CLASSIC SOUNDTRACK On Her Majesty’s Secret Service: John Barry

When David Arnold began scoring for Pierce Brosnan’s James Bond films, veteran Bond composer John Barry offered him this Fleming-like advice: “It must always be all about cock.” But make no mistake, Barry undersold his MI6 record there. Proof abounds of this across his 25-year service to 007, but the sixth Bond film served the strongest evidence of Barry’s vital role in the spy’s growth curve.

Tasked with scoring the transition from Scot Connery to Aussie Lazenby, Barry opted to not only reinforce but also reinvent and re-energise the Bond soundscape. It was a risk, but his confidence was earned. Schooled in jazz, pop and soundtracks, Barry banked Oscars (Born Free, The Lion In Winter) and made popsoundtrack history (Midnight Cowboy) in the late-’60s. To paraphrase Bond himself, he had the tools and he knew how to use them.

One particular tool reflected Barry’s pioneering instincts. Faced with the title of Bond #6, Barry did the smart thing: he wrote an instrumental opener, helped by a new toy. After the reassuringly brassy opening of This Never Happened To The Other Fella, the 007 theme gets a synth-based makeover. Thereafter, the title theme tears into action in thrilling flurries of Moog synths, alpine horns and luxurious strings, fully equipped for its context-specific tweaks across the film.

Over And Out reworks the title theme for suspense; Battle At Piz Gloria gives it military muscle. Elsewhere, Barry’s score ranges from the Bondian traditions of opulence (Journey To Blofeld’s Hideaway) and lounge cool (Try) to more innovative, elevating extremes. Bond Settles In pre-empts John Carpenter’s scores.

For Gumbold’s Safe, meanwhile, Barry’s taut scoring helps distract from the sorry spectacle of Lazenby browsing Playboy magazine. Even album low-point Do You Know How Christmas Trees Are Grown? (two words: child choir) works in its eerie, vocal-free variant for Blofeld’s Plot.

Best of all, the film’s main non-title song benefits from the emotion that courses through Barry’s finest work, a sadness sometimes attributed to his wartime losses. Here, it evokes Bond’s doomed love for Diana Rigg’s Tracy. Co-written with Hal David, We Have All The Time In The World is a weathered beauty, deepened by the history in then-ailing jazz singer Louis Armstrong’s vocal. It wasn’t a hit until used in a Guinness ad in 1994, but Barry knew the track’s worth: “One of the nicest songs I’ve ever written,” he conceded. Far from a load of old cock, Barry’s finest Bond work gave Mr. ‘Kiss Kiss Bang Bang’ a licence to feel something new. Kevin Harley