When I first encountered the lyrics “Sing me a song of a lass that is gone / Say, could that lass be I?” floating across my social media feed, my initial reaction was one of mild skepticism. It seemed almost too literal, too on-the-nose for a theme song, practically shouting the premise of Outlander from the rooftops: “YES, WE GET IT, CLAIRE TIME TRAVELS!”
However, that initial judgment dissolved the moment I actually heard the Outlander theme song in conjunction with the title sequence. Much like Claire Randall stumbling through the stones at Craigh na Dun, I was instantly, irrevocably captivated. Now, in our household, fast-forwarding through the opening credits is strictly forbidden – a testament to the theme’s undeniable allure, especially considering our binge-watching habits that led to season catch-ups in mere weeks. But what is it about this particular television opening that resonates so deeply?
For me, the answer lies in its ingenious construction, hitting all the right “nerd buttons.” It’s a masterful remix of existing elements, a brilliant embodiment of gender-role reversal, and arguably, the quintessential TV theme song.
Warning: Spoilers ahead for Outlander Seasons 1-5, with potential speculation for Season 6.
While I was aware of Bear McCreary’s impressive portfolio, spanning scores from Battlestar Galactica to 10 Cloverfield Lane, it wasn’t until I delved into the origins of the Outlander theme song that I truly grasped the depth of his genius. He began with the melody of the traditional 1884 Scottish folk song, “The Skye Boat Song.” This isn’t just any generic Scottish tune; it’s a song steeped in history, recounting the daring escape of Bonnie Prince Charlie (!) after the pivotal Battle of Culloden (!!), the very heart of the Jacobite uprising. This connection alone provides incredible foreshadowing and season 2 synergy, even before the pilot episode commences:
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that’s born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunderclouds rend the air;
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.
And so on. Yet, as Bear McCreary himself explained in his insightful “Behind the Music” blog posts, he felt disconnected from Sir H. Boulton’s original lyrics. It was Raya Yarbrough, the vocalist behind every rendition of the Outlander theme, who proposed replacing them with Robert Louis Stevenson’s 1892 poem, “Sing Me a Song of a Lad That Is Gone,” which interestingly, shares the same historical subject matter:
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
Eigg on the starboard bow;
Glory of youth glowed in his soul;
Where is that glory now?
And it continues. However, the foppish Prince Charlie, arguably the least compelling character from season 2, felt like an unsuitable narrator for the opening credits. Ultimately, Outlander isn’t really about any of the men – not Prince Charlie, not Frank, not Black Jack, and not even the beloved Jamie Fraser in the strictest sense. It’s Claire’s story. Thus, Bear McCreary channeled his inner fan and ingeniously gender-swapped Stevenson’s poem. Instead of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s voice, it became Claire’s. And let’s be honest, certain stanzas of the poem resonate far more profoundly with her experience than any male character:
Billow and breeze, islands and seas,
Mountains of rain and sun,
All that was good, all that was fair,
All that was me is gone.
This transformation culminates in a theme song that feels like a brilliantly conceived fanfic remix, or a surprisingly innovative dish on Chopped:
It’s just that good. The moment the drums kick in after “all that was me is gone” as Claire flees through the forest? Pure perfection. /chefskiss
To borrow a phrase from Eliza Schuyler Hamilton, that alone could be “enough.” But the creative minds behind the Outlander opening credits didn’t stop there. Tapping into the nostalgic appeal of the golden age of television openings, they decided to evolve the theme song with each season. Just as many viewers fondly remember appointment television, there’s a genuine longing for TV show openings that dynamically change season after season. The anticipation of a new season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, eagerly awaiting glimpses of what was to come (two Xanders? a rogue monster hand? and of course, Buffy’s signature badass pose) over the next 22 episodes, was a unique treat. Imagine if every season of Game of Thrones subtly foreshadowed future events with fleeting images of Robb Stark’s betrayal, Joffrey’s demise, or Cersei’s fiery vengeance…
To be fair, the Game of Thrones theme is a masterpiece in its own right, perfectly suited to the show’s epic scope. Westeros is a vast, intricate world, demanding a theme that provides a strategic overview from a scholar’s or general’s perspective. Moreover, the plot twists in A Song of Ice and Fire are so monumental that even hinting at them in the opening credits could spoil the viewing experience for many. Outlander, however, opted to reveal not Claire’s physical destination, but her temporal one – contrasting the ancient mystique of the Dance of the Druids at the standing stones with the modern magic of a radio dial.
