The Navigations of Vangelis
               part one



Winning  the  academy  award  for Best
Soundtrack  marks  a  milestone in the
career  of  Evangelos  Papathanassiou,
known for years to his fans and now to
the  world  by  the  name  of Vangelis
(pronounced, incidentally, with a hard
'g',  as  in  agree).   But  more than
that, it has a special meaning for the
world  in  general.   Not only does it
take  the synthesizer one step further
as   a   principal  compositional  and
orchestral  tool in movie scoring, the
Oscar  also  signifies  its undisputed
arrival    in    the    community   of
instruments.

The    ascendancy   of   Vangelis,   a
self-taught  artist  whose melodic and
colorative  gifts soar unencumbered by
his    inability    to   read   music,
demonstrates  that  synthesizers, like
pianos,   violins,   and  every  other
accepted Western instrument, can cater
to  any and all compositional schools.
Wendy  Carlos  takes  center  stage in
adapting  them  to the precise demands
of  Baroque performance, and Kraftwerk
pioneers  their application to a blend
of neo-Futurism and rock, but Vangelis
is  the  great Romantic, the inheritor
of  mid-nineteenth-century  approaches
to  lush  mixtures  of  sound  and the
sweeping   thematic   line.    He  is,
compositionally,     the    electronic
Tchaikovsky.

It  is another reflection of the times
that  Vangelis  has  done  what he has
done  without  the benefit of a formal
musical    education.     The    great
composers  of the past generally could
not  have  written full scores without
having had some basic grounding in the
complexities   of  transferring  their
inner  music  onto  paper  effectively
enough  to  bring  the sounds out into
the  open.   But in his London studio,
surrounded   by  banks  of  keyboards,
percussion  instruments, and recording
apparatus, Vangelis is able to let his
imagination  run  directly  onto tape,
improvising  the  basic  melodic track
first,  then augmenting, altering, and
enhancing as his mood dictates.

Some  traditionalists  in  the musical
world  complain  that  the  impact  of
technology  has been to drain music of
its  life  forces;  they fear that the
process  of filtering their expression
through  electronics will somehow move
it    further   from   the   fingertip
immediacy  to which acoustic musicians
are  accustomed.   This may be true in
the  work  of  certain artists, but to
the  general public Vangelis is surely
the   first   clear   and   undeniable
exception  to  this  idea.  This burly
bearded   Greek   expatriate   is   no
white-smocked  technician;  he  is  as
emotional  in  his  conversation as in
his  art,  at  times  verging  on  the
mystical  in his expostulations on the
relationship between his music and his
equipment.   He, perhaps more than any
other   synthesist,  has  demonstrated
that  technology can be brought to the
service of romantic expression.

Though  he  seldom performs live these
days,   preferring   to  spin  complex
synthesized webs in the shelter of his
studio,  Vangelis has been through the
pop star experience.  At one point, he
was   even  invited  to  replace  Rick
Wakeman    in   Yes,   a   post   many
multikeyboardists  would  have  killed
for.   Yet  Vangelis  turned  it down,
since  the  pressures of fame, and the
compromises  it would have demanded on
his work, were unacceptable to him.

For  similar  reasons  he  is somewhat
uncomfortable  with his Academy Award.
Proud  as  he is of Chariots of Fire ,
Vangelis   does  not  see  it  as  his
high-water  mark.  Music to him is not
a  flood,  a  contest to pile one wave
higher  that  the  next  against  some
measure   of  public  acceptance.   In
Vangelis's  eyes,  it  is  more  of  a
river, a steady stream of inspiration,
twisting  here, falling there--perhaps
to  accommodate  dramatic  action in a
film,  for example--but always flowing
outward, from the heart.  If the Oscar
seems  to represent a standard for him
to  beat  in his future work, Vangelis
may  well  at  times wonder whether he
would have been better off without it.

Vangelis  was  born  in Volos, Greece,
and raised in Athens, 200 miles to the
south.   He  began  experimenting with
music  with  music at the age of four,
composing  his first piece (for piano)
and   exploring  other,  more  unusual
sound  sources  by  playing with radio
interference  and  stuffing the family
piano  with  nails  and  kitchen pans.
Attempts   to  subject  him  to  piano
lessons     proved    fruitless;    an
indifferent      student,     Vangelis
preferred  developing his own ideas to
playing  those  dreamed  up by someone
else in some distant time and place.

Rock  attracted  him  at an early age.
At  18  he  acquired his first Hammond
organ,  and  soon  formed a group with
some student friends.  Called Formynx,
it quickly became one of the top bands
of the early '60s in Greece.  However,
partly      because     of     limited
opportunities  for musical progress in
his  homeland,  and  partly because of
the   ominous   political   atmosphere
stirred  up by the 1968 Greek military
coup,  Vangelis packed up and moved to
Paris at 25.

