Few television theme tunes are so recognisable, and few have enjoyed as long a shelf life, as the Doctor Who theme. Nor, as the composer Murray Gold is learning, as he scores new versions and offshoots of the theme for the forthcoming third series of the revived drama (from March 24), are people protective of other famous tunes in quite the way they are about the short piece of music first conceived in the BBC’s Radiophonic Workshop 44 years ago. The middle eight, or bridge, section that Ron Grainer and Delia Derbyshire included in their first arrangement is a case in point.

“I did compare it to Band Aid once,” sighs Gold, who began working on Doctor Who when it was relaunched, with Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper, in 2005. (He’s quite right; the chuntering, off-puttingly merry bridge section anticipates the woeful, if well-intentioned, charity single, and strikes many as glaringly out of place.) “And that was obviously taken out of context on hundreds of blogs.”

Gold omitted the middle eight from his first reworking of the theme, which used samples of the original piece, along with orchestral sounds and effects such as the wheeze the Tardis emits as it materialises, and the Daleks’ ray gun. But he did so only, he insists, because of time constraints. “And then it was broadcast before I got round to doing a second section.” He tried, he says, not to think or care about how the die-hards would receive this. “I used to call myself a Doctor Who fan until I discovered what a Doctor Who fan is,” he laughs. “And they are very internet-savvy. You’re talking about something that a small group of people care about very much, and in the world of the internet, that can be overemphasised. I don’t think you can work creatively if you’re anxious about every single step. You shouldn’t approach something thinking, ‘Uh-oh, this is a sacred cow.’” So he didn’t.

But a sacred cow the theme certainly is. Its genesis and history offer material for endless debate, point-scoring and one-upmanship. Keepers of the flame can get into an awful state in the chat rooms, and will no doubt greet Gold’s more insouciant utterances with much gnashing of teeth. Yet the composer’s approach is of a piece with that of the new series’ script-writer, Russell T Davies.

Gold’s statement that “As a matter of taste, I didn’t do what I had at the back of my mind, which was to fill out the theme with orchestral instruments; and then, as a matter of function, I did” could be seen as a red rag to a bull. But it’s also testament to the attitude that has rescued the drama from oblivion and written it a new chapter of family-viewing high ratings and critical acclaim. Respecting the metaphorical richness that existed within the kitsch melodramatics of the early Doctor, Davies curled his lip at the wince-inducing absurdities and low-production naffness of later series. Gold merely showed a similar mix of respect and disdain when it came to the score. “This isn’t about updating the canon,” he argues. “Yet that word is something you encounter in Doctor Who circles, which is revealing, given its religious overtones.”

Derbyshire, who died in 2001 after a long career of pioneering, and in some cases revolutionary, work in the field of electronic music, would surely have agreed. She had, after all, seen her theme ransacked (by the Timelords’ teeth-itchingly unfunny Doctorin’ the Tardis), lampooned (Bill Bailey restyled it Dr Qui in a memorable bad-jazz version) and lifted from by, among others, Pink Floyd, the Pogues and Slipknot.

Scandalously, Derbyshire was reportedly denied a co-writing credit (never mind a share of the royalties) by hidebound BBC rules and regs. The woman who took Grainer’s written suggestions on the initial score of “sweeps”, “swoops”, “wind cloud” and “wind bubble” — and, using valve oscillators that had never been intended for musical use, turned them into the eerie sound pictures familiar to millions — was kept in the background. “The sort of person she was,” says Gold, approvingly, “you don’t even get that in rock’n’roll. She was really uncompromising as an artist. It’s easy to dismiss that now. Such people can just be made to seem cranky.” Just like the Doctor.

Derbyshire grew up in Coventry during the Blitz, and once ascribed her sonic curiosity thus: “My love for abstract sounds came from the air-raid sirens. And the sound of the all-clear: that was electronic music. I was moved to Preston. The sounds of clogs on cobbles must have been a big influence — that percussive sound of all the mill workers going to work at six in the morning.” What a wonderfully unstuffy person she sounds. And how sad that she’s not around to try the web page — www.bbc.co.uk/doctorwho/classic/news/radiophonatron.shtml — where visitors can mix their own version of the theme. Options include “weewah woo”, “bingy bong” and “Scottish hamster”. Has Gold ever tried the hamster? “No,” he says, “but I have heard of pigs being used as percussion instruments in Brazil. You dig them under the ribs and they oink.” One for the next series, perhaps.

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