Out of Print
Play with the Changes
by Andi Osmeña
Photos courtesy of Denise Santos
How Emmy-winning composer Denise Santos sought out a way to pursue her dual passions
“I have kind of forgotten who I was,” she says. “And then meeting with old friends and family is just an immediate reminder of where I came from.”
Her former bandmates waited at a table outside our cafe to let us continue talking. What fun! A day that keeps going, I thought. Interestingly enough, all of them ended up in the film industry. I was glad I could catch a moment with Denise in person since she was only in town for a few weeks—back from Los Angeles, a place not unlike Manila with its winding highways and sunny weather. Denise’s vacation was right in the middle of the habagat season (and so the difference between the two cities becomes more apparent). Despite that, she tells me the timing could never have been more perfect for reasons more internal. She needed to come back to herself. Reconnect with her roots after years spent working abroad. She tells me she filled her calendar with as few plans as she could, spending afternoons rummaging through the detritus of her childhood bedroom. Her favorite re-discovery: an old mixtape containing songs she loved at the time, tracklist ranging from 2000s alt-rock anthems to The Simpsons’ original soundtrack.
It’s a funny foreshadowing, because Denise now scores films and TV shows in LA. She tells me she started living in the US “by accident.” The original plan was to study music and come back to the Philippines. Things just happened, she says. Just last year, she moved into a new house in the San Fernando Valley (most notable to Denise as Haim’s hometown) which is now complete with a fully-equipped home studio. She and her husband Josh Atchley now reside there. The two met at Bleeding Fingers Music, where Denise had been working for the past six years.
“I could not turn that down,” she tells me. When one of the world’s top studios asks you to work for them, how could you say no?
Denise took piano lessons from childhood until the end of high school, where she took every opportunity she could to make and perform music. She was in her school’s theater club and several bands at the time, playing a variety of styles and drawing from whatever influences struck her. Punk, pop, classical, reggae, jazz—you name it.
“Cool girl!” I quipped.
“Actually, I felt like more of an outsider,” Denise responds. She paints a portrait of her young self as more of a band geek than a rock star. From a young age, Denise felt deeply drawn to composition as a driving force in music, so she nurtured her ability to tell a story without words. Bands and theater were the arena where she practiced. She tells me stories from the world of high school battle-of-the-bands competitions—the kind of life my high school self would have yearned for. It’s the stuff of early 2000s Disney teen movies: intricate pre-gig rituals, band drama, and the glorious winning show. “Which to me was just pure bliss. Just being able to play and be received well,” she says.
And then for a brief period in time, Denise completely stopped. When the time came to decide on a college course, she chose BS Management at Ateneo de Manila University. “I just thought, There's no way I can live off music. And I was so insecure, I didn't even try to apply for music school because I couldn't sight-read fast enough.”
Before the advent of bedroom pop and SoundCloud prodigies, a future in music usually meant intensive classical training. And if you want to get into a prestigious music school, you need to be able to pass the audition. The University of the Philippines’ music program requires a separate exam to test prospective students’ knowledge and proficiency in music theory. This means testing the prospect’s solfège, ear training, and ability to dictate melody.
“So I thought that maybe I'll be in the music industry but I won’t be a creative,” Denise tells me. “Maybe I’ll be a manager or record label owner. It was not even in my vision.”
Once she laid that dream to rest, Denise hardly explored new music in college. “My favorite bands and stuff, there's an obvious gap: 2007–2010. I don't have a lot of favorites from those four years,” she explains. When Denise studied Management, she didn’t play in bands anymore. It didn’t make sense, as music no longer fit into her future. Her plan was to work in business the same way most of the people in her family did.
Before the advent of bedroom pop and SoundCloud prodigies, a future in music usually meant intensive classical training. And if you want to get into a prestigious music school, you need to be able to pass the audition. The University of the Philippines’ music program requires a separate exam to test prospective students’ knowledge and proficiency in music theory. This means testing the prospect’s solfège, ear training, and ability to dictate melody.
