10 Times Music Shaped Middle-Earth
Here are some of our favorite Tolkien enchantments. What are yours?
Music is inherently connected to J.R.R. Tolkien’s mythology. It is how his world comes into being with the creation myth, the Ainulindalë. It is also literally part of the DNA of Tolkien’s Elvish languages, since sonority and phonetics played a key part in their devising and appeal. We’ve looked at the roll of names in this regard to the overall aesthetic power of Tolkien’s storytelling. We’ve looked at questions around the influence of German composer Richard Wagner, as both an ambient figure in early 20th century art, but also Tolkien’s works as a counterpoint. We’ve also connected Tolkien to modern music and pop culture. And that’s all before we get to the extensive poems throughout Tolkien’s stories, many of them memorable and foundational to the thematic structure of his grand vision. So here are some of our favorite moments when music plays a role in Middle-earth:
Ainulindalë — At the outset of The Silmarillion, Tolkien presents his meta architecture for all of his myths, which expresses itself in a handful of key symbols: trees, jewels and rings. Running throughout all of them however, is the Music of the Ainur — or “Ainulindalë” in Elvish — the song of angels, which is the interplay of God’s own spiritual imagination. Called Ilúvatar, or Eru, the One, this omniscient consciousness kindles the imperishable fire at the heart of the known universe, giving birth to Eä, the World that Is, and hence, Middle-earth. This music is in everything, giving eloquent life to Tolkien’s artistic view of how the world works, or how it works beyond human comprehension. In other words, the music of the mind — Myth.
Yavanna’s Song — After the Ainur create the World with Ilúvatar, some go into Creation to help bring it to life and steward it within the principles of matter, space and time. The most powerful of these become the Valar, while they are also joined by many other lesser deities, angels called the Maiar. The Maiar also help fill the ranks of the Valar’s estranged brother, Melkor. These include demonic beings like Sauron, the Balrogs, and Ungoliant. Skirmishes and battles break out between the two divine forces, one of them leading to the destruction of the two orbed Lamps of the Valar: silver Illuin and golden Ormal. After this tumult, three of the Valar bring a new age of light to the World, or Arda. Yavanna sings two holy trees into being on the green mound of Ezellohar, both of which give off a divine light, one silver and one golden, named Telperion and Laurelin respectively. Nienna’s tears nourish the trees into full flower, and Varda captures their glowing dews in great wells, their combined light inspiring the Elf smith Fëanor to create the three Silmarils, jewels that capture the bioluminescence of the Two Trees, and later spark the great wars of the First Age.
Ulmo and the Sea — One can see how these ideas and names tumbled and flowed out of Tolkien’s imagination much as a composer daydreams and plays music into being. To express this power in nature and story, Tolkien turned to water, a core element of life. This property is the domain of Ulmo, the Vala of the rivers, rains, lakes and seas — Lord of Waters, “He is alone.” The Elves believe his spirit runs in all of the veins of the world, from ocean deeps to underground lakes to mountain springs. He also makes music with great horns made of white seashell, the Ulumúri. For “those to whom that music comes hear it ever after in their hearts, and longing for the sea never leaves them again.” Ever connected to the affairs of mortals, they hear Ulmo always in the music of water, in the running of streams or the crashing of waves. In the great events of the First Age, he counsels and directs many of its heroes, including Turgon, who he unveils the secret valley of Tumladen, where the great city of Gondolin is built. Ulmo also brings Tuor to Gondolin, where he meets Idril, and together they raise their son, Eärendil, the great mariner who saves Middle-earth. There is Finrod Felagund too, who Ulmo advises in the establishment of the great Elven realm of Nargothrond, a network of caverns by the river Narog.
Finrod and Bëor — Finrod Felagund, the King of Nargothrond, is one of the great Elven lords of The Silmarillion: wise, brave and kind. He travels far and wide through the western lands of Beleriand. He is also one of the first High Elves to meet humans, or the Edain. He finds them encamped in the eastern part of Beleriand, a land of seven rivers called Ossiriand. There, as they sleep, he pulls up a harp that their leader, the chieftain Bëor, has laid aside, and begins to play its strings and sing. As they wake, Bëor’s tribe become enchanted as “hearts grew wiser that hearkened to him.” From that encounter and Finrod’s music, a great friendship begins between Elves and humans, which includes Finrod’s pledge of loyalty to Bëor and his descendants, which he upholds in his critical aid to the human hero Beren, hence helping in the eventual overthrow of Melkor.
