The Music of The Rings of Power

J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Silmarillion begins with the creation myth, Ainulindalë, in which Arda, or the Earth, came to be by the power of music. In the same spirit, Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings Trilogy would not have reached its cultural stature without Howard Shore’s sheer musical ingenuity. Music is the foundation of all. And thus The Rings of Power appropriately visualises sounds through cymatics in its wonderfully understated opening titles — the ebb and flow of vibrating particles paired with a theme written by Shore, characterised by ethereal vocals that are likely informed by the Ainurs; until a more sinister tone takes over, the way Melkor disrupts Ilúvatar’s intricate symphony of creation. But the dominant motif returns once more as Ilúvatar seizes back control like a king back on its throne, as Tolkien writes: “it took to itself power and profundity”. Middle Earth would be nothing without its music, as Tolkien alludes and the audience agreed.

How does one take up Shore’s baton and make it their own? McCreary knows he has to do things the same way: profound thematic resonance, evocative of magic but also of realism, grandeur and intimacy delivered in the same stroke. These are music that paint races and kingdoms, to be played in tandem with the most striking imageries possible. They need to give you goosebumps, but they also have to be cohesive and idiosyncratically of Middle Earth. This is a tall order even for someone as accomplished as McCreary, and thus it gives me so much pleasure to report that, he’s got it. Rest easy.

The Rings of Power begins with the idyllic childhood of Galadriel in Valinor. “Galadriel”/“In the Beginning” sets sail our protagonist’s destiny: a theme defined by lyrical elegance and pensive sorrow, it appears to foreshadow all the grief and adversity she is to endure in eons to come. As Galadriel’s narration — “we have no words for death, for we thought our joys would be unending” — juxtaposes with her brother’s lone silhouette against their great elvendom, the music is at once majestic and foreboding. When her leitmotif becomes percussive and ritardando in emphasis, there is a strong sense of impact to reverberate across time and space, fitting for a character holding so much power and knowledge.

The theme plays almost every time she is the focus of the scene, most notably when she boards the Númenórean ship in full armour (“Sailing into the Dawn”) and leads the cavalry charge into the Southlands (“Cavalry”), where Galadriel — and her music — are as beautiful as she is fierce. It also serves as a formidable reminder to both the character and the audience whenever she must make an impossible choice (“The Boat”, “True Creation Requires Sacrifice”): her theme represents the innate sense of morality that she must not cast aside, but to be proclaimed with pride.

One of the most endearingly written characters on this show is Elrond. McCreary graced him a theme worthy of a Disney princess — evocative of the golden accents of Lindon, the gentle glow of the sun, and a temperament “as kind as summer” (“Elrond Half-elven”). A true compliment to Robert Aramayo’s profoundly empathetic performance, the opening clarinet solo gives the character both warmth and depth, with the string section and choir gradually reinforcing the same. This is Middle Earth’s “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun”: light and ethereal like air, but with a salient humanistic touch. Knowing what’s in store for Elrond, it is all the more meaningful to understand who he is at his core: a man of fellowship, in spite of greed, violence and despair. His music reflects in him a purity untouched by what he will soon witness, and a genuine love for the world he inhabits.

Within the first second of “Khazad-dûm”, it is already unmistakably dwarven, and — as the kids say — a total bop. The depth offered by this simple motif that does not go beyond an octave matches beautifully with the majestic geography of Moria. The combination of a male choir with heavy brass and percussion is a no-brainer for our favourite mountain-dwellers, but I particularly love that female voices join in during the recapitulation, the same way we finally get to see female dwarves on screen.

Speaking of, the indomitable Sophia Nomvete, performed a chant (“A Plea to the Rocks”) in character as Princess Disa, and it was literally earth-shattering. But before Disa started vocalising, it is noteworthy that the first half of this track played against the rescue of Theo by Bronwyn and Arondir, a gorgeous slow-motion action sequence as the daylight forces the orcs to remain in the shadows. A mother’s love, as natural and powerful as the sunrise. Back to Khazad-dûm, Disa’s “resonance” is similarly connected to the power of nature; her voice transcendental enough to reach both heaven and earth in an emotive display of dwarven spirituality. Like all the best religious music, it serves as both a fervent appeal and cathartic release. What a spine-chilling voice Nomvete is blessed with, and how lucky we are to hear it.

