“Copeland” is a new documentary celebrating the life and work of Rock & Roll Hall of Fame member, accomplished composer, and acclaimed drummer Stewart Copeland.
Directed by Pablo Aragüés, the film follows Copeland through his formative years, through the formation and dissolution of The Police (as well as the band’s reunion) and onto the many musical paths he has followed since, whether writing operas, scoring films, or continuing to work in the rock genre with a wide array of players.
Copeland and the filmmakers — including Wichita-based executive producer Shawn Rhodes — will attend a Q&A following the screening of the documentary at 8 p.m. Saturday evening at Wichita’s Orpheum Theatre.
The following interview has been edited for length and for clarity.
One of the things that I absolutely love in the film is that we see you going into your studio, the Sacred Grove, to work. There’s this excitement that you have for work and creativity. It’s wonderful to see that enthusiasm.
I’m very blessed that every morning I hurry through breakfast because I can’t wait to get to my playroom here and fire up my toys.
I’ve had this conversation with musicians, some of them agree, that as younger people we thought creativity was finite. But it’s not.
Weirdly, it’s almost the opposite of finite. I discovered this when I did episodic TV. I did “The Equalizer” for many years and also doing “Spyro the Dragon,” the Sony PlayStation game, where I had to produce quantity. Just churn it and burn and pump it out. The weird thing is that under these adverse conditions, that’s the best music I ever wrote, and I think that’s because when you haven’t got time for doubt or second-guessing yourself, [when it’s a matter of] “I’ve got to put something on tape and ship it whether it’s any good or not, they paid me money, there’s got to be something on the tape.”
With a television series: The show comes in on Tuesday with a list of [music cues]. “I need happy music here, sad music there, car chase here.” Sure, fine. Then I ship it Friday. I haven’t got time for, “Is it any good or not?” I haven’t got time for, “Hmmm, maybe I can…” No, no, no. You put something on the tape and you ship it.
You’d think it would be very flimsy product from such a process, but in fact, this is the weird thing, for all your listeners out there, any musicians out there, that kind of pressure of quantity can be good for you.
Some people would call it risk, or it’s a continuation of what they already do, but I was struck by how many times in the film you were presented with an opportunity and seized it. “Do you want to do a ballet?” “Sure, why not? I’ve never done a ballet. Haven’t done a film score. Sure, why not?”
I’m just a guy that can’t say no.
It’s tremendous.
Some of the best things that ever happened in my life was, “Sure, why not?” Then something incredible came out of an ill-considered, flippant acceptance of something. I got into opera because when I got a commission to write a ballet from the San Francisco Ballet — long story, never mind why I was there — but in the press conference attached to that, they said, “Well, are you going to be writing another ballet?” “Sure, fine. When I finish my opera.” Glib remark. Next thing you know I’ve got the Cleveland Opera on the phone, “Hey, when you’ve finished your opera, we’d like a look at it.” Next thing you know, years later, I’ve written seven operas now and am working on an eighth. So, it’s all the power of yes.
With the operas ….
Let me expand that thought for a second. It’s not only, “Would you like to do it?” to which the response is, “Yes, I would like to do that.” But the other part of the question is, “Can you do that? Can you write an opera?” I’d never even seen an opera! Yes, I can write one. So the power of yes applies not only to the crazy idea that comes at you, but whether or not you can fulfill this. You will. You will. “Yes, I can.” “Anyone playing trombone in the house?” “Yep!” I’ve taught that to my kids, the power of yes.
You’ll soon learn to play trombone if you have to!
That also speaks to something I loved in the film. In your studio, the instruments are out. They’re not in cases. They’re around if you want to grab something.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I love them and I must caress them! They need my love and attention! I just like them. I like particularly old instruments. Vintage instruments are my favorite. Although I love new technology, I love old instruments. My drums are right there. [Points over his shoulder.] I realized that if they weren’t right there I wouldn’t play them. For years, when I was a studio rat, composer, and the drums were off in the drum room, basically, a helpful place to hang wires, I never saw them or played them.
But they’re right there. When we finish this call, I’ll put on Spotify, cursed be its name, and just listen [to something] and start banging, because it’s fun to do and they’re right there. All the instruments are there. I got my baritone guitar, got my Stat-o-caster, I got my Gibson SG. Having them easily to hand makes the interaction more frequent and fun.
It sort of reminded me of being in the shop with a skilled mechanic who knows immediately where the exact tool he’ll need for a job is.
The studio looks like [a place to] hang but it actually is a high-tech recording studio and it’s my train set. I spend my fun hours trying this microphone, writing this microphone instead of that microphone. Not because I give a darn about which microphone I’m using, just because it’s fun to play with these toys and these gadgets. It’s like a big train set. I don’t have an engineer. I have a tech who comes in and fixes things when they’re broken, but I run it all myself because it’s just a fun way to spend a day, playing with all these toys.
As you worked with different engineers over the years, were you taking notes?
I’m a sponge. Not taking physical notes, but I’m learning and observing all things and applying it and there’s still so much to learn. I’ve written seven operas, and I’ve still got a lot to learn. I’ve written big symphonic compositions with the Dallas Symphony, the Chicago, the whatever. And I still got a lot to learn, and that’s what gets me out of bed in the morning.
Going back to the idea of, “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never seen an opera,” where do you start? Did you treat it like homework and say, “OK, I’ve got to listen and watch the greats”?
I did. I thought, “Well, I’ve got to go listen to some.” And I did. I listened to all the great operas and mostly I didn’t get it. Because of the singing. The yodeling singing style. It’s a turn-off for more people, including me at first. Then I drank the Kool-Aid. The reason that it sounds like that, kind of unnatural, is because it’s acoustic. They have to project their voice out into a theater over an orchestra. They don’t got no microphone. Billie Eilish can whisper into a microphone with a zillion watt PA and it’s going to be fine.
[With opera singers] it’s kind of an unnatural sound. It’s an acquired taste, and I’ve acquired that taste. I love that sound. As far as how you do it: Well, it’s similar to scoring a movie, only much more, in some ways. Instead of supplying a subtext to what people are saying, it is what people are saying. They’re singing it. And the whole thing is folded into the music.
Opera is absolutely the most fun a musician can have with his clothes on.
I learned how to do it by 20 years before the mast as a hired-gun film composer, how music interacts with storytelling. But I made my escape from Hollywood, and now I do the same job. Only I’m not working for the rat kingdom anymore. That’d be Disney to you. It’s art for art’s sake.
You also point out in the film that sometimes the music you love best or feel closest to is not necessarily the music that’s going to connect with the largest audience.
That’s an important thing for an artist to achieve or find, rather. If you are Paul McCartney or Elton John you come out and play and whatever that is, you’ve got a track record, probably a lot of other folks are going to like that tune as well and you’re gonna [clears throat] live in a palace. If you are Frank Zappa and that tune that just wells up naturally out of your mind is only charming for a small fraction of society, hopefully there’s enough of a sliver for you to earn a living as a musician. So, every artist, whether they’re a painter, a musician, or a writer, hopefully can achieve enough of an audience, enough of a slice to get their particular thing to earn a living and enjoy life doing that. You gotta find your slice.
