Method and Muscle: A Brief Musical Anatomy of The Studio

Well, good morning, happy Wednesday. I hope this last week of October is treating you well, because for me, it has definitely brought some surprises—and part of that surprise is the subject of this episode.

This week I had quite the dilemma while thinking about what to cover, and I was pleasantly surprised when I asked for your opinion.

For the second week in a row—well, sort of, because last week there was a special episode (if you haven’t listened to it yet, go now!)—this is the second week we talk not about a film, but a series. And the series in this episode is none other than The Studio. Adored by film lovers and received with great enthusiasm during this year’s awards season—and I have to say, it truly deserved the recognition it got.

Once again, we have an Apple TV series. The Studio is a show created by its own star, Seth Rogen, together with Evan Goldberg. It follows the chaos, challenges, and adventures that happen behind the making of films inside creative studios—the ups and downs faced by the executives making all the decisions. I think one of the main attractions, aside from the comedic way it narrates all these feats, is the number of cameos by well-known figures in the industry. In fact, the lead actor of the series we talked about last week makes one of the best cameos, if you ask me… I was thrilled when I saw him—though maybe I’m a little biased. Doesn’t matter, you’ll tell me what you think.

So, who scored this? And how?

The one in charge of giving life and rhythm to these creative adventures is the Mexican composer Antonio Sánchez. His collaboration with the creators began from a previous interest in his work for the film Birdman—that was basically what opened the door for the music that now shapes the atmosphere and tone of The Studio.

One of the most interesting aspects is the nature and color of this music, born from the mind of a jazz musician. I think that’s precisely what makes it stand out and allows the audience to connect with it in a more human way. Sánchez approaches the satire of Hollywood through rhythm and the improvised dialogue between instruments.

To begin with, there’s the drums, of course—Antonio Sánchez’s signature. And honestly, it’s something to be grateful for. Culturally, I think hearing drums highlights the importance of rhythm, and with it, speed and intensity as leading characters—just like the surprising events that unfold constantly. In a way, it mirrors the motion that accompanies every decision and conflict in the series.

Now, even though Antonio Sánchez is mainly known as a drummer, in composing for this series he decided to incorporate hybrid textures that form an interesting sonic fabric. Let’s say this soundtrack pushed him out of his comfort zone, allowing him to experiment with sounds of other natures and ranges.

To go further, I’d like to suggest thinking about this score through two dimensions: the internal and the “external.”

For the internal dimension, it’s worth reflecting on the decision to use jazz as the genre to describe and articulate the intentions and goals of this series.

That thought can start from Sánchez’s creative process, since he mostly built the music through observing the visual narrative—as a kind of exchange exercise between image and sound. While we’ve often spoken of jazz as a genre known for breaking molds and being relatively free, in this case I think we can perceive its power from another angle. If we look at it socioculturally, it becomes clearer:

In creative contexts like this, many decisions are woven from intuition, risk, and negotiation—and that’s precisely where jazz functions as a way of thinking. Jazz is characterized mainly by improvisation (which is also present in this score), but improvising doesn’t mean acting without rules; it means negotiating with them. It’s about listening, dialoguing, adapting, and creating.

I think that’s exactly how studios work, how sets work, and how life within the industry works (or at least that’s what this series suggests): freedom, conflict, and creativity coexisting at once. In The Studio, jazz becomes a mirror of the system it portrays.

Now, on the other hand, in what we could call the “external” dimension, the pulses, dialogues, and interactions aligned with the image turn the music into an accumulation of tensions and unexpected turns that move the visual element—as if the music here were not atmosphere but narrative muscle.

Thus, the music becomes a living fabric that sustains, propels, and shapes the visual movement. It’s what contracts and releases emotion, what allows the image to think, to breathe, and at the same time, to flow.

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