5 Questions With Christopher Young
The legendary composer on creative freedom, vintage synthesis, and why he’s still terrified before every project.
Words by The Blank Mag
With over 150 credits across four decades, Los Angeles-based Young has scored some of horror’s most iconic films, from Hellraiser and Sinister to The Exorcism of Emily Rose and The Grudge. But his work stretches far beyond fear, spanning blockbusters like Spider-Man 3, streaming hits such as Out There, and cutting-edge VR experiences. Known for blending orchestral grandeur with experimental electronics, his sound is cinematic, eerie, and unmistakably his own. Despite a career that could rest on reputation alone, Young continues to push into uncomfortable creative territory, proving there is always more to explore.
Young still starts every project at the piano, mapping out ideas in his head before touching a computer. He’s been creating custom sounds since before sample libraries existed, recording instruments and natural environments, then manipulating them into something unrecognisable. It’s an artisanal approach in an industry increasingly dominated by presets, plugins and choice paralysis.
His recent work on Marvel’s Deadpool VR gave him something he rarely gets in film: time. Two and a half years to experiment, play and fail. The only direction? “Have fun.” That freedom resulted in a score that blends homemade electronics with live orchestra, electric guitars weaving through invented percussion. A signature sound that’s distinctly Young, yet completely fresh.
In our 5 Questions With interview, we asked Young about his most recent project, the tools behind his sound and what keeps him creatively fresh.
Your work on Marvel’s Deadpool VR had a much longer timeline than typical film scoring, around two and a half years. What did that extended creative freedom allow you to do differently?
The most rewarding aspect of working on scores for video games is the amount of time you’re given to write the music. In the case of Marvel’s Deadpool VR, I had around two and a half years. The only instruction I received at the outset was simply “to have fun.” That encouragement allowed me to trust my gut and find a unique musical voice through trial and error. In film, you’re usually working against compressed schedules—sometimes just weeks to deliver a complete score. With VR, I could actually experiment, fail, and try again. It’s a luxury that’s increasingly rare in this industry.
“When you’re dealing with extremes in emotion, whether it’s laughter or fear, the composer must commit fully to that emotional space. We strive. We look for an audience. We need the audience.”
Looking at the Deadpool VR score as a whole, what elements stand out to you, and how did you approach creating a cohesive sonic world?
For me, the success of anything I write comes from the overall score, not from the individual cues. I designed the track sequence for Marvel’s Deadpool VR to create a cohesive experience from start to finish. Having said that, I was thrilled to hear that everyone working on the game in Austin, Texas, couldn’t stop singing the main theme that opens the set after hearing it only once. That’s when you know something’s working—when it gets under people’s skin immediately, even before they’ve experienced it in context.
You’re known for creating your own sounds from scratch. What was your sound design approach for Deadpool VR specifically?
Because the homegrown electronic sounds I created specifically for Marvel’s Deadpool VR shift from cue to cue, there is not one particular element that recurs enough to become the “star” of the score. Instead, what stands out the most to me is the interplay between the electronics and the unique orchestra, with its distinctive stereo imaging, combined with the way electric guitars and both live and invented percussion are used. Together, these elements give the music its character and help set it apart. I’ve been creating custom sounds since before home studios existed. When I started, there was no sitting around going through sample libraries to find creepy sounds. You had to make them yourself. I was very much into that musique concrète thing, going out and recording on tape, sounds in the natural world, instruments, and then manipulating them. Even now, with unlimited sample libraries available, we create our own samples here. We use factory stuff, sure, it’s not like I’m saying we don’t, but we modify it to the point where you don’t recognise it as anything you’ve heard before. And the majority of what we use, we record here anyway. I’ve got a massive collection of instruments that I record with and then mess around with.
You teach at USC’s film scoring program. What’s the first thing you try to instil in young composers about the creative process?
The first thing I do to encourage composers to come up with the best thing that they’ve got inside of them is: don’t run to the computer, even if you’re looking for creepy sounds. Imagine what that sound is, and try to figure out a way to parallel that—that’s in you, not in the machine. To me, the most important part of the process of writing music has to start inside your head. It cannot start inside the sample library. When I’m composing, I’m not sitting in front of the computer surrounded by synthesisers. I’m a guy who still gets out of that room and goes to a piano. I map it all out before I go in and start inputting it with my assistants. We create what I call “studies”—representations of what the score might be, based on these sounds that are being used to colour the pitches that I’ve come up with. That was great training early on. Hellraiser—that’s all in my own handwriting, orchestrated for every single instrument. God, I’m so lucky I did that.
Despite having composed over 150 films and being in the industry for decades, you’ve mentioned still feeling scared before starting new projects. What drives that fear, and what keeps you pushing into uncomfortable creative territory?
I’m about to start another one. I’m scared shitless. I’m not going to be able to pull this off, even though it’s a scary movie. Everyone thinks, “Oh, Chris, you’ve done like 80 scary movies. Isn’t it easy by now?” I go, “Are you kidding me? You cannot repeat yourself. Or you should at least try, with the onset, to bring something new.” That’s what keeps you alive and going. I ask myself the question: Did I make a mistake by giving, by utilising the majority of the talent that God gave me to support scary movies? Am I okay with the idea that on my gravestone it’s going to be chipped underneath my name, “Oh, you know, the guy that did Hellraiser”? I’m not entirely comfortable with having committed so much of my creative self to scaring people in movies. But it’s not easy, and it’s exciting, because it’s a really extreme emotion, like laughing. If you’re scoring those types of movies, you have to dig and go someplace that you don’t have to in dramas. When you’re dealing with extremes in emotion, whether it’s laughter or fear, the composer must commit fully to that emotional space. We strive. We look for an audience. We need the audience. Very few composers can spend their lives writing music and not have it played for anybody, and think nothing of it. That’s why we’re in the entertainment business. Everybody loves the applause. And wanting to outdo myself, maybe this time around, it’s going to be the great score. That keeps me going. I’m never going to phone it in.