“So I thought that maybe I'll be in the music industry but I won’t be a creative,” Denise tells me. “Maybe I’ll be a manager or record label owner. It was not even in my vision.”
Once she laid that dream to rest, Denise hardly explored new music in college. “My favorite bands and stuff, there's an obvious gap: 2007–2010. I don't have a lot of favorites from those four years,” she explains. When Denise studied Management, she didn’t play in bands anymore. It didn’t make sense, as music no longer fit into her future. Her plan was to work in business the same way most of the people in her family did.
“So I thought that maybe I'll be in the music industry but I won’t be a creative,” Denise tells me. “Maybe I’ll be a manager or record label owner. It was not even in my vision.”
I guess every artist gives up at one point. Turns out, Denise and I had a few things in common:
For a while, I let my own dream die too. Several people doubted me, but most of all I doubted myself. It took some time to pursue what I really wanted. Denise tells me of a similar experience. Her realization came to her in her final year of college.
“I didn't feel like myself because I was completely just not creating. My friends know this, my blockmates know this. There was a period in college where I was not talking to anyone because I felt so bland,” she says. “I don't know what happened. I just shut myself off. And then that's when I realized, well yeah, ‘cause I wasn’t able to tap into my creativity anymore.”
- We both work in or adjacent to music,
- We were Type-A council kids that became batch president in senior year (I regret that decision), and
- Even knowing that I had a passion for visual art since my childhood, I was still too scared to apply to the Fine Arts program of UP Diliman. My 16-year-old self somehow felt deep down that I could never pass the talent test. In my UPD application form, I listed my top course choice as BS Biology.
For a while, I let my own dream die too. Several people doubted me, but most of all I doubted myself. It took some time to pursue what I really wanted. Denise tells me of a similar experience. Her realization came to her in her final year of college.
“I didn't feel like myself because I was completely just not creating. My friends know this, my blockmates know this. There was a period in college where I was not talking to anyone because I felt so bland,” she says. “I don't know what happened. I just shut myself off. And then that's when I realized, well yeah, ‘cause I wasn’t able to tap into my creativity anymore.”
A good portion of mine and Denise’s conversation is spent geeking out over great musicians that have made great scores. By that, we mean the ones no one expected. Trent Reznor for The Social Network, Air for The Virgin Suicides, and everything Jonny Greenwood has ever made. That’s one cultural moment of the 2000s we both appreciated: rock stars dipping their toes into film. Denise admits she’s most attached to the former mentioned work: “So much changed when I heard The Social Network score. Knowing they're not classical musicians opened my eyes. I was like, oh, I don't have to go to Juilliard. I don't have to go to UP Music Conservatory first and join an orchestra. Oh my gosh, I can do this.”
It finally clicked—Denise would try her hand at film scoring. In 2010, she decided to learn how to produce music by taking one-on-one lessons with musician Jimmy Antiporda. Within a year of learning to produce music on Logic, she made demos to burn on CDs. During that year’s Fete de la Musique, she left a number of them on random bar tables, hoping someone would get curious and give them a listen.
“Well, did you get any inquiries?” I asked excitedly. She tells me she didn’t, “I think that was just the intention-setting part of me. Like, I just really wanted to get some scoring gigs. And some people still have that CD. I’ve been telling them to throw it away, burn it. Like please bury it, I don't want to see it!”
Film director Samantha Lee describes a scene to me: three college girls crammed into a bedroom, hunched over an electronic keyboard hooked up to GarageBand. Denise’s first scoring project was for the documentary short Agos, Samantha’s undergrad thesis film. Denise recalls recording doorway wind chimes at her friend’s house to add as a production flourish. Very DIY, she tells me.
Denise reached out to Samantha on Facebook some time after learning to produce, to see if they could work together. Before that, they’d only vaguely known each other as friends-of-friends. “It was really through that cold-call experience, then things started snowballing,” says Denise. After graduating from college, she got a corporate job but her head was back in the game. Samantha referred Denise to more filmmakers in the scene. Denise immediately started meeting with different producers and directors to build up her portfolio. In 2012, she even started playing in bands again, playing keys for jazz-fusion band Hidden Nikki and post-rock band Bones Like Snowflakes.
