Composer Stefan Fletcher wrote the music for the latest series of Grand Designs, produced by Fremantle’s Naked for Channel 4.
Building the music across the series demanded an understanding of the epic scale of the projects being recorded. But also the emotions of those undertaking life-changing construction work. The buildings provide the framework, says Fletcher, but what we’re really watching is a snapshot of a family’s hopes, relationships, frustrations and dreams.
Much of the music I’ve written for film and television has tended towards the darker or more dramatic end of the spectrum, from Britain Under the Nazis (C4) to additional music for On Thin Ice: Putin v Greenpeace (BBC2), as well as music for film trailers. So scoring Grand Designs felt like an opportunity to explore a rather different side of my writing.
But the challenge wasn’t simply about finding a lighter sound. Grand Designs has such a strong musical identity of its own, shaped in large part by David Lowe’s original title music and cues. I was effectively picking up the baton and trying to find a new musical language for the series without losing the qualities that make it feel like Grand Designs.
Lowe’s original title music has always felt like part of the show’s DNA, and I found myself drawn to some of its musical qualities. One of them was his use of the Dorian mode. Without getting too bogged down in music theory, I think of it as having a bittersweet tonal quality – there’s a sense of uncertainty, but it occasionally finds a little lift. That felt like a perfect fit for Grand Designs, where every story is full of setbacks, perseverance and those small victories that gradually build towards something bigger.
That sense of uncertainty shaped my approach to harmony throughout the series. Each episode is a journey, and you rarely know whether everything is going to work out. I often left things tonally open, holding back a full sense of resolution until the right moment, so that when the music finally settled it felt earned, just as the story had.
Composing isn’t so different from the world Grand Designs inhabits. Architecture sits somewhere between engineering and imagination, and music does too. Some parts of the score are incredibly calculated – building tension through repetition, rhythm and carefully controlled harmony – while others are instinctive, emotional and expansive. I found myself writing cues where regimented, staccato layers echoed the mechanics of planning and construction, before opening into soaring legato strings that captured the optimism behind the project. It became a fascinating exercise in writing for both the builders and the dreamers at the same time.
The programme is full of homes that are unusual, individual and anything but typical, so it felt important that the music had a broad palette of colours and textures to match. Strings became the foundation of the score, but I loved weaving in more unusual sounds alongside them. Bowing a waterphone, experimenting with strange textures, recording everyday household sounds and even recording myself playing cello all became part of the palette. I quite liked leaving tiny imperfections from my own performances amongst the more polished recordings by professional players. It gives the music a tactile, human quality, which felt right for a programme that celebrates craftsmanship and the people behind it.
Some of the more emotional cues took on a completely different life once they were performed by live string players. Those tiny variations in timing, pressure and vibrato create a vulnerability that’s difficult to manufacture, and hearing the musicians at HiandLo Music bring those cues to life became one of the most rewarding parts of the process.
The grand reveals were naturally some of my favourite moments to write. They’re the emotional payoff after all the uncertainty, frustration and anticipation. I wanted the music to open up and feel inspiring, but without becoming too triumphant or overstated. There’s something wonderfully British about the restraint of Grand Designs. The reveal isn’t really saying, “Look how impressive this house is.” It’s saying, “Look what these people have achieved.”
That restraint extends beyond the music itself. Kevin McCloud’s narration has such a distinctive cadence and emotional rhythm that part of the job is knowing when to leave space for it. Sometimes the most important musical decision is holding back, allowing the story to breathe before gently carrying the emotion underneath it.
For me, that’s the emotional heart of the programme. The buildings provide the framework, but what we’re really watching is a snapshot of a family’s hopes, relationships, frustrations and dreams. Rather than asking, “What does this house look like?”, I’m always asking, “What does this house mean to the people who’ve built it?”
