I feel compelled to share a story about my initial experience with Christopher Young, who was my first interview for this book. Chris and I sat in his Culver City studio and talked for nearly two hours. I was so engrossed in what he was saying that I forgot to pay attention to my tape recorder, which had shut off a half-hour into our conversation. Needless to say, once I noticed this problem, I started to sweat bullets, not even sure if I should mention my error to Chris. The only thing I thought of was jumping out of his second-story window and, if still alive, running for my life. Finally, I built up enough courage to tell him about the recorder. Being as kindhearted as he is talented, he chose for my “punishment” an evening of dinner, drinks, and conversation. The next day, we finished the interview, talking as if we were friends. And today, I would call him a friend. Young writes very, very well for every imaginable genre, but for a good portion of his early Hollywood career (mid-1980s through the early-1990s) he was not given opportunities to show off the diversity of his talent. He was a prisoner of his own success, pigeonholed as a horror-movie composer because of the wild, pioneering music he wrote for a string of highly successful horror films, which included “Hellraiser” (1987) and “The Vagrant” (1992). Once his career was given a chance to blossom, free of the horror-movie label, he immediately began turning out wonderful scores in all genres. While maintaining his unique musical voice, Chris writes in diverse styles, from his melodramatic, emotional score for “Murder in the First” (1995) to his jazzy, comedic score for “The Man Who Knew Too Little” (1997), and including “Runaway Jury” (2003), “The Shipping News” (2001), “The Gift” (2000), “The Hurricane” (1999), “Rounders” (1998), “Hard Rain” (1998), “Copycat” (1995), “Tales from the Hood” (1995), “Dream Lover” (1994), and “Jennifer Eight” (1992). Were you aware of film music while you were growing up? I am embarrassed to say this, but outside of my James Bond matinees, I don’t have memories of being affected by the music in films. Certainly, in the James Bond movies, I did. Like most everyone else, I did not experience the film music but the songs. As a child I was raised on songs. It is like now. You can’t walk out of your house without being bombarded with a string of pop songs or whatever is current. So, growing up, my musical diet was whatever was on the radio. So I didn’t even know anything else existed. How did you get involved in film music? In my teens, I started out as a drummer, planning to do the rock thing. At that time, I was so in love with The Beatles, and still am for that matter. I cursed the stars for not making me Ringo Starr. Then I got into jazz and cursed the stars for not making me Buddy Rich or… There was a time, however, when I stopped thinking entirely rhythmically. I wish I knew when it was. It was a time when my mind opened up to being able to invent pitched material. I had an encyclopedia of music in my head that I had heard throughout the years, but I was never able to invent stuff until the time I started hearing melody and tried this out by bringing my charts into a jazz band that I was involved with. One day, I walked into a record store in my hometown of Red Bank, New Jersey, and I discovered a soundtrack section – three rows, three feet deep, of film-music records. While I was browsing in there, I found a record with the coolest-looking cover. It was called The Fantasy Film World of Bernard Herrmann. I remember turning over the cover and reading, in Herrmann’s own words, a description of what these science-fiction and fantasy films were about and what he chose to do with the music. I found this interesting, as I was going through a heavy science-fiction craze at the time. So I swiped this record up. I thank God they had that record in the store that day. When I first put that record on and played the opening bars to “Journey to the Centre of the Earth”, I realized that I had found the missing link to what I had been hoping to find in music. The chords, the melodies… this was it! So I became obsessed with Bernard Herrmann’s music and bought every record I could find, which wasn’t that many at the time. Then I started watching the late-night movies on television, where they would sometimes play a movie with Herrmann’s name on it. I used to put up my reel-to-reel tape machine and record the audio track off the television. Then I could listen to it on my headphones. I could listen to the music under the dialogue. I tried to remember what it looked like, what the visuals were. So, my interest with film music started with my obsession for Bernard Herrmann’s music. What is the film music composer’s goal? I have an analogy for you: Have you ever played pin the tail on the donkey? It’s a game where you are blindfolded and spun around