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The Sound of Soaring: Maverick and the Music of Flight
- Scott Neumeister, PhD
- 23 hours ago
- 7 min read
There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask, "What if I fall?"
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?
--Erin Hanson
I plunged the throttle of the Cessna 172 forward so I could gain altitude. As a solo student pilot, I had just attempted to land my plane but had come in “too hot,” impacting the runway so hard that it bounced back into the air. Rather than try to force the landing, I decided to execute a “go-around”—a re-ascent to come back for another attempt. Instantly my engine began to sputter. While I was gaining some altitude, it was not nearly enough to properly and safely perform the maneuvers I needed to circle around and land. With the motor fitfully coughing on and off, the idea that I might crash erupted into my mind. Would my dreams of flying then turn me into a modern version of Icarus, a story that had fascinated me since childhood?
From fragile to mighty (and musical) wings: a Separation tone poem
The fantasy of flight is a common theme of the myths that spoke to me as a youth: the triumphs of Bellerophon riding Pegasus, of Perseus flying with Hermes’ cap and sandals; the tragedies of Icarus with fragile wings, of Phaethon attempting to drive Helios’ chariot. My imagination can easily activate when flying is involved, so I found it no surprise that a film like Top Gun: Maverick would hold delight for me. While the plot and visuals of the film captivated me, the music score speaks in mythical modes as well (just like Norland Téllez’s MythBlast last week, I haven’t quite left the film world of last year’s thematic). Although main composer credit belongs to Hans Zimmer, one can’t underestimate Lady Gaga’s musical contribution and Lorne Balfe’s weaving of Harold Faltermeyer’s original theme into the motifs. I want to explore the resonance of the pieces “Darkstar” and “Penny Returns—Interlude” from the film’s post-opening credits sequence (watch here) with Campbell’s Separation stage of the hero’s journey; both pieces work as cinematic tone poems with archetypal richness. The music and the myth merge, transforming flight into a heroic journey that soars beyond the screen and into the soul.
The film begins with test pilot Pete Mitchell (Tom Cruise) receiving orders to stand down from his pending flight of the hypersonic, experimental Darkstar aircraft. Yet, true to his “Maverick” callsign, he flaunts the command and flies toward the stratosphere. Most of this sequence is set to “Darkstar.” Its persistent, march-like rhythm pulses with militaristic precision, emphasizing the setting for Maverick with his duties as a naval aviator. The repeated rhythm riff—called an ostinato—evokes Gustav Holst’s Mars, Bringer of War, calling to mind the mechanical and disciplined aspects of the soldier’s (or test pilot’s) attitude facing mortality.
A specific Separation-related mythic aspect, related to the martial dimension of this sequence, is the “arming scene.” Before a hero/warrior can cross the threshold into battle, some myths describe in detail the look and placement of the martial accoutrement. The most famous of these is in Book 19 of The Iliad, with Achilles putting on the armor crafted by Hephaestus before going to kill Hector (the parallel scene in The Aeneid’s Book 9 details Aeneas equipping himself with Vulcan’s armor). Maverick ritually “arms” himself as he climbs into his flight suit, puts on his helmet and gloves, and activates the Darkstar’s systems. As he ignites the Vulcan-like fire of the engines and taxis to the runway, the flight crew on the ground meticulously monitors all the “divine” technology surrounding him. The insistent marching music accentuates Mars and Vulcan, the gods of war and fire, collaborating to motivate and equip Maverick to cross the threshold of adventure.
Major and minor: the musical polarity of hope and struggle
The composers continue by instilling musical tension into this piece to evolve this insistent, single-note figure. While one note cannot have a tonality (like major or minor), the addition of other notes develops the piece’s harmonic content. At first, slowly rising major chords—ascending in both pitch and volume—give a gently uplifting and optimistic feeling. Beyond foreshadowing the literal climb that Maverick will achieve in his jet, they build anticipation for the amazing, heroic feat to come.
The music and the myth merge, transforming flight into a heroic journey that soars beyond the screen and into the soul.
The gradual uplift of the major, however, is intermittently punctuated by string runs in a minor tonality. These elicit a contrasting sense of stress, uncertainty, or even nostalgia, perhaps reflecting Maverick’s flouting of his orders, the dangers of the mission, or the weight of his past—the death of his backseater and flying companion Goose (Anthony Edwards) in the first film. The darker notes symbolize struggle and doubt, a common occurrence during the call to adventure phase of a hero’s journey, sometimes manifesting as the refusal of the call. Here, in a sense, Maverick is heeding an inner call to fly and refusing an outer call to stay on the ground.
