The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, by
Howard Shore
Genres: Film Score, Modern Classical
Released: November 20, 2001
Label: Reprise Records
Having been emboldened by people somehow thinking my thoughts on
The Planets were legible, I felt the need to revisit some childhood nostalgia, namely the score to
the Lord of the Rings, because I watched the first movie about a month ago and reviewed it on Letterboxd, which I might link in the comments if anyone asks nicely for it. Writing about its music seemed the natural next step, so I guess this could be a considered a companion piece. Anyway,
Howard Shore is a Canadian composer who, aside from his work on the
Lord of the Rings and
The Hobbit trilogies has also frequently collaborated with David Cronenberg, most notably on his
Naked Lunch adaptation. Then he scored
Lord of the Rings, which overshadowed his other accomplishments because it’s just that impressive, like almost everything else about those movies. I’d recommend watching the movies first, because there might be mild or severe spoilers, but still, it has good music, and it deserves analysis.
“The Prophecy” barely sounds anything like the prologue it’s supposed to accompany, and it’s a damn shame, because what made it into the final cut had an atmosphere that this simply lacks because the Ring leitmotif isn’t the primary focus. It’s there briefly, but it’s not the basis of the piece as it should be, it doesn’t feel quite right without the breathing rhythm Howard Shore prescribed the motif, so what results is generic epicness that doesn’t gel with the rest of the music, so I assume it must’ve been composed early in development before the movie was released. It’s not bad by any stretch, it just feels completely different from everything else this score has to offer. It does lead into the next piece nicely, however, giving a small sense of the next chapter of Middle-Earth’s history.
“Concerning Hobbits”, named for the first book’s prologue, is a beautiful imitation of folk music in a classical context; it has all the folk instrumentation you’d expect from the British Isles: tin whistle, fiddle, acoustic guitar, accordion, bodhrán, and maybe also hammered dulcimer somewhere in the background, but I’m not entirely sure. It does an admirable job of recreating the simplicity of folk music, to the point where you can probably get a sense of how it will play out if you have basic knowledge of scales, but I don’t mean that as a point against its favour, it’s only a reflection of the simple nature of the culture this motif is attributed to. The rest of the orchestra takes a backseat for most of the track, letting the folk instrumentation have its moment while the strings mostly just provide staccato interjections, though they do have some beautiful legato moments that give the music a sudden sense of openness.
“The Shadow of the Past” begins with one of several leitmotifs for Gollum, the creature who possessed the Ring longer than anyone else. At this rate, I’ve said the word “leitmotif” so many times it might bear explanation: leitmotif is a musical term for recurring themes and phrases throughout a composition that are tied to particular places, people, props, or even ideas, and Lord of the Rings is full of them. This particular motif is an oboe solo over, assuming I’m remembering correctly, Gandalf telling Frodo about the Ring’s origins, which transitions to one of the most jarring and severely unsettling passages of music Shore’s yet transcribed: the Mordor leitmotif in its full glory, or rather, a Sauron leitmotif that’s often used to represent Mordor as a whole.
If you’re at all wondering why it sounds so virulently wrong that your ears might want to reject your headphones, remember the Ring leitmotif that opened the movie. Shore described it as having a sort of breathing rhythm, and what little sheet music I’ve found has supported this with sustained quarter notes and accent ties that last entire measures, making the music deceptively pretty. The Mordor motif is basically that but truncated in a way that makes it so jarring that if you’ve picked up on the Ring motif and are expecting that because of the precedent that’s been set, the rest of the passage passes by so quickly that it becomes an aural jolt. What happens instead is muted trumpets and a rhaita (a Moroccan reed instrument) playing the first three notes, then everything that’s supposed to happen in between that and the final note being completely ignored, replaced by a triplet so abrupt that the music itself sounds like it’s gasping for breath.
