'Psycho': The Scary Song That Changed Cinema History

Shrill guitars that sound like they're coming from a slaughterhouse. Thunderous bass notes that slowly fade in speed and seem to mimic the fluctuating heartbeat of a victim.

If we take away Bernard Herrmann's score for the horror film Psycho — which turns 65 this month — it's fair to say it wouldn't have the same harrowing impact.

Particularly important is the music that plays when Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), shortly after checking into the Bates Motel, is attacked from behind the shower curtain by a mysterious killer—later revealed to be the motel's owner, Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins), dressed as her deceased mother.

"That song is everything," says Rachel Zeffira, film composer and member of the folk duo Cat's Eyes.

"It's the birds, the bees, and the voices in the back of your head."

Director Alfred Hitchcock's project seemed doomed from the start, with executives at Paramount (who had produced five previous Hitchcock films) showing little interest, refusing to let him film on their set and limiting themselves to distributing the film rather than producing it.

But despite the modest budget, Hitchcock proved everyone wrong, and he owes this in part to Herrmann and his talent for creating compositions that elevate scenes to new heights.

"Psycho certainly wasn't a bad film before the soundtrack, but it lacked tension," explains Steve Smith, author of the new book Hitchcock and Herrmann: The Friendship and Film Scores that Changed Cinema .

Herrmann gave the film the boost it needed by composing a score for a 50-piece orchestra with only strings.

In the case of the most famous scene, this resulted in a sequence of psychologically disturbing highs that caused the terrified audience to no longer see the shower as a safe place.

"Before the shower scene, a lot of the music had a depressing tone and wasn't really that loud," says Smith. "But suddenly, with the shower scene, the strings are playing unmuted and screaming in an animalistic way. This creates a clever connection to Norman Bates, the bird taxidermist."

Herrmann forced Hitchcock, initially indifferent, to watch the shower sequence with and without the music.

"We should use it!" Hitchcock agreed. "But I thought you didn't want my music here," Herrmann said sarcastically before the director retorted, "My dear, that's an inappropriate suggestion."

It's an anecdote that reflects this explosive partnership well.

The creative union of the two resulted in soundtracks that make the viewer feel immersed in the dark inner dialogue of a character, complicit in both his most romantic dreams and his most desperate nightmares (see A Body Falls ).

Zeffira describes the music that plays every time Norman Bates appears on screen as "haggard and anxious," which she says "makes you feel sorry for a murderer."

"I know that before writing a film score, Herrmann always read the novel on which the film was based or studied the literary work, which is why his scores were more empathetic. Every note Herrmann played had a meaning."

The Origins of the Herrmann Genius

An avid reader as a child, Herrmann (or Benny, as he was called by his friends) spent much of his free time passionately debating whether literature or music was the supreme art form.

Music eventually won out, and Herrmann began winning classical music competitions at age 13.

He studied at New York University under the legendary composer Percy Grainger, and one of Herrmann's first professional jobs as a studio musician was at CBS radio.

At CBS, he worked with Orson Welles, gaining his trust with the 1938 radio adaptation of The War of the Worlds , which was so realistic that some listeners believed it was a real alien invasion.

He ended up becoming the most obvious choice to compose the soundtrack for Citizen Kane , Welles' masterpiece released in 1941.

Working with hundreds of radio plays taught Herrmann how to create compositions that evoked mental images, and it also showed him the power of long pauses: he used silence as another tool to build suspense.

Professionally, Herrmann was known for having a fiery temper and, as his daughter Dorothy told the New York Times, he "had no patience for fools."

Still, Smith is keen to point out that the musician was less temperamental than his reputation suggested and often recommended younger composers for work. "He was misunderstood," he says.

"Given his reputation for being easily angered, I think people would be surprised at how gentle Bernard was, especially with animals. He was wary of arrogant humans, but gave his cats unconditional love."

Brandon Brown, a South Carolina-based cinematographer working on a documentary about Herrmann's life, says one thing that's often forgotten is the horrors of the time Herrmann grew up in.

