This weekend, The Fellowship of the Ring in Concert came to Radio City (event review here). On Sunday, the Angel Orensantz Foundation hosted a Behind the Music event, featuring Tolkien linguist David Salo, documentarian Elizabeth Cotnoir, journalist Doug Adams, and Howard Shore himself.

Whether you were looking for a Lord of the Rings fan event, a composition lecture, a language major’s best revenge, or a breakdown of the creative process, it was pretty awesome.

David Salo is author of A Gateway to Sindarin: A Grammar of an Elvish language from J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and an accomplished linguist (when asked what languages he read or spoke, he counted on two hands and never even got to Tocharian, his professional interest as listed in Wikipedia). He gave a wryly funny talk about how he offered his services and was sent a test request to translate the inscription on Sting. When the producers questioned how he knew it was right, he sent a 25-page proof and got the job. (Basically, David Salo is the shit. Also, I want to read that proof.)

After he had the entire audience in the palm of his hand, he settled into the dirty details of how to translate—and often, invent—lyrics in Tolkein’s many languages. He laid out the reasoning behind assigning suitable languages to the lyrics (archaic Quenya for Elvish lyrics with larger scope, Sindarin for more immediate emotional concerns), the problems of creating a workable Dwarvish language when Tolkien had provided minimum text (he looked at Old German and Hebrew to get the phonetics he wanted), and the logistics of getting it all done when he routinely got emails asking for entire songs or conversations with six-hour turnarounds.

Next up was Elizabeth Cotnoir “Journey’s End,” a slice-of-life single-camera documentary about Howard Shore’s process. There were hints of the egoless auteur to come when he talked about each score only in terms of the pencil leads used (six each for FOTR and TT, seven for ROTK) and marveled over the china cups in his London hotel. (There were also clips of Annie Lennox recording demos of “Use Well the Days,” an early contender for the Return of the King closing theme that was unfortunately shelved for the more upbeat “Into the West.” Fact: Annie Lennox has pipes.)

Then it was the main event, when journalist Doug Adams and Shore himself took the stage. Shore is a soft-spoken, matter-of-fact artist. When asked about his inspiration for Lord of the Rings, he laid out how he spoke with director Peter Jackson to understand the intended tone for the trilogy, went home and laid out the major themes he would need, listened to opera, researched 19th-century choral pieces, and sourced unusual instruments.

The actual composing process was described as “laying track down in front of an oncoming train,” which is the kind of creative metaphor I can really get behind. He named the destruction of the ring the most daunting cue, but pointed out that after four years of work he was too worn down to worry, and the night before they had to record that scene he sat down and wrote it, because it was due. (Seriously, best creative process ever.)

However, his craftsmanship is evident even though his ego isn’t; he reworked the initial score to fit the running time of the theatrical releases, reworked them again for the Complete Recordings, reworked them again for the Symphony, and had made some changes to the Concert itself earlier in the week. His knowledge of composition is immense (he’s been writing music since he was ten), and it was clear listening to him that this score was the result of a master at work on a masterpiece. The subtle things yielded the most interesting results; he mentioned that after writing a main theme for each race or setting, he never went back to the original theme to listen, preferring to pull from memory so that the recurring theme would be similar but not identical, building as part of the overall score as the movies progressed and the overall tone changed.

Shore and Adams will be stopping in several other cities for Q&As promoting Adams’s upcoming book The Music of the Lord of the Rings Films. You can follow the schedule on the book’s blog, and if he’s going to be in your town I highly recommend stopping by even if you’re not a Lord of the Rings fan; Shore is an artist well worth listening to, no matter what your art of choice.

[This piece originally appeared at Tor.com.]

You know what makes me angry every time I think about it? Hannibal. (Not the historical figure, though I’m sure he was probably unpleasant depending on where in the Alps you lived.)

Silence of the Lambs is a great book. It was also super-successful, and at some point Thomas Harris had a concussion or something and thought, “You know what Silence of the Lambs needs? A sequel!” In terms of conceptual brilliance, this is similar to the day Joel Schumacher woke up and was like, “You know what Batman Forever needs? A sequel!”

On the other hand, you could at least choose not to watch Batman and Robin and know that sooner or later a Batman movie would come along that did not reference that canon whatsoever. Hannibal wasn’t a book that could be ignored. It borked canon abut fifteen ways, and it had clearly been done with all deliberation as the untouchable truth about what had happened to those poor, unsuspecting fictional characters.

The mystery of Hannibal Lecter, everyone’s favorite gentleman cannibal? Nazi cannibals, his twin sister, and breastfeeding. Problem solved! I mean, seriously, if that’s the explanation, Hannibal has fewer issues than the guy who founded American Apparel.

Oh, and speaking of breastfeeding, after Hannibal kidnaps and drugs Clarice, she decides that he’s a stand-up guy she’s going to sleep with forever, because nothing says I Love You like a slice of your ex-boss’s brain served medium-rare, am I right, ladies? (A caveat could be made that she was just drugged forever, but in the epilogue when they go the opera, it sounded pretty reciprocal. Even Barney The-Only-Character-Who-Doesn’t-Get-Butchered-in-the-Sequel thinks so.)

The movie actually improved on the book, if you ask me, which is saying something. (Oh, Gary Oldman, was rent due?) At least when the chips were down, Julianne Starling would rather have had her hand chopped off than be his girlfriend, you know?

