By Rebecca Zaharia

Visual by Ali Madsen

There’s nothing like a period drama when it comes to satisfying a craving for escapism. Many of us hunger for antiquity out of curiosity toward an era we haven’t lived through. This hunger is often amplified by the immaculate costuming, sets, and original soundtracks characteristic to this genre. Period drama movies in particular are beloved in popular culture — a simple Google search can yield pages of recommendation lists and reviews. The self-contained format of film lends itself well to capturing just a snapshot of an era, part of a whole. Digestible samplers of our history, period movies are like appetizers.

Comparatively, period TV broadens our palette. It entrenches us in an era. We’re made to sit with our desire for escapism until we feel that we’re part of a different time. A directorial choice as simple as the soundtrack can have considerable influence on the whole work. Most period TV avoids anachronism and either goes for a historically accurate or neutral soundtrack, though there are a few examples where modern music is covered in the style of the period being portrayed. Netflix’s Bridgerton (2020) presents pop songs in the vein of Maroon 5’s “Girls Like You” and Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next” in the context of orchestral pieces. Tonally it’s a solid choice, but the anachronism is so masked that when you do place your finger on the song it can feel nonsensical enough to take you out of the story. A better example is HBO’s Westworld (2016), where the songs are left more intact melodically and given a delightful western flair. Hearing alternative songs like “Black Hole Sun” by Soundgarden and “No Surprises” by Radiohead as instrumental western tracks reflects the show’s thematic duality.

Some period pieces foray into the modern era by using

contemporary songs as they’re originally written. An exceptional example is Hidden Figures (2016), which features a soundtrack largely composed by Pharell Williams; the names of the tracks correlate with the scenes they’re featured in, and the artists and musical styles involved reflect the characters and themes shown on-screen. As for period TV examples, Lovecraft Country (2020) backs its ’50s-centered narrative with songs from various genres and artists, especially Black musicians. Reign (2013) also uses contemporary songs, among others. And then there’s Peaky Blinders (2013), BBC’s hit crime drama set in early 1900s Birmingham. The show, which is inspired by the actual Peaky Blinders gang, is well-done in its own right with brilliant performances by its cast and thoughtful cinematography; the contemporary soundtrack elevates the narrative beyond anything a period-accurate score could be capable of. With the debut of its sixth and final season, Peaky Blinders has distinguished itself as a period drama that knows how to serve its audience. Its choice of gritty, powerful songs are an iconic staple — after all, a TV or film soundtrack is nothing if not for the benefit of the audience.

“Red Right Hand” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, the theme of the show, sets the soundtrack’s tone with guns — or rather, bells — blazing. It’s a reference to John Milton’s Paradise Lost, where the phrase “red right hand” stands in for divine vengeance and omnipresent danger. The song also projects connotations associated with the color red during this time period, mainly communism, that are explored in the show. The elements of “Red Right Hand” become an overtone for the whole show, always lurking in the background no matter what the narrative is engaging with. Sometimes, the show forces you to acknowledge these themes. In season four, brothers Arthur and Thomas Shelby each engage in intense, violent killing, and the camera angles subtly reveal their right hands dripping in red liquid (paint or blood, depending on the scene). In this case, not only does Peaky Blinders pay mind to the thematic elements of songs for its score, but it also attaches visual motifs to the music. Even the instrumentation itself contributes to establishing

shots with percussion reminiscent of metal clanging and explosions; when overlayed with images of the factories in Small Heath, Birmingham, it feels as if this song was destined to be a Peaky Blinders track.

In fact, the reason why the show’s use of a modern song for the theme works so well is because every other song feels that way. That feeling does seem hard to quantify, though, even from its own cast members. In an interview with Steve Lamacq on BBC Radio 6, Cillian Murphy, who plays Thomas Shelby, commented that he first thought the modern soundtrack wouldn’t work for the show, but he eventually came around to the idea.

“It’s really hard to define what that is,” he said about what makes a song Peaky, “but I think it seems to be an outlaw quality to the music.” That “outlaw” quality is gritty and intense, built by the style of the music itself.

The genres selected for the score vary but are generally in the vein of rock that’s heavy on guitars and percussion. While historically appropriate genres like jazz are occasionally used, it’s acknowledged in canon and not usually directed at the audience. Unfortunately for these genres, which were pioneered by Black musicians, they aren’t given the same historical levity that previously mentioned examples received. These genres are placed in a white-centric period piece where minority characters are largely omitted. However, they are integral to creating the “outlaw” tone of the show. Across the first five seasons, the

You need Alex Turner’s aggressively Southern Yorkshire accent to really convey that sense of self-importance and dissidence that these characters possess.

soundtrack features music from the likes of Arctic Monkeys, PJ Harvey, The White Stripes, Radiohead, Dan Auerbach, and more. Their songs all, in some manner, evoke the “outlaw” quality that allows them to perfectly mesh to the on-screen visuals.

With Arctic Monkeys, for example, “Arabella” and “Do I Wanna Know?” off their iconic album AM are used to backdrop intense scenes, the former as part of an establishing shot and the latter as a backdrop to a cliffhanger for the next season (which is also done with “Love is Blindness” by Jack White at the end of season one). The show isn’t afraid to use lesser known songs, either: at one point, “Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair” by Arctic Monkeys plays over a shot of Thomas Shelby walking through a prison corridor. Songs like these are intended to create the “outlaw” vibe as characters walk dramatically toward the camera in a slowed-down frame rate.

It sounds corny, but the music and visuals genuinely pair together like wine and cheese. You need the energy of the music, the crunchy guitar and the leadfooted percussion. You need Alex Turner’s aggressively Southern Yorkshire accent to really convey that sense of self-importance and dissidence that these characters possess.

The soundtrack urges you to believe that these are characters to be feared. In the context of the narra-

tive, the Shelby brothers wouldn’t just slowly walk down an alley with loud music for the drama of it. They don’t need to do that because they’re already a feared entity in their city. But the audience, who isn’t involved in the narrative, doesn’t perceive them as commanding figures on their own. Visual elements and music have to cue the audience into the tone of the events occurring and how to perceive the story. Since the context of a scene is influenced by music, the Peaky Blinders soundtrack could have easily used silly, upbeat songs and become a satirical period piece. But the songs that have actually been chosen create the serious and grim tone the show is known for.

The relationship between modern and historical has so far been relatively unexplored in television, but if the success of Peaky Blinders has any say, it’s a sign that there could be more to come in the future. If the way we understand what a scene is trying to accomplish is based on what context it’s placed in, then the best way to connect with an audience is to tap into something familiar. A modern soundtrack can foster that connection, but only if the audience is expected to perceive the tone of the narrative a certain way. It doesn’t work if modernity is a comfort mechanism for the audience when consuming something new — it has to serve a narrative purpose. The line is fine between an elegant and cheap use of a modern soundtrack. Perhaps, in this regard, Peaky Blinders has either achieved greatness or failed spectacularly, but there’s no denying that the modernity of its track has turned this period drama into a timeless classic.