From Fragility to Control: A Sound Reading of Severance

It feels strange to talk to you on a Friday… but they say (or at least I believe) that whatever interrupts routine transforms it. And transformations are good when you learn to taste their sweetness.

This is the first episode, and probably the only one, that breaks tradition in two ways:

1. It’s not a Wednesday episode.

2. It’s the second one this week.

Now, what is it about this series that deserves such a break?

Today, as you already heard, we’re talking about Severance —an Apple TV series that premiered in 2022 and whose third season is currently in production. The actors have been widely awarded for their performances, and overall the show has built quite a devoted fan base. Honestly, I understand why —and I’m one of them.

I’m very particular about series; I consider myself an impatient person, so following a story for that long… doesn’t come easy. Which means this one carries weight when I say it’s definitely in my top three favorites. Yes, top three—though not necessarily in that order.

A lot has been said about the cast’s performances and the production team’s work. But let’s dive into the backbone of this podcast: the music.

Severance is a melodic line.

Music Before the Image

Here’s a little fun fact to start with.Production for this series began during COVID and was delayed because of it. Time —time that can do a lot of things.

That’s when composer Theodore Shapiro entered the picture. He had already been in conversation with Ben Stiller about the project and was working on musical ideas that could capture the series’ personality. Shapiro used those delays as creative space. Once satisfied, he shared his ideas with Stiller, who was particularly drawn to just one section from one of Shapiro’s sketches. From that single fragment, Shapiro built the now-iconic Severance theme.

Severance is a melodic line.

A Fragile Line

Now, let’s look at this from a sociocultural angle. Because the music—at least in this case, the main theme—was composed before filming, it took on a much more central role.

The simplest way to explain why having the music early mattered is that it could actually be played on set. It became part of Lumon’s atmosphere, of the characters’ essence, and of the show’s overall tone. But I think that goes even deeper.

The actors themselves have said that hearing the music on set helped them connect with their characters —through gestures, movements, and even the rhythm of how they inhabited the space. In other words, the music shaped their identities. It worked like the series itself: it helped them “enter” that dual state, to separate and integrate at once.

Zooming out for a second—The main theme is literally four chords over a pedal tone. The melody plays with simple variations within that frame. I won’t get into music theory because:

1. That’s not the goal, and

2. It could easily turn into an endless spiral.

But we can translate that structure into something we can understand through a socio-emotional lens: a volatile connection within a fixed tonal ground. That tension between stability and movement makes us feel suspended—between two floors, between two identities (at least). It mirrors what the characters live through and what the entire concept of the show represents.

The main melody is carried by a piano, meaning our sonic guide is a single voice—isolated from everything else. Even though more elements appear later, this single, trembling voice shifting between tonal grounds creates an atmosphere of unpredictable, fragile instability.

Listening Between Worlds

That sense of isolation—emerging from such a minimal, volatile, and substantial musical theme—colors the whole series. It reflects that duality of identities. The “fragility” born from the music pulls us into the confusion between stability and disorientation, unleashing a feeling of mystery and suspense —which is exactly the series’ tone.

Across the rest of the soundtrack—maybe I should say across both seasons—the main theme keeps reappearing through variations and modulations, weaving continuity between the emotional tone and the narrative arc.

We also find dialogues between motifs that balance minimalism and restraint (mirroring the corporate atmosphere) with playful jazz dynamics. Once again, jazz appears as a genre of change and freedom. This dialogue between contrasts deepens that “between floors” sensation first introduced by the main theme.

Sound, Control, and Power

There’s another thread running through all of this—present in the script, the production, and crowned by the music: the theme of control.

If we said that the music generates tension and uncertainty between at least two poles, then we should listen closely to how those two sound palettes separate and reinforce each other. When we face the abyss of uncertainty, a force of power inevitably emerges. In this series, that power takes shape as surveillance and control. Within uncertainty hides a glimpse of the very concepts that define Lumon as a company.

So, the music doesn’t just accompany the story—it articulates and reinforces its key ideas. When the dominant emotion is uncertainty, the dialogue between music, image, and narrative can clearly weave a thread of vigilance and control.

Even in the more romantic or nostalgic scenes, this cohesion remains. You can hear that although the tonality shifts or new melodic turns appear, the foundation always returns—it acts as an anchor. The sound itself imprints that constant uncertainty into our memory, as if reminding us what it takes to remain inside the world of Severance.

Closing Reflections

Severance is, above all, a melodic line that draws us into uncertainty—leading us through a journey of identities, enigmas, and invisible mechanisms of control.

The music invites us to ask where these sensations come from. This time, both the audience and the production team experienced it the same way: music was the first element to open the space for questioning—a sensory gateway that later became something embodied.

Because listening is a practice.And every practice produces something.

The question is: How aware are we of the power each of these elements holds once we begin to incorporate them?

Original Version