The Emmy Award...
Or how I almost lost my soul to Hollywood

In 1988, after a frenzied year of throwing almost everything I had into producing, writing, recording, and editing the music for Will Vinton's "Claymation Christmas Celebration," (which aired in December of 1987), the show and those who worked on it were awarded an Emmy for "Outstanding Animated Program." But, as you will find out, there is no check attached to the bottom of the statue, and in many cases, the story becomes a classic "be careful what you wish for," tale of doom.

I "got the gig," through one of those bizarre twists of fate. I had done some soundtrack music for a local Eugene videographer and erstwhile filmmaker, as way of "getting my foot in the door" in the local film/video world. The movie (which for all involved shall remain nameless) had a long list of local talent, including as it turned out, a man who had just been hired to work on a project for Academy Award winner, Will Vinton. At the "wrap party," he made the statement that "the music was the best part of the film" we had just "premiered" (two times zero is still zero in my book) and would I want to audition for some work with this Vinton project?

Sure. Why not? A coupled of calls later, and he gave me the assignment of doing a humorous version of "Here We Come a Wassailing" sung by pigs, geese, and dogs. The demo tape of "Wallowing, Waddling and Waffling" had them in stitches, and a deal was struck. The original deal, was for 10 songs, for $2,500. It was to be used for a children's video tape of Christmas carols.

Then, something strange and fun happened.

I did an African/Blues/Jazz version of "Joy to the World," that rocked. It was one of the best things I had ever written. Within a week of presenting it, I got the word from Vinton's people that it had "opened up their thinking" and that they were going to try and pitch the idea to network TV people as a special. A treatment (brilliant, funny stuff written primarily by Ralph Liddle and John Logue as I recall), along with four rough cuts of music was whipped out. This was followed by a trip to L.A. to shop it to the network bigwigs, and the next thing you know-POW!-we are suddenly going to do a Prime Time Special for CBS television.

Then the fun began…countless rewrites, every second of music modified again and again to fit the television/commercial format. Ideas are tossed out, Raisins added, and every week seems like some miracle that must be pulled from my creative backside, proceeded casually with "we need this as soon as you can get it to us!"

It was one of the most exciting and creative times of my life as a writer/producer/arranger. The Vinton team was at their apex, having made their mark by doing the Claymation-style commercials for the California Raisins, as well as a number of Claymation music videos (including Peter Gabriel) and television/film shorts that all went on to win major awards.

The team that was hired for the Claymation Christmas Celebration was comprised of a huge contingent of budding, talented clay animators who were working "on the cheap" (you'll see a trend developing here) for the chance to work with Vinton and his award winning (if underpaid) staff of animators. There were several "vets" who oversaw production, directed various scenes, and kept the professional standards high when creative minds strayed too far. However, the vast majority of animation/writing/producing was being done by "newbies" who more than made up for their lack of knowledge with hard work, energy and excitement.

I was working in my home studio in Eugene at the time, and the almost weekly meetings in Portland meant 2 hour commutes both ways. But I always came back loaded with new ideas and things I wanted to try, to make the music and sound effects as interesting and fun as possible.

The budget, and my fee were renegotiated to a whopping $12,500, not exactly the kind of money one would expect for a Prime Time Special that is almost ALL music…especially when guys like Jan Hammer were getting something like $25,000 an episode for the theme music alone at the time for "Miami Vice." But…I guess Jan had to write for people, whereas I was writing for some hand-drawn animatronics (script/cartoon/storyboards) and later a bunch of clay and plastic brought to life by the talented (and equally underpaid) artists at Vinton.

Clay animation, or "Claymation", is like cartooning, but using three-dimensional scenes made almost entirely of clay. A single second of animation is made up of 24 separate scenes, each element needing to be repositioned to move a fraction of an inch…including main figures and background elements. Each scene is staged and lit like a miniature movie set. It is an amazing and grueling art form made popular by Vinton, and then some would argue, perfected by Nick Park (Wallace and Gromit, Chicken Run).