There    he   formed   another   band,
Aphrodite's Child, which also featured
the   popular  singer  Demis  Roussos.
Their  theatrical style of progressive
rock  fit  in  perfectly with European
tastes  at  that  time, and with their
major  hit  record,  "Rain and Tears,"
they  became  one  of the top bands on
the  continent.   Vangelis enjoyed him
success  at  first, but soon found his
interest  shifting  away from the rock
arena.   He  began working with French
television  and  film directors on his
first soundtracks, including the music
for  Frederic Roussif's Apocalypse Des
Animaux and Opera Sauvage.

By  the  time of his move to London in
the  mid-'70s,  Vangelis  was  already
well  on  his  way  toward his goal of
building    a   self-contained   music
studio,  or  "laboratory," as he calls
it.   Today  it sits in London, tucked
away   near   Marble  Arch  behind  an
unobtrusive side-street door.  Inside,
up  some  stairs,  it unfolds into two
enormous  rooms.   The  ceilings tower
overhead,  dark  and indistinct, but a
wonderland  of keyboards and equipment
spreads  out brightly below.  A simple
walk-around tour offers a taste of the
Vangelis  arsenal:  a Minimoog, Yamaha
CS-40M   synthesizer,  Roland  CSQ-600
digital    sequencer,   Yamaha   CP-80
electric   grand,  Roland  Compuphonic
synthesizer,  modified  vintage Fender
Rhodes electric piano, CSQ-600 digital
sequencer,   Roland   VP-330  electric
piano,  Roland  CR-5000  Compu rhythm,
Yamaha    CS-80    synthesizer,   E-mu
Emulator,      Sequential     Circuits
Prophet-5 and Prophet-10, Simmons SDSV
drum machine, Linn LM-1 drum computer,
Roland  JP-4, nine-foot Steinway grand
piano,  Yamaha  GS-2,  24-track Quad-8
Pacifica  mixing  console,  and an RSF
one-octave Blackbox synthesizer.  And,
on  an  elevated  platform overlooking
the whole array, three timpani, a trap
drum  set,  and rows of gongs, chimes,
and exotic bells.

Of  course,  the  laboratory  is never
quite  finished.   New  additions come
along,  old  instruments  are  stored.
But  despite  the changes, Vangelis is
comfortable   here.   He  visits  with
friends  amidst this maze of hardware,
playfully  punctuates his conversation
with rim shots on a nearby snare drum,
and  ambles  from  one keyboard to the
next,  trying  out  new sounds, musing
over  new  ideas,  and storing them on
tape.   This  is  a  home of sorts for
Vangelis.   It  was  here  that he put
together his popular solo albums, like
Heaven and Hell , Albedo 0.39 , Spiral
,  China , and See You Later , as well
as  his  duo  albums  with  singer Jon
Anderson of Yes (SHORT STORIES in 1979
and  THE  FRIENDS  OF  MR.   CAIRO  in
1981),  his  1978  project  with Greek
actress    Irene    Papas   who   sang
traditional  Greek  tunes  to his less
traditional accompaniment in ODES, and
his    other    film   or   television
assignments,  like  the ethereal theme
to  the  Carl Sagan PBS series COSMOS,
the  Costa-Gravas  movie  Missing, and
his  most  recent  effort,  the Ridley
Scott adventure film Blade Runner.

And  it  was  here  that  KEYBOARD met
Vangelis.   The  bustle  of  the  city
seemed  far away as we settled done in
the stillness to discuss his music and
the machines that make it.


     The Navigations of Vangelis

               part two

Vangelis  Papathanassiou has known for
a  long  time  that  music is the best
ship  to  discover  new worlds.  As an
indefatigable  traveler,  he  explores
the  archipelagos of modern music, the
sunny winds and the perfume of sounds.
And   in   1992,  at  last,  he  meets
Christopher Columbus ...  While others
discover  only one continent, Vangelis
likes to navigate islands and multiply
the    anchorages.     Complex   wake,
elusive,  where solitary waves and the
collective rash deeds alter, the great
maneuvers  and  the  people with style
and refined elegance.

Vangelis,  born  in Greece, was raised
with  a  piano.   For  his country, he
guards the light and the spirituality,
a   poetry   which   is  colored  with
nostalgia,  the  love  for  a thousand
year- old tradition which has survived
in  the songs of the shepherds and the
farmers,  quite  remote  from doubtful
tunes   of   the   Plaka,   with  it's
industrial   brochettes   and   paltry
bouzoukis.

