"Some months ago, while I was preparing a new work, I told a young cinema executive my intention of including in a soundtrack two themes from Bach. But when he asked me which has been the last hit from that Bach?, then I knew that I had no longer place in cinema"
About this Quote
Jarre skewers the collision between art and commerce with a punch line that lands because it’s so plausibly stupid. “Which has been the last hit from that Bach?” is funny on its face, but the real target isn’t the young executive’s ignorance; it’s the industry logic the question reveals. Bach isn’t being misunderstood as a composer. He’s being processed as inventory.
The setup matters: Jarre isn’t reminiscing about a lost golden age from some ivory tower. He’s describing the practical act of building a soundtrack, where quoting Bach can function as shorthand for complexity, spiritual heft, or sheer architectural beauty. His “intention” is aesthetic, even narrative. The executive’s follow-up reframes that intention into marketability: if it doesn’t chart, it doesn’t belong. That’s not a mere misunderstanding; it’s a worldview where cultural value is validated only by recent sales.
Jarre’s final line, “then I knew that I had no longer place in cinema,” is deliberately melodramatic, and that’s the point. He’s staging exile as a moral conclusion: if cinema’s gatekeepers can’t distinguish between timeless repertoire and disposable product cycles, the composer who treats music as more than branding becomes an anachronism. Subtext: the soundtrack, once a space for craft and reference, is being annexed by executive taste, demographic panic, and the fetish of “the hit.”
Coming from Jarre - a titan of big, lush film scores - the irony sharpens. This isn’t an outsider whining. It’s a master diagnosing an industry that increasingly treats even genius as content that needs a release date.
The setup matters: Jarre isn’t reminiscing about a lost golden age from some ivory tower. He’s describing the practical act of building a soundtrack, where quoting Bach can function as shorthand for complexity, spiritual heft, or sheer architectural beauty. His “intention” is aesthetic, even narrative. The executive’s follow-up reframes that intention into marketability: if it doesn’t chart, it doesn’t belong. That’s not a mere misunderstanding; it’s a worldview where cultural value is validated only by recent sales.
Jarre’s final line, “then I knew that I had no longer place in cinema,” is deliberately melodramatic, and that’s the point. He’s staging exile as a moral conclusion: if cinema’s gatekeepers can’t distinguish between timeless repertoire and disposable product cycles, the composer who treats music as more than branding becomes an anachronism. Subtext: the soundtrack, once a space for craft and reference, is being annexed by executive taste, demographic panic, and the fetish of “the hit.”
Coming from Jarre - a titan of big, lush film scores - the irony sharpens. This isn’t an outsider whining. It’s a master diagnosing an industry that increasingly treats even genius as content that needs a release date.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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