Between 1960-61, Elmer Bernstein scored From the Terrace, wrote the Emmy Award-winning music for the documentary Making of the President: 1960, the westerns The Magnificent Seven and The Comancheros, and penned Tennessee Williams’ emotional ringer Summer and Smoke. (Happily, each of these scores has been commercially released at one time or another, although the Making of the President album is a straight dub from the film’s mixed soundtrack, with sound effects and Martin Gabel’s narration completely obliterating Bernstein’s music on the original United Artists LP set.)

The only Bernstein jazz score to get a release at that time was The Rat Race, although the original Dot album (available on CD, Jasmine 356) featured old standards performed by Sam Butera and the Witnesses. Bernstein’s memorable theme, however, was included, and Butera’s short arrangement fused a rock beat with aggressive sax work. The theme never really develops beyond its short thematic statement, and besides a repetitive bass line, The Rat Race remains just a catchy intro. But the film established a successful relationship with director Robert Mulligan, who would use Bernstein’s talents with To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) and Baby the Rain Must Fall (1965).

Following the intimate music for Birdman of Alcatraz and To Kill a Mockingbird, Bernstein returned to his beloved jazz in the form of Walk on the Wild Side. Flavored to suit the New Orleans setting, the score contains many fine small combo tunes, but the highlight remains the film’s opening theme, which plays over Saul Bass’ memorable titles. Showcasing a black cat that walks through concrete pipes, junkyards and alleyways, Bass uses variable film speeds to accentuate the feline’s curiosity, hubris and graceful movements before ending with a black vs. white cat fight. Black wins, although which color represents the film’s final survivor (and winner) remains oblique.

Bernstein’s main theme is made up of fluid segments which, in spite of their cultural allusions to Texas and New Orleans, still form a cohesive work.

Texas farmhand Dove Linkhorn is determined to always do the right thing; he remains loyal to the family, and his unshakable pride and innate honesty help him succeed in tracking down lost love, Hallie, though his journey ultimately destroys her. Bernstein uses melodic strings to reflect Dove’s character, his Texas roots, and the purity of his do-good soul, while a nearly triumphant march follows his success in finding Hallie, a mood short-circuited by his discovery that she’s been a prostitute for three years. Timpani and full orchestra converge, illustrating Dove’s conflicts with the manipulative Madame Jo and her misanthropic goons, who keep the ladies in line.

Jo’s world is easy, artificially comfortable and, most important, alluring. Though Hallie is thoroughly bored being a wannabe sculptress by day, high-class hooker by night, she’s resigned herself to Jo’s dollhouse, even going on shopping trips with her boss-jailer to pass the time. Bernstein’s jazzy middle section reflects the carefree illusion of an idealized New Orleans lifestyle, using a small jazz combo (with trumpet, guitar and clarinet) to tease the listener with dreams of an summer afternoon’s stroll through the French Quarter.

The return to Dove’s world occurs with staccato brass; a sustained, unresolved bass note eases into a restatement of the first third; and the orchestra’s more impassioned rendition hints an inevitable tragedy is on the way. The cue then ends with the same string bass, triangle and wood block taps from the opening bars. A splendid example of Bernstein’s craftsmanship, the title track fuses two styles for conflicting cultures while flawlessly maintaining melodic integrity.

Walk on the Wild Side’s second theme is another engaging, intimate melody that conveys lost dreams and youthful innocence, and Bernstein provides several interpretations for Hallie’s scenes with Jo and Dove. The most memorable remains “Furnished Room,” where Dove has rented an apartment for what will be their perfect life as husband and wife. Flute and piano, followed by oboe, convey the strange confusion Hallie experiences, as the life she’s dreamed of suddenly envelopes her, and Bernstein’s addition of strings-playing a simple set of notes-makes the scene come to life. The added irony of Hallie’s original intentions-breaking the relationship-is heavily implied by the strings, and Bernstein’s approach provides an emotional wallop.

The composer is well aware that one of his greatest skills is tackling emotional intimacy. “As a matter of fact,” admits Bernstein, “I prefer the sensitive things, which come more naturally to me. I don’t go very well in between, because I think most of my best things are either very sensitive or very grand-grand in the sense of The Ten Commandments or The Magnificent Seven.”