Finrod Felagund greets the House of Bëor with music in eastern Beleriand. Artwork by Ted Nasmith. Lúthien and Sauron — Finrod Felagund, the greatest of all the princes of the Noldor, honors his oath to Barahir, Beren’s father, when Beren comes to the Elf realm of Nargothrond, asking for Finrod’s help in his quest to reclaim a Silmaril from Melkor (Morgoth). Finrod, always honorable and just, joins Beren on his impossible mission, bringing some of his bravest warriors. Disguised as Orcs, they make their way through the Pass of Sirion toward Morgoth’s fortress, Angband. But passing Tol Sirion, an island haunted by Sauron and his werewolves, they are discovered. Finrod and Sauron vie in a great contest of songs of power, where Finrod strives to keep Beren and their company safe, but in the end is overcome. Captured and thrown into the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, it is there that Lúthien, the great Elf heroine of the First Age, comes to Beren’s aid, singing a song to find them, and is answered in kind by Beren’s own song of defiance. Sauron, hearing Lúthien’s challenge, transforms into Wolf-Sauron and does battle with the great Hound of Valinor — Huan — her loyal protector. After Huan defeats Sauron, Lúthien’s own song of power loosens the stones of Sauron’s fortress, toppling its walls and tower, freeing its many slaves.
Gildor and the Elves at Woody End — The motifs of Tolkien’s mythology are so intricate yet tensile that they appear and reappear in the most surprising ways, just as melody or song winds and beguiles the mind. The public first experienced Tolkien’s Elves with The Hobbit, which was written for his own children and thus carries a more stereotypical fairy tale mode, i.e. it is more silly and fun in tone. When we first meet his Elves, they are singing “Oh, tra-la-la-lally” as Bilbo and the Dwarves enter Rivendell. So when we first meet Elves in The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien elevates the tone ever so subtly but clearly, when they run into Frodo, Sam and Merry as they make their way for Crickhollow, before they head to the Prancing Pony in Bree to reunite with Gandalf. Critically, they enter right as one of the Black Riders is about to discover Frodo in the first truly scary scene in the book. Frodo is tempted to put on the One Ring but the sound of “laughter mingled with song” scares off the rider. Then we hear them singing a song in praise of Varda — or Elbereth Gilthoniel — and the vaunted heavens with its many stars. It’s an enchanting scene that moves the Elves, the hobbits, and the reader into a deeper register of myth. “O Light to us that wander here / Amid the world of woven trees!” the Elves sing, as Frodo and his friends are greatly relieved. As the Elves walk by them on the road, their leader notices Frodo. His name is Gildor Inglorion, he tells the hobbits, “of the House of Finrod.” This is no random melody, but a profound echo, for it connects back to Finrod’s own kindness and his declaration of Bëor as “Elf-friend,” a designation that bestows protection on non-Elves. Frodo is named Elf-friend as well by Gildor. Walkers under the stars and moon, the Elves and their song provide a “music” or an alternating reality tied to the night, a dimension of magic that thereon Tolkien taps into masterfully throughout his wandering epic.
Tom Bombadil and Old Man Willow — In the same chapter that Frodo and his friends are rescued by Gildor Inglorion and his High Elves in the Woody End of the Shire, Frodo sings a version of Bilbo’s walking song, “The Road Goes Ever On” at the outset of their adventure. Later, the hobbits sing another walking song about approaching home, hearth and bed. The singing of hobbits is part of what makes The Lord of the Rings approachable itself, delighting and distracting the reader from just how dark the book truly is. Twice Frodo, Sam and Pippin can’t help but hum and sing, each time possibly drawing the attention of the Black Riders. At Crickhollow in Buckland, they sing two more songs, one when they bathe and another that Frodo’s friends have prepared especially to the same tune as the dwarf-song that Thorin and Company sang in Bag-End in The Hobbit, to celebrate their own departure from The Shire. What follows once they leave is considered one of the stranger episodes in all of Tolkien’s fiction: the Old Forest and Tom Bombadil. Deep into the woven trees they go, thick with mystery and confusion as they eventually become lost, Frodo even trying to sing a song to cheer up his companions, faltering as he says the line “For east or west all woods must fail…” which is followed by a falling branch. It is by the river Withywindle that things take a deeper turn into the strange, when they fall asleep by a giant willow tree by the water. Turns out, it’s Old Man Willow, who tries to drown Frodo, swallow Pippin and crush Merry. Desperate, Frodo and Sam call for help and hear someone singing, who turns out to be Bombadil — a forest jester with magical and divine powers. He “knows the tune for” Old Man Willow, he says. “I’ll sing his roots off.” And so he does — “Eat earth! Dig deep! Drink water! Go to sleep!” — freeing Merry and Pippin from his grip. It’s Tolkien’s declaration that poetry and folksongs are a major force to be reckoned with.
