Realistically, you can't expect National Treasure to have received music any more intelligent than the usual muck that Rabin provided. The surprising aspect of Rabin's effort is that it actually ranks rather highly compared to most of his recycled sounds back then, competing at times with even his better regurgitations of this general style in his late 2000's assignments. That doesn't mean that there exists an ounce of individual creativity in instrumentation or any other unique element in National Treasure. In fact, its recycled electronic and orchestral ramblings are extremely tired and familiar. But at least they are assembled into a somewhat more palatable form, enhancing the role of the keyboard for a number of cyclical figures that do attempt to inject a sense of elegance into the score. It has the Armageddon effect going for it, one in which you move from pretty and simplistic orchestral statements of melody in one cue to metal-slapping charges of electric guitar-laden wildness in the next. Rabin never seems as though he wants to completely drop either sound in any context, so in the first half of National Treasure, you hear his underdeveloped anthems performed with the pseudo-sincerity that comes with a product that doesn't quite sound either entirely orchestral or entirely synthetic. An extremely large number of orchestral players is credited for this recording, but it seems as though these performers rotated in and out for sessions that probably amounted to a smaller overall group. Hence, a closing crescendo of majesty in "Treasure" that closes out the score with a tone that sounds more synthetic than real. The lightly rhythmic, tonal cues are pleasant, if not simply rehashes of music burned into the collective memory, and similar ghosts of scores past are raised for the latter half of the score, in which Rabin wields the electric guitars like a plastic sword in the hands of an 8-year-old child. The main anthem is first heard with the customary snare backing in "Ben" and eventually flourishes with fake choir during the faux-inspirational sendoff in "Treasure." Rabin almost busts out of his mould with flashy moves into the arena of Thomas Newman's keyboarding in "Library of Congress" and at the start of "The Chase." The "Declaration of Independence" cue, though, is perhaps symbolic of the (rather short) album's weakness, its beauty sandwiched in between daunting, rampaging electronic guitars. If only Rabin could stick with one mode or the other for an entire blockbuster such as this, then perhaps listeners could forgive its terribly recycled constructs and enjoy the performances from the electronic or orchestral elements alone. Unfortunately, he had not yet found that balance by National Treasure, though with the half dozen mundane but peasant orchestral tracks, Rabin pulls off a decently adequate score.  ***   @Amazon.com: CD or Download