Gordy Haab

Gordy Haab (B.M. ’00) is a Grammy and Ivor Novello-winning composer for film, video games and television. His recent work includes the critically acclaimed Indiana Jones and the Great Circle and the highly anticipated Creation of the Gods II: Demon Force. Haab is renowned for scoring AAA video games like Star Wars Jedi: Survivor, Star Wars: Squadrons, Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order, Halo Wars 2 and Star Wars: Battlefront I and II, as well as the Chinese blockbuster film Fengshen – Creation of the Gods: Kingdom of Storms, which earned $400M in its home territory before its 2023 North American release.

In 2024, Haab won a Grammy and an Ivor Novello Award for Star Wars Jedi: Survivor (co-composed with Stephen Barton). He also received a BAFTA nomination as well as his second SCL Award for Best Interactive Score, and won Music of the Year, Audio of the Year and Best Original Soundtrack Album at the G.A.N.G. Awards. In 2022, Haab received the inaugural Music City Maestro Award from the Society of Composers and Lyricists.

Haab is a three-time recipient of ASCAP’s Composers’ Choice Award for Video Game Composer of the Year. He was featured in Variety’s list of “Top 10 Composers to Watch,” and Billboard proposed that Haab could be the “Heir Apparent to John Williams.”

Haab received a bachelor’s degree in Music Composition from the Virginia Commonwealth University School of the Arts (VCUarts) in 2000 before graduating from the University of Southern California, where he received his master’s in Scoring for Motion Pictures, Television and Other Media. While he learned from many composers in university and conservatory settings, Haab says that most of his music education simply comes from “playing in hundreds of rock bands and being an avid fan of Hitchcock, Kubrick, Lucas and Spielberg films … ‘B’ Horror Movies of the 70’s and 80’s … and all of their great scores.”

Good afternoon, everyone.

First off, let’s give a big round of applause to the people who made today possible: your professors, your families, and the baristas around town who powered your degree.

And while we’re at it—huge shoutout to Campus and City Police. Not just for keeping the campus safe—but because I parked my parent’s car in a 1-hour zone and I really don’t want to get another parking ticket today.

See, the last time I was involved in graduation at this university, I almost didn’t make it to the ceremony. Not because I was late, or because I overslept, but because I owed nearly $3,000 in parking tickets. And they made it very clear: no pay, no diploma.

Let’s just say, I might have financed a new wing of the parking office.

So, when I got the call to do this speech, I was honored. And then confused. I thought, “Why me? I just graduated last year!”

Then I checked the calendar and realized—I graduated in the year 2000. Y2K. Back when phones had antennas and weighed 5 pounds. Then I thought, what could I possibly say to inspire the next generation of creative minds. Well, every artist has a unique journey. And mine is no exception. So, I thought, maybe it’s best to start there. Tell my story—and perhaps find some bits of practical wisdom along the way.

I started studying here in 1994. I can see some of you doing the math, and yes, it took me 6 years to graduate. Back then, I had so many amazing professors. They really took me under their wing and created a safe space for learning. But they didn’t just teach me notes and rhythm. They taught me how to listen—to music, to others, to ideas, and to myself.

I also learned a lot from the city outside the classroom. I played gigs at places that maybe your parents will remember, like Twisters and Bogarts—are those still around? If not, I’d like to think it’s not because of my performances, but no promises. This city and its legendary arts and music scene was my playground. From the early age of 16, when I snuck in to see Gwar play at a club in the Fan. To the times I had regular appearances at clubs around town with my own musical groups. This city is where I tested my ideas, both good and bad. And I evolved into a better artist because of it. I grew, I found my voice, and eventually…I left. But not with a job!

My first job didn’t come right away. I packed everything I could into my tiny car. Whatever didn’t fit, I left behind or threw away. I had hand-written directions from Richmond to Los Angeles, and about $1,500 to my name. No job, no permanent place to stay, and no real plan. Just a portfolio of music I had written here at VCU, and a belief that maybe—just maybe—someone in Los Angeles might listen.

That portfolio of music helped get me into a one-year program in “music for film” at University of Southern California. It wasn’t instant success, but it was momentum.

While I was out in Los Angeles, just after USC, not much was happening for me—personally or professionally. I wasn’t sure how long I could stick it out. I didn’t really know anyone, I had no gigs lined up, and most days were just me, my piano, and a hope that someone would call.