It’s an interesting bit of self-examination but isn’t wholly true; though gifted at reflecting the turmoil of characters or the grand spectacle of biblical parables, or high-strung action, Bernstein has shown, regardless of the chosen idiom, that he can adeptly score the in-between terrain. Walk on the Wild Side’s main titles alone demonstrate Bernstein’s ability to capture Dove’s pride without being grand or audacious, and the lighter moments show the composer’s able grasp of comedy-more of which we’ll see in The Silencers.

Walk’s third theme is the Spanish-flavored “Teresina,” which captures the supportive nature of the café owner whom Dove repeatedly returns to when his efforts to free Hallie from her self-destructive world are initially unsuccessful. Marimba, woodwinds and strings show the character’s warmth, while the lead trumpet mimics Teresina’s words, which restore Dove each time he falls into a pit of despair and loneliness.

Being New Orleans, there has to be some straight jazz music, and Bernstein delivers several engaging pieces that offer his usual assembly of top-class musicians room to improvise, including trumpet solos by Jack Dumont, accompanied by Shelly Manne on drums. “Hallie’s Jazz,” and “Doll House” are the main originals, and the soundtrack album also features two main-theme interpretations: “Walk on the Wild Side” is more contemporary, using electric guitar, woodwinds and rock-oriented drum work; “Kitty” offers a lighter, fast-paced interpretation, with muted trumpet and clarinet paired up, and short, memorable improvs on electric guitar. “Kitty” recalls the source material on Bernstein’s Staccato album, although in the intervening years it’s clear Bernstein’s jazz writing has been updated.

Walk marks a more audible transition point in the composer’s writing, where the influences of contemporary pop music are evident-the drums have a light rock-and-roll feel, and electric bass and guitar are more widely featured.

The film also gave the composer another popular hit; with its pop-breezy jazz elements, it was a perfect crossover work and brought Elmer Bernstein’s name to a wider audience. (It also didn’t hurt that the theme was ideal for TV advertising.) Though vocal versions of the title song and secondary theme were featured in the film, they weren’t included on the soundtrack album. Brook Benton sings Mack David’s lyrics, and while a small band is shown in the film, there’s no on-screen singer, making for a jarring experience.

The film also gave the composer another popular hit; with its pop-breezy jazz elements, it was a perfect crossover work and brought Elmer Bernstein’s name to a wider audience. (It also didn’t hurt that the theme was ideal for TV advertising.) Though vocal versions of the title song and secondary theme were featured in the film, they weren’t included on the soundtrack album. Brook Benton sings Mack David’s lyrics, and while a small band is shown in the film, there’s no on-screen singer, making for a jarring experience.

Reissued on CD by Mainstream Records in 1991 (MDCD 604), the disc also includes five bonus tracks, featuring themes from Bernstein’s A Girl Named Tamiko (1962) and The Man With the Golden Arm (1955). (The other oddities-themes from David Raksin’s Two Weeks in Another Town (1962), Alex North’s Cleopatra (1963) and a track simply titled “The Chase” are typical Mainstream filler.) Like several of the Mainstream CDs, these early discs favored lower volume levels and a clipped high end, and while the Walk CD sounds fine, it lacks the robustness of the Citadel LP reissue from 1982.

According to the soundtrack album’s original producer, Jackie Mills, the album was the first gold record for fledgling Choreo-a vanity label owned by Fred Astaire. Mills, the musical director for Choreo, started off as a popular drummer for Charlie Barnet and Benny Goodman, among others, and helped maintain the label’s small jazz roster when it later became Ava.

Ava’s eclectic releases of jazz, pop and soundtrack albums occurred mainly between 1962 and 1964. With distribution through MGM Records, Ava’s jazz lineup included Harry Betts, the aforementioned Charlie Barnet and pianist Pete Jolly-whose infectious “Little Bird” briefly put the underrated pianist on the charts.

In the 1960s, MGM had a habit of releasing “music from and inspired by” concoctions, forcing MGM/Verve artists like Lalo Schifrin and pianist Bill Evans to record film themes that subsequently appeared in mix-and-match modes on stand-alone compilations or as filler for score albums deemed too cerebral. Ava, perhaps using the MGM model, or succumbing to the distributor’s influence, dabbled in the same nonsense, and Jolly recorded a 2:28 jazz version of To Kill a Mockingbird’s main theme. After a rushed piano intro, a samba rhythm kicks in, and the trio manages to perform a pretty successful improv, showing even Bernstein’s most intimate themes have an indestructible structure…and in samba mode, no less!

