Sometimes the most profound revelations come from the most unexpected sources. Just ask John Williams, the 93-year-old maestro behind practically every memorable film score of the past half-century, who recently dropped quite the bombshell: he’s not particularly fond of film music.
“I never liked film music very much,” Williams confessed to The Guardian, in what might be 2025’s most startling admission from the entertainment world. Coming from the man who gave us the heart-stopping themes of Star Wars, Jaws, and countless other cinematic treasures, it’s a bit like hearing Gordon Ramsay say he’s not really into cooking.
The timing couldn’t be more peculiar. While Williams questions the artistic merit of his life’s work, another musical phenomenon is unfolding across the globe. Oasis — those swaggering kings of Britpop — have finally buried the hatchet (somewhere other than in each other’s backs, for once) and announced their long-awaited reunion tour.
Williams’s perspective on film music feels almost brutally honest. “Film music, however good it can be — and it usually isn’t, other than maybe an eight-minute stretch here and there… I just think the music isn’t there,” he muses. His words carry the weight of someone who’s spent decades crafting the very art form he’s critiquing. With 54 Oscar nominations and five wins under his belt, perhaps he’s earned the right to be a bit cynical.
Tim Greiving, whose biography “John Williams: A Composer’s Life” hits shelves this fall, insists this isn’t just false modesty at play. “His comments are sort of shocking,” Greiving notes, “and they are genuinely self-deprecating.” In an age where self-promotion often trumps authenticity, Williams’s candor feels refreshingly real.
Meanwhile, across the musical spectrum, Oasis is proving that some sounds never fade. Their upcoming show at Chicago’s Soldier Field — part of their first U.S. tour in 16 years — sold out faster than you can say “anyway, here’s Wonderwall.” From London to São Paulo, tickets are vanishing at lightning speed, suggesting that perhaps permanence in music isn’t about genre but about impact.
What’s particularly fascinating about Williams’s creative process is his deliberate approach to scoring. He purposely avoids reading scripts before viewing footage, claiming it helps him maintain “a better rhythmic response” to the visuals. It’s a bit like a chef refusing to look at the recipe until the ingredients are right in front of them — unconventional, sure, but you can’t argue with the results.
The contrast between Williams’s orchestral masterpieces and Oasis’s guitar-driven anthems might seem stark, but both share an uncanny ability to embed themselves in our cultural consciousness. While Williams dismisses much of film music as mere nostalgic memory, Oasis’s reunion shows demonstrate that sometimes nostalgia itself can be the most powerful artistic force we’ve got.
Perhaps most poignantly, Williams reflects on music’s fundamental human appeal: “If Armageddon came and blew up everything, in a few days, someone would pick up a reed, even if only for a war song. The impulse to make music is the greatest fun in life.” In early 2025, as artificial intelligence continues to reshape the musical landscape, these words feel more relevant than ever.
Whether it’s the soaring strings of E.T. or the raw energy of “Live Forever,” music’s ability to move and unite people remains undiminished. Even as one of its greatest practitioners questions the artistic merit of his chosen field, audiences continue finding meaning in both the classical precision of film scores and the primal punch of rock and roll. Some things, it seems, truly are wonderwalls that stand the test of time.
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