Although he was born in New York City in 1911, Herrmann's family were Russian Jews who fled Eastern Europe in search of a better life. They certainly had to leave behind friends in Ukraine, who were later forcibly displaced or massacred by invading Nazi troops.

"You can hear in Herrmann's work for radio and film, especially in the works produced during World War II, how deeply affected he was by what was happening," says Brown, citing the music he composed for the 1947 supernatural drama The Ghost in Love .

In the piece "The Spring Sea ," a soaring flute harmony represents the invigorating morning song of birds. However, the sunny tones are permeated with a melancholic sadness, thanks to descending strings that sound more like a mother's cry.

"Herrmann considered The Ghost in Love his best work," says Brown. "It's easy to see why. It's such a beautiful and melancholic score, capturing how the world felt in the 1940s, at a time when even a sunny day was haunted by ghosts. It was this dark tone that he brought to Psycho ."

By 1960, Herrmann was already a giant in the film industry. Furthermore, he and Hitchcock had already made five films together ( The Trouble with Harry, The Man Who Knew Too Much, The Guilty One, Vertigo, and North by Northwest) , and had developed impeccable creative chemistry.

Still, Smith believes that Psycho was a production in which Herrmann breathed new life into a weary director. "Hitch feared he had made a mistake filming such macabre material, something many advised him not to do," he explains.

"But Herrmann made Hitchcock fall in love with the project all over again. Herrmann later recounted that he wrote the score for Psycho for a string orchestra in order to create 'a black-and-white sound' that would complement the black-and-white photography."

Besides making Psycho a huge success for Hitchcock—grossing $32 million on a budget of just $800,000—Herrmann saw his score resonate in popular culture in many unexpected ways. Producer George Martin based his 1966 string arrangement for the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby " on the music from Psycho .

"George wanted to bring a bit of drama to the arrangement," Paul McCartney told the BBC in an interview.

The legacy of the soundtrack

The film's central theme would also be reused by dozens of other artists. Perhaps the most electrifying example is rapper Busta Rhymes' 1998 single, "Gimme Some More."

According to hip hop producer and contemporary classical music composer Michael Vincent Waller, the Psycho soundtrack is beloved by rap artists.

"Herrmann knew how to repeat small fragments and become a master of repetition. In many ways, the way he directed music for film was very similar to the way rap producers make their beats ."

Waller argues that Psycho not only changed the horror genre, but expanded cinematic storytelling as a whole.

"The music from Psycho is a go-to whenever you want to build tension, and it's clear that John Williams drew inspiration from it for the low, menacing notes in Jaws . Anytime you hear creepy violins in a horror film, or feel like the soundtrack has become almost a character in itself, it all harks back to Psycho ."

The creative partnership between Hitchcock and Herrmann came to an end with Torn Curtain (1966).

Hitchcock was furious with Herrmann's refusal to follow his orders to produce a leaner, pop-oriented score—the composer insisted on using 12 flutes, 16 horns, nine trombones, two tubas, eight cellos, eight double basses, and two sets of timpani.

Herrmann was fired, but it didn't derail his career. He remained an innovative force until his death in 1975, when he suffered a heart attack.

In particular, a collaboration with Martin Scorsese for Taxi Driver — released a year later in 1976 — cemented Herrmann's musical legacy.

Working prominently with a saxophonist (Ronnie Lang), he composed smoky, floating jazz notes so vivid that one could imagine pollution rising through the cracks of Manhattan's sewers.

Scorsese's film also offers a full-circle moment with Psycho : at the end of Taxi Driver , Herrmann directly quotes the three-note theme from the previous film, The Madhouse.

"He told his wife, Norma, that he did it because he wanted to tell the public that Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver would be back to committing violence," Smith explains.

Among Herrmann's exceptional works, the Psycho soundtrack and its scratchy, harrowing violin arrangements remain a clear standout. It's one of the few scores Herrmann re-recorded, a clear sign of pride, and remains a perfect example of how music can elevate a film. Or, as Herrmann himself once said:

"A composer writes the score for a film and brings it to life. Like a guy who goes to the doctor and says, 'I'm dying,' and the doctor cures him."

Read the original version of this report (in English) on the BBC Culture website .