and then a person gently guides you toward where you have to blindly pin the tail on the donkey on your own. The job of a film composer is to gently push the audience toward the emotional meaning of a scene. It reconfirms what they often already expect. A composer simply guides them on the path. The horror genre seemed to attach itself to you immediately. How did this happen? What was your main goal as a young film composer? It wasn’t necessarily to work in horror films. That’s for sure. It just happened when I moved out here and started going to school at UCLA, studying with David Raksin, who had a tremendously positive effect on my life. He was my Rock of Gibraltar. He was the guy who kept me from packing up. He was the one who encouraged me to continue to pursue this nonsense of a dream when I moved out here. He was the only person I took a film-music class with. It just so happened that there was this group of students who put together enough money to make a feature [“The Dorm That Dripped Blood”] for their senior thesis. I was desperate to get it. It just happened to be a horror film. Back when I moved out here in the eighties, because of the success of the “Nightmare on Elm Street”, “Halloween”, and “Friday the 13th” films, everyone felt like they could make a quick in into the industry by putting out low-budget horror films. So these guys made a low-budget horror film and they hired me. You know how it goes – your first picture sort of defines who you are. And my next film was their second film. They would call it a supernatural horror film, but it was basically another horror film. It was called “The Power”, a low-budget, supernatural thriller. That sort of defined what I did. I was the horror guy. The whole slew of jobs I got at the outset was about horror. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. Fortunately, over the year, I have been able to slowly move away entirely from thrillers or horror films. As you know, horror films can offer a composer, number one, the opportunity to experiment. Number two, they allow you to be excessively dramatic in your music. As a matter of fact, you are encouraged to be excessively dramatic. With a lot of the dramatic movies, your job is to keep yourself in reserve. But, in horror movies, I’m always vomiting up as much sound as I can. Like in your experimental score for “The Vagrant”? Yeah, that was very experimental. There were other things before that, too, like the thrown-out score for “Invaders from Mars”. I have a love-hate relationship with horror, as I think most people who work in the genre do. There are not many people I’ve met who work in horror films and say to me that they want to do nothing more than that in their entire creative careers. Everybody who gets typecast wants to be doing something else. Marc Shaiman will tell you that he’s sick of doing comedies. I was the horror guy who got sick of doing horror films, and all I could dream of doing were dramas like “The Hurricane” or “The Shipping News” or “Bandits”. I’ve done other dramas all along, but if you look at my credits, you’ll see “Bright Angel” and “Getting Even”, a cop-action-urban thing and a drug/action film, wedged in between “Hellraiser” and “A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2”. Now you’re getting a lot of dramas and comedies, with maybe one horror thrown in the middle. I like going back to horror every once in a while. I would never ever want to flush that out of my system. I’m just waiting for a really great horror film to come my way. I’m not a slasher guy. To me, my favorite moments in horror are those that play on your mind. They put you in a state of cerebral fear that is entirely induced by things unseen. It’s implied, not stated. In the beginning you did all your own orchestrations. How big of a role does Pete Anthony play in your orchestrations now, and how do you keep your present sound consistent with your original sound? You’ll hear my say this often: I thank my lucky stars. I’m very fortunate that, at the beginning of my career, I went into this Herrmann phobia – Herrmann refused to let anyone orchestrate his music, and I thought that I would sort of fly on that same plane for a while and try to orchestrate everything myself. By doing that, I learned that a composer who doesn’t have that experience of orchestrating his own stuff would never have it. So, by the time it got to the point where I had to move away from that, I had it. Why did I have to move away from it? First, it was so time-consuming. I was getting more jobs that they wanted produced in shorter periods of time. Also, after I had been married for a couple years, my wife said, “I can’t go on like this with you never being around. Why don’t you do what other composers do and bring in an orchestrator? It will free up some time so we can have a life together.” Well, I slowly but surely worked in