Basically, the beautiful duplicity has been stripped away, and there’s only raw, undistilled evil in musical form. Also, the trombone part could very well be referencing the “Dies Irae” chant; if you’re not familiar with that name, do yourself a favour and listen to
Berlioz’s “Symphonie Fantastique” right now; it’s fucking everywhere in classical music in various forms if you know what you’re looking for, but “Symphonie Fantastique” is what immediately comes to mind because of the similar melodies. Granted, the music here goes “D, B, C, A, D, G*, A, F” while the fragment of “Dies Irae” I’m talking about goes “E, D, E, C, D, B, C, C”, but the effect achieved is very much the same, and it perfectly fits Sauron’s stature of Middle-Earth’s avatar of evil. We also get a brief preview of the Nazgûl leitmotif; it’s severely abbreviated, but it warms you up nicely for what’s to come, especially with the bass drum that’s only gotten louder and more insistent since Mordor’s first proper musical introduction. Then it comes full circle with the Gollum motif; the threat has been fully realized, and it’s time to sod off.
And off they sod in “The Treason of Isengard”, but not before another motif is introduced: “the Seduction of the Ring”, which is sung by a boy’s choir punctuated by soft bass drum strokes. In the movie, you’ll hear it whenever someone’s tempted by the Ring, though it’s been long enough since I’ve seen the other two movies that I don’t remember if it’s heard beyond
Fellowship of the Ring. After a brief reprise of “Concerning Hobbits”, we also get the first glimpse of the Fellowship motif; at least, it’s the first one if you haven’t seen the extended edition. If by chance you saw the movie once and were actively trying to pay attention to the music, you might have noticed the differences in scope each time it appears. I’ll explain in greater detail later, or perhaps in the inevitable review of
The Two Towers’ score, but I just wanted to point it out because it’s a neat detail. It’s not yet completely formed, but it’s still there, sounding like the prelude to a fun adventure, though we’ve still got two more books and movies to disabuse everyone of that notion. The Fellowship motif appears again not long after, but transposed to a minor key. It’s still not fully formed, but it has far more urgency, capped off by a chromatically descending chord progression that’s typically associated with the Ringwraiths, but can also just as easily apply to other servants of Sauron, like, say, a certain White Wizard. The choir soon takes over, and this is the loudest and bluntest they’ll ever be on this record; sparse instrumentation aside, they pretty much have the remainder of the piece to themselves. And get this: they’re singing the Ring Verse, the words inscribed in Elvish script on the One Ring. Now that’s a fecking brilliant detail, one which only enhances the context of the scene it soundtracks.
“The Black Rider” begins innocently enough, with the Shire motif reoccurring, but it comes only in fragments, never quite regrouping, but still obviously there in the midst of a mischievous woodwind scherzo. Then a familiar pattern appears again; remember that trombone part from “Shadow of the Past” which I alleged to be similar to “Dies Irae”? It’s there again, but played by the cellos, still descending mostly by thirds. Finally, the Nazgûl leitmotif appears in its full glory, accompanied by bodhrán, bass drum, and timpani, and the lyrics are some of the most bad-ass words ascribed to any cinematic villain(s); slightly boastful, but still perfectly captures the undead nature of the Nine’s existence, and the aura of fear that follows them wherever they tread:
“Nêbâbîtham Magânanê
(We deny our maker.)
Nêtabdam dâurad
(We cling to the darkness.)
Nêpâm nêd abârat-aglar
(We grasp for ourselves power and glory.)
Îdô Nidir nênâkham
(Now we come, the Nine,)
Bârî 'n Katharâd
(Lords of Eternal Life)
“At the Sign of the Prancing Pony,” which incidentally derives its name from a chapter in the book, is a moment of respite, but there’s still an air of unease about it in the way it’s pulled back from the previous track, with strings and low winds dominating for the first half. Then the Mordor descending thirds rear their head again, building into another reprise of the Ringwraiths’ chant, and also giving a small glimpse into another leitmotif with a brief interjection of metallic percussion in 5/4.
