On: Jóhann Jóhannsson
Jóhann is an exceptional composer. Was, an exceptional composer. He died, a few years ago.
His music, all the way back to IBM 1401, is romantic, intimate, in nature. It finds ways to dance, hand-in-hand, with the soul; sometimes, the dance takes me places that frighten me.
Shocking, bass-heavy tones jerk me out of my trance and raise my heartbeat. I forget to breathe. My subconscious takes over; fight- or flight-style impulses act as my defense mechanism.
Then, for a moment, the Heptapods speak. They tap on the glass — my wandering mind — and demand to be heard. I do my best to remember the canary. Focus on my breathing. Listen to the ringing in my ears. As they speak, Jóhann’s score gains complexity.
All at once, I am thrown into my subconscious, as Jóhann guides me. Gentle strings ask for my trust; they promise I’ll be okay. “You know how to do this. You’ve been doing it your whole life.”
I imagine that any empathetic, emotional musician strives to share a personal experience. Channel their feelings, through a composition. I’d like to think that Jóhann did intend to convey the emotions I feel listening to the soundtrack for Arrvial, for Sicario, for Prisoners. I am left only to imagine what he would have said in Blade Runner 2049.
I didn’t understand my heartbreak when you died, Jóhann. I felt a pain that one can only feel when losing someone you’ve always admired, without ever having the chance to speak to them; just once. It leaves an underlying longing to ask questions I know I’ll never be able to ask.
A selfish desire to think about myself, when a complete stranger’s family is heartbroken.
Jóhann, I never got to write you that letter. I felt so seen, identified, when listening to your compositions.
I can’t help but feel that your perspective, told through your music, would be a sorely needed voice in the conversation. For those of us who can only speak through feeling. Empathy. The ethereal language that comes with introspection.
Jóhann, I never got to write you that letter. But, you left us with albums to help sift through the wreckage; for your contribution, I thank you.
Thank you.
— — —
(This letter was pitched to a variety of editorial outlets in 2020, before being published here, on Medium. None of them chose to respond to my inquiries. Thank you for reading. If I could ask one favor, I ask that you please be gentle with my heart.)
