Media and Music: How the "Succession" Theme Reveals the Pathetic Power of American Royalty
The uncomfortable amalgamation of classical instrumentals and hip-hop production in the “Succession” theme exposes how the Roy descendants’ egotistical ideas of power are egregiously unfounded.
In Media and Music, our writers take a deep dive into how movies use scores and songs to engage viewers, give new meaning and tone to some of our favorite scenes, and establish themes. It almost goes without saying, but there are spoilers abound.
Written by Janie Bickerton
Images courtesy of HBO
Content Warning: This article contains spoilers for “Succession” and also discusses child abuse.
On the surface, “Succession” is a show where business people curse at each other and walk around in designer attire. What exactly, then, makes it so captivatingly heartbreaking? Amidst the swearing and superfluity is a fragile story about three children who are deeply unloved by their power-hungry father and are consequently unable to find real love or substantial influence in adulthood.
HBO’s “Succession” follows the children of aging media tycoon Logan Roy as they vy for power that they don’t yet know how to wield. With each episode, the Roy children — Kendall, Shiv, and Roman — find themselves either under Logan’s wing or out in the cold, unsure of who will win the internal competition and take Logan’s spot as CEO of media conglomerate Waystar Royco. Across four seasons, various attempts at forming coups, buying other companies, and covering up vehicular manslaughter reveal the selfish, fickle natures of each character and the business decisions they make. Such weighty themes of capriciousness and inter-family contentions are succinctly conveyed with the show’s main theme, composed brilliantly by Nicholas Britell.
Put plainly, the theme is an awkward arrangement. It soars with dramatic strings, falls with dissonant piano chords, and then uncomfortably throws in beats from a Roland TR-808 drum machine. This hybridization of classical and hip-hop mocks the self-aggrandizing positions of the Roy children and their pathetic attempts at attaining their perceived power. While simultaneously tracking the ever-undulating business decisions and shifts in power at Waystar Royco.
The overbearingly classical portion of the theme sets the scene for the Roy family’s monarchical and worldly influence. As a company, this family feeds Republican America with ATN news, resulting in them literally choosing the Republican presidential candidate in season three. They acquire companies and fire employees with no remorse for the lives impacted by their actions. Waystar Royco is a corrupt behemoth that fuels and is fueled by a people gluttonous for information and entertainment. The violin solo within the theme encapsulates the lofty power the Roys collectively hold because of this giant conglomerate and the perceived power that any individual Roy family member thinks they hold.
Discordance reigns throughout the main theme to convey the strained relationships between a multitude of characters and the false sense of power present among the children. Britell said it best in an interview with Vanity Fair: the theme contains “elements of absurdity and also a deep gravitas under the surface.” This absurdity and gravitas reflects the perceived seriousness that the children hold themselves to, but also the weight they bear after having to prove themselves since childhood. Somehow, warring, dissonant piano keys come together to create an eerily enthralling sound, mirroring the children who faced years of emotional and physical abuse from their parents still vying for their father’s approval — like flies attracted to a light they know will burn them. The twisted paternal dynamic manifests itself for each child within their respective relationships: Shiv marries a man of a lower social and financial status in an attempt to wield power, a divorced Kendall leans into his drug addiction for have some sense of permanence, and Roman is incapable of healthy sexual relationships because of his childhood conditioning that causes him to expect and enjoy pain.
Interspersed hip-hop most potently poises the Roy kids’ unfounded vision of self-importance by clashing with the grandiose classical music. The most obviously incapable of wielding power is Roman. He accepts his shadowed state behind his father and is therefore incapable of being serious. When given the responsibility of overseeing a rocket launch in Japan, Roman’s first big solo assignment, he expedites the process as a wedding gift for Shiv. Ultimately, he watches the rocket explode on his phone from the comfort of a fancy bathroom within a Scottish mansion. He silently washes his hands, cleaning himself of the embarrassment, and lies at the rehearsal dinner that he handled the power well. Roman’s rocket fiasco shows his uncertain, juvenile approach to power, symbolized by the theme’s loud strings overshadowing the electronic beats. His cluelessness when given influence is evident even in his interactions with his family. When the kids collectively try to block selling Waystar to tech company Gojo in the season three finale , Roman is unable to stick up for himself and his siblings. When Logan asks what what Roman has to stop the sale he childishly says that he has “I don’t know, fucking … love?”. Whenever Roman is given a responsibility or is asked to share his personal thoughts and opinions, he fumbles, just as the drum beats in the theme blunder behind the piano.