Vangelis revives that luminous Greece,
which  has  nowadays  the  strength of
mirages,  namely by his collaborations
with  Irene  Papas,  'Odes' (1981) and
'Rhapsodies'   (1986),   where  subtle
musical        textures       surround
magnificently    interpreted   popular
chants.       Vangelis's      generous
temperment has without any doubt to do
with  his  Mediterranean  roots, as is
his   lyric  spirit,  which  manifests
itself  so well in the improvisations,
the   lightning   fast  impulses,  the
intuitive     orchestrations     which
characterize his style.

         From Lyre To Synths

Vangelis,  the  Greek, also comes from
another  country:   pop music.  In the
sixties,  he  had  his first successes
with  his  group  Phormynx (the lyre).
But  the  dictatorship of the Colonels
in  1968 rendered Greece unlivable and
dangerous,   and   like   many  others
Vangelis  left  in  exile.  He created
Aphrodite's  Child  in  Paris together
with  the  singer Demis Roussos.  They
would become an international success,
especially  with the double album 666.
The   group  breaks  up  in  1971  and
Vangelis  starts his solo career.  But
he    never   really   gave   up   the
interaction  between musicians playing
in  a  group  and  on  his records, he
would be surrounded by accomplices who
brought   him  the  music  of  a  rare
instrument  or  simply  the  beauty of
their     voices.     Vangelis    also
represents  an  astonishing suppleness
in  his methods of working:  he enjoys
his  solitary  experiments  as much as
his   collaborations,   in  which  his
talent  meets  the  talent of an other
creator.

In  1974, people even thought he would
become the new keyboardist of Yes; and
the  bacon  of symphonic rock even did
some   repetitions   with   him.   ---
Excerpt   from  'Galerij  der  Groten:
Vangelis' taken from 'De Wending':  At
that   time,   there  were  some  wild
speculations  about Vangelis replacing
Rick  Wakeman  in  Yes.  Jon Anderson,
who had been a friend of Vangelis' for
a  while,  introduced him to the band.
But  when  Vangelis  saw  the enormous
drum   set,  he  couldn't  resist  and
played a 15 minute solo.  A solo which
wasn't  easy  to  forget.   It rapidly
became  clear  that  there wouldn't be
much  place for the other band members
if  they  let  Vangelis  do his thing.
Clearly  too much ego.  Afterwards, he
admitted   that  playing  in  a  group
wasn't quite his cup of tea; he didn't
want  to  climb on stage each week and
play the same keyboard pieces over and
over  again.   He  already had changed
his  way of working to a more creative
way.   --- The attempt would fail, but
Vangelis  started  a  solid friendship
with  Jon  Anderson:  it resulted in a
series  of  astonishing albums:  SHORT
STORIES  (1979),  THE  FRIENDS  OF MR.
CAIRO   (1981),   PRIVATE   COLLECTION
(1983) and in 1990 Page of Life :  the
listener  can only be sensitive to the
great  complicity  of these two sacred
monsters,  who bring together the best
of  their  talents  in compositions in
which  the  play  mingles  with humor,
great     virtuosity    and    perfect
efficiency.   Later  on,  the voice of
Jon Anderson accompanied the synths of
Tangerine    Dream    (LEGEND)    and,
recently, Kitaro.  From his pop roots,
Vangelis  also  kept  his  taste for a
swinging  kind  of music, in which his
latest  solo  album The City is a good
example,   with  its  sometimes  heavy
rhythms   and   sounds   of  distorted
guitars.

Without  doubt,  one  can show that an
essential   component   in  Vangelis's
talent   came   from  those  years  of
formation:   the  sense  of melody, so
rare   in   electronic   music,  which
unlaces   pertinent  recallable  lines
from  sonic  textures,  which  can  be
sung.

         Music For The Image

A  man of collaborations, Vangelis had
to  meet  people  working with images.
Frederic  Rossif was the essential man
in  this:   he permitted a new kind of
alliance  between  music  and film and
prepared  the  soundtracks which would
make    the    glory    of   Vangelis.
L'Apocalypse   Des  Animaux,  La  Fete
Sauvage,   Ignacio   (Entends-Tu   Les
Chiens  Aboyer?),  L'Opera Sauvage are
the  sonorous  beacons of a new way of
filming   the   animal   kingdom   and
creating   poetry  from  it,  dramatic
lyric   poetry.    Music   of   strong
emotions and moments of grace, extreme
delicacy  of  sounds  and  notes which
touch  every  chord  in  our  intimate
sensitivity:   in  the animal films of
Rossif,  the  language is superfluous.
One  can  also  find  Vangelis  on the
soundtracks  of CANTIQUE DES CREATURES
(dedicated  to painting) and NUREMBERG
A NUREMBERG (history of Nazism).