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Denise performing with Hidden Nikki at Route 196
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Bones Like Snowflakes performing onstage
It finally clicked—Denise would try her hand at film scoring. In 2010, she decided to learn how to produce music by taking one-on-one lessons with musician Jimmy Antiporda. Within a year of learning to produce music on Logic, she made demos to burn on CDs. During that year’s Fete de la Musique, she left a number of them on random bar tables, hoping someone would get curious and give them a listen.
“Well, did you get any inquiries?” I asked excitedly. She tells me she didn’t, “I think that was just the intention-setting part of me. Like, I just really wanted to get some scoring gigs. And some people still have that CD. I’ve been telling them to throw it away, burn it. Like please bury it, I don't want to see it!”
Film director Samantha Lee describes a scene to me: three college girls crammed into a bedroom, hunched over an electronic keyboard hooked up to GarageBand. Denise’s first scoring project was for the documentary short Agos, Samantha’s undergrad thesis film. Denise recalls recording doorway wind chimes at her friend’s house to add as a production flourish. Very DIY, she tells me.
Denise reached out to Samantha on Facebook some time after learning to produce, to see if they could work together. Before that, they’d only vaguely known each other as friends-of-friends. “It was really through that cold-call experience, then things started snowballing,” says Denise. After graduating from college, she got a corporate job but her head was back in the game. Samantha referred Denise to more filmmakers in the scene. Denise immediately started meeting with different producers and directors to build up her portfolio. In 2012, she even started playing in bands again, playing keys for jazz-fusion band Hidden Nikki and post-rock band Bones Like Snowflakes.
Denise performing with Hidden Nikki at Route 196
Bones Like Snowflakes performing onstage“In hindsight, I also love that I took up Management because now I don't live in a bubble,” she tells me. “I was experiencing music the way a non-musician would, which I feed off of now. There are certain things that I know when it's asked from me by a non-musician. In a way I can understand faster I think,” she says. Still, she wanted to immerse herself fully where her true passions lay. So after two years of balancing part-time scoring work and gigging with a corporate day job, Denise decided to pursue an education in music. She took a certificate course in film scoring at the University of California’s Los Angeles extension.
One of her school field trips was at Remote Control Productions—home of Bleeding Fingers and colloquially known as the Stanford of Score. That day, Denise found out there was a position open for an intern. After she applied and got the position, days were spent throwing trash away, making coffee, and picking up food orders. Denise was incredibly happy to be there. “It was really cool because you get to meet a bunch of composers. I mean, I love cleaning anyways. Like I’ll happily wash the dishes. It’s therapeutic, right? I didn't mind that work if it meant I got to give my idol his lunch. I would pay you to do that.”
Bleeding Fingers is a joint venture between Sony and German composer Hans Zimmer, who needs little introduction. I knew about his work with Christopher Nolan, but I had only found out while writing this that he made The Lion King score—so more power to him. Of course, Denise got to meet him while working for the studio, an experience she describes as surreal.
“It was timing. Pure timing. I'm not being modest.” Denise was absorbed into the company as an assistant not long after her internship. Later on, she joined their roster as a musician. She emphasizes the serendipitous element, citing that she had to hold off her internship by a few months to attend her sister’s wedding back home. She wonders if things would have still lined up for her if it weren’t for that.
One of her school field trips was at Remote Control Productions—home of Bleeding Fingers and colloquially known as the Stanford of Score. That day, Denise found out there was a position open for an intern. After she applied and got the position, days were spent throwing trash away, making coffee, and picking up food orders. Denise was incredibly happy to be there. “It was really cool because you get to meet a bunch of composers. I mean, I love cleaning anyways. Like I’ll happily wash the dishes. It’s therapeutic, right? I didn't mind that work if it meant I got to give my idol his lunch. I would pay you to do that.”
Bleeding Fingers is a joint venture between Sony and German composer Hans Zimmer, who needs little introduction. I knew about his work with Christopher Nolan, but I had only found out while writing this that he made The Lion King score—so more power to him. Of course, Denise got to meet him while working for the studio, an experience she describes as surreal.
