I could merely have fallen sufferer to expectations, but when somebody have been to ask me to attract what I assumed an Academy Award nominated movie composer seemed like, I've a normal concept of the course I'd go in. I'd most likely draw a slight, bookish man, the kind you would possibly discover shopping the wares of a store filled with antiques and curios. Spherical, owlish glasses would probably be perched on his nostril, a balding pate of salt-and-pepper hair. A comfortably fitted sports activities jacket, in one of many mental materials, like a tweed or a worsted wool. All I’m saying is, in my thoughts’s eye, on a spectrum of Anthony Kiedis to Bob Balaban, they’d be closely, closely swung in the direction of the Balaban facet of issues.
Even after I was advised that Danny Elfman carried out at Coachella, this broad picture continued. I'd have anticipated that very same nebbish fellow to be shrunk behind a big organ or piano, or conducting an orchestra with refined flicks of a wand. What I positively didn't anticipate was for Danny Elfman to be completely, undeniably ripped and lined in tattoos, with an electrical guitar slung over his shoulder. At first I figured the image I used to be taking a look at was some reunion tour of a 90s grunge act, one of many few ones the place the previous frontman truly aged gracefully. I anticipated Philip Seymour Hoffman and I received redheaded Chris Cornell.