This blog entry is brought to you by my usual brainstorming thought pattern, which is, “Am I giving too much away? Well, what’s the harm in telling too much about your charac – HANNIBAAAAAAL!”

And now, a brief series of fun facts:

1. “Vide Cor Meum,” the opera excerpt written for this movie, is one of the most beautiful songs ever. There’s a rumor Patrick Cassidy wrote the whole opera. If this ever becomes true, and is staged, I will fly to wherever it is and see it. Twice.

2. Seriously, a lot of movie composers are fucking geniuses. I would make a list, but it feels too personal. (I’m weird.)

3. According to IMDB: When Jodie Foster declined to reprise the role of Clarice Starling, Julianne Moore beat Gillian Anderson, Cate Blanchett, Hilary Swank, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Heather Locklear, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Drew Barrymore, Winona Ryder, Sarah Jessica Parker, Brooke Shields, Kristin Davis, Bridget Fonda, Calista Flockhart, Helen Hunt, Sandra Bullock, Christina Applegate, Jennifer Connelly, Meg Ryan, Shannen Doherty, Jennifer Aniston, Nicole Eggert and Teri Hatcher for the role.

Wow, you guys. That is the spectre of a looot of different Hannibal movies, right there.

I bet she has a list on her dresser:

PEOPLE TO DRESS AS NEXT

Mad Max
St. Lucia Celebration
Lovechild of Mad Hatter and Alice
An eggplant

Generally my music-scene knowledge is limited to movie-soundtrack composers, songs I hear on TV, and bands that were around when I was thirteen (Roxette 4ever!). However, once in a while I will see someone and think, “I must find out about this person AT ONCE.”

Her name is Lady Gaga, and she kicks everyone’s ass in this room.

This girl is awesome-slash-nuts-slash-a-total-social-construct. Also, she’s a stalagmite.

Lady Gaga is a 22-year-old (!) pop star, who got her start writing songs for the Pussycat Dolls and Britney Spears at some obscene age like 13. She got her own recording contract, and now has a Haus of Gaga that she’s modeled after Warhol, where everything from production to fashion design is apparently churned out by magical underage pixies who know how to make stalagmites stick to dresses.

Also, her songs are genius. They may not be good from the perspective of enduring history, but these are precision-tuned electropop that is tested by scientists to make sure it bores its way directly into your brain and remains their until you drip blood out of your eye like in a J-horror.

She’s too raunchy at times for my taste (I’m eighty-five, I think everyone’s too raunchy), but I do like that she seems totally in control of her own image. Everything about her is patently, gloriously false; you know you’re never getting to “the real” because she never presents it. She presents bows made out of hair and huge Grace Jones shoulder pads and face armor and masks made out of mirrors. (And that’s just Tuesday.) She says things in interviews like, “You can’t have love and art,” which is sort of sweet coming from a 22-year-old. But when you’re wearing the enormous black patent shoulder pads, it probably behooves you to seem self-confident and world-weary.

To conclude: I am not sure I even like Lady Gaga, but I can appreciate someone whose entire life is performance art. Especially when they’re in bows-out-of-hair and leotards and huge hoods and nude fishnets and five-inch heels, and I’m at home in my pajamas.

A glimpse of her aesthetic: this song, Poker Face, is 90% word salad, 20% teal Grace Jones leotards, 30% face armor, and 10% Great Danes.

Last night I got to see La Traviata at the Met. I took the super-cheap seats in the nosebleed section – absolutely last row, approximately half a mile above sea level, holy crap. I am not afraid of heights, but even I spent a moment hoping that, despite the flaky ceiling, the place would not collapse. That’s a long fall.

Anyway, the cheap seats are also where the students sit when their teacher makes them go see an opera so that can talk about it in their European Lit seminar. The place was overrun with expensively-dressed adolescents swapping spit in the middle of Violetta’s heartbreaking confrontation with Alfredo’s father, where he asks her to leave his son so his daughter’s engagement isn’t called off. Weeping, she reveals she’s dying of The TeeBee and couldn’t possibly leave Alfredo, and Dad’s like, “Oh, that’s sad – so, can I help you pack?”

(Anja Harteros knocks this out of the park, by the way. Most gorgeous Violetta I’ve ever heard. If you can spare 15 bucks, totally go.)

By the end of the second act (a huge set piece that looks like an honest-to-God ballroom, covered in extras, all with gorgeous costumes – Franco Zefferelli, ladies and gents) Alfredo and Violetta have violently parted – she for his sister’s sake, him because he’s a total assface and throws money at her in the middle of a party.

Intermission. The lights go up. Teenagers pile out of the cheap seats to go make out noisily in the hallway instead of in the seats.

One girl turns to her friend. “God, I hope they get back together soon!”

So, it was clearly somebody’s first opera last night!

Best part – in the last act, Violetta is in the last stages of The TB. The doctor says she has only a few hours to live – but she’s feeling better! She’s sad – but then Alfredo shows up! They’ll be together forever – coughing fit! Nope, nope, she’s fine, she’ll make it, oh bliss! – hang on, gotta sit down – What’s this? Strength fills her, she can take on the world, life is going to hand her every – FALLS DOWN DEAD.

So that girl had a really rollercoaster set of fake-outs, which was fun. (For me.)