“It was timing. Pure timing. I'm not being modest.” Denise was absorbed into the company as an assistant not long after her internship. Later on, she joined their roster as a musician. She emphasizes the serendipitous element, citing that she had to hold off her internship by a few months to attend her sister’s wedding back home. She wonders if things would have still lined up for her if it weren’t for that.
“I didn't feel like myself because I was completely just not creating. My friends know this, my blockmates know this. There was a period in college where I was not talking to anyone because I felt so bland,” she says.
For the past six years, Denise sharpened her skills in orchestration and music production while servicing the studio’s clientele, which often included docuseries, reality shows, and animation. “People are so generous with information and they're really good at giving feedback,” she shares. “My colleagues and my mentors would willingly deep dive into a track to help me out.”
While working for the studio, Denise still kept her eyes towards Philippine filmmaking—thus, her long-standing friendship with Samantha. She scored both of Samantha’s feature films, Baka Bukas and Billie & Emma. This time, they no longer needed to cram into a bedroom and try to make it work, but that was more by circumstance.
“Ever since my thesis, we've never been in the same country working on something at the same time,” Samantha tells me. She calls both her professional and personal relationship with Denise somewhat of a slow burn built on a backbone of back-and-forth messages of creative brain-farts. As their working chemistry developed, that fed into the personal aspect of their work, and vice versa. “Since my work is so personal, there's a comfort in knowing that the person you're working with knows so much of your personal history as well,” Samantha says. “You kind of get rid of this step in the collaborative process where you have to explain your life, what you're about, et cetera. She just instantaneously gets it.”
Last year, Samantha visited Denise’s studio in LA, astounded by the obvious signs of her growth, both personal and professional. Denise showed me a picture of that studio. It’s an impressive setup: warm, woody interiors and massive windows on one side. Soundproof panels obscure the exposed beams in the ceiling, but they’re still well in sight. High ceilings are always so refreshing. I ask about the view. “Oh it’s beautiful,” says Denise. Her tone tells me everything.
“That year was crazy for me,“ Denise explains. At the same time that Denise moved into her new home, she had won Outstanding Music Composition at the 42nd News & Documentary Emmy Awards. One after the other: a housewarming party and an Emmy celebration; the alignment of the personal and professional tends to recur in her life. She wrote and recorded the winning work, the score for the BBC’s docuseries Primates, the same year she had her wedding. It was a long journey from what started with her hunched over a MIDI controller on a bed.
Denise tells me, “I think the main thing that happened was I finally felt like I belonged.” While she has progressed through a fruitful career, she still battled pangs of self-doubt. It’s a very familiar feeling to her. She admits, “I mean, for the longest time, I felt like an outsider. And I think it's that four-year gap from college—like, I'm not a musician. How dare I call myself a composer? I didn't even study music. And that moment, on a more personal level, it felt like there was actually space for someone like me there.”
While working for the studio, Denise still kept her eyes towards Philippine filmmaking—thus, her long-standing friendship with Samantha. She scored both of Samantha’s feature films, Baka Bukas and Billie & Emma. This time, they no longer needed to cram into a bedroom and try to make it work, but that was more by circumstance.
“Ever since my thesis, we've never been in the same country working on something at the same time,” Samantha tells me. She calls both her professional and personal relationship with Denise somewhat of a slow burn built on a backbone of back-and-forth messages of creative brain-farts. As their working chemistry developed, that fed into the personal aspect of their work, and vice versa. “Since my work is so personal, there's a comfort in knowing that the person you're working with knows so much of your personal history as well,” Samantha says. “You kind of get rid of this step in the collaborative process where you have to explain your life, what you're about, et cetera. She just instantaneously gets it.”
Last year, Samantha visited Denise’s studio in LA, astounded by the obvious signs of her growth, both personal and professional. Denise showed me a picture of that studio. It’s an impressive setup: warm, woody interiors and massive windows on one side. Soundproof panels obscure the exposed beams in the ceiling, but they’re still well in sight. High ceilings are always so refreshing. I ask about the view. “Oh it’s beautiful,” says Denise. Her tone tells me everything.
