I have worked with Alan Mason on three pictures plus a film essay over the last few years. I know how to set up the camera and light a scene. I know how to write a script. I know how to direct and I can understand a problem and, most of the time, find a solution quickly. Not so with music. I can’t read a note.

I took Alan to the set a couple of years ago. We were shooting on a train. I took him on the train and down the track several miles. I said “do you hear that?” and he answered “I got it.” “Good,” I said, “Because I need some music that fits that.” Now that is very broad. Most composers would have said “What? What do you want? Do you want it fast, slow? Do you want a single instrument? What?” Not Alan, he delivered a perfect score.

We worked well together and I had the highest respect for him. We have been busy the last couple of weeks scoring “Land of Liberty” and getting ready to record Gracie. He was always light years ahead of me and seemed to tolerate my constant re-cutting and re-writing and lack of musical understanding.

Last week when he didn’t return my calls I went to his house. I found the door unlocked and his truck window down. I got a very sick feeling. I left some paperwork in his door.

On Friday Cindy, his ex-wife called me and said “Jeff, there is no easy way to say this. Alan has died.” I was at such a loss.

On another film, I lost an editor. He died after I left his house on a Friday night. This business is full of free spirits. So much talent and sometimes not understood at all. I talked to Alan about this the very last time I saw him. We talked about being an artist and “seeing around the curve” and what made perfect sense to us wasn’t even understood by others sometimes.

When we reviewed the rough cut of “Promises” he jumped up out of his seat and said: “When I wrote this [music] that is what I saw in my head.” I said: “When I shot this that is the music I heard.”

This is a very big loss to me, to Oceangate Entertainment, and to the world. Life is fragile. I am so glad that I had that last conversation with Alan. I told him how talented he was. I told him we would work on bigger pictures as time went on. It seems sometimes we could just watch a scene and both know how we wanted it to be. I wish I would have done more. I wish I knew what was about to happen, maybe then Alan would still be with us. I will remember that laugh and I will remember Alan standing there smiling as I pulled out of his driveway. Take time to thank your friend for being a friend.

Alan thanks for taking my calls, saving my shaky camera shots, listening to my dreams, making me look good with our films, and most of all for being a friend. Edward Alan Mason 1960 – 2010.

5.3.10
DJ McCoy