Further tying the mythic Separation phase to both plot and score, this sequence has two archetypal figures Campbell emphasizes. First is the Mentor, providing guidance, and is embodied by "Hondo” (Bashir Salahuddin). He counsels Maverick, very Daedalus-like, to not go past the Mach 10 goal of the flight, which interestingly he calls “the threshold.” He also could represent the other figure, the Threshold Guardian, who warns or tries to prevent the hero from continuing, but this role more clearly belongs to the admiral (Ed Harris). Musically, when Hondo admonishes Maverick, the major/minor tension predominates—he cautions out of solicitous care. When the admiral, who is about order and structure, finally bursts into the control room to order Maverick’s landing, the music then reverts to the simple, one-note military rhythm with only the minor runs.
“Where you belong”: bliss, grace, and longing
As Maverick ascends like Icarus, the triumphant strains of “Darkstar” fade. At his cruising altitude, the piece titled “Penny Returns—Interlude” enters, a complete contrast to the prior musical setting. Here, gentle and ambient piano and strings, all in major tones, accent the majestic flight of the jet through the stratosphere at hypersonic speeds. I see this as Maverick entering into his Campbellian bliss, being “where he belongs.” Dialogue emphasizes this notion twice later in the film, particularly as Hondo remarks in amazement, “He’s the fastest man alive.” Moments later, as Maverick witnesses the sun rising, the music shifts to an achingly melancholic minor, as he whispers, “Talk to me, Goose,” summoning his dead fellow warrior/best friend, as Achilles does with Patroclus in The Iliad. Both grace and longing accompany this hero as he approaches the Mach 10 threshold of adventure, and the score’s emotional curve highlights all of this beautifully.
Of course, Icarus must fall. But unlike Icarus, both Maverick and myself survived our falls to have other adventures. And in an interesting directorial choice by Joseph Kosinsky, in Maverick’s final moments in the Darkstar, no music plays, just the blaring sounds of technology warning of impending doom. This incident in the film creates a new call to adventure for Maverick—to return to the Top Gun school to teach. For me, it was a call away from being a pilot to simply marvel at flying as a passenger … or as a lover of on-screen flight. In the film’s case, the musical craft of Zimmer, Gaga, Balfe, and Faltermeyer to access the archetypal emotions of this Separation phase speaks deeply to me and provides, in retrospect, a soundtrack to my own Icarus moment.
MythBlast authored by:
Scott Neumeister, PhD is a literary scholar, author, TEDx speaker, mythic pathfinder and Editor of the MythBlast series from Tampa, Florida, where he earned his PhD in English from the University of South Florida in 2018. His specialization in multiethnic American literature and mythology comes after careers as an information technology systems engineer and a teacher of English and mythology at the middle school and college levels. Scott coauthored Let Love Lead: On a Course to Freedom with Gary L. Lemons and Susie Hoeller, and he has served as a facilitator for the Joseph Campbell Foundation’s Myth and Meaning book club at Literati.
This MythBlast was inspired by the Separation stage of the hero's journey.
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In this episode of The Podcast With A Thousand Faces, mythologist Leigh Melander joins longtime friend and fellow Campbell scholar Brad Olson for a wide-ranging, playful, and deeply human conversation about myth, imagination, and meaning. Drawing from their shared history at Pacifica Graduate Institute and their long involvement with the Joseph Campbell Foundation, Leigh and Brad explore myth not as a static archive of ancient stories, but as a living, breathing way of seeing — one that quietly shapes how we understand ourselves, our culture, and the world we’re making together. Along the way, Leigh brings her full mythic lineage into the room: her background in cultural mythology and psychology, her longtime leadership with the Joseph Campbell Foundation, and her work as co-founder of Spillian, a regenerative center for imagination and creativity in the Catskills. She shares how her scholarship and creative practice converge around play, frivolity, and the imaginal as serious forces for transformation — whether through ritual, community, writing, or her evolving SpillianQuest project, a mycelial web of tools and adventures designed to help people create meaning in times of change. What emerges is a conversation rooted in friendship and intellectual play — a reminder that myth doesn’t give us answers so much as it sharpens our questions. It’s an invitation to loosen our grip on the literal, re-enter the imaginal, and remember that myth is still alive, thinking through us, and quietly asking us to participate.
This Week's Highlights
"If the call is heeded, the individual is invoked to engage in a dangerous adventure. It's always a dangerous adventure because you are moving out of the familiar sphere of your community. In myths, this is represented as moving out of the known sphere altogether into the great beyond. I call this cossing the threshold."
-- Joseph Campbell
Pathways to Bliss, 114