“A Knife in the Dark,” which also derives its name from a chapter in the book, has easily my favourite rendition of the Ringwraith motif; the way the choir sings it, beginning as almost a sort of musical whisper and steadily getting louder, gives the piece a strong ritualistic feeling that’s only aided by the hand percussion and bass drum. It only gets louder and more urgent, as if the wraiths have finally cornered their targets and have them right where they want them, but then it ends as steadily as it began, and a new leitmotif is introduced, that of Isengard, the domain of Saruman the White. Honestly, this is probably the most interesting motif in the entire trilogy to my mind, not because of the intricacies of its composition, but because of the means used to create it. The rhythm’s partly created with stuff you’d find lying around in a smithy: anvils, chains, and also bell plates, taiko, piano wire, and timpani. It’s like Shore listened to an
Einstürzende Neubauten album once, and contemplated how such a sound could manifest in a classical context. Considering how reflective the instrumentation is of Saruman’s status as a burgeoning industrialist and his love of smithing and industry, this motif arguably adheres much closer to Tolkien’s text than anything else Shore’s composed.
Uncommon time signature aside, the music itself is actually quite simple, and the rhythm isn’t always strictly associated with Saruman and his Uruk-hai; one of the most obvious examples is in
Return of the King, when Sauron’s army departs from Minas Morgul. But what makes it unique to Isengard is that when the focus is on his army, the percussion is more metallic and the rhythm can be counted slightly differently. It’s still in 5/4, but with regards to Isengard, the emphasis is on the first and third beats of each measure, so you can just as easily count it as alternating beats of 2/2 and 3/4, which you’d count as “
one two
one two three”. Also marking it as Saruman’s is a trombone part which in a weird way complements the Mordor motif. The latter has whole notes at the beginning and end with a jarringly short middle, while Isengard has a curt beginning and end with a sustained whole note in the middle. Also notable is the boy soprano solo, signifying the Eagles leitmotif, or rather something that’s associated with nature as a whole, but it almost always plays when the Eagles arrive, though it’ll get more fleshed out in later movies, and it gets quickly subsumed by the industrial noise.
“Flight to the Ford” begins with a quiet female chorus, providing a moment of peace before the final struggle for the bastion of safety that is Rivendell. You’ve probably noticed by now that female voices are often associated with Elvendom in Shore’s work. They open the movie while Galadriel, a woman so ancient she actually lived through the story she tells, at least in part, and they’re used again to signal Arwen’s arrival. It’s quite comforting, but it doesn’t last, because we get one last hurrah from the Nazgûl. Where the previous iterations had an air of collected cultishness about them, this time it sounds downright angry because now the choir aren’t just singing, they’re almost shouting. All sense and pretense of ritual is gone; the Nine have lost their prize and their prey far too many times, this is the last time they’ll be able to retrieve the Ring until the next film, and they’re absolutely livid about it. Finally, the choral arrangement returns but transposed slightly downward, making the ending slightly ambiguous, but the feeling of safety is decidedly about as strong as it was the first time.
“Many Meetings,” another piece which derives its title from a chapter in the book, begins with the Rivendell leitmotif, which has the choral direction we’ve all come to expect from music directly relating to Elvendom, but with more of an instrumental presence. There are some gorgeous harp flourishes, and the considering this is the moment where Rivendell receives dignitaries from every free people of Middle-Earth, the tubular bells bring to mind a church service. It also reminds me that Rivendell can probably be considered a place of pilgrimage for the Baggins family; Bilbo came there and back again in The Hobbit, and he came back, hoping to settle down for good and live there to the end of his days. Then Frodo came under considerably more drastic and urgent circumstances, and for him it’s not just a place of safety and rest, but healing, as well. The remainder of the peace is a reprise of the Shire motif by strings and solo clarinet, and the result still reminds strongly of home, but considering everything the characters have been through so far, it takes on a much more pensive feeling.
“The Council of Elrond” begins with an Elvish hymn from
Enya, “Aniron,” which was created with Aragorn and Arwen in mind. While most of what I’ve heard from Enya hasn’t impressed me, it’s a pretty little moment, especially in the film, though it might be saying something that I find her more interesting singing in a fictional language than I do a real one. Next, we finally get to hear the Fellowship leitmotif in its completed form, and it’s the closest these films get to having a theme song, because it’s one of the most repeated motifs in the entire trilogy. The melody is typically carried by the brass section, but it’s also one of the most fluid and malleable compositions in the trilogy, especially in the following movies, though it’s also proven in Fellowship, where it was fragmented when it was just an idea, then became whole when the Fellowship is finally gathered.
