The score's opening titles sequence (over Saul Bass' imagery) is unique in that it previews several motifs heard in far different conditions later in the score, but doesn't reappear itself at any time in full. Its broad brass notes over hypnotic triplet rhythms are more in synch with Herrmann's straight horror scores, with a boldness evident in efforts like Cape Fear. A four-note motif representing mystery in the score debuts here, as do fragments of the love theme that would define the score elsewhere. The "Prelude" is thus a battle between the nightmares and dreams of Stewart's character in the film, alternating between horrific single brass notes and tumultuously romantic string interludes. Herrmann, as he would accomplish in a few other places in the score, finishes the sequence with an ambitious, harmonious conclusion complete with resounding timpani and a gong hit. In the days before lengthy end credits, the "Prelude" here would ironically be the perfect closing piece. Immediately after this introduction, Herrmann serves audiences with the recurring motif for Stewart's problems with the fear of heights; his frenzied, dizzying strings wave with an intense dissonance that truly defines the horror of the affliction. The score then simmers for a considerable time, as the relationship between Stewart and Novak's character, and the mysterious behavior of the latter, is followed. Here Herrmann slowly develops two major ideas in the score. First, the "love theme" is rooted in exploratory strings while Novak is trailed; in later scenes, after she is rescued from the bay, the theme begins to pronounce itself in full form as the two leads converse. Of more importance to these investigatory cues is Herrmann's use of the Spanish habanera rhythm as a propulsive element in the mystery. The significance in the ethnic origin of the rhythm comes from several references in the plotline of the film, and its use is as methodic as Stewart's detective tactics. This rhythm, often carried by a woodwind section amplified with five clarinets, assists the slower moments of the underscore in maintaining your interest.

The best known theme in Vertigo remains the one given full treatment in "Scene D'Amour." This love theme is a rare venture into the unashamed melodic romance genre for Herrmann, evoking a touch of mystery and sadness in its performances. With high style from the Golden Age of Hollywood, this theme is as heartbreaking as any you'll ever encounter from that era, and it retains its explosive dramatic effect to this day. As mentioned before, however, Vertigo is made great by its integration and maturation process of these themes, and Herrmann applies them with great psychological effect throughout the score. The love theme makes a grandiose statement during Stewart and Novak's first kiss in "The Beach," a cue notable for ending on a rare major key crescendo from Herrmann. As Novak's real identity and Stewart start a fresh romance in the film's final third, the love theme is brilliantly adapted into a more friendly waltz, stripped of its slushy romantic weight because of Stewart's obsession with Novak's previous identity. The score switches into the minor key for the religious inclinations, utilizing an electric organ for suspense in "The Forest" (when Novak disappears) and in the "Finale" (when a nun causes the ultimate scare). The habanera rhythm is reprised twice in the latter half, both at moments that are flashbacks to the early investigations. First, the remarkable animated nightmare sequence throws the rhythm at you with full force, adding castanets and tambourines for ethnic flavor. A pivotal scene in the film involves Stewart's discovery of the truth in "The Necklace," for which Herrmann uses the rhythms for a final time in the form of sudden muted trumpets with striking force. In "The Letter," Novak's real identity composes and then abandons a letter to Stewart explaining what has happened to him, and during this recounting of the film's first half, Herrmann appropriately touches quickly (literally... in faster tempi) the musical ideas used in those previous scenes. The score teases you with several false endings, especially with the abrupt end of the love theme in "Finale," where a solo organ cuts in and leads to Herrmann's bombastic, tragic brass closing.

Behind the scenes, Vertigo presented nightmares in both the recording process and on its album variations throughout the years. Due to a strike by American musicians and obscure international laws, Herrmann was forced to have the score recorded in London under the wand of Muir Mathieson. Though some believe that Mathieson's conducting was among the best for any Herrmann score, the composer himself was unsatisfied and eventually recorded his own suite of music from Vertigo. Complicating matters even more, the British musicians decided to strike as well halfway through the recording process, so Mathieson finished the recording in Vienna. The problem with this transition, however, is that the London sessions were in stereo while the Vienna sessions were in far inferior mono sound. Because of this (and many other factors), it would take nearly 40 years for a good album presentation of Vertigo to be assembled. In 1990, a Mercury label CD offered 34 minutes of stereo music from the London sessions, which luckily included most of the major cues (excluding "The Bay" and "The Letter"). Meanwhile, suites from Vertigo, usually including "Prelude" and "Scene D'Amour," began appearing in many re-recorded compilations, and these were typically well performed. The Varèse Sarabande label rectified everything in the mid-90's with both a loyal re-release of the original score and a full re-recording of the score on separate albums. The original score was assembled as best they could in 1996, with many of the mono Vienna recordings placed in film sequence with the major London ones; because of significant damage in the lack of preservation of the master tapes, some material was lost, including the "Graveyard" cue combining eerie high strings with awkwardly low clarinets. Although Varèse's album of original material was double the length of the Mercury release, it has been argued that portions of that previous album sound better. That argument had been made pointless after Varèse commissioned composer/conductor Joel McNeely to lead the Royal Scottish National Orchestra in re-recording an hour of Vertigo earlier in the same year. The performance by the RSNO, as well as McNeely's faithful interpretation of the score, is superior in every aspect. So unless you absolutely require the original recordings, in which case the late 1996 album is the most complete, the early 1996 re-recording on Varèse is a stunningly satisfying solution. No score has deserved such phenomenal treatment as much as Vertigo, and even purists will enjoy Varèse's digital rendering of this classic.   @Amazon.com: CD or Download