He's a Pirate

Everything about this piece is kinetic, relentless, almost joyfully chaotic in a way that suggests its composer was having a great deal of fun. The strings race at a pace that requires attention to follow, violins and brass trading phrases with the competitive energy of a chase scene being narrated by someone who cannot quite contain their excitement. The rhythm shifts without apology, time signatures tumbling forward in compound patterns that feel like a ship cresting waves. Beneath the orchestral velocity, there is a tonal swaggering — major key heroism with a piratical grin, refusing the solemnity that usually accompanies strings at this volume. Zimmer borrowed from baroque running bass lines and 18th-century seafaring marches and then accelerated them past the point of period authenticity into something purely cinematic. The brass are particularly important here, punctuating the string runs with statements that land like exclamation points. What makes this piece unusual among Zimmer's work is its sheer uncomplicated pleasure in velocity for its own sake. There is no grief, no ambiguity, no longing — just forward motion and the specific exhilaration of momentum. You would listen to this while running, while driving too fast on an empty road, or while beginning something that requires courage you have not yet fully assembled.