some people. Jeff Atmajian was the first orchestrator I allowed into the circle. Jeff did an excellent job. What project was that? He orchestrated a couple of cues from “Hellbound”. I orchestrated the majority on that one. I think it was on “The Fly II” that he took over the entire show. It took me a long time to adjust to writing sketches, going from doing the full-blown score in which you are responsible for laying out every note for every instrument to a reduced sketch in which you’re telling them what you want everyone to do. With the sketch, you’re still doing it, but in a reduced form. It took me a long time to adjust to that. I went into it fighting. “Oh, it’s not going to work. I can’t stand this concept.” But, over the years, I learned how to get everything on the page – the sketch – that I needed to get there. Why weren’t your scores for “Sweet November”, “Wonder Boys”, and “Bandits” publicly released? “Wonder Boys” and “Bandits” both had song releases. In my case of the scores, I guess they felt that they weren’t worth it because the pop CDs were what they were promoting. My suspicion is that the record companies with whom the film studios made the deals stated in their contracts that under no circumstances would another competing CD be released at the same time. In situations like that, no film company will want to touch a score with a ten-foot pole if they have to put out the money to pay for the re-use fees but can’t have the CD in the stores at the time the film is released. What about Danny Elfman? “Spider-Man” and “Batman”, for example, have compiled soundtracks as well as score releases. Danny Elfman is a superstar. He’s got an arrangement with MCA. If you hire Danny Elfman, he’s guaranteed a score release. “Swordfish” is completely different from what you normally work on in that it’s abstract, metallic, and energetic. What went on with this project and the use of Paul Oakenfold’s music? That score, for me, was rushed, but it was exciting to work with Paul Oakenfold. I had never done anything quite like it before. I embraced it with open arms. When I was hired, it was my choice to have Paul. The idea of fusing his world and my world seemed pretty good on paper. Unfortunately, when it came time to score the film, he was off touring, so I used some of his loops, his drum loops, his sequences, and his sounds. Above and beyond that, when it came time to score that movie, I was on my own. But at least I had his language in my head, so when I was doing the synth stuff I was coming from that point of view. So you actually wrote most of the score? I wrote all the score. Why is he credited as a composer? It’s funny that you should mention that. I remember the director and the editor saying to me, “You should make a stink about this, get his name off the credits. What’s the matter with you?” My feeling was, “Are you kidding me? Paul Oakenfold is a star. To have my own on the same bill with Paul Oakenfold is a good thing.” Your score for “Swordfish” didn’t get a release. Right, the score will never get released. But it was just about having the credit with him. I’ve been told that the future of film music may be in guys like myself, trained composers, working with people who come in from the pop world. I don’t know if that’s going to come to fruition, but I’m hearing that you have to be willing to do this. I want to do it. If Shania Twain wants to do a film score, but she doesn’t know how to make her stuff work, you better believe I’m interested. I’m fascinated with all kinds of music. You’re going to learn something from anyone who’s sincere in what they do. I learned something from Paul. As a footnote, at the end of the day, orchestral film scores are always going to be around, no matter how great the effort is to get rid of them, because they are the main hits. If one thing has been proven during the approximately hundred years that film music has been around, it is that orchestral music works. It is the language that seems to win audiences, even though it’s not hip. It is very much responsible for making classic films classics, and it definitely extends a film’s shelf life. A score that hangs on an idea that’s popular at the moment it’s conceived will do extremely well upon the initial release, but it will date the picture very quickly. All those disco scores and all those light-jazz comedy scores from the sixties and psychedelic rock scores from the sixties date movies in more obvious ways than orchestral scores. Composers often develop a special rapport with certain directors. You seem to have done so with Jon Amiel. How does this affect your work? Before I worked with Jon, I had already worked with a variety of directors, whereas a lot of close relationships start at the beginning of a composer’s career. In Jon, what I got was my first long-lasting relationship with someone who was actively making movies. I