Every visit to the studios was like going to Disneyland on acid. Every set was teaming with activity. Every artist had that "I've been working 20 days straight without a break" look on their faces, because most of them had. The show required just over 24 minutes of animation, music, and final editing. Do the math…24 frames (individual scene pictures taken after someone moved everything just a little bit on a scene built almost entirely of clay), times 60 for a single minute of film, times 24 minutes. That is 34,560 individual scenes in the final edit…which doesn't take into account the thousands of scenes that end up on the cutting room floor, or don't make the final cut.

As I recall, my original contract was signed on the 25th of April, 1987, and it coincided with the beginning of conceptual work by the studio. The special was scheduled to run somewhere around Christmas 1987, meaning that there was less than 6 months to do more than 35,000 frames of animation…which all had to be designed, built, animated, and then edited, complete with sound and effects.

The process for scoring an animated film is kind of backwards to regular scoring. In the case of a "normal" video/film project, the film has been cut for time, and the music is added in a "post-score" manner, meaning you write to the timing of the scene.

In this case, because the show was about 75% music, the music had to be done first, at least rough arrangements for timing purposes. Then the music is redone, or improved, set against animatronics, which is filming a scene using the sound as the backdrop to rough drawings, or scenes including many of the animators acting out the parts in order to get facial and body movement ideas for the animators. The final animation is done, sent back to soundtrack writer (me) who then must make sure that all of the music cues hit the right spots, including any musical effects that must be matched exactly to the film. If a penguin is plopping on the ice, the music and effects have to plop as well. If there are visual cues, the music has to match the cues and emotional flavor of the scene.

This was all done in the early developmental days of SMPTE (Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers) time code, and MIDI (Musical Instrument Digital Interface) music sequencing technology.

SMPTE was the first standardized digital time code, replacing the old, very strange, 60-cycle synch track. In the "olden days" before the mid 1980s, everyone, including Will Vinton, used the old method. Synchronization between the camera and recorder was maintained by a "sync cable" that linked the two together. A 60 cycle sync pulse (basically the same thing as a the hum that is generated out of standard light socket) was generated by the camera motor and this signal was recorded on the sound recorder as an indicator of exact film speed. Due to motor and battery variances the film speed tended to vary slightly and the 60 cycle sync pulse would reflect these speed changes. SMPTE was digital code…zeros and ones…recorded on both the synch track of the film and the synch track of the sound recorder. It allows for exact locking of devices to accuracy of 1/3000th of a second. Fostex, a recording equipment manufacturer that was making its name for narrow format, multi-track recording equipment made the brilliant leap to build a series of 3 track mastering decks, as well as editing gear that not only generated, but read SPMTE time code. I bought a complete 16 track editing and recording setup, including the Fostex E-16 ½" 16 track deck, the editing/SMTPE controller, a ¼" 3 channel mastering deck, and several other Fostex outboard boxes, as well as a Studiomaster 48 channel mixing console and several mics, all for less than $6,500. A comparable setup in standard studios would have cost between $50,000-$100,000. So, the timing for this new technology could not have been better.

At the same time, I met an absolutely insane (brilliant, funny, but nuts) computer programmer named Robert Keller. He was trying to launch a new product, a 16-track software based sequencer that would run on a PC. I first saw Keller at the Lane Community College electronic music seminar, where he was demonstrating his new software invention. Sandwiched in between a ton of professionals from the large music instrument companies, Keller showed up, beard and hair in a disheveled "absent minded professor" look, and gave a presentation that was manic, disjointed, but awe inspiring in the abilities of what the program could perform.

I was just starting to learn about MIDI, which is the language used to bridge a computer and a MIDI instrument, usually a synthesizer, sampler, or controller. Unlike traditional tape or a digital recording program, which records the actual sound, a MIDI program simply records the action of the keyboard, drum controller etc. as an "on-off" event. Hit a key, and the program records which key, how hard the key was struck, if there is sustain added by a pedal, and which voice the synthesizer is playing (piano, drum, trumpet etc). A simple MIDI recorder (which is about all there were at the time) recorded 16 different tracks (instruments) individually, and allowed you to edit the events on a computer screen by moving them up, down, back, forth etc. to correct missed notes, or bad timing.

The primary drawback to most of the early sequencers were that they could only handle a small amount of information, and therefore automatically "quantized" or placed the events as close to a digital marker or "digital pulse" as the computer saw fit. Most programs were around 100 pulses per quarter note. Great if are doing some heavy synth-based "Flock of Seagulls" disco song, but horrible if you are playing live drum parts with roll-offs and playing just ahead of a beat to form the "groove." Keller's program got my attention at 300 pulses per quarter note (everything stayed "live" in feel), and a really interesting, flexible interface.