Jolly’s Mockingbird version serves as a perfect intro into the weird history that befell one of Bernstein’s best compilation albums. Recorded in July of 1962 for Ava and engineered by the legendary “Bones” Howe, the originally titled Movie & TV Themes (A/AS-11) featured excellent jazz improvisations from Pete Candoli on trumpet (back from Man With the Golden Arm), trombonist Dick Nash, sax players Bud Shank, Ted Nash and Ronny Lang, drummer Shelly Manne and pianist Russ Freeman.

Though the pacing and arrangements were less hard-edged than the original score tracks, the album nevertheless contained some dynamic, though sadly short, theme versions from the composer’s best-selling albums up to that time: Man With the Golden Arm, Sweet Smell of Success and the then-recent Walk on the Wild Side; plus previously unreleased material from television (Take Five and Saints and Sinners, titled “Big Top” on the CD) and film (Sudden Fear, Anna Lucasta), along with a full-blooded version of the Rat Race track, with crisp, low brass and hip sax solos.

Anna Lucasta’s theme is a standout, in part because it embraces the three qualities that make Bernstein’s dramatic jazz writing so unique: the prelude, consisting of a sultry, repetitive percussive intro, and a plaintive sax solo often fused with woodwinds; a piano lead-in, often an abstract pattern that acts as a pause before a sudden burst of orchestral power; and the rhythmic payoff, involving textured percussion, alternating high brass/woodwind phrases with low brass notes, which build to an agitated crescendo.

Also included are a pair of unused tracks from two unnamed films. Rescued from oblivion, “Hop, Skip but Jump” is another big-band dance piece that lives up to its name, while “Jubilation” is an airy strut that periodically swells to a celebratory tone before easing back to the bass line that started the mini-festivity. The sessions were orchestrated by Bernstein’s stalwarts Jack Hayes and Leo Shuken, plus the lesser-known Ruby Raksin (misspelled “Raskin” on the Mainstream CD), whose own score for The Lollipop Cover was issued by Mainstream Records in 1966.

Ava apparently evolved into Mainstream Records (with Jackie Mills continuing as musical director), for which Bernstein would record several more soundtrack albums in the coming years. In 1966, Mainstream reissued a number of Bernstein’s Ava LPs, including the compilation, re-titled A Man and His Movies. Many studio labels at the time had released compilation albums as samplers for their back catalog of older recordings and/or quick cash-ins for current hits. Examples include Colgem’s two samplers, Film Festival 1961 and Dr. Strangelove and Other Great Movie Themes, United Artists’ The Misfits, and MGM’s Of Human Bondage and Twilight of Honor.

It’s no surprise, then, that Mainstream followed suit with an album of similar dubious quality (S-6094) that utterly betrayed the artistic efforts of Bernstein and the album’s brilliant stereo engineering. Six of the original 1962 session tracks were present on the reissue-all in a dreadful pseudo-stereo process. Added were similarly re-processed tracks from the Ava/Choreo albums for To Kill a Mockingbird (not the title theme, but the syrupy vocal lullaby) and Walk on the Wild Side (two selections), and two measly stereo tracks: “Main Titles” from the Ava Carpetbaggers album, and Bronislau Kaper’s “Love Theme” from Mutiny on the Bounty-at the time, a new MGM release. MGM’s own compilations-checkerboard mono/stereo creations-were sold as full stereo recordings, so perhaps the label’s influence was still present during the Mainstream years. Or maybe some oaf misplaced the stereo masters.

In any event, it wouldn’t be until 1991 that Bernstein’s stereo tracks would be released on CD under the dual-titled Elmer Bernstein Collection/A Man and His Music (Mainstream MDCD 604), and though the early CD transfer clipped the recording in an effort to lessen the inherent analog hiss, the 10 tracks were in proper stereo. Amusingly, the disc’s producer-Jackie Mills-also added album themes from To Kill a Mockingbird (in mono), Baby the Rain Must Fall’s title track, a mono orchestral/pop rendition of the Birdman of Alcatraz theme (with chorus!), and Pete Jolly’s Mockingbird rendition as filler. Heck of a history for what was originally a class-act album.