One day, I decided to go out for a jog. Which I don’t normally do—so clearly, I was desperate. And during that jog, I noticed a yard sale sign. It mentioned there’d be Star Wars and Star Trek memorabilia, and I figured, “Well, my career’s not going anywhere at the moment… maybe I can score a vintage Chewbacca mug or something.”

So, I stop by. I end up chatting with the guy hosting the sale, and as it turns out, he’s a sci-fi writer, a really generous guy. We hit it off. And out of nowhere, he invites me to this weekly thing he does at a nearby IHOP—he meets with a bunch of aspiring screenwriters and gives feedback on their scripts. Totally informal. Totally free.

I had no idea why I got invited. I wasn’t a screenwriter. But I went and I was the only composer in the room.

At one of these sessions, a young filmmaker mentioned he was working on a short horror film and asked if I’d do the music for it. And another film. And another film. No money, no contracts—just scrappy short films and mediocre pancakes.

One of those short films was called Ryan vs. Dorkman II. It was a Star Wars fan film – basically just two fellow nerds fighting with lightsabers in an abandoned tortilla factory. I’m not going to force an applause break on that one. But we leaned into it, had fun with it, and a few weeks after it came out, in 2006—the early days of YouTube—it somehow racked up millions of views. Including someone at Lucasfilm.

Next thing I know, I’m getting a call. Lucasfilm was looking for a composer to score an Indiana Jones video game. I hadn’t even considered composing for video games, but I jumped at the opportunity. And that led to composing music for a whole series of Star Wars video games. The most recent of which, just won a GRAMMY!

All because I went for a jog. And got distracted by a yard sale.

So yes, sometimes success isn’t about “networking” in the fancy sense. Sometimes it’s about saying “yes” to IHOP and hanging out with strangers who believe in stories.

Now, make no mistake. An artist’s journey isn’t always just fun and games. It wouldn’t be fair to only tell you about my positive experiences. So let me tell you a different kind of story. Fair warning, it’s a darker one. But I promise it has a happy ending. Because, from it, I learned one of the most vital lessons a driven, creative person could learn. The importance of “balance”. Fast forward a few years from the IHOP days—I’d been clawing my way up the industry ladder, project by project. The demand had become nonstop. I’d say “yes” to everything, because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do.

At one point, when I was around 33, I was regularly working both sides of the clock. 20-hour days, 7 days a week. I thought I was living the dream—until one morning, I passed out cold in my apartment. Turns out, from all the pressure I was putting on myself, I had developed stomach ulcers. And on that day one of them struck an artery. In mere minutes, I lost well over half of the blood in my body and was inches from death.

What saved me? My wife, Michelle. (Also, a VCU grad by the way!) She had forgotten something at home that day, came back unexpectedly from work, and found me just in time.

So yes, an applause break for her, please.

That moment changed everything. Not just health-wise. I had to reassess everything. Was I pursuing my creative goals, or just aimlessly chasing “success”? I needed to find balance. Balance is necessary for longevity. And I needed to redefine “success”.

Because here’s the truth: I didn’t feel successful for a long time. I still don’t always feel like I’ve “made it.” It’s easy to compare yourself to your heroes and come up short. But then—about 10 years ago—I was invited to speak at ComicCon in San Diego. For those who don’t know, ComicCon is huge convention where millions of nerds like me meet to talk about nerd things like films and video games.

I assumed I was just part of a panel, some filler event tucked between people dressed as Stormtroopers and Marvel characters. But when I walked out on stage, there were thousands of people in the room. I thought, “Who are they here for?”

And to my shock…they were there for me! For music I had composed. And from that point until present, I’ve witnessed an interesting progression: Beginning with a handful of young composers approaching me at a convention to ask for advice on how to get in the biz to now, fans from all over the world reaching out to say things like, “I’ve been following your work since I was a kid, and you’re the reason I decided to make music my life’s pursuit” or “playing your games and listening to your soundtracks has gotten me through some of the darkest times in my life.” I guess I had been hitting the pavement for so long, I never paused to notice that my work was having a profound impact on people’s lives. And this is my proudest accomplishment. This is how I’ve come to define success. It’s truly been a journey well-traveled—one that is not even close to being over—and it all started here, at VCU.

