Elevator Music PORTABLE Download Google Drive

Maybe it's just my perception, but "Drive" seems like such a beautiful movie, that doesn't even have a niche appeal, yet is rarely ever talked about... Anyways, I wanted to talk about the elevator scene in "Drive", which is one of my favourite scenes I've ever seen. It is not only visually beautiful, but also seems so rich in its editing, its cinematography and its character and story development.

It starts out with the driver explaining to Irene the reasons for her husbands death, his own involvement in it and offers her to start a new life with the stolen money, with or without him. (Technically this happens just before the scene, but it is important for context.) The conversation is interrupted by the elevator doors opening, a man looks at them, seemingly having stopped on the wrong floor and Irene and the driver enter. Inside the elevator the driver notices the man's gun and deduces that he was sent to kill him.

Elevator Music Download Google Drive

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First we get to see two shots of the driver and the hitman exchanging looks, with Irene kept in the corner of the screen. The shots are framed with all three characters in them, depicting Irene looking at neither of the two men. Irene is disconnected from that part of the driver's life up to this point just as she is visually disconnected from their exchange.

The driver notices the man's gun, before looking forward - he has to make a decision on whether or not to act and understands that he may lose Irene if he becomes violent, but also cannot be with her without actively protecting her from the people who are after him.

Next there is a wide shot of the space showing all three actors. Music starts playing as the driver pulls Irene behind him while the lighting changes and with it we get to see the driver's focus shift from himself and the man to Irene. This is the first shot in the scene in which Irene is actually in focus and due to the shift in lighting she is now brightest in the frame. The driver turns around and the next shot is a medium closeup of him kissing Irene. The other man is forgotten and the driver is facing towards Irene.

The music stops and we cut to a wide angle, now evenly lit again. The driver turns his head towards and attacks the man as he draws his gun. Irene now moves behind the driver as he proceeds to throw the man to the ground in the very spot where Irene stood just moments ago.

We get a shot showing Irene moving behind the driver to protect herself as he starts to kick the man's face and Irene jumps. This is the only time she sees the Driver acting violently. There is an over-the-shoulder shot of Irene looking at the driver as he stomps the man's face in. She is facing his back and the shot is framed and lit with with particular focus on the jacket. She sees the scorpion on his back - the predator, his violent and dangerous side.

Finally the door opens and Irene backs out of the elevator without turning her back on the driver. The camera shows us the scorpion once more before he turns around and looks back at Irene. She stands in the wide garage, lit in cold blue tones, contrasting the warmly lit interior of the elevator. Irene and the driver exchange looks as the elevator door closes before her from his perspective, as if they are being locked away from each other after stepping into different worlds.

The significance of the scene is not only comprised of its direct actions relevant to the plot (the hitman being killed and Irene distancing herself from the driver), but also of how it relates to what I believe to be one of the primary themes of the movie, which is the conflict between the protagonists actions and his ambitions - a conflict he sees as analogous to the fable of the frog and the scorpion (as is mentioned in a phone call in a later scene).

The driver is shown to be a calm and caring man who wants to protect the ones he loves, but cannot shake his connection to a violent world. He wants to be a good person and be with and protect Irene and her son Benicio, but the violence is second nature to him - he can't rid himself of it. This is why the scorpion will inevitably always sting the frog as it carries him across the river, causing them both to drown. When the driver asks Benicio whether there are no good sharks in an earlier scene, he is asking whether he himself is or can be a good shark (or scorpion). In Irene and Benicio, he sees his potential to be a good, caring person, but has doubts about his ability to be his best self. When he kills the man in the elevator, he sees that he will always end up hurting the ones he wants to protect if he is around. As much as he wants to, the scorpion can never guarantee the frog's safety.

Elevator music versus rock: I have read very little Murakami be he is obviously taken by these sorts of opposition. In one of his short stories he sets Julio Iglesias against Willie Nelson. Strange because in real life they did a duet together!