The “Númenor” theme, as McCreary noted, is heavily inspired by Middle Eastern instruments and chord progressions; and encapsulates a palpable sense of pride for a civilisation that, we will eventually know, is ready to fall. The theme thrives on a militaristic rhythm as the western isle is revealed in all its ambition and glory; but it’s the coda that gives the Númenóreans a proper heart and spirit, and within it a capacity for hope that soars beyond the stratosphere, unscathed even by great waves and broken lines of kings, “unto the ending of the world”.

It is intriguing to me that a theme is dedicated to both father and son (“Elendil and Isildur”), and I think it speaks volumes on what’s in store for them. We are well aware that both are major actors in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, and it’s evident that this series will give us the full emotional context leading up to their fateful hour in Barad-dûr. The father is a man of duty and the son a skeptic; one plants himself like a tree while the other is always on the run; a shared grief for their wife/mother pulling them further apart when it should have done the opposite. I love that the trumpet solo is played so gently and sustained, yearning and aching for affection that both Elendil and Isildur withheld from each other. But with fallibility also comes heart, as the theme bleeds into a Númenórean cadence, we are reminded that they are fighters tenacious enough to match the will of Sauron. Only that the closing chimes are distinctly ominous, signifying Elendil and Isildur’s respective fates…

“White Leaves” is a masterclass in how to weave together musical themes to serve a pivotal sequence. It played as Queen Regent Míriel struggles to make a decision that will either tore her nation apart, or honour it: will Númenor regret the departure of Galadriel, who now presents an opportunity to rise to the heroics their isle was built upon? Here we hear Galadriel’s theme sung by a mournful female voice, as well as the somber hums of the Númenor theme. Then a miracle materialises: as the leaves of Nimloth dance across Númenor — warning and blessing in equal measure — the Elendil and Isildur theme reemerges. Many would know that Isildur is instrumental in ensuring the survival and blossom of the White Tree, which eventually finds root in Gondor. The concatenating flow of the violins surges with Míriel’s impassioned call to valour; and when they were answered, the Númenórean march and its coda played in tandem to a potent finish.

It’s difficult not to fall in love with the Harfoots right on sight. Their introductory scene is the epitome of rustic charm, and McCreary just ran with the immaculate world-building of this sequence with as much folk instruments he can fit in as possible (“Harfoot Life”). If there is a soundtrack to baking breads and herding sheep, this would be it. It is also a genuine delight every time he makes music with Celtic influences (he is an expert by now, after all those years scoring Outlander) — tethering the Harfoots to a real-world civilisation makes tangible their culture and dispositions.

Cutting from the same musical tapestry, the “Nori Brandyfoot” theme is as whimsical and sprightly as its eponymous adventuress; but it was when it recurs in a scene I deem to be the living, beating heart of this series — the moment Nori bids her family farewell before departing for an adventure with the Stranger — that its full emotional weight is felt (“Wise One”). In episode one, the ever-inquisitive Nori asks her mother, “Haven’t you ever wondered what else is out there? How far the river flows, or where the sparrows learn the new songs they sing in spring?” Now, on the cusp of a journey that Marigold, against all trepidations of a parent, urged her daughter to go on, she gives her blessing: find where the river runs, where the sparrow learn their songs; you don’t have to be careful — you’ll be bold. As Nori feels torn between the yearning for a destiny that awaits her, and the heartache for what she will leave behind, McCreary’s impassioned arrangement of her theme pulled absolutely no punches in tugging on its listeners’ heartstrings.

Despite the sanguine and hardy nature of the Harfoots, grief is also an old friend, and no character embodies the melancholy of being a Harfoot more than Poppy, as it is revealed that she’s lost her entire family during a migration. “This Wandering Day”, as sung by Megan Richards, captures both the romanticism and reality of their nomadic ways: they lead simple lives and retain an optimistic outlook out of sheer necessity to their survival. Tolkien’s words for Aragorn — “not all those who wander are lost” — as incorporated into the lyrics, serves as the tenet of their peripatetic existence: home is whatever soil they set their feet on, and wherever their community takes root.

The motif of “The Stranger” is first heard in the series title announcement, and even then its enigmatic quality came through, luring you into a magical adventure you didn’t know you wanted. The brilliance of this theme is that whenever it played, and in whatever context — up until we truly know the Stranger’s allegiance — it remains as neutral as possible. It doesn’t ring sweet the way Elrond or Nori’s themes do, nor does it bear the signature malevolence of Mordor and its dwellers. Instead, it sounded like a Van Gogh painting, a dreamlike soundscape armed with the hypnotic qualities of flutes and harps, where musical notes meander across the night sky of midsummer’s eve — beautiful, mysterious and hazy to match Daniel Weyman’s largely non-verbal yet invigorating performance.