The series embraces its penchant for relocating to a new country (and sometimes continent) each season. Season 2 transported the Frasers to France, prompting Bear McCreary and his team to replace the traditional Scottish fiddle and drums with a baroque viola de gamba and even incorporate a verse in French:
However, the French sojourn was brief. Jamie and Claire soon returned to Scotland and the looming Battle of Culloden in the season’s latter half. The creators could have easily maintained the French-infused theme. But complacency was not an option. OF COURSE NOT. This was war. The score needed to reflect the military atmosphere, incorporating Scottish snare drums, bagpipes, and visuals of kilted Highlanders facing off against musket-wielding British soldiers:
By season 3, the seasonal evolution of the main titles had solidified into an Outlander tradition. Initially, the changes appeared subtle, but they were there: the radio gave way to a flickering television, broken chains carried profound symbolic weight, and while Scottish elements persisted, they adopted a more somber, reflective tone. Then, instead of adding or substituting, Bear McCreary stripped away the bagpipes – a poignant musical representation of the devastating defeat at Culloden. Every detail, every choice, was meticulously deliberate and deeply meaningful:
Thankfully, the somber mood didn’t linger indefinitely. While the first half of season 2 exuded baroque elegance, the latter half of season 3 was defined by McCreary’s most adventurous decision yet: “I cannot imagine any project other than Outlander that would allow me to set a soaring bagpipe melody over blistering congas!” Echoing the dynamic energy of Hamilton‘s Act 1 finale, “Non-Stop,” this Outlander iteration seamlessly integrated congas and Afro-Cuban rhythms to create a dramatically compelling effect. Pack your bags, everyone, we’re heading to the Caribbean:
Season 4’s credits felt like the most significant departure to date. The Afro-Cuban percussion was replaced by sounds evoking frontier life in America: the fiddle, and as a keen-eared commenter pointed out, banjo and mandolin, reminiscent of the bluegrass tradition that partly evolved from the music Scottish immigrants brought to the New World. Intriguingly, season 4 introduced multiple voices. A spine-tingling moment occurs when Brianna touches the stones during “all that was me is gone,” and suddenly, a chorus of voices harmonizes “Sing me a song of a lass that is gone / Say could that lass be I.” The stretched-out “I” transforms the song from a singular woman singing about her own disappearance into a collective narrative, with multiple women echoing the same tale, each with their own personal inflection.
This show consistently delivers unexpected brilliance:
Then came season 5, which boldly declared, “Hold my 18th-century beer.” In 2020, McCreary completely dispensed with instrumentation, opting for an a cappella choral rendition. While season 4 layered in more voices, seemingly representing Brianna following her mother through time, season 5 featured a multitude of voices, blending hymn-like and folk-song qualities. This presented a new challenge for McCreary, shifting inspiration from geographical location to exploring other forms of American music beyond the bluegrass of season 4. He hinted to Express, “[…] there’s going to be a continuation of the philosophy that music moves to the forefront of the journey. As our story continues in Colonial America, you will hear some near even more bold musical moments.”
“Bold” might be synonymous with “polarizing.” Initial fan reactions were less enthusiastic about this rendition, and it wasn’t my personal favorite either. Something is undeniably lost when a single voice is replaced by many. Claire, initially presented as a singular time traveler, is revealed to be part of a larger group navigating time. Her unique journey to Jamie diminishes in significance; survival in the past becomes the central focus. It’s a challenging shift in perspective.