had done three of Dwight Little’s movies, but he’s not making movies anymore. I think he’s working in television. The last movie of his that I worked on was “Murder at 1600”. Before that I did “Rapid Fire”, and before that something called “Getting Even”. I’m fortunate in that Jon’s movies are successful and he’s usually making a movie every two or three years. The movie we met on was “Copycat”. After completing that, I was thrilled to hear him turn to me while we were mixing the music and say, “Chris, by the way, my next film is going to be a comedy and I’d like you to score it.” Was that “The Man Who Knew Too Little”? Yeah. I was stunned. I was touched that he would give me the opportunity to do something I’ve never done before, just on blind faith. I had never done a comedy at that point. I had done some comedic moments in action or dramatic films, but I had not done a straight-ahead comedy. I still had that reputation of doing doom-and-gloom movies. But he knew, after working with me on “Copycat”, that I’d bust my tail, and I’m sure he just saw in me the same thing he saw in himself – a guy who is capable of doing a variety of different things and who wants to get the opportunity to do so. What’s so special with Jon is that I get diversity and a belief in my ability to conquer all odds. Jon likes the idea of having one composer he can work with on a regular basis. Some directors, as you know, don’t really like that. From movie to movie, they want a new composer to come in so that they can redefine the sound of the movie. They don’t like the consistency. Norman Jewison, whom I worked with on “The Hurricane”, never goes back to the same composer. Well, that’s not true. If he does, it’s usually after a period of time in which he’s gone out and worked with others. He casts each picture based on what he thinks is right for it. Does this have any effect on you, especially given the opportunity and prevailing with Norman Jewison’s “The Hurricane”, for example? Well, it hurts. Even though you’ve done your homework, you realize that in all probability he’s not going to use you again. No matter what kind of score you deliver, no matter how great it is, no matter how happy he is, he’s probably not going to change his pattern. So I go into these experiences knowing that there is a high probability that I’m not going to get asked back. But, inevitably, after you have delivered the score, you’re always hoping that you’re going to be the one to change the pattern, and it hurts when you’re not the one. I know Norman was thrilled with what I did for “The Hurricane”, and he has helped me get other jobs. He has put in good words for me, which is a wonderful thing to do. When I was up for “Bandits”, Norman called Barry Levinson and recommended me. I hear something different in your work on Amiel’s films. From “Copycat” to “The Man Who Knew Too Little” to “Entrapment”, they have a flow that seems particularly effortless and confident. I think that one can hear that they’re scores written from the perspective of a consistent relationship where you are believed in wholeheartedly. Oh, it’s great to hear that. We do love each other, and he does trust me, which touches me deeply. And what is terrific, also, is that he’s a musician himself. He studied sitar for a while. He gave that up, but he knows music. He can look at scores when we’re in the booth recording a cue and go, “Chris, can you change the cello to a D-flat for me?” So we have a shorthand. I don’t have to mock the cues up for him. He can already hear what the orchestral sound is going to be in a sense? Yeah, it’s amazing. Sometimes, when I play the piano, trying to create a full orchestral sound on the keyboard, I think that it doesn’t sound good and wonder, “How is he going to understand what is going on?” But he does. I had to watch “Virtuosity” over to make sure that it was really you. It is hip, rhythmic, and “kick-ass”, for lack of a better description. What happened here that made you change directions in your style? That is very true. I was thrilled that Brett Leonard, the director, hired me on that. But there was very little time. This film was rushed like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve heard that its post-production schedule was one of the shortest in recent history. What I remember most about that was having to knock that music out at the speed of light. When I spotted the film, I knew there was going to be a lot of electronic, techno, heavy-metal songs laced throughout the picture. Every time we spotted it, we would go through one of the songs or the beat things that Brett had in there. I got the feeling that, even though Brett couldn’t articulate what it was that he was looking for, he’s a beat guy who loves it loud, just blasting. He also is a friend of Peter Gabriel’s, and Peter Gabriel contributed a very nice song for the end credits. Brett