Frodo at the Prancing Pony — Some scholars have speculated that Bombadil is in fact a Maiar, or even Ilúvatar himself. Whatever the matter, like Gildor and the Black Rider, Bombadil and Old Man Willow once again intensify the deep mythological rhythms of Tolkien’s masterwork, contrasting danger with narrow rescues, each time increasing the reader’s unconscious awareness of luck and fate, which in Middle-earth is essentially the same thing. Bombadil was best left out of The Lord of the Rings films. He is not critical to the plot, but part of its ambient superstructure of dark and light, the music of tension and release. This method of circadian logic is incredibly important at all times, however, when the plot does take a major turn. Frodo’s mishap at the Prancing Pony is one of those times, and it illustrates when the singing charm of the hobbits runs out on luck. Or so it seems. Put on the spot, this time there is no Bombadil to bail them out. When Pippin blabs to the local hobbits of Bree about Bilbo Baggins’ going away party, afraid he’s going to give away their cover, Frodo hops onto a table and starts to talk in an effort to distract the bar. His plan backfires though when he is then asked to sing a song. Center stage, Frodo sings a song about the cow jumping over the moon: “The Man in the Moon was drinking deep / and the cat began to wail / A dish and a spoon on the table danced / The cow in the garden madly pranced / and the little dog chased his tail…”
But when he’s asked for an encore, he obliges foolishly, his success going to his head. Dancing as he sings, he jumps in the air as he belts the final line, knocking over a tray filled with mugs of ale. He then falls and disappears as the Ring somehow slips onto his finger. Silence! All of a sudden, everything jumps a beat. The power of the One Ring breaks the flow of time, and creates a deeper and darker dimension — one devoid of benevolence, where Frodo perceives the fiery consciousness of Sauron. Frodo’s fall from the table is also a foreshadowing of his long slide into temptation. The bungling of his dance at the Prancing Pony is a profound thematic counterpoint. Was it luck or was it fate? Once again, one and the same. His bond with the Ring grows stronger. The Dark Lord flips the musical chairs of the orchestra.
Frodo sings and vanishes at the Prancing Pony. Artwork by Alan Lee. Goblins in Moria and Mordor — As the film critic Anthony Lane once noted, Tolkien was a master of rhythm. Not just in the tempo of stories, but in how he built up great themes into interlocking and striding momentum, best exemplified in his passages of danger and action. The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm chapter is probably one of his best, because it builds anticipation to a fever-pitch, climaxing with Gandalf’s standoff with the Balrog. Part of that energy is channeled through the goblins of Moria, especially the sound of “doom, doom” drums in the deep. Not only is Tolkien giving us a percussive beat to his storytelling, but he’s also foreshadowing something awful, the “doom” that one cannot yet imagine — Gandalf’s fall. This driving rhythm is then used from thereon to communicate the martial enslavement of the Orcs, as well as their taunts, whether it’s the relentless march of the Uruk-Hai across Rohan, the battling-ram siege of Minas Tirith — Grond! Grond! Grond! — or the punishing pace and lashes of Mordor: “Where there’s a whip there’s a will, my slugs.”
Elves in Rivendell — It’s not surprising that all this melody and rhythm is part of Tolkien’s grand design. Little in his biography speaks to a musical upbringing, though Tolkien’s mother, Mabel, and his wife, Edith, were highly sensitive to the arts and music. Mostly, however, language is the key. Which brings us back to the Elvish languages that Tolkien invented. While we hear these languages spoken throughout The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien’s most fully rendered movements come in the form of Rivendell and Lothlórien. It is in Rivendell, especially, that we get a full vision of Elvish enchantment as heard and seen by Frodo. There, rested, in the Hall of Fire, Frodo is reunited with Bilbo, who asks Aragorn to help him finish writing a song, which turns out to be about Eärendil and Elwing, tying back to the Silmarils and the Two Trees. When they leave for the night, the Elves keep singing, immersing the reader and Frodo in ever deeper echoes. “He stood still enchanted,” Tolkien wrote, “while the sweet syllables of the elvish song fell like clear jewels of blended word and melody.” Ever again, music — and the mythic.
Please tell us about your favorite musical moments in the Comments below, or share them on social media. If you want to know more about why Tolkien’s mythology is so attuned to music, read Part Two and Three in our series, The Mixed Heritage of Tolkien’s Myth.