Kobe Bryant and John Williams’ unlikely friendship transcended sports and film

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It was John Williams‘ music that drew me into the circle of basketball legend Kobe Bryant. Just like many others, Kobe admired Williams’ compositions deeply; he reached out to the composer for career guidance and later, in his post-athletic phase when he ventured into filmmaking, enlisted Williams to compose a brief score for one of his projects.

Since I make a living by working on film scores, I had the opportunity to interview Bryant, alongside Williams and animation legend Glen Keane, for The Times in the spring of 2017. In addition, I was fortunate enough to meet Bryant in person, backstage at the Hollywood Bowl, during his rehearsals for the narration of “Dear Basketball” at a concert entirely by Williams. It was an unusually warm day, and I waited outside Bryant’s dressing room while they dried his soaked shirt with a hair dryer before he emerged and cordially shook my hand.

In my latest book, “John Williams: A Composer’s Life,” I devoted a substantial portion to Bryant and “Dear Basketball” not merely due to his celebrity or sporting skills. Instead, it was because the short film elicited one of Williams’ most enchanting compositions from the past decade, and there was an element of poetic poignancy and emotional resonance in the entire narrative that echoed a farewell to one’s greatest passion – a sentiment that gained even more poignancy when the film functioned as a tribute to Bryant following his tragic demise in 2020.

Tim Greiving, who often writes for The Times, has written a book about John Williams’ life called “John Williams: A Composer’s Life,” which will be published on September 2.

As a dedicated cinephile and ardent basketball enthusiast, I found myself deeply moved by the unexpected connection I shared with maestro John Williams – a man whose compositions have graced countless films and touched millions. Growing up in Philly, I may have seemed worlds apart from this legendary composer, but his music struck a chord within me that resonated deeply.

As a wide-eyed boy, I’d tie a makeshift cape around my neck and run around to the heroic strains of Superman’s theme, feeling invincible with each step. During my playing days, I’d use the ominous Imperial March to psyche myself up before taking the court, its thunderous presence a potent reminder of the battle ahead. And as a doting father, nothing soothed my daughters more than the lullaby of Hedwig’s Theme, their innocent slumber accompanied by the enchanting strains of Williams’ magical score.

Despite our disparate backgrounds, I could not ignore the mastery that shone through in each and every one of his compositions. Intrigued, I found myself pondering the very essence of what made a John Williams piece timeless: How does he deftly manipulate each instrument? What magic lies within the space between them? How skillfully does he build momentum, only to expertly deflate it and rebuild once more?

As a basketball player, I viewed myself as a conductor leading an orchestra of men on the court, so I yearned to learn from Williams about his composition process. I wanted to understand how he crafted such evocative music, hoping to find parallels that could aid my leadership and help us win championships. The opportunity to converse with him was a dream come true, one that allowed me to gain valuable insights into the mind of a true musical genius.

Just prior to the 2008 NBA season, Bryant initially got in touch with John for advice. “I admitted to Kobe that I had never watched a basketball game – not high school, college, professional, or on TV,” John confessed, and of course, he laughed. However, once John explained his reason for approaching him, Kobe quickly understood the connection. As Bryant put it, “If we only examine our own industry and limit ourselves to its perspectives, we end up repeating the same information. To have a fresh perspective, it’s beneficial to look beyond our field.” And that’s exactly what John appreciated.

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Glen Keane, who is like a master in the animation realm, will be creating the animation for the piece. I want it to have a personal touch, not be trendy or modern. I desire timeless, classical music.

In a surprising turn of events, these three artists, each born two decades apart, found common ground. Growing up in the 1960s, Keane had a soft spot for “Lost in Space”, and upon sharing his admiration for the music with John, John felt mortified. “But it’s marvelous, John!” exclaimed Keane. “It encapsulated the essence of wonder, excitement, fun, quirkiness, fear, and danger, all in one score. And John, the foundation of your entire career lies in that score.” Keane requested to hear some of the old tunes, to which John initially objected, saying, “No, please don’t!” But Keane was insistent, and so he played the music for John. They gathered around a table in Keane’s office and reminisced, as Bryant put it, “We just talked.” John spoke about how the piece made him feel, Glen shared his feelings, and they all found solace in the same thing – the beauty of discovering what one loves to do, and the sadness of knowing that it will not last forever. Once they understood the essence of the composition, there was nothing left to debate.

In this five-minute film, Keane sketched the scenes using graphite on paper, capturing Bryant’s letter journey – from his playful youth throwing rolled-up socks, to NBA victories, to retirement at 37. John was equally captivated by Bryant’s childlike zest and Keane’s artistic method. John admired the drawings for their smooth flow and simple yet beautiful appearance. He stated, “They are not only visually appealing, but rhythmically they are magnificent.” Keane often worked with music playing in the background, and for this project, he chose selections from the movie “Empire of the Sun“. John used this score as a reference, but initially wrote something too grand. “He went back and rewrote it to be more subtle,” said Keane, mirroring Bryant’s personal, understated narration style. Similar to Bryant’s quiet voice, this approach had a significant impact on the animation style chosen.

In March 2017, John momentarily paused his viewing of “The Last Jedi” to compose and record a piece as a present for Bryant. Upon arriving at the Sony scoring stage, John shared his hope that Bryant would enjoy what he had written. Bryant responded with confidence, implying it was likely to be excellent. When Bryant first heard John’s composition played by an orchestra, he exclaimed in amazement, “Oh my God! I almost lost my mind!” As the conductor raised his hands and the music began, Bryant felt the urge to cheer but remembered they were recording. He described it as the most extraordinary experience of his life. Afterwards, Bryant leaned over and rested his head on John’s shoulder, expressing disbelief at what he had just heard. When the performance was finished, John reassured everyone, “I guarantee it’ll only get better.

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John Williams is synonymous with Hollywood.

Among the most straightforward and impactful compositions John produced in that decade was a moving piece: a poignant, hummable melody tracing the journey of an innocent boy’s dreams and yearning for greatness and honor. This emotional symphony begins as a tender woodwind duet, later passed to strings before ascending into an empowering crescendo, mirroring Bryant’s peak moments. The score then softens, with a solitary piano melancholically wandering broken chords, as Bryant’s voiceover confesses his physical limitations. John’s talent for grandiose, soaring music brings the narrative full circle, using trumpeting fanfares and pounding timpani to link Bryant’s story to American heroism- culminating in a bittersweet reprise of the theme on piano and an uplifting coda as the credits roll. Like the letter itself, the score is both affectionate and mournful-John poured his heart into it. He debuted this masterpiece at the Hollywood Bowl in September, only for Bryant to surprise the audience by joining John onstage to narrate. The short film earned an Oscar in March 2018, but tragically transformed into a poignant tribute when Bryant, age 41, died in a helicopter crash on a foggy Sunday morning in Calabasas, along with his 13-year-old daughter, Gianna. John’s wistful, symphonic ode took on a new dimension of sadness. “It is elegiac, but it isn’t weepy,” John said of the film upon scoring it, never anticipating that his dear friend would meet such a tragic end.

The tribute pays homage to the man and his achievements in a humble manner, I believe. It’s incredibly heartwarming, and perhaps its greatest triumph is its ability to praise him genuinely without resorting to unnecessary self-aggrandizement or arrogance that could have marred it. That’s my perspective on it, at least.

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2025-08-29 13:31