Sound Decisions, Historical Memories: The Case of The Righteous Gemstones

Today’s episode will be a little different — because we’re not talking about an original score exactly… but rather about music and politics.

I want to focus on a series that, I know, I’ve mentioned endlessly on social media — but I truly think it’s a perfect example of how music builds realities. And more importantly, how crucial it is to pay attention to how and where these constructions take shape.

The Righteous Gemstones tells the story of an American family of preachers whose lifestyle and behavior are the complete opposite of what one would expect from pastors: irreverent, vulgar, exuberant, perverse, and ridiculous.

That’s already a reality in itself — but let’s focus on the music.

I started watching this series after it was recently nominated for an Emmy in the Music Supervision category. And honestly, I expected nothing… and ended up with a huge surprise.

To start, the director of this series is also its writer and lead actor: Danny McBride. You might know him from Vice Principals.Here we can already see a key hierarchical nucleus: the same person who imagined this absurd religious world also actively participated in constructing its dimensions. He’s even said himself:

“The music we use is another way to build out that world.”

For this project, he brought together some old collaborators: composer Joseph Stephens and Devoe Yates as music supervisor for the first two seasons; for the latest two, the role went to Gabe Hilfer, who has been nominated three times in the same category (the other two being The Studio and The White Lotus).

Among these three, the goal from the beginning was — and here’s the surprise — not to build a religious sound, but to transform it.

Music as Construction

The relationship between society and the institution of the church has, for centuries, regulated countless human decisions and behaviors.There’s no doubt about that — regardless of religion or practice. There’s power there.

Ironically, the attempt to fracture religiosity itself ends up revealing its true image.

My work has always revolved around audiences and their perception of cultural products and industries — but here, I think it’s vital to shift the lens.We need to listen to the sonic drawing of the producers toward religion and its practices, because that’s the result that circulates as a cultural product — sometimes even reaching global recognition and applause.

Choosing the right songs that ironically reinforce that fracture is — as we’d say in Mexico — like looking for a needle in a haystack.And these movements matter because… do you know how much the license for each song costs?Around $25,000 dollars, at least, for a not-so-famous artist.

So it’s natural to ask: How much investment goes into music?

What’s really happening is that capital is being invested in the musical design of an atmosphere — in a soundscape that represents something.This means negotiating sensory balances, activating nostalgia, and creating emotional connections with the audience — or at least trying to.

The Politics of Sound

This sensory construction is regulated by the creative roles I mentioned earlier — meaning the entire sonic structure is inevitably infused with their intentions and perceptions.

There could easily be another “religious” series with an entirely different tone, but the one being celebrated (six years after its premiere) is this one: McBride’s perspective.I’m not saying it’s right or wrong; rather, I think it’s worth reflecting on how much we resonate or disagree with the treatment of the subject matter — in this case, religion.

Its six-year run tells us there’s a general approval of the discourse it sustains — and none of this would’ve been possible without the massive investment in music as a disruptive element:a force that turns once-sacred songs into mirrors of irony and critique.

That’s the brilliance of The Righteous Gemstones.Its structure is designed to maintain the presence of religious or sacred songs — only to reinsert them at key narrative moments, redrawing them toward irrelevance or mockery. Some might call that “dark humor.”I’d call it critical humor.

The Sonic Detective

A clear example appears in the second episode of the fourth season.At the end, they use the hymn “It’s a Sin” by The Pet Shop Boys.It’s a masterstroke — but the series is full of similar choices.

And this deserves attention because: a music supervisor is, in essence, a sonic detective — and a historian.Their work doesn’t end with picking a song that fits the scene.Behind every choice lies a meticulous, almost archaeological search for references, contexts, and memories.

And that’s where the inevitable question arises:Are we aware of what it means for a music supervisor to decide, shape, or reconfigure sonic memory?

Every time a song is chosen, it doesn’t just accompany the narrative — it carries a historical moment that transforms upon entering the screen.At the same time, it activates sensations of belonging and synchronic resonance in the audience — sensations that, over time, sediment into new historical relationships, now infused with the intentions and structures of the cultural product itself.

In professions like these, we can truly see (or should see) how music functions as a regulator, showcase, and historical disruption.That’s probably why they’re awarded — though, if you ask me, not nearly with the attention they deserve.

The Irreverent Echo

The laughter and irreverence of The Righteous Gemstones wouldn’t be possible without the enormous investment in music.Songs that were once sacred now become uncomfortable mirrors — reflections of what religion can hide.

And that alone is a reason to start listening to music differently — to see its surfaces as disruptive, questionable, dialectical, and reconfigurative.

Original Version