“The Ring Goes South” is one final reprise of the Shire motif before the next leg of the journey begins. It starts off transposed to a minor key, as if reflecting on everything that’s been left behind, then one of the film’s most famous musical moments happens. A French horn plays the main Shire melody against string trills sustaining a single chord, as if the musicians themselves are excited for the awesomeness that’s about to occur. Soon enough, what follows is arguably the fullest rendition of the Fellowship theme in the trilogy. It’s certainly one of the most patient, which I suspect might be because Shore had seen the shot he was to score, and took the slowness of it into account. And it worked; never has some randos climbing up a hillside felt so unnecessarily epic. Also, I quite like how the Shire theme’s played by a French horn with the fullest orchestration possible; it really makes a point of how this has gotten bigger than just the Shire. It always was, but now that the halflings are part of a company which has someone from every walk of life, their struggle truly is everyone else’s, if it wasn’t already.
“A Journey in the Dark”, yet another piece which derives its title from a chapter in the book, is the first of two tracks which are distinct from the rest of the score because for once the choir is entirely male, to complement the overwhelmingly masculine persuasion of the Dwarf population, and they’re singing in Khuzdul, the secret language of the Dwarves. The first 75 seconds are distinct in the loneliness they establish, with a bass chorus singing the praises of Durin and a soft yet insistent bass drum, which provides a sense of simultaneous spaciousness and isolation. At this juncture in their journey, the Fellowship are trapped in a place that none of them (aside from maybe Gimli) ever want to visit or come back to again, in a place which was once inhabited by a culture that made its last stand years ago. Gollum’s leitmotif also reappears for the first time in ages, having picked up the Ring’s trail once again.
Next comes one of the most impressive musical moments for one of the most impressive scenes in the film. It’s best to see it for yourself, because the way the cinematography, editing, and music coalesce in that scene is decidedly one of the best interactions between music and action in the films; the way the music builds as more of Moria’s hallways are revealed is just… perfection. I can’t think of a better way to describe it. It almost feels like the place is properly welcoming them for once, though it hardly lasts, because conflict arrives in a flurry of strings that eventually settles down as timpani take over. Interestingly, this is one of the few moments in the film where the music builds to something and completely dies down as soon as the conflict it builds up happens.
“The Bridge of Khazad-dûm” opens on a brisk triple time rendition of the Fellowship motif, though if you’ll excuse me spoiling the mood, I find it slightly hilarious that something this heroic soundtracks our heroes bravely running away. It barely completes itself before the 5/4 rhythm takes over. This is one of those moments where the 5/4 beat is used to represent Orcs in general, rather than Saruman and his army. I’ve already established that the way it manifests in Saruman’s forces is irregular in its rhythm, but interestingly, this time, it’s just straight 5/4; you can actually count to five and repeat without the risk of giving yourself whiplash. This is yet another crescendo that gets interrupted by more music; the male chorus is almost unaccompanied as it establishes a new threat. Next comes some of my favourite music in the series, because of how it imitates the action of the scene it accompanies. The horn bursts that end almost as quickly as they begin mimics the caution with which the Fellowship proceed quite well. The chorus also takes on a far throatier, more guttural delivery, perhaps due to the performers being Maori rugby players the crew gathered. I quite like how precise the delivery is; the chorus is so metronomic that they actually become part of the rhythm section, which is a neat touch. The Dwarvish words being chanted and sung also captures the fear of the scene nicely:
Urkhas tanakhi!
(The demon comes!)
Tanakhi, urkhas!
(Comes, the demon!)
Urus ni buzra!
(Fire in the deep!)
Urkhas tanakhi!
(The demon comes!)
Lu! Lu! Lu! Lu!
(No! No! No! No!)
Urus ni, urus ni, urus ni buzra!
(Fire in, fire in, fire in the deep!)
Urus ni askad gabil!
(Fire in a great shadow!)
This eventually crescendos to another rendition of the Fellowship motif; enjoy it while it lasts, because it won’t sound this triumphant for the next two and a half movies. Once again, it isn’t allowed to resolve, giving way to a tone cluster of horns, and finally, we hear female singers for the first time since Rivendell. The solo has a sense of peace, but also loss that befits the scene, and the placement in the film is also astute, having finally escaped Moria, not just integrated into the wider Middle-Earth again, but right outside one of the last bastions of Elvendom, too.