“Bronwyn and Arondir” is as sweeping and passionate as you are ever going to get for a romantic theme. I can hear hints of McCreary’s previous work for Outlander and even Richard Wagner’s Tristan & Isolde — and appropriately so, given that these two are the star-crossed lovers of The Rings of Power. The phrasing and instrumentation is very conscious of creating a dialogue; and in this case, an exchange of heart and soul on the deepest level, whispers of promises to hold dear: we will fight alongside each other, we will protect each other, we will plant these seeds in our garden — “life, in defiance of death”.

“Sauron” is clearly a musical cousin to the Mordor and Uruk-hai themes by Shore, and the archetypical Dark Lord™ music of this soundtrack. But let’s talk about “Halbrand”, the annoyingly and hilariously deceptive theme for the false King of the Southlands. It works completely at Halbrand’s command, morphing and evolving to fit whatever circumstances he manipulated everyone into. A mysterious figure with obscure motives stranded at sea, but somehow plunged into the depths to save our protagonist? Sure. A forlorn, dejected heir to a lost throne, struggling to earn repentance? Sure. A warrior knight, beaming with purpose and gallantry, fighting alongside someone who trusted him? Sure. The usage of this theme even extended to encapsulate the entirety of the Southlanders, as if he really is their divine leader. But as the season finale revealed that Sauron has indeed been hiding in plain sight the whole time, nothing screams a self-inflated ego more than a heroic theme that, with hindsight, sounded so incredibly ironic, as if Sauron made McCreary wrote it at gunpoint.

Also, I must point out that the most delicious and lascivious piece of foreshadowing this show offered, is how the Halbrand theme is appropriated directly from Galadriel’s. Go listen to it again. “Bind yourself to me”, “if I could hold onto that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it to my very being”, “you bind me to the light, and I bind you to power”: Sauron literally took one-half of Galadriel and made it his own — he may as well doodle their portmanteau on a notebook. While I think McCreary probably should go to hell for this (jk), it feeds perfectly into the twisted, provocative chemistry between the Dark Lord and the Lady of Light, and their rather necessary symbiosis. We’re so alike. But are they really? The answer lies in the last note in the Galadriel motif: when transposed, it is different from that of Halbrand’s.

In the climax of the season finale, we bear witness to the creation of the Three Elven Rings, a magnificent sequence that is the culmination of earnest friendships, ungodly betrayals and hard-earned wisdom (“True Creation Requires Sacrifice”). The presence of “Galadriel” and “Elrond Half-elven” while they each watch their prized keepsake melting into something greater than they both are is a beautiful touch, infusing profound personal context into an era-defining event. And how better to craft a theme for the Rings of Power than to write a melody (“Where the Shadows Lie”) that goes with the Ring Verse, which is the backbone of this series?

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them,
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

Taking advantage of the lyrical quality of Tolkien’s prose, McCreary carried on the tradition from the Jackson trilogies of having an end credit song, with Fiona Apple lending her haunting vocals as she enunciates every word with great fervor. Its ominous quality will surely remind viewers of Emiliana Torrini’s “Gollum’s Song” from The Two Towers, and indeed, the way the camera pans out from Sauron to Mount Doom mirrors the closing shot of that film, too. As the song played through the credits, we are promised of more perils to come… Is the Shadow only a small and passing thing? Can the people of Middle Earth find light and high beauty? We know how the story ends, but a price will have to be paid. More rings of power will be made, more souls will be corrupted, more dangerous Middle Earth will be. What do we hold onto, then? That there is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for. The symphony goes on — let’s make it good.

Author’s note: Though it has taken me ages to finish, I’ve had the best fun writing this piece during lunchtimes, commute and ungodly sleepless hours… I am neither classically trained in music theory nor by any means a good musician, I just love programmatic music a ridiculous amount. While the power of music lies in abstraction, trying to describe them in prose is my way of appreciating not just the tunes, but also the dramatic tension they are written for. I have such affinity for this iteration of Middle Earth and I hope this piece, if you have been skeptical, would compel you to move past beyond the noise and give this show a chance. Namárië.

Source: https://medium.com/@cherrynghh/the-music-of-the-rings-of-power-360a17010536

About the Music in The Rings of Power