Moving on, The Caretakers (1963), originally released by Ava (A/AS-31), gives a first impression that Bernstein must have seen a completely different film; every cue is lofty, melodically expressive, mixing cha-chas and dance-hall arrangements for a film that’s supposed to be a straight drama about mental illness, with Joan Crawford (named Lucretia!) as the nonbeliever in Robert Stack’s quest for nonviolent, emotionally supportive treatments. In actuality, the kids at Ava placed source cues (with names like “Black Strait Jacket,” “Take Care,” and “Party in the Ward”) on side A, and original underscore on the B-side.

In his second score for writer/director/producer Hal Bartlett (the first being 1957’s Drango), Bernstein’s music isn’t in the jazz idiom, but it’s worth pointing out the “Main Titles,” for his combination of electronic notes and a jazzy-rock fusion. Perhaps a sly allusion to electroshock therapy, the track has a built-in urgency, though the image that really comes to mind when the orchestra kicks in after a skittering eight-note intro is the Batmobile-the rhythmic patterns are so similar to Neil Hefti’s immortal Batman theme, one has to chuckle as an image of a black ambulance with a blazing fireball at its posterior comes to mind. Seriously.

The Caretakers was ultimately released in 1991 by Mainstream (MDCD 603), and the short (22 min.) score was coupled with the similarly brief Baby the Rain Must Fall (originally on Ava A/AS-53), Bernstein’s 1965 blues-rock soundtrack, which included two vocals by the “Wee Three” trio. Though trumpet great Shorty Rogers performed on the score, his work is far from the jazz work he performed on Bernstein’s albums from the ’50s.

Based on the best-selling Harold Robbins novel, The Carpetbaggers (1964) was Bernstein’s next foray into period melodrama, with the composer hired to underscore the rise and self-destructive behavior of a driven, obsessive, womanizing industrialist. Somewhat inspired by Howard Hughes’ persona and set during the Roaring Twenties, the film also reunited the composer with Walk on the Wild Side’s director, Edward Dmytryk.

Like The Caretakers, Bernstein’s Carpetbaggers is a formal orchestral score, and besides a few flapper-tinged source tracks, only the “Main Titles” has a jazzy edge. Unfolding like a locomotive, heavy brass, percussion and saxophone belt out the first bars of Bernstein’s tribute to industrialism, and after a brief melodic shift, far lighter in tone, the cue ends with a restatement of the industrial motif.

The soundtrack album (Ava A/AS-45) is significantly different from the score, with Bernstein opting for jazz-rock fusion. The updated arrangements and melodic extensions heavily utilize electric bass and guitar, tambourine, and overt rock rhythms.

“The Carpetbaggers Blues” is the album’s only real jazz cut, using a small assembly of saxophones, muted trumpet, string bass, light drums, electric guitar, clarinet and vibes. A subtle rock inflection is evident in a series of intermittent chord progressions from the piano, and it’s clear that Bernstein’s jazz writing was moving away from the dark landscape of his ’50s material. The year 1962 signified a time to lighten up, and after scoring several films with dour subject matter, the composer seemed aware that continuing to score similarly toned films would pigeonhole him as a composer of noirish thrillers, kitchen sink dramas and grand westerns. He never eschewed those rewarding genres, but he was well aware of the dilemma Henry Mancini was facing at the time.

As Bernstein explains, “Hank was Hank, and he invented ‘the Mancini Sound,’ so to speak, which was a double-edged sword. I mean, Hank was a really terrific composer-he could write anything-but he got so stuck with his own Mancini Sound that it hurt him ultimately.”

Perhaps because of his diverse output, Bernstein neither fell victim to the unique easy listening/lounge sound that affected Mancini’s image and career, and was able to tackle intimate and large-scale productions in any genre. Bernstein’s sound was also his own, and arguably his greatest success and source of recognition-The Magnificent Seven and its sequels-pigeonholed him into searching for sounds beyond those codified in that score. He wasn’t always successful-and no doubt strove throughout this period to assure producers and directors that the Magnificent Seven sound was unique to that series-but in the world of comedy, it was a different matter.

