liberamente @maestrocillian - Tumblr Blog

evelyn--liu‌:

Her client’s riders were starting to get ridiculous, even she had to admit, but it was her job to get them jobs and make sure they kept them, wild demands and all, so when the studio had issues with a client’s demands, who else was it on to sort out but Evelyn? Was she a morning person? Hell no, but the person she needed to see had been on set all night and was flying out in a few hours with no other time to see her than now, so she figured if she forgoes her sunrise yoga that she could at least use this an an excuse to take half the day off work to go to the spa. If only the day didn’t seem to want to delay her from relaxing.

She paused as a man called out to her, wondering as she walked over if this is the man she was meant to see, but quickly doubting it. Still, she met with a joke just in case. “ Throw a book at the keyboard? That’s a new kink. I mean, you could at least buy me dinner first.”

“There are far more interesting things you can do with a keyboard, if so inclined,” Cillian said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “But really, it’s 2019, a person dressed as well as you are should be buying me dinner. I make for excellent arm candy, but I don’t make a lot of bank.” He stifled a yawn as a few sleepless nights threatened to finally run him down. He’d been standing still for too long, but he loathed the thought of returning to the studio with nothing to show for it. “Name’s Cillian,” he said, then added hopefully, “If not dinner, I could use a drink.”

amanidelaney‌:

Amani had been doing a night shoot that was finally done. She was looking forward to getting home and sleeping before her 5pm call time. She was dressed casually but comfortably, desperate for a coffee as she walked through the lot, towards her car, when she heard a voice calling out to her.

Turning, she wasn’t surprised to see Cillian, a composer that worked on the lot. Her brows furrowed however, at his words. “I was planning on going home,” Amani replied, though she made her way over to the man curiously. “And I’m not at all musical. Aren’t you some kind of genius composer or something?” She asked, chuckling a little tiredly.

“Home,” Cillian scoffed, distantly noting the dark circles under her eyes which matched his own. “Whatever for. What’s that phrase? Sleep is for the weak. Come on, it’ll only take a second, and I’ve got enough coffee and Redbull in the studio to kill a man.” He strode on, the pure caffeine in his veins cranking up his already swift walking speed. “Even a genius can have off-days,” he said grudgingly. “I don’t need you to be musical, I just need you to have an opinion. You listen to music, don’t you? You don’t live under a rock when you’re not in front of a camera?”

#[amani]#All good! :D

thecityofangelsrp

I. Hi! We’re happy to have you with us. First thing’s first, can you slate for us please?

“Sure. The name’s Cillian Bristow. You haven’t heard of me. But perhaps you’ve heard my music; I’m a composer, and once in a blue moon I’ll have the opportunity to write a quality score and not the generic bullshit that’s usually asked of me. I’m thirty-seven, go by masculine pronouns. I’ve gotten more than one person asking, ‘Omigod are you Tom Ellis?’ I have more talent than an actor. But hey, if they can’t tell the difference, I’ll autograph his name anyway.”

II. It’s great to meet you. So you have to know that everyone’s been curious about you, why don’t we start with where you’re from? Tell us where you grew up and what your childhood and family were like.

“I grew up in a beautiful estate outside of Oxford. The last name might remind you of the local Bristows, titans of industry. That’ll be because they’re unfortunately my family, and I’m the first to drop the ball on helming the empire. A musician. God forbid. I grew up wanting for nothing, I’ll admit, but the experience was stuffy and dour. I have no use for that life.”

III. Well, they say our upbringing molds who we become. I’m sure that you got your reputation for being confident, talented and perceptive; but arrogant, cynical, and tactless from that.

“Ha. I’d like to think I’m a self-made asshole. I suppose high standards might come with being a Bristow, even if it’s in a different field. But I don’t owe them a shred of my talent. I’m a genius. Sure, arrogant, but justly so.”

IV. And what about that lead you to your current career? How did that impact you enough to want to do what you do now?

“From the first piano lesson, the goal was music, not film. I didn’t start out in Hollywood. I hope I won’t remain here. But the point is, the career followed the ability. I have perfect pitch, I can sight read music with multiple instruments like I can read a page from a book. What my parents hoped would be a passing hobby became my core. I started writing music soon after learning to play it. I believe I would be wasted doing anything else.”

V. That’s awesome. I’m sure our readers will love to hear that. So you knew you had a calling, what came next? How did you get yourself to Hollywood? What was your first job?

“In my mid twenties, I was composing and conducting in London and NYC. Believe it or not, I wasn’t making a killing. My inheritance was funding most of my lifestyle, much to my chagrin. Then I got chatting with an old university of buddy of mine, another creative type, a director. He showed me his early ideas for the score of the picture he was working on. I looked it over, told him it was trash, went home, then returned to him with drafts of a better theme. He asked me to fly out to Hollywood and work with him. The price tag convinced me.”

VI. Of course, but we all know there’s a sea of faces out here trying to get famous as well, right? It must have been hard, the first few rejections or being told something wasn’t good enough. What was the most difficult thing you faced on your journey?

“I learned very quickly that success in this place means giving people what they want, even if they’re… objectively wrong. That’s really fucking frustrating. I know music. The people writing the cheques don’t. I’ve had countless people insist on essentially replicating the temp music they’ve spliced into early cuts, just because it’s become ingrained in their creative vision. Or they want something bland, unobtrusive, the elevator music of film scores to fill the awkward silences. Or my favourite, sad strings to make the audience feel sad when the dialogue won’t cut it. I have… a lot of obstacles. But I live well. Sometimes the gods of Hollywood even throw me an award.”