Logan purposefully gives Shiv a false sense of power by privately choosing her as the next CEO at the beginning of season two. Only for him to slowly back out as she confidently inserts herself into the family business. She compensates for the lack of power she has everywhere else by emotionally manipulating her husband Tom Wambsgans. Even then, her blatant avoidance of Tom’s worries throughout the seasons don’t result in an upper hand as she thought — she remains in a shattered relationship with him to keep her lineage under Waystar’s wing. The main theme puts hip-hop at the forefront in the intro, usually playing during the transition to the opening credits. Other than the intro, the 808s are always behind the classical elements. This musical misdirection is reminiscent of Logan deceiving Shiv into thinking she has more power than she really does, rendering her eternally incapable of establishing professional agency without her father’s influence.
Of the three (oh wait, four — but really, who’s actually counting Connor?) Roy kids, Kendall tries the hardest to gain power and subsequently fails miserably and consistently. His love for hip-hop reveals his pompous personal perception as a cool, relatable, “woke” billionaire. His first scene sees him blasting The Beastie Boys’ “An Open Letter to NYC” in his headphones, embarrassingly hyping himself up before he bombs a deal with a social media company. And who could forget “L to the OG,” Kendall’s rap that failed to kiss up to Logan, rather creating an forced, awkward call-and-response at the Waystar 50th anniversary banquet. Kendall clings to rap music to augment his ego and give himself a power built upon a suave carelessness that he simply doesn’t have. Britell chooses a hip-hop production to oppose the classical music in the theme because of Kendall’s close association with the genre. This paints him as merely a backing aspect to his father’s corporate and paternal presence — the exact opposite of what Kendall hopes to achieve by listening to hip-hop.
Kendall’s humiliating delusion of power continues in his repeated attempts to betray his father, exemplified best in his involvement with a waiter’s death at Shiv’s wedding. After nervously delivering Logan a “bear hug,” a letter stating his intent to buy the company, Kendall enlists a waiter to connect him with a cocaine dealer. While an impaired Kendall is driving to the dealer's house, a deer appears ahead of them and the waiter grabs at the steering wheel in an attempt to avoid the animal. However, this action ends with the car driving into a nearby lake. Kendall is able to save himself but not the waiter. The experience traumatizes him, and Logan takes advantage of his shattered state by convincing him to back out of the bear hug. Conditioned by his father, Kendall can only say his personal PR statement, “I saw their plan and my dad’s was better,” when his siblings or former business partners confront him for his change of mind. Once filled with ambition to take over Waystar, a pitiful Kendall is left under the influence of his father. After yelling “I’m the eldest boy!” (which isn’t even true) as one last pathetic grasp for power in the final episode, our tragic hero is left without a place in Waystar and therefore without a purpose. Kendall constantly tries to keep up with his father and eventually overtake the company, resembling how the synthesized beats struggle against the piano’s tempo in the theme. Kendall is defined by his false sense of power, which leaves him despondent and alone without his inflated ego.
Starkly cutting between a soaring cityscape and home video recordings, the theme’s visuals bolster the discordance and delusions of power conveyed in the theme’s instrumentals. The climbing strings match the sublime height of the Roy playground, but the sudden shift to TR-808 drum machine and grainy home video reveal that Kendall, Roman, and Shiv will perpetually be kids under their uncaring yet demanding father.
The musical theme of “Succession” is severely unpredictable and melancholic, resembling how the kids’ faltering grasp for power leaves them without purpose or any say in their father’s legacy, Waystar, after Logan’s death. The kids only realize their worth in the final episode, when Roman finally admits, “We’re nothing.” They never had a chance at power because they are and always will be in the shadow of their father — a hard truth symbolized in the theme of “Succession.”