The Pacific Northwest is renowned for being the geographical base of hard-rocking music scenes that have produced musicians ranging from the garage-punk pioneers the Sonics to acid-rock hero Jimi Hendrix to grunge gods like Nirvana. It seems ironic, then, that Seattle has for decades also been the global production center of what the industry initially called "background music" and later, "functional music," "business music," and finally "foreground music." In essence, foreground music is scientifically designed and programmed mood-controlling music -- often of the purposefully bland, supposedly soothing, easy-listening variety -- which purportedly has positive influences on worker productivity and consumer spending. Typically heard as telephone "on-hold" music and in shopping malls, airports, and dentist waiting rooms, such music eventually provoked a mild cultural backlash, with detractors disparaging it as bloodless, mind-numbing "elevator music." Nevertheless, Seattle became the home of four distinct, yet partially intertwined, corporations that successfully supplied countless clients with carefully curated music selections: Yesco Foreground Music, Audio Environments Inc. (AEI), Environmental Music Service Inc. (EMS), and a company whose very name became the generic slang term for its own product -- Muzak.

The saga behind the emergence of Muzak began with a former U.S. Army major general, George Owen Squier (1865-1934), a Washington D.C.-based inventor who garnered admiration in scientific circles. Among his innovations was a device that kick-started the development of high-speed telegraphy in the pre-telephone years. Then, while heading the U.S. Signal Corps during World War I, Squier invented a means of transmitting music from phonograph records long-distance via electrical power lines.

In 1922 Squier patented his invention and quickly licensed it to a giant utilities firm, the North American Company. The company also supported Squier's other enterprise, Wired Radio, Inc., which soon began tests and finally, in 1934, brought its service to market under an entirely new corporate brand. It was Squier who -- in a move reminiscent of how the Victrola phonograph company was named to capitalize on the ultra-successful Coca Cola brand name -- combined the word music with the camera/film company's Kodak, and came up with "Muzak."

Initially, Muzak was marketed to residential customers in Cleveland, Ohio, who could (for $1.50 per month) subscribe to audio entertainment -- both musical and news headlines -- available on three separate channels. It was also in 1934 that Muzak began hiring musical ensembles to cut fresh and exclusive recordings that only its clients could enjoy. The first was a medley of three pop tunes performed by the Sam Lanin Orchestra: "Whispering," "Do You Ever Think of Me?," and "Here in My Arms." Another early session covered the 1918 sheet-music hit, "Hindustan" by Seattle songsmiths Oliver G. Wallace (1887-1963) and Harold Weeks (1893-1967).

Before 1934 was over though, Muzak's leaders realized that there was no competing with free commercial radio, and they altered their business plan and began focusing on selling subscriptions to New York City-based restaurants and hotels -- two businesses that understandably preferred to not have broadcasted advertising and DJ blather distracting their patrons. But it was in 1936 that Muzak made its real breakthrough by steering its product into the new realm of factories and other worksites. The company's notion that background music would motivate workers by encouraging greater rhythm to their tasks was soon supported by scientific studies, which seemed to establish that "functional music ... increased efficiency and reduced absenteeism" and noted "a direct correlation between the sound of music and higher productivity" ("Muzak," fundinguniverse.com). One Muzak-associated exec asserted to The Seattle Times: "Research demonstrates that music prolongs the alertness of workers, relieves mental fatigue resulting from monotony and boredom, alleviates worry and keeps the mind from dwelling on petty grievances" (Squire).

In the 1940s the company adopted a slogan -- "Muzak While You Work for Increased Efficiency" -- which is arguably better than another that they reportedly considered at a later date: "Boring work is made less boring by boring music" (Lanza, p. 155). But when reports claimed that production levels had increased by 11 percent at wired worksites, corporate America took notice. By war's end major companies, including Bell Telephone, McGraw-Hill Publishing, and Prudential Life Insurance, were subscribing. The "science" behind the Muzak theory apparently still needed tweaking, though, as occasionally songs were selected with unforeseen consequences. For example, when a version of Gene Autry's energetic hand-clap-driven 1942 hit "Deep In The Heart Of Texas" was piped in, "factory workers paused to clap hands too" (Fish). Such miscalculations aside, Muzak understood that a key factor was the product's essence of aural invisibility, with one company president later acknowledging, "Once people start listening they stop working" (Moore). e24fc04721