The second book I’d like to introduce is about Ennio Morricone. What I loved so much about it was that Mr. Morricone seemed so human, and that he was a maestro without realizing he was one. The little anecdotes about a maestro—someone called a master—weren’t all that different from the experiences of ordinary people, and I found that comforting. As a musician, I can’t presume to judge him, but I’d always thought he was simply extraordinary. Once I got a closer look at what was going on inside him, I thought, “I really could never even come close to him, even if I spent my whole life trying.” He didn’t resort to tricks; he diligently did what he could, in a somewhat old-fashioned way. Sometimes the results were good, sometimes they weren’t, and he didn’t seem to attach much significance to that. So I thought I should be like that, too. The final chapter is called “I’ll Stop at 100.” When director Giuseppe Tornatore asked him, “You’ve been doing this for 75 years. Is there still music you want to create?” Morricone said that he still had things he wanted to do in his mind, and things he wanted to try. Seeing that made me think that perhaps those stubborn convictions and choices were what made Ennio Morricone who he was. Not long ago, I said that my dream was to keep working right up until just before I die. I don’t want to become complacent, and getting older doesn’t have to mean your passion fades. I thought that if I lived with that attitude, I might be able to keep going for a long time. I thought people working in the music industry would get a lot out of reading this. But even beyond that, I think it’s fascinating for people in any field to hear from someone who can be said to have reached the pinnacle of their field.