The updated arrangement seemed to intentionally embrace this dissonance. As Andee Galeno of Nerdeek Life observed in her analysis, the soprano voices sing an octave higher than the others. This “sharpness” in the repeated lines “Sing me a song of a lass that is gone” and “Over the sea to Skye” could be intended to emphasize these phrases, mirroring the visual choices of retaining only the Dance of the Druids and Claire’s running figure from the original credits. If the overarching theme is the Frasers and MacKenzies establishing themselves in America through this season and beyond, then acknowledging and incorporating this tension becomes integral to the song itself.
This establishment of “footing,” as McCreary detailed in his season 5 retrospective, is about planting roots. Rather than adapting the theme to a new location, the focus shifted to how the song evolves as Clan Fraser grows in one place. McCreary noted, “All these versions retained a huge instrumental crescendo at the return to the chorus, the final emotional swell that builds into the title card. This new version would be distinct not because of what was added, but what was removed. Just like the characters in the show, this Main Title Theme was not exploring a new frontier, but instead building something more sophisticated on the foundation we’d already laid down.”
Yet, they didn’t want to completely abandon the impact of Yarbrough’s solo voice. They rerecorded the original theme song, a cappella, to play after the harrowing season 5 finale. This stripped-down rendition of the iconic theme song’s beginning is a fitting choice as Claire begins her journey of healing following the trauma of her assault, reaffirming her commitment to her life in the past.
McCreary also hinted to Express that future theme song iterations might take different directions: “I think that will be my challenge moving forward, not completely reinventing the main title but finding way of tweaking it now that we’re planting a flag in American soil for the next couple of seasons.”
For season 6 – arriving two years after the previous season, into a world irrevocably altered by the pandemic – that “tweak” appears to fundamentally challenge the original Outlander theme song‘s premise:
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.
YES, THAT’S A MAN’S VOICE. After all this time with our cherished gender-swapped “Skye Boat Song,” a male voice joins Yarbrough. Griogair Labhruidh, who McCreary mentions having contributed to cues in seasons 2 and 5, lends his voice, quoting Robert Louis Stevenson and evoking echoes of Bonnie Prince Charlie. However, it seems clear that this voice represents Jamie – his narrative now interwoven with Claire’s, both returning to the roots of the theme song while simultaneously venturing into new territory.
It’s a bold move, initially jarring, potentially perceived as diminishing the song’s Claire-centric perspective. However, every transformation of the theme has been carefully considered. Season 5 introduced multiple voices to contextualize Claire’s existence within a broader community of time travelers. Now, the series’ core focus has shifted from Claire’s initial decision to travel through time to her unwavering commitment to Jamie. Therefore, a thematic shift reflecting their strengthened partnership and mutual understanding feels appropriate. For this reason, I’m willing to embrace this change and trust the creative rationale behind it. Furthermore, Labhruidh delivers a beautiful Gaelic translation of the theme:
“Altering a series main title is a risky move,” McCreary acknowledged when discussing the season 2 changes. “The entire point of a main title is to be consistent from episode to episode, building a relationship with the audience.” While consistency has its merits, when does familiarity devolve into monotony? Do TV audiences truly forge a meaningful connection with a static title card and a few seconds of music, or does it simply become a routine prelude to the episode itself, easily skipped?
Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser’s relationships are as complex and unpredictable as the lines on her palm: with Frank, then Jamie, then back to Frank, then reunited with Jamie. As she navigates time and continents, aging and transforming in one timeline while giving birth in another, encountering old friends for the first time and rediscovering lost loves, viewers must navigate her intricate journey alongside her. She, and we, deserve a theme song that evolves with the show, mirroring its current chapter before shedding that identity and embracing a new one.
Let’s champion the return of opening credits that resonate with the show’s tone – the high-energy fun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the charming folksiness of Firefly‘s “You Can’t Take the Sky From Me,” the whimsical journey through the cosmos offered by Futurama. These dynamic openings should be the norm, not the exception. They remind us that even if we’ve read the books or think we know what to expect, a show can still surprise us.
Originally published in August 2018, and updated in March 2022.
By Natalie Zutter
