Media and Music: “Andor” as a Belated Reprise of the Space Opera
“Star Wars” is historically recognized and shaped by its epic music, but the soundtrack for “Andor” rejects grandeur for the better.
Written by Maren Bell
llustrated by Ana Salgado Soberane
The definition of a space opera does not have, disappointingly, a direct relation to the soundtrack of this sub-genre of media. For almost a century, its definition has bounced within the bounds of an affectionate, “hacky, grinding, stinking, outworn space-ship yarn” and a more noble, “colorful, dramatic, large-scale science fiction adventure.” The term “space opera” carries a hint of derogatory connotation, mainly because of its association with terms like “soap opera” (a drama with frequent soap manufacturer commercials) and horse opera (Westerns). More offensive, however, is the blatant disregard for the influence of music on a space opera.
“Star Wars,” arguably the most famous space opera, began with a bang. Bold, rousing horns, cymbals, and guttural drums have stood the test of time, stirring interest in viewers even as an awkward text crawl fed them political exposition. As Disney has expanded its repertoire with artistically underwhelming “Star Wars” movies and TV shows, the bang of its influential storytelling has dissolved into a series of whimpers — until the release of 2022’s “Andor”. Now, the space opera is supported by a mighty, conspiratorial murmur. The music not only elevates an already impressive narrative, but also nods to the original “Star Wars” trilogy and hints at what is soon to come.
“Andor” serves as a back patio for the crowded Star Wars house party that fans have come to know. It zooms in on the smaller stories of both freedom fighters [against] and loyalists [of] the autocratic Galactic Empire, viewing them as threads in an extensive web of a brewing rebellion rather than heroes and villains destined to single-handedly decide the fate of the universe.
“It’s just regular people trying to survive in the darkest time in this galaxy and finding out they can’t take it anymore,” said Diego Luna, who plays Cassian Andor, in a Rolling Stone interview. “It’s about a system that is choking society.”
“A New Hope” introduces the “Star Wars” saga to the public with a bombardment of powerful brass, perfectly accompanying massive ships fighting over massive planets in a massive galaxy, eager to jump in and fill the gaps between the dialogue. Enter “Andor” with a noticeable absence of brass — instead, the strings that guide much of the show’s soundtrack linger from the intro but quickly shut up, making room for Cassian on the ground, in the rain, anchoring the show in something close[r] to reality.
Immediately, the score enables viewers to grasp the scale of the story. It’s reserved enough to allow environmental sounds to feel tangible, making alien worlds feel ordinary. While “Andor” represents a new narrative and technical frontier for the “Star Wars” universe, it is the most relatable manifestation thus far. Orchestral swells don’t intimidate or astound viewers. Instead, delicate, deliberate sounds that encompass all meanings of an underscore support them throughout the 12 episodes.
“Andor”’s music is unhurried and self-assured. It allows the slow-burn story to root in and bloom, which, in turn, enables viewers to interpret the narrative with as much autonomy as a rebellion-sympathetic piece of media can provide. The score for “Andor” respects its audience in a way they’ve grown unaccustomed to; think of the recent children-centered, quip-laden, cute-mascots-to-sell-toys content for Disney audiences, which demands the saccharine grandiosity of the original “Star Wars” score. Instead, “Andor” diverges from Disney’s traditional approach to “Star Wars” in a more thoughtful step away from the creative chasm, allowing viewers to digest the narrative with more personal introspection rather than forcing impressions through the music.
Strings are nurtured, not abused, to exaggerate moments of tension. Modern and delightfully strange club music matches the carefree vacation-destination planet it introduces, contrasting how “A New Hope” uses goofy, repetitive music to fill a crime-ridden cantina. That isn’t to suggest that “Andor” scorns the original trilogy’s scores, as composer Nicholas Britell offers rare moments of brass during the most emotionally significant scenes, with shallow siphons from the deep wells of triumph and anguish with the same instruments that aid these moments in the original trilogy.
The stellar (forgive me) new approach to “Star Wars” is impossible without Britell’s nuanced score. It admires and adores the stories with a deep respect for audiences while preventing the show from succumbing to Disney’s recent tendency toward tackiness. “Andor”’s score maintains its connection to the classic movies it references while distancing itself from their format, allowing “Star Wars” to evolve beyond the “space opera” category, even if only for a TV show about a side character from a spinoff.
As the release date for season two approaches, “Andor”’s story grows closer to the original trilogy’s beginnings, leaving fans anxious about the characters’ fates and the show’s creative sustainability. Remember to find solace in the music, even if it doesn’t (word that means “in writing”......”explicitly”?) shield “Andor” from “Star Wars”’ obligations and inclinations as a space opera. If “Andor” maintains its musical integrity as a reverent reprise, then everything else will follow.