Fans of Donald Hamilton’s hard-boiled detective novels weren’t too pleased when Matt Helm, originally a government operative, became a P.I. caricature. As portrayed by Dean Martin, Helm was reworked to suit the “swinging ’60s” as a Bond variation, with plenty of women, booze, espionage and villains. Released in 1966, The Silencers came at the height of the spy craze, and the obvious spoofing gave the reworked character enough legs to survive four feature films.

Whereas Baby the Rain Must Fall was overtly pop, The Silencers fused big-band arrangements with a level of playful yet aggressive writing, imbued with a vigor reminiscent of Bernstein’s classic ’50s output. That isn’t to say the ’60s scores to that time were weak, but The Silencers exudes such vitality and goofiness that the final result is utterly addictive.

In the 1960s, RCA Records produced a series of Living Stereo recordings that even today are of audiophile quality. The clarity of this album (LSO/LOC-1120) is stunning; the stereo image is so robust one can easily point out the band sections and solo instruments with closed eyes.

Orchestrated by the great Leo Shuken and Jack Hayes, the “Main Title” is a big-band avalanche that blows through the film’s two main themes in a tight 2:55.

Four isolated drum taps start the flood, and the entire band blares a weakening, Mancini-esque statement. As the notes lose energy, rambunctious bongos and percussion perform a tribal rap, and the orchestra kicks in with brass stabs, while a drum kit and string bass evoke a shadowy figure, rippling across nighttime alleys and sharp corners. The recording’s close-miking heightens the performance, with saxophones on the left performing a fragment of the film’s “Silencer” theme-another bluesy, sleek Bernstein creation-while the rest of the brass section alternates between emphatic trumpets or skittering trombones. It’s 30 seconds of high-tension, 100 m.p.h. action, and it’s thoroughly riveting.

Next, solo bongos provide a transitional bridge, and after some mocking sax licks, the orchestra muscles together and builds to a sustained, off-kilter 1-2-3 percussion romp. The band restates a few plaintive bars, and Bernstein suddenly flips the tempo and tone to an absurd, booze-induced rendition of the full theme, with organ on the right, and an embarrassed tenor sax on the left. A restatement, with an incessant, blathering trumpet and breezy flutes on either channel finish the passage, and before a gentle ritard, the entire band gears up, flipping to a frenzied tempo, while brass and percussion stabs hit off-notes in a twisted meter that confounds the listener. After easing into a more straightforward rendition of the main theme, the band slows down, ultimately ending on a fading sustained note. Bernstein doesn’t give us an easy resolution, and we’re left hungry for more craziness.

Vikki Carr’s rendition of The Silencers theme (with lyrics by Mack David) is high-class burlesque in its purest form: elegant as a long black opera glove, Bernstein’s orchestration uses a decisive, percussive strut, with teasing, hip-wiggling knocks to accompany Carr’s voice and to support silky statements about minimum waist requirements and optimum bust size:

“But if you should see,
A lady who,
Has the kind of waist,
That measures twe-en-ty-two,
And she’s thir-ty-eight where it-is-great to mea-sure 38,
Dear Sir: She is a Si-i-len-cer”
Dear Sir: I’m HER!”

The tempo remains easygoing, and Bernstein accentuates Carr’s performance with muted brass, and snippets of trembling flutes and sleek vibes. Most of the song is an alternation between soothing vocals and the high-strung brass section, and the exercise in dynamics ultimately winds down with Carr seemingly “strutting” toward the invisible audience, softly assuring the listener that all’s well if we just “lean back” and “relax… Dear Sir.”

“Santiago,” the film’s secondary theme, is also given a vocal treatment, with Carr smoothly exhaling the ridiculous lyrics involving true love and “getting hot” in a “cool, cool evening” in Chile. The samba concoction is pure fluff, and though “Santiago” retains that burlesque feel, Bernstein and his orchestrators have fun with deliberately expressive instrumentation; a brief variation of the popular “Tequila” makes a sneak appearance, too.

Much of the album selections use two theme variations: a self-conscious, pseudo-cool swagger (via percussion and electric guitar, as in “Big “O”) from the Silencers riff and the lofty “Santiago” theme (which, certainly in “Promise Her Anything,” has a familiar western feel). The main highlights, though, are the jazz-pop Silencers versions, with bopping drums, plenty of Hammond organ and band sections that play with shameful bravado.

