourself, gain some experience in their studio and, hopefully, some credits.
About a month into my time in AZ I was really starting to get a writing flow going (and my tan wasn’t doing too bad either). It was right at this time, just as I was starting to think, “man, I could really go for extending this desert getaway another good six months,” that I got an email from one of the composers I had queried. It was Michael Picton, a gent I had met the year prior at the TCM scoring competition. Michael had actually won the competition’s grand prize in 2004 and was attending the event as a guest judge. He had several films and theatrical productions under his belt, as well as an original show for Ringling Brothers, and was now gearing up to score his first network TV series, “Flash Gordon.” He was impressed with my submission but was a bit concerned that most of the music I sent him with the query letter was orchestral, even a bit “concerty” in presentation and wanted to make sure I could produce some stuff with a more contemporary sensibility. I put together a new package with everything from techno/trance to jazz and even spent the night writing a fresh orchestral cue, a no-holds-barred action joint, pure 2007. With this second offering, he gave me the green light.
I was thrilled beyond measure. I took Becky out for a righteous feast to celebrate. We had booked a trip to Vegas for the upcoming weekend and were excited that we now had a proper justification for the celebratory vacation. I figured we had about a month to pack up and move out, take some time to get a place squared away and settle into LA at a comfortable pace. Boy did I have it wrong. A phone call the next morning revealed that I would be needed in the studio later that week! That gave us one day to pack, one day to drive out to LA, and about four days to find an apartment. Vegas would have to wait! I jumped onto my faithful music forums and put out the feelers for good neighborhood recommendations in LA. Being an East-coaster my whole life, I barely knew the difference between Beverly Hills and Compton, let alone Los Feliz and Echo Park.
Two days later we pulled into Hollywood. We had some friends in Silver Lake who graciously agreed to put us up until we could find a place (with the clear understanding that it wouldn’t be more than a couple days given the shotgun schedule we were under), but the first stop for me was straight to the studio to unload my gear. Michael had recently moved into a new space in West Hollywood and was in possession of two adjacent suites. Studio A, his main composing den, and Studio B, the tracking room, which is where I was to set up my rig. Walking into his studio was like stepping aboard the Starship Enterprise. I hadn’t seen so many flashing lights since Christmas. I was overwhelmed to say the least, and that combined with the fact that I was literally gushing with perspiration from having just unloaded my rig in the June heat, right after a seven hour drive, made, I’m sure, quite an interesting impression on my new employer. We went for coffee and talked shop for about an hour and then it was off to find a place to call home.
For those who don’t know, LA is massive. Unlike NY, where everything is stacked on top of itself, Los Angeles is a sprawling expanse from shoreline to mountaintop. Driving is essential and something of a nightmare, especially if, like me, you’re coming out of a subway culture. The city is divided into neighborhoods that cover everything from the West side to the East side to the Valley. We opted for the latter because of it’s reasonable prices and generally “nicer” atmosphere as compared to say, Hollywood, which is sort of the equivalent of getting an apartment in Times Square (shutter). After a couple days of searching we found a great place in Studio City, just a few minutes drive from work, we got approved, and moved our boxes right in.
Reality check: three days after leaving Scottsdale we were moving into a new apartment in LA. That’s gotta be some kind of record. We thanked our lucky stars, enjoyed a nice bottle of red wine and settled in to bed. As I drifted off to sleep that night my head was spinning. I knew that tomorrow morning I would start the first day of the first job I ever really wanted! I had no idea what to expect (and no idea what fate had in store for me), but I was excited to the point of giddiness. After an hour or so of tossing and turning I finally escaped into a deep sleep, dreaming of millions of flashing lights…
Well friends, this double with cheese ain’t gonna eat itself, and, as Mary Pickford used to say, “A burger untasted is a burger wasted.” We’ll catch you next time, my brothers, with musical annecdotes aplenty!
NEXT WEEK:
Part 2: Guerilla Composition, Red Bull Addiction, and the Scoring Stage
Comments»
I never said any such thing… But it’s a relief that you made it out of Scottsdale alive, my boy. An undiluted relief.
MPG
This is awesome… can’t wait for Part 2
Awesome, Miles, welcome to the site.
One less turkey in St. Louis I guess…
^^yeah, part 2′s title is very enticing.
Thanks guys, great to be here. Looking forward to contributing often!