“Music of the Night”: Reminiscing, Analyzing, Praising

Earlier today, my iPod shuffled itself to the song “Music of the Night” from Phantom of the Opera. As it played and I sang along, I was reminded of three things:

• Phantom of the Opera is the first CD I ever purchased. (I had several hip LPs and cassette tapes before that, mind you.)
• Second, “All I Ask of You,” another song from the Phantom soundtrack, was featured in my wedding twelve years ago.
• Third, I recall little from the actual musical production of Phantom of the Opera other than the phantom’s boat (below), those thousands of candelabras, the falling chandelier, and the song “Music of the Night.”

To be clear, I bought the Phantom of the Opera CD years before I saw the stage production. In that regard, the songs were merely individual songs to me, not integrated musical numbers motivating a Gothic narrative. In fact, at the time I didn’t know much about the story, just that it included a creepy guy with a messed-up face and a woman he wanted to woo with his mad musical skills. But one thing I did know, even at the tender age of 16 is that “Music of the Night” was one of the most poetic, emotional, and sensual songs I’d ever heard.

Twenty years later, I still feel that way. Have a listen (it’s broken into two parts for some reason):

Like most well-crafted songs (especially from musicals), “Music of the Night” follows a structure similar to that of literature and drama. There’s a (sort of) exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement.

Here, the introduction is slow and soft. In the car, I literally turn my ear to the sound of Michael Crawford’s voice to hear it:

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defenses
Helpless to resist the notes I write
For I compose the music of the night

The phantom, that lone piano in the background, and those words do indeed “heighten” the listener’s sensations; they are intended to “wake” and “stir” her, and they do.

Now, with orchestral accompaniment, the phantom continues, but still softly and at a moderate pace:

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender
Hearing is believing, music is deceiving
Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight
Dare you trust the music of the night

But at this point, the voice, the music, the song grow faster:

Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth
And the truth isn’t what you want to see
In the dark it is easy to pretend
That the truth is what it ought to be

And with that, the phantom now has the listener (and Sarah Brightman’s Christine, of course) in his grips. In effect, s/he is “helpless to resist the notes he writes.”

This seduction continues in the next stanza, which Crawford handles masterfully. Specifically, listen to his delivery of the words caress, hear, feel, and possess. He draws them out like taffy and punches them at the same time, his tone soothing yet forceful, enticing.

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you
Hear it, feel it secretly possess you
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind
In this darkness which you know you cannot fight
The darkness of the music of the night

And now, the song’s climax and arguably most sensual section: the music swells, the volume grows, and the words continue to instruct us (as they do Christine). Shut your eyes, let go, let music do what it’s supposed to: set you free.

Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world
Leave the thoughts of the world you knew before
Close your eyes and let music set you free
Only then can you belong to me

Only the falling action and denouement remain. At the start of this next phrase, the listener assumes she’s headed in that direction as the phantom returns to that softer, drowsy cadence with which he began the song:

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation

But then he ramps it up once more, and unsuspecting, she is allowed a second, thunderous climax:

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write
The power of the music of the night

Finally, the denouement:

You alone can make my song take flight
Help me make the music of the night

I’ve tried to explain how “Music of the Night” affects me, which is difficult without a solid background in musical theory, orchestration, scoring, etc. As a result, I don’t know how successful this analysis was. So here’s a final attempt.

Above, I mentioned that “Music of the Night” reminds me of three things. Let’s make that four: the scene from Children of a Lesser God (1986) in which Marlee Matlin’s deaf character explains to William Hurt’s hearing character that even though she cannot hear them, she knows what waves sound like. Her description is what “Music of the Night” feels like to me. (Start watching at 05:15.)

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