For the silly 1967 sequel, Murderer’s Row, the producers engaged Lalo Schifrin, who continued with Bernstein’s tone, adding an extra dose of bombast, and a generous rock-and-roll backbeat. Hugo Montenegro, who had made several successful recordings of popular film themes (including Walk on the Wild Side), scored the 1968 sequel, The Ambushers, and contributed to the last installment, The Wrecking Crew, in 1969.

As of this writing, The Silencers has yet to receive a CD release, but the two vocal tracks are widely available on various compilations, including Vikki Carr’s own collections and a spate of lounge collections, like The Crime Scene: Ultra Lounge Volume 7. Dean Martin himself released an album of songs (Reprise RS/R-6211), and while the LP included an eerie rendition of The Silencers theme, no original score tracks were included.

When asked about his score, Bernstein humorously admitted, “You know, I don’t have a great deal of memory of The Silencers. I was very friendly with Dean Martin, and Dean was very closely involved with it. It came at a period in my life when I had three things going at once: I had just gotten married, and I had another picture going at the same time.”

Indeed, 1966 was another heady and prolific year. Besides the epics Hawaii and Cast a Giant Shadow (both released commercially) on his docket, Bernstein also scored Return of the Seven, the belated sequel to 1960’s The Magnificent Seven. Though no original soundtrack album was issued for the first film, he recorded a selection of themes from both films for United Artists that year, which resulted in another best-selling album. The Magnificent Seven theme was also adopted by TV advertisers, and Bernstein’s popularity was further exploited in 1967 with Music From Marlboro Country, a bizarre concept album (SP-107) that featured cuts from the Seven compilation album, plus pop versions of the famous theme, including an evil samba variation (with chorus).

Though The Silencers marks the end of Bernstein’s jazz album legacy, similarly memorable contributions were made writing source cues-most notably with Kings Go Forth, Some Came Running (formerly on Capitol, and coupled on a Could Nine CD, CNS-5004) and The Gypsy Moths (now available for the first time, on the FSM label). Bernstein also gave his jazz writing one last hurrah with the dynamic, urban-blues score for The Liberation of L.B. Jones, for director William Wyler’s last film, in 1970.

While Lalo Schifrin and Quincy Jones are better known for their urban rock/jazz fusion scores, Bernstein’s effort remains distinct, and as with The Silencers, the Hammond organ plays a major role. Again orchestrated by Leo Shuken and Jack Hayes, L.B. Jones is ultra-groovy, using small brass, resonant electric bass, rugged drum work, and long (long!) organ solos with electric wah-wah guitar. Also commercially unreleased, this addictive attitudinal stew bubbles with magical energy, fluid, organic orchestrations, and predates the similarly funky soundtracks composed by Gordon Parks for Shaft’s Big Score! (1972), Johnny Pate’s Shaft in Africa (1973), and particularly Ron Grainer’s popular The Omega Man (1971).

On the commercial end, Bernstein’s Decca, Capitol, RCA and Choreo/Ava/Mainstream albums have held up remarkably well, with themes enduring through compilations by a wide variety of performer and genre-themed collections.

Naturally the complete scores and full albums reveal Bernstein’s gift as a film composer, and we’re lucky that a good sampling of the albums examined in Parts 1 and 2 of this retrospective have appeared on CD. The Man With the Golden Arm will remain an eternal favorite, if not for its quality, then certainly for the brilliant jazz musicians who performed and co-composed selections-their fans alone will add a persistent body to keep the music around for another 40 years. (And since so little of Shorty Rogers’ material exists on CD, it’s one to treasure.)

Forty years is a long time for a composer to recall exacting details. When Elmer Bernstein was contacted for this article, many of the obscure albums, long out of print and out of mind, seemed surprising to him; not because of forgetfulness, but because they were remembered. Quality and craftsmanship endure, and Bernstein’s legacy of writing damn good music, functional as source or innovative underscore, are worth examining. Every decade a new generation of music lovers, and particularly new composers, goes back a few years and rediscovers the Forgotten. That’s why Bernstein’s jazz scores-soundtracks not only in the jazz idiom, but soundtracks in which structure and improvisations remain functional to the film itself-deserve all this attention.

As admirers, colleagues and historians celebrate Elmer Bernstein’s 80th birthday, let a loud “Thank You!” ring clear for the quality of his work and for enriching film music’s heritage.

Reprint Courtesy of Film Score Monthly