Exit music (for a Film analysis)

So here it is. An absolute classic from the 1997 album OK Computer:

For me, the most distinctive element of this song is the descending bass line that supports the haunting melody in the verse:

Chord: B minor F# major D major E major (add 9)
Bass note: B A# A G#
Lyrics:
Wake from your sleep, the drying of your tears

There’s another moment of really engaging subtlety in the conclusion to the verse at which time the key is temporarily shifted from B minor to B major:

B minor F# major B major (sus4)
Today, we es- -cape, we es- -cape

Another third striking element of the piece is the shift in the second section from B minor to A minor:

A minor E major B minor F# major
Breath, keep breathing. Don’t lose your nerve

When you first hear this transition, it sounds jarring and unsettling but, after lots of listens, seems just right. I can remember a similar experience listening to some of the more adventurous Beatles songs in the late 1960s. At first, you think there must be some sort of mistake but many plays later you can’t imagine anything else working. There’s a lesson here for contemporary songwriters. Don’t just do what everyone else does because, in music, all rules are there to be broken. In fact, we must test the boundaries; otherwise, we end up with songs that are no more than nicely-produced clones of each other.

There’s been speculation that Exit Music For A Film is influenced by this rather wonderful piece of piano music from Chopin:

Sprout Wheel Switch Music went as far as to mash up the two pieces:

When you look at the two pieces in detail, you soon find there are major dissimilarities. In fact, only the first two bars (that’s Bm to F# in the Radiohead piece and Em to B in the Prelude) have a great deal in common. Chopin’s piece carries on with the descending bass line from beginning to end, whereas Radiohead follows a more conventional song structure. However, both do have the same insistent chord accompaniment to a plaintive melody line that is never harmonised. These pieces have a very similar feel. They are also both great examples of the emotive power of music.

There are better-known singles from Radiohead’s seminal album OK Computer, but this is easily the standout track for me — one of those rare production masterpieces that’s chock full of bold and unusual creative decisions, but which still packs an immediate emotional punch on first listen. On a musical level, a key ingredient is the heavy use of falling chromatic alterations, for instance the major-minor movements at 0:55 (B major to B minor) and 1:09 (E major to E minor) and the false relations at 0:31 (A sharp in F# major to A natural in D major) and 1:50 (C sharp in F# major to C natural in A minor). Indeed, I reckon it’s partly the cumulative effect of these that makes the middle section’s rising major harmonies (B minor to C# major and F# major to G major) so dramatic once the bass arrives.

Although the structure feels superficially quite traditional from the perspective of arrangement build-up, the AABACA construction isn’t exactly a standard trope these days, and there’s no ‘chorus’ to speak of either. In a sense it’s probably closer to the old Tin Pan Alley ballad form (AABA) than today’s more common verse-chorus model — but, by that token, you could just as easily call it a rondo! Furthermore, the B section plays fast and loose with traditional four-square structural norms by grouping its 24 beats into a weird five-bar pattern of 6-4-6-4-4. And yet it all feels like the most natural thing in the world — that’s the genius of it.

What really takes my breath away, though, is the way the arrangement and mix are continually manipulating your expectations. The opening guitar is a great example. It starts quite strongly to catch your ear, but then recedes over the first couple of bars, drawing you in to listen more attentively, and goes on for longer than you’re expecting to heighten anticipation for the singer’s entry. Which means it’s doubly startling when the vocal suddenly arrives both super-close (by virtue of those crispy lip noises and exaggerated proximity effect) and huge-sounding (by virtue of the relative mix level and that cavernous reverb).

But the headline production move has to be the transformation at 2:50, when the drums and bass join in. Again, I love how the tiny ride-cymbal hits over “there’s such a chill” imply that the drums are already turned up really loud (how else could you hear such a soft detail so clearly?), thereby increasing the illusion of power when they properly barrel in a few seconds later. And it’s a good thing too, because the bass and vocals are lionising so much of the spectrum that the drum kit has to communicate its subjective power primarily via aggressive cymbal transients and weapons-grade compression pumping. Taken in isolation, it’s an extremely peculiar mix sound in objective terms. Experienced in context, though, it’s extraordinarily effective and evocative, and a powerful reminder that great record productions must often dare to reach far beyond mere facsimile in the service of musical expression.

What movie uses exit music for a film?

Exit Music (For A Film) – The Best Movie Soundtracks.
Dumb and Dumber OST (1994) ... .
Garden State OST (2004) ... .
Singles OST (1992) ... .
Quadrophenia (1979) ... .
I Am Sam OST (2002) ... .
Pretty In Pink OST (1986) ... .
Trainspotting OST (1996) ... .
Dazed and Confused OST (1993).

Why is exit music for a film?

While Radiohead were on tour with Alanis Morissette, Baz Luhrmann, who directed the movie, sent them a tape of the last part of the film and asked them to write some music for the closing credits (hence the name "exit music"). The band liked what they saw and came up with this.

Was exit music for a film written for black mirror?

The ending features Radiohead's "Exit Music (For a Film)", initially included as a temporary track during editing. The producers received permission from Radiohead to use the song as they liked Black Mirror.

Was exit music for a film in Umbrella Academy?

Radiohead - Exit Music (For A Film) (1997) Hear it: As episode six's closing montage kicks into gear, around 52 minutes in.