From  the  little  screen  to  the big
screen,  it's just a step, but a giant
one  for  Vangelis.  The score for the
Hugh  Hudson  movie  Chariots  of Fire
earns  him  an  Oscar in Hollywood and
immediately a place in the very select
club  of  great  soundtrack composers.
Vangelis had only followed his natural
instinct,  letting  his  melodic sense
loose,  in order to mix the emotion of
his  music  with  the  emotion  of the
images.   Ridley  Scott's Blade Runner
allowed  him  to  make,  besides  some
strong   themes,  the  urban  obsessed
atmosphere   of   the  futuristic  Los
Angeles,  oozing  through and hazy.  A
superb  work,  resting  unreleased  in
it's  major  part.   Which is also the
case  with Missing and The Bounty, but
not with Antarctica or 1492:  Conquest
of  Paradise (Ridley Scott, 1992) from
which  there  were  made  albums.  One
compilation  Themes  reunites the best
pieces     from     these    different
soundtracks.   With BITTER MOON (Roman
Polanski,  1992),  '1492'  is the most
recent   work   of  Vangelis  for  the
cinema,  symphonic  and  lyric  if you
wish,  with a visionary strength which
solely fits to that of the enlightened
seaman Columbus.

If  Vangelis brings to the cinema, the
quintessence   of   his   talent,  and
tenfolds  the  poetry,  the  emotional
needs  of  the images by using melodic
themes which haunt the spectator for a
long   time,   the  cinema  will  also
influence  his  music.   One could say
that  all the albums with Jon Anderson
and discs such as See You Later or the
The  City  are soundtracks of possible
movies,   with   their   plots,  their
sketches  of  scripts, their pieces of
sonoric  atmospheres, their references
to  the  classics  of  cinema,  seeing
their  noises  which recall the golden
age  of  polar.   An  other similarity
could  be  the  predominant role of an
powerful  kind  of electronic music in
which  a lot of times Wagnerian choirs
are   mixed:   the  total  releases  a
symphonic force, which doesn't have to
be  envy  of (= is not at all inferior
to)  that  of  an  acoustic orchestra;
especially  Mask  (1985)  and the last
soundtracks.

   The Synth Without The Technique

But,  one  can  not  reduce Vangelis's
work  to  his  guidelines , pop music,
the  collaborations,  his work for the
movies ...  Contrary to a good deal of
musicians  who  have  followed, during
their  career, determinated aesthetics
(were    they   prisoners   of   their
machines?),     Vangelis    innovates,
experiments,   moves:   in  short,  he
explores and discovers.  Without doubt
because he is a musician, more than he
is  a real synthesizer player, whom he
blames their computer interfaces which
deprive  the  musician  a  part of his
creativity.   Vangelis never [ab-]used
the  mystification of technology.  And
paradoxically, he is one of the people
who have used the greatest spectrum of
possibilities    of   creating   music
offered  by  synthesizers.  Heaven and
Hell,  Albedo  0.39 and Spiral explore
some   of   the  royal  roads  of  the
electronic    music,    floating    or
sequenced,   but   always  showing  an
undeniable  originality  in proportion
to the other gourous of the genre.

In 1978, with Beaubourg, Vangelis even
adventures  into  the electro-acoustic
abstraction,  creating  the most anti-
commercial  music  possible, but of an
fascinating  beauty:   rarely ever has
the  sound of synths been materialized
in  a visual way like this, combining,
crossing,   flying  away,  flickering.
That visionary hymn to modernity needs
no  envy of the work done at the IRCAM
or  GRM,  and  it  has  a  human part.
Invisible  Connections  in 1985, which
was  released on the prestigeous label
Deutsche  Grammophone,  testifies  the
acknowledgement  of  Vangelis  in  the
world  of contemporary music.  But far
from  locking himself up in a room, he
opens  new doors, creates an imaginary
orient with China, explores the poetry
of  minimalism  with  Soil Festivities
and  rediscovers  in 1987 the pleasure
of  playing  synthesizers  in a direct
way,  while  the  refinement of studio
technics  and  the  explosion of music
software  are influencing the creation
methods  of  electronic  musicians  in
depth.

Vangelis  is  most  probably above all
the  power  of  an intuition which has
tried  to destroy all barriers between
the  idea and its execution:  it's the
weight  of  the hands, the instinct of
the  gesture,  the  core of the sound,
the buttons of the CS80 which react by
osmosis on the spirit of the composer,
the  direct  recording, the first take
which  releases  the  most  strong and
right  emotion, the absolute sincerity
of a kind of music which is the mirror
of  the  mind  instead  of that of the
machines.

        Ed: Kenneth C. Nilsen

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