“That year was crazy for me,“ Denise explains. At the same time that Denise moved into her new home, she had won Outstanding Music Composition at the 42nd News & Documentary Emmy Awards. One after the other: a housewarming party and an Emmy celebration; the alignment of the personal and professional tends to recur in her life. She wrote and recorded the winning work, the score for the BBC’s docuseries Primates, the same year she had her wedding. It was a long journey from what started with her hunched over a MIDI controller on a bed.
Denise tells me, “I think the main thing that happened was I finally felt like I belonged.” While she has progressed through a fruitful career, she still battled pangs of self-doubt. It’s a very familiar feeling to her. She admits, “I mean, for the longest time, I felt like an outsider. And I think it's that four-year gap from college—like, I'm not a musician. How dare I call myself a composer? I didn't even study music. And that moment, on a more personal level, it felt like there was actually space for someone like me there.”
“I mean, for the longest time, I felt like an outsider. And I think it's that four-year gap from college—like, I'm not a musician. How dare I call myself a composer? I didn't even study music. And that moment, on a more personal level, it felt like there was actually space for someone like me there.”
One year after the Emmy, Denise left Bleeding Fingers after working there for six years. “It felt like a graduation,” she says. This is the first time she’ll be able to call herself a free agent since she finished her music education in UCLA. “I wanted to try different kinds of work. You know, when you get work through Bleeding Fingers, the expectation is to sound like Hans Zimmer. And I felt like I wanted to explore more. What do I sound like?”
Denise has a few ideas. During her Manila visit, she met with the Manila Symphony Orchestra. This could possibly be the first time that she could work with a full live orchestra. She also spent a good portion of her break talking with Samantha. Most of all, she’s excited to work with her friends. To her, everything works better that way.
“Oh, and album releases,” she tells me. During lockdown, she and her husband took hikes into the wilderness with guitars strapped to their backs. She throws out another idea: “I remember like, I really wanted to do the Ayala Triangle Christmas music…” Though a score is created to supplement a film’s overall presentation, wordlessly guiding a narrative, Denise wishes she could go back to sharing music independent of any other context. To be the star of your own show.
Denise isn’t all about career, though. When I ask her about what she’s looking forward to, she tells me her holiday plans. Her family is slated to visit her in California and she and her husband plan to show them around the city. It’ll be the first time they’ll all be together again in three years, so they’ll spend a good time relaxing at home for sure. Finally, she'll be able to bask in the joy she’s found. She tells me, “I'm really excited for them to just be in the kitchen together and experiment together. I think that’s the number one plan. I'm excited for everything. I haven't felt that way in so long, so that alone is huge for me.” ︎
Denise has a few ideas. During her Manila visit, she met with the Manila Symphony Orchestra. This could possibly be the first time that she could work with a full live orchestra. She also spent a good portion of her break talking with Samantha. Most of all, she’s excited to work with her friends. To her, everything works better that way.
“Oh, and album releases,” she tells me. During lockdown, she and her husband took hikes into the wilderness with guitars strapped to their backs. She throws out another idea: “I remember like, I really wanted to do the Ayala Triangle Christmas music…” Though a score is created to supplement a film’s overall presentation, wordlessly guiding a narrative, Denise wishes she could go back to sharing music independent of any other context. To be the star of your own show.
Denise isn’t all about career, though. When I ask her about what she’s looking forward to, she tells me her holiday plans. Her family is slated to visit her in California and she and her husband plan to show them around the city. It’ll be the first time they’ll all be together again in three years, so they’ll spend a good time relaxing at home for sure. Finally, she'll be able to bask in the joy she’s found. She tells me, “I'm really excited for them to just be in the kitchen together and experiment together. I think that’s the number one plan. I'm excited for everything. I haven't felt that way in so long, so that alone is huge for me.” ︎
Andi Osmeña is a design student, writer, and DJ.