VII. So then what was the moment that you realized you made it? Or are you still waiting for that moment?

“I’m a solid C-lister, according to an unsolicited comment at a premiere the other night. I’m surprised I’m on a list at all. I’m not great at image, and my energy is better spent on my work. Let others clamber for their names up in lights. As long as I’m kept busy and respected within the close circles of my profession, that suits me.”

VIII. It’s amazing when you make it far enough in this town when so many people end up giving up and going home, isn’t it? So now that you’re here, what’s next for you?

“Yes, yes, congratulations are in order. I should have left long ago, before my soul completely left my body. But the money keeps rolling in. I have a few films ongoing, and a few of my own compositions laying neglected by the piano. I’d love to be known for real music. But as of now, the film scores are taking up the majority of my time.”

IX. Now we know it’s personal but we have to ask, do you have any comment about the rumors going around about you?

“I am not, in fact, ‘secretly dating’ the actress I have been photographed with, sharing such intimate moments as 'laughing’ and 'drinking coffee’. I have friends. Sometimes I spend time with friends. Hard to believe, I know. Besides, I wouldn’t date a celebrity. That seems exhausting.”

X. Thank you so much for talking to us today. Lastly, is there anything you want our readers to know about you?

“Though I guarantee you will never hear it, I have a decent singing voice. The most I sing is when I am demonstrating to my musicians how the music would sound if they made the effort to play in time and in tune. Oh, and I play at a piano bar in my off hours to relax, be alone in my element. Which bar? None of your business. Why? Because leave me alone, that’s why.”

#[about]

At half past five in the morning, Cillian took a look out into the studio lot and waved over the first person he saw.

“You’re here early,” he said by way of greeting. It was not an inquiry. “Forget what you’re here for. My score is at a standstill. I need you to give me a chord, give me a mood, throw a book at the keyboard and see what it sounds like, whatever. Inspire me. Studio’s this way, let’s go.”

Tough crowd.

closed starter for @maestrocillian

With each successful film he made, Andre became more and more in demand which meant the work got harder and the hours got longer. He loved making movies, but hated when his contract with a studio turned making a piece of art into a commercial cash grab that he was basically forced to direct. Like producers, he flipped through scripts looking for a gem he wanted to be a part of, still hoping to find something he could be proud of even though his next project was basically a joke on celluloid. Still, he was determined to make it a hit if only for the sake of his reputation, and that meant calling in one of the best music producers he knew of. Cillian Bristow had a long history of being a talented asshole with a temper and ego that rivaled his own, and while it made for a difficult work environment, Andre knew that the final product would have been something great. o long as they didn’t kill each other.

Walking into the room with coffee as an olive branch, Andre grumbled under his breath as having just gotten off of the phone had him already in a bad mood before the day even really started. “I make one of the scariest most talked about films of the decade, give a whole new generation of kids nightmares from the same bastard that haunted my dreams when I was younger, but I can’t go online without reading about how badly people wanna fuck the clown. Please tell me you didn’t spend all night waving your little stick around but have nothing to show for it. I’m sure you’re exes are fine with that but I need a score for this polished up turd I have to release with my name on it.”

maestrocillian

Cillian didn’t like most people in Hollywood, but he could respect a rare few. ...The jury was still out on Andre. One thing could be said for him — he didn’t get in Cillian’s way. Most directors weren’t content to provide a vision for their soundtrack, they had to micromanage each step. Andre didn’t try to do Cillian’s job. But he sure as hell made himself a nuisance in other ways, barging into rooms unannounced, all sound and fury. Cillian hated that. When it was done by people other than himself.

The composer made no attempt to look busy as Andre announced himself with the latest tirade. Cillian couldn’t summon any sympathy; as far as he was concerned, this was just another trashy horror flick in the director’s long series of trashy horror flicks. Wasn’t exactly his genre, but this guy happened to be paying the bills. Kicking back, Cillian smirked. “Not tonight, pal. I’ve got to say, you’ve really killed the mood.” He gestured to a notebook lying by the piano, open to a blank first page. “I watched some of your footage. It’s irredeemable. Perhaps if you blast the Can-can for the two hour duration, someone will call it avante-garde.”

#[andre]

seventh-heart

Visit Original Link

Sounds like magic…

#[insp]

levisander-s-deactivated2021020

Looking as lost as someone can seem in a hall of an executive building, Laila was checking and re-checking the numbers on the door she was standing in front of. Her action was only interrupted upon hearing someone else walking by, someone who at least in her eyes seemed far more knowledgable on the office than her. “Excuse me, maybe you can help me? I’m… completely clueless. They told me that the meeting was here… 107. Either is not, or I’m extremely late, or extremely early.” As proof of what she was saying, the meeting room in front of her was proven to be completely empty. If Laila was a mess, that mess only magnified during times of stress. It wouldn’t be the first time she didn’t read a mail or a note correctly due to her nerviousness. “Do you have any idea of the meeting I’m talking about? Or if people around here call an office that isn’t the 107 the 107?”

maestrocillian

Cillian left the meeting with a scowl and the strong desire for a drink. Just another day in LA, talking music with people who spoke in dollars. The higher he climbed, the more people there were in the room, wasting his time with bad taste and strong opinions. He took the current request for help with his usual grace and tact. “Fuck if I know,” he replied with a shrug. “Lots of 107s in the world. Maybe it’s a code, a year, a state of being. If they can’t provide adequate directions, perhaps it isn’t so important. Or your presence isn’t.”