After several meetings, buying my first PC clone (an 8086 with a 600 KB hard drive) and a few sessions with Keller, I was off and running in the music production world.

The absolute best thing about the relationship between Robert and I, was that the guy is a genius, nuts and not afraid to try anything. Having him in town meant that if I ran into something that was not working, or some feature that I thought would be really helpful, it would take a couple of days, and he'd call me and say, "hey, stop by…I think you are going to like this." It was as if he was developing the program around my needs for the project. And whether that was actually the case, it is the way it worked out. 16 tracks became 64. SMTE time codes were integrated. The ability to merge tracks easily, add an automatic "human feel" to tracks through reverse quantizing, and countless other features made it the best sequencing program in the world at the time…and in my opinion, maybe to this day.

In short, what the combination of cutting edge, equipment from Ensoniq, Roland, Fostex, and Keller's software allowed me to do, was simply create, without getting mired in the morass of technology and learning curves that stilted the creative process. It allowed me to do the work of ten people, in my basement studio. This allowed professional, CD quality (which had barely been introduced at the time), for less than a $10,000 investment (which was good, because you might want to go back and review the budget).

Singing pigs, skating walruses, dancing raisins, and doo-wapping camels all came together in a classic animated show that aired on December 24th, 1987 to more than 35 million households.

The music featured the voices of my family, friends, and several local musicians. All playing for scale, or for the fun of being on a television show. What was the choice? There was no more money to be pried from the tight-fisted hands of the Vinton management. I won't mention names here…but I can tell you that in all of my dealings with advertising clients, including car dealerships, stereo store owners and countless lawyers over the years, I never dealt with a more skinflint business manager than the weasel who headed up Vinton Studios at the time. You know who you are…(starts with a "D"-almost rhymes with Playvid).

ANYWAY… the show aired…got killer ratings. And the next thing you know…POW! (it was a year of POWs)…there was a record deal in the works, and a ton of incidental work to be done on other projects.

The Claymation Christmas Celebration album for Atlantic records, is an almost entirely different story. And should be told as such. But suffice it to say, in the year that followed the airing of the Claymation Christmas Celebration on CBS, I lost myself to the Hollywood curse. In other words, I started to believe my own bullshit about how wonderful I was, how amazing things were going to be, and what a bright future I had in front of me. In actuality, the years following were full of legal problems, financial problems, and an ever-deepening depression brought on by the thought, "is this really as good as it gets?"

After months of busting 12-hour days, seven days a week on the studio album for Atlantic, amidst promises money, fame and security, I had all but given up doing anything but working on the record, including putting my advertising clients on hold, and beginning the process of starting and losing a music production library company. By the time we got word that we were nominated for the Emmy award, my family was pretty much destitute, literally holding garage sales from our country home to eat, and having to borrow the money to get down to Hollywood for the Emmy awards ceremony. On "the big night," the reality of the shallow emptiness that is Hollywood struck me like a bitch slap from $25 hooker (OK…that was a little melodramatic). As part of the "non-televised" Emmy awards (the Freaks and Geeks portion of the Academy), we were all surprised to realize that the location for the event was at a convention center, that when observed with an honest eye, was nothing more than a big warehouse, with exposed HVAC pipes, with some red carpets, tables and a podium.

If you go to http://www.imdb.com/Sections/Awards/Emmy_Awards/1988 …you will find a complete listing of the Emmy Awards for that year.

What you won't see, is the disparity between the televised Emmy Awards and "the rest of the schlubs who aren't worthy of a network television appearance because they are behind the scenes."

The "Freaks and Geeks" awards are for categories like "Outstanding Graphic Design and Title Sequence," "Outstanding Lighting Direction - Variety, Music or Drama Series, Miniseries or Special," and countless special awards for hairstyling and art direction. Even though our show had a higher Nielsen rating than hundreds of Network shows that year, we still did not make it to the "beautiful people show" with such luminaries as Estelle Getty, Patricia Wettig, John Shea, Larry Drake, and John Larroquette. Television was horrible that year…let's face it. The big shows were the simpering, whining "Thirtysomething," and the hideous, loud, androgynous "Golden Girls." But, we were not worthy of a national audience for our award.

