Swagman Soundtrack

Nathan McCree, 1997

Nathan McCree’s body of work is the textbook example of one landmark success overshadowing a game composer’s other accomplishments. Of course, that success is Tomb Raider and its many sequels, two of which McCree scored himself. Outside of some highlights, those soundtracks do not play especially well away from the games they accompany, and there are arguably richer rewards elsewhere in McCree’s discography. After all, his output ranges from the Star Wars homage Soulstar to the creeping menace of Skeleton Krew‘s synth textures. As with so much early Western game music, however, album releases were never on the cards for these titles.

Thankfully, a mid-1990s French game magazine once again came to the rescue with one of the promotional CDs that so often accompanied those publications (see also: Formula 1, Rapid Racer). Among other works, the album in question contains most of McCree’s score for Swagman. The game itself is a largely forgotten action-adventure title from Tomb Raider developer Core Design. Reviews were middling, so it is understandable that Swagman would not be on the radar of many game music fans. As it turns out, though, the game contains what may well be the finest score of McCree’s career.

The game’s narrative – two children battling the Swagman, Prince of Nightmares, across cutely colourful settings – is alternately whimsical and moody, and as such suggests a ready-made musical template. McCree initially opts for the obvious choice: an Elfman-esque Gothic-lite mode that still felt relatively fresh in 1997. Spooky atmospherics mix with comedic touches that lend cheekiness and puckish humour to the sombre choirs and organs through jazzy inflections and bouncy xylophone and glockenspiel rhythms. McCree handles this style with real conviction, in work comparable to Paul Arnold and Andrew Barnabas’ MediEvil: Resurrection.

Opening track “The Swagman” sets an ominous tone straight away with a mysterious harp motif, before a pulsing, forward-rolling melody – the score’s main theme, anchored in C minor – takes hold. It is an attractive, memorable creation, and shows McCree’s inventiveness through its unexpected progression, with sudden grace notes hinting at abrupt, forceful movement. Alternately creeping, elegant, boisterous, and menacing, the malleable theme is cleverly offset by a secondary motif that typically answers it: a lighter-footed figure usually given to the upper woodwinds.

Closing track “The Nightmare is Over” revisits the same musical world and, unsurprisingly, shifts it into lighter territory — though its tonal centre remains rooted in minor, the cue’s harmonic shading leans hopeful rather than bleak. It does so with enough restraint, and by staying within the score’s established instrumental palette. “Dance of the Scallywags” is more single-minded, placing the emphasis squarely on the parodic side of Swagman‘s mock-Gothic idiom — fittingly, it is the one major-key cue among the score’s signature pieces. Its basis is a mischievous, almost obnoxiously bouncy organ motif that refuses to go away.

The Swagman soundtrack is more than a skilful reiteration of a faux-Gothic template, however. The second track, “The Children’s Nursery”, offers the first clear indication of where the score’s emotional centre lies. The cue opens with a lonely duet for piano and xylophone, set in isolating, echoing surroundings. From there, the music begins to ebb and swell beautifully as a solo violin, and then the full string section, take up the piece’s lead melody.

What comes through most strongly in “The Children’s Nursery” is the children’s fragility and the danger surrounding them. This character-focused approach gives Swagman its heart. While much of the score is more subdued than its opening track, it is also more emotionally resonant than one might expect. Tellingly, “The Children’s Nursery” shares its E minor tonal centre with “Down in the Basement” and “Twisty Turny Woods” — the score’s three most reflective cues are bound together harmonically as well as emotionally. At the same time, the soundtrack never neglects to find distinct musical approaches for its individual locations.

Take “Down in the Basement”, the soundtrack’s most intriguing composition. On the surface, it seems to consist of little more than downcast string layers. A closer listen, however, reveals how skilfully McCree suggests melodies rather than fully stating them, effectively intertwining the melodic and the textural – something Hitoshi Sakimoto regularly does in his string adagios, if to more melodramatic ends. This ambiguous approach deliberately withholds melodic reassurance, and the cue’s sparseness is striking even by the standards of the rest of the score – its rate of musical activity is markedly lower than any other track here. As a result, the loneliness and regret hidden beneath the gloomily suspended string and choir writing register subtly, but with considerable force.

“Twisty Turny Woods” states things more plainly, functioning essentially as a slowed-down version of “The Swagman”. Textures thin out and shiver in an icy atmosphere shaped by wind sound effects and organ chords. Despite the barren mood and more rigid progression, there is still life in the score’s main theme. Fighting its way from a lonely flute solo to dramatic heights, it ultimately reasserts itself. When it appears again in “In the Tunnels”, the theme confirms its role as the score’s binding force. It is one of the elements that makes the Swagman soundtrack such an outstanding example of Western orchestral game music — one well worth seeking out for its memorable melodies, potent atmosphere, and flawlessly developed compositions clothed in flexible, uncluttered textures.