wanted me to interpolate Peter Gabriel’s theme for those sentimental moments in the movie and at the end of the movie. Also, I wanted to utilize some of Peter Gabriel’s percussion loops, so some of those were sent over. I decided it would be a mistake to jump back and forth between orchestra and songs. We see this in action films a lot, where they have a song and then immediately go into orchestra. Then we jump back into a song. Then we’re back into orchestra. Those are two different worlds that collide. I don’t care how well-crafted the orchestral stuff is – as a unit it’s distracting because it’s from such a different sonic world. So this became the first score that I had done in quite some time that was ninety-percent electronic. The orchestra doesn’t make its appearance until the very end of the movie. I was very particular about the moment when the orchestra could make its first big appearance. At that moment, I said, “The synths are not going to be enough. We have to throw in some orchestra.” In terms of electronic stuff, what did I use as my guideline? I just listened to what Brett had in the temp or at least the songs he had in the temp. I think most of them were used in the movie. On a very short order, I created this palette of sounds, and a lot of that electronic stuff was written on the fly, which means that I came in with very loose sketches and made it work on the spot. We blocked out a studio for all-night-long sessions, and I would have to run back here to write the orchestral stuff, and then work on the electronic stuff until like four or five in the morning, and then come back and do some more. It was really crazy. There was a lot of music in that movie, as I remember. I guess the spontaneity of that score is what made it great. Did you like the electronic stuff? I absolutely loved it. You have a strong feel for every medium that you worked with, and using the rhythmic pulsing and the metallic sounds, you really shined! I’m thrilled that you liked it. It’s amazing what one can manufacture when you’re under that much pressure. Your “Tales from the Hood” score has it all, from the thematic side to the ethereal sounds. You take so many directions – from its opening organ that seems to be inspired by Bach to some of violin motifs that hint at Rimsky-Korsavko’s Scheherazade. What is taking place with this mixture of styles? I can’t remember what that second track is and so forth, but the first was an organ piece. The inspiration for that was Widow’s organ symphonies. I borrowed that rhythmic pattern from him. How did I know of his work and how to use it for this film? I sang in a boys’ choir when I was a kid. It was one of my favorite preludes or postludes. What I remember most about that score was that the director originally wanted a different composer to do each of the different segments because he was afraid there would be too much similarity from one to the other. I understood his concerns. I think he was afraid that I was going to slap one kind of sound on top of all of them. Now, there is definitely similarity. I hope you can sense that it’s from the same pen when you hear these different sounds. But, at the same time, I hope there is enough diversity among them so they sound like self-contained units specifically written for each episode. Absolutely. I am glad you mentioned the Widow, because I think a strong point about you is that you don’ conceal what is inevitable with every composer – influences – yet you put your own unmistakable signature to every score you write. This is incredibly kind of you to say. I am touched. I can remember one other situation that was a concern to me, and it still is to this date, actually: the “Tales from the Hood” episode about the voodoo doll. Corbin Bernsen plays a redneck southern politician who’s chased down by this voodoo doll that’s trying to kill him. I remember thinking that this would be perfect for a fiddle solo but, shit, if I used the fiddle as the principal instrument, it would be like one of those “Twilight Zone” episodes that Goldsmith scored. I know he used a lot of tritones. There are a lot of things I do that are different, but you can tell the source of the seed. You have one of the most individual sounds in Hollywood. You are one of only a handful of composers whose scores I can almost always recognize. [Laughing] That’s funny and great to hear, because the thing that always haunts me is diversity. I don’t constantly write in one style. I think it’s good to have that diversity, but I have always been concerned that I am a jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none. The more you spread your wings and try to diversify your music, the more diffused your sound is going to be. I always wondered, when someone like you heard my diverse scores – from comedies, dramas, action films, horror films – if you thought they sounded like the same guy.