Vinton had "sprung" for a limo. So getting there in one large, well-dressed contingent was fun. There were no huge throngs of people on the red carpet, no interviewers, and we almost got lost trying to find the right entrance, but we were there…at the EMMYS! Our table was about 20 feet from the stage, with a clear view of the podium.

The tables looked beautiful, and everyone got a commemorative pin signifying the 40th anniversary of the Emmy Awards. The MC for the night, was the "even prettier in person" Joanna Kerns, the hot MILF from "Growing Pains." She was glowing, and bubbling with effusive energy, and had the kind of "nice girl looks" in a "naughty girl body" that really made you want to know her…in a Biblical as well as "having coffee over a donut" kind of way.

We were the first award of the night. The very first award.

We were up against only two other nominees, A Garfield Christmas Special and the Brave Little Toaster. Come on. It was a shoe-in. We were not even surprised when our name was called. Vinton and Ralph Liddle accepted. I don't remember a damn thing they said, because Joanna Kerns was off to the stage about 5 feet from me, adjusting her dress…smoothing it over her tight, supple… OH DAMN IT! IS IT OVER ALREADY???? It was that quick.

Within 20 more minutes, I realized that this is NOT what I had imagined. The rest of the presenters for the rest of the awards (including a bunch of "lifetime achievement awards for the technology of the vacuum tube, some sort of camera mount and other such stuff) were given out by the cast members of "Hill Street Blues." They all seemed as if they had someplace better to be, which made me feel as if I had someplace better to be.

So, after another hour of this parade of geeks in tuxes, I excused myself, went to the lobby, called my wife to give her the news (trying to sound excited) and then went to a little Mexican lounge across the street. There I found…you guessed it…the presenters from Hill Street Blues, all whining about the fact that they had to give out awards for this group of geeks, and how they were going to give their agents hell for getting them into this stupid gig.

Perfect. The apex of my career subverted by some hack actors that would never be seen again in a serious role, (go ahead, search the database and tell me how many names you recognize other than Dennis Frantz and Charles Haid). But it was a "real moment," that perfectly summed up the situation. I was there in Hollywood, missing my wife, in a rented tux (I couldn't afford) listening to a bunch of conceited asses bitching about having to celebrate my success. If they only knew.

The rest of the night was a spiral of depression that went from bad to worse. Turns out that "Uncle Moneybags," a.k.a. Will Vinton, was not up for paying for a limousine for the way BACK to the Sunset Marquis where were staying. So seven of us had to cram into an aging import driven by an acquaintance of one of the other animators who was able to afford the trip (airfare, food, lodging at the Sunset Marquis and transportation) to get our award. Then, upon finally arriving back at the hotel, we were told that Uncle Moneybags wanted us to come by his chalet for a celebration.

Sounded cool. I left my empty, luxury room, complete with an outdoor Jacuzzi, to party Hollywood style with my fellow artists in a chalet at one of the most notorious "rock and roll" havens in Hollywood (I swear I saw Whitesnake in the lobby). I was stoked.

That is until I found out that Uncle Moneybags' idea of "celebrating" was to buy a case of wine coolers (two bottles each) and try and coerce the only musician in the group (that would be me) to become the performing chimpanzee and entertain everyone with requests. I didn't like it when I actually played piano bars in my youth, and I sure as hell wasn't stoked to do it here, in a rented tux, with a freakin' wine cooler between my legs, without so much as a freakin' tip jar on the top of the Steinway baby grand that was propping up a group of some of the most bewildered looking Emmy award winners in history.

I played three songs…told everyone I was tired…and got the hell out of there.

But the thought of spending the "best night of my life" alone in the hot tub of a skeezy, world-famous hotel, where the sound of gunshots were clearly audible every ten to fifteen minutes from the surrounding Hollywood neighborhood, was just too damn depressing to handle. So I left the room, got in the rental car and drove aimlessly around Hollywood.