So let that be a lesson: the work you’re doing now—even if it feels small, or niche, or unimportant—may one day mean everything to someone you’ve never met. Take your work seriously, even if it feels silly.

Also take yourself seriously, but not too seriously. You’ve got to laugh. It’s a long journey. And trust me, I’ve had plenty of laughable, facepalm moments. Wanna hear a good one? Years ago, I turned down a gig composing the music for an indie film. I didn’t really “get” the script, and the budget was microscopic.

A year later I’m walking down the street and saw a movie theater marquee with these two words plastered across it: Napoleon Dynamite. And I thought, “nah, that can’t be the same film”. But sure enough—it was.

Yep. I turned down a classic. That one’s haunted me for a while. But as they say, hindsight is 20/20. And now, I see it clearly: had I taken that gig, I would have been too busy to do the one that caught the attention of Lucasfilm.

Next, I want to chat about the power of investing in yourself.

With the cinematic masterpiece known as Ryan Vs. Dorkman II, I was desperate to make a huge impression. I wanted to hire a full orchestra which would cost around $60,000. Seeing as it was a sequel to the famed Ryan vs Dorkman I, I suggested we post a video asking fans to donate. And surprisingly, it got us about halfway there. As for the rest: I maxed out all of my credit cards. It was not financially wise. But it was also the moment I realized: I had bet on myself. And if I was gonna strike out, I was gonna strike out “swinging for the fence”. (And this was 2006, so if you think about it, I guess I sort of invented Kickstarter!) And the investment paid off.

Not all of my efforts paid off. You have to be prepared to try and fail. I recently read an interview with a hero of mine, Roger Federer, one of the greatest tennis players of all time. And he said, despite spending most of his professional life as number one in the world, he had actually lost more points than he had won over the course of his career. Same goes for art, same goes for life.

And the same is true for me. For every big opportunity I’ve landed, I’ve probably chased down a hundred that went nowhere. Emails ignored. Pitches rejected. Doors closed.

But you keep pushing. Go for that big tennis serve. And when you lose a point or lose a match—and you will—collect your thoughts, and try again. If you keep doing the work, keep learning, and keep showing up people will notice.

So, before I close this out, let me hit you with a few quick takeaways—some practical, some thoughtful, and some just weird.

• Pick a target, and throw everything you’ve got at it. That’s how a kid from Mechanicsville, Virginia ended up in Los Angeles composing music for Star Wars and is now back here at VCU speaking to you.
• Invest in yourself. But maybe don’t hire a full orchestra on a credit card. Unless you’re chasing rewards points. Or it’s in your parent’s name. (Kidding!)
• Prioritize and nurture balance. Cherish your work, but also your health and your personal relationships. And find a hobby that has nothing to do with your career. For me, it’s tennis. Bad tennis. But it’s something different.
• And here’s an important one: Keep your eyes open. Opportunities will present themselves in unexpected ways. So when life presents you with a yard sale—go! You never know who or what you’ll find there.

And, finally, I’ll leave you with the most important thing I’ve learned along my journey: To succeed in the arts, you must remain a student for life. The creative field is constantly evolving. Those who find the most success don’t simply “keep up” with these changes. They get out in front of them. They never stop learning, because it’s what they love.

This degree you’re earning today? It’s not the end of your education. It’s just the beginning. The artists who thrive are the ones who keep learning, who stay curious, who ask questions, who seek out inspiration long after the syllabus ends. So don’t be afraid to keep evolving. Stay open, stay humble, stay hungry, and grow.

Because here’s the real truth: This day, this diploma, this celebration—it’s not just about where you’ve been. It’s about who you are and what you can bring to the world. It’s about where you’re going next. You’re not just “graduates”. You’re creators. You’re individual voices. You are contributors to a culture we’re all building together.

My hope is that you leave here today not just proud of your accomplishments, but deeply aware of your “value”. Your ideas matter. You have unique perspectives that matter. Your work can change someone’s life—even if you never meet them.

And yes, you’re entering a world that’s big, noisy, and unpredictable. But ultimately, you’ve got what you need. You’ve got talent, you’ve got support, you’ve got hustle—because this is RVA and that’s just what we do! And now you have a piece of paper to remind you: “I know how to finish what I start.”

The world needs you, so go make noise. Go be weird. And go build something only you could build!

Just don’t forget to pay your parking tickets!

Thank you, and congratulations to VCU’s Class of 2025!