I drove past Sunset Sound, one of the most famous studios on the strip. I drove past K-Disc disc mastering, where I had mastered the now defunct "Trax Music Library." I drove past countless hookers, pimps and street thugs on my way down the strip and up into the hills, then circling back to drive past the iconic landmarks of the music that had fueled my youth…The Roxy, the Whiskey, the Rainbow Room, the Capital Records building, and countless other effigies to the horrible faux happiness of the music business. I am certain that I never felt more detached from my real life, and real happiness than at that moment.

I couldn't cry, I couldn't laugh, I could barely breath. I wanted to get drunk, but I knew that would only add to my depression. So, instead, I pulled into a comedy club, and decided to blow $20 of the last $60 I had in my pocket (and probably to my name), on laughing at the world through the eyes of someone else trying to "make it."

I don't remember who performed. I do remember realizing that I still had my stupid rented tuxedo on, and even weirder, nobody seemed to notice or care. That made me laugh. It occurred to me that in Hollywood, there was always some guy, probably loads of guys, standing around in comedy bars and nightclubs in rented tuxedos. I fit right in.

And that was enough of a reason to leave quickly (after pounding down my two-drink minimum) and heading back to my room, eating the chocolate off of the pillow, stripping off my clothes, jumping into bed and ignoring the blinking message light on my phone.

The next day, I retrieved the message. It was Uncle Moneybags wondering if I would reconsider and come back to the party (which I heard broke up a half hour after I left). I packed my carry-on, called my wife and told her about my "night on the strip," and then killed the next four hours before our plane took off for Portland, with a couple of the other "Vintonistas" at the MGM studio tour, and bitching about the "privilege" of working your ass off for a guy who thought wine coolers by the case was a "great deal."

I wish I could say that the Emmy had some huge effect on my life. I guess in some strange way it did. That while I finally finished the record for Atlantic, and actually tried to secure an agent to hustle up some bigger soundtrack jobs ("yes…yes I did get a head-credit in the project…no, I'm not willing to relocate to Hollywood or New York"), I never looked back again. I finished the album, did some incidental music for a couple of other "Raisin Projects" but that was it. I was finished with Hollywood.

Over the years, it has been gratifying to hear some fan of the show (and now even some of the kids of the fans of the show) say that the special is still "their favorite Christmas tradition" when they find out that I did the music. The show aired for five years on CBS, and several times more on Disney. The ironic part of it is that I ended up earning several time more in ASCAP royalties than I actually cleared after my expenses on the original project. I didn't even know I was entitled to the royalties, until I was doing research for royalties for the record project (for which I never received dime-one in royalties…but that is another story).

I had just chalked it up to "one of those chapters in my life."

Until this past Christmas…

It was with guarded excitement that I saw that "The Claymation Christmas Celebration" had been released on DVD, along with a couple of other forgettable holiday Claymation specials. I had decided to buy a bunch of copies of the DVD to give out as Christmas presents in 2005. I ordered in on Amazon, and the copies showed up within a week.

To say that I was disappointed in the sound would be a gross and terrible understatement. In the digital format, I at least expected the sound to be crisp and clear. But alas, as was always the case with the Vinton crew, sound quality was a distant second in importance to the animation. It sounds as if they took the sound from a video copy…a BAD video copy.

But then there was an "added bonus" to this story…

As is the norm with most DVDs these days, there was an option to listen to the "director's comments" as the film played. Now…I get that it was his company. I understand that actually hunting down some of the people who REALLY had the most to do with the production like Liddle, Logue, and some of the other directors of the scenes may have been difficult…but to have to endure 24 minutes of Will Vinton prattling on about his involvement, the history of his success, and countless other unrelated stories about the actual production was almost unbearable.

In typical Vinton form, although the special was at least 75% music, there is not a SINGLE reference about the music until the very end, when the "granddaddy of replaced memory and experience" says, "the music was done by Patric Miller. He has kind of disappeared…If he's listening to this, he should give us a call."

HOLYSONOFABITCHINASSHOLEOFACHEAPSKATEWEASEL.

Not gonna happen.

Turns out that Vinton lost his company in a big takeover bruhahahahaha…to none other than the Anti-Christ of slave labor, Phil Knight…who basically bought the company ("saved" in his words) for his kid to run. Last I heard Vinton was starting from scratch, broke, and teaching part-time at a Portland Art school.

Next time you have a wine cooler, think of Will.