“Lothlórien” sees the return of the music which opened the film, and its mood remains as ambiguous as ever. Rivendell is a place of learning and healing, but in the films, Lorien is more mysterious. Adding to the ambiguity is the sarangi, a stringed instrument often associated with Hindustani classical music, and the Phrygian dominant scale, which is more associated with Indian and Arabic music than Western classical music. Shore even snuck in the Ring leitmotif like a tricksy little devil, just to further muddle Galadriel’s allegiance to the free peoples of Middle-Earth. Not sure why, though, and honestly, this is one of the few adaptational choices that still confuses me to this day; in the books, Galadriel is widely loved, but in the films, at least during Fellowship, she’s feared and most of the Fellowship have no idea if they should trust her. Just seems like forced, unnecessary conflict to me. On a slightly unrelated note, guess who’s soloing for the next minute? Elizabeth Fraser of the
Cocteau Twins, a guest appearance I wasn’t expecting in the least.
Now that Galadriel’s been established as the force of good she usually is when not being offered the One Ring, the Fellowship are on their way again, with their theme being played again in much more subdued fashion, never quite achieving the glory it did when they were a complete unit. Next comes the most sweeping rendition of the Ring motif; I should probably have disclosed several paragraphs ago that its full title is “the history of the Ring,” which I’ve mostly left out for convenience’s sake, but it’s an apt title in this moment. Fascinatingly, the way the music is used in film doesn’t make this about the Ring specifically. Instead, the way the camera takes in the colossuses on the Anduin suggests that this leitmotif can just as easily be used to describe the history of Middle-Earth, as if to suggest that Arda might have its own version of original sin, assuming that’s something
The Silmarillion clarifies.
“Amon Hen” begins with the “seduction of the Ring”, and it plays out in much the same fashion as it did in “The Treason of Isengard,” which segues into a familiar passage from the prologue, a small crescendo which suggests history is repeating itself. Then we get to arguably the best climax the trilogy has to offer, beginning with an ever-ascending French horn solo, an instrument which Shore often uses to indicate heroism, though considering how ubiquitous horns are in his music, I haven’t ruled out the conclusion that the man simply loves brass. I quite like how the time signature subtly shifts to 5/4; it suggests that Saruman has the numerical advantage, but the continuing chord progression begun by the French horn continues throughout, putting up a good fight. You can certainly tell it’s Saruman, because of that rhythm that’s unique to his forces, which can be counted as “one two one two three,” and eventually his own leitmotif comes to dominate the rest of the piece in its loudest, most forceful rendition yet, as if it’s confident of his victory.
“The Breaking of the Fellowship” opens on a piece of music that was first used in Moria, but bizarrely didn’t make it onto this pressing: “A Hobbit’s Understanding,” a motif that may or may not borrow the scale from “Concerning Hobbits,” first played during the iconic conversation between Gandalf and Frodo about how Bilbo sparing Gollum could decide the fate of Middle-Earth, for better or for worse. It reoccurs here, in the same way it was first used: to imply the imparting of wisdom, though here, because Gandalf’s gone, it takes on new meaning, suggesting that it’s wisdom now committed to memory. We also get one last hurrah of the Fellowship leitmotif, manifesting here as a French horn solo; not nearly as full as what we heard on the way to and in Moria, but not nearly as deflated as what came after, either. The Shire motif reoccurs again to end this film, and it not only brings the film nearly full-circle from a musical perspective, but is also a neat microcosm of quite possibly the biggest theme of Tolkien’s works: for all the melodrama of rising evil and international war that comes with the presence of evil jewelry, home is ultimately what they have to look forward to, because it’s the one thing everyone hopes to return to during times of strife and conflict.
“May It Be” is the credits song from Enya, and it’s as understated as you can expect from her. I don’t have much to say about it; it ends the film on a comforting, if bittersweet note, and it serves its purpose in allowing the listener or viewer to come down from the excess of stimuli that the film, score, or both have thrown at their audience. The best I can say about it is that it fulfills a particular service, and it doesn’t bore me to tears like most of what little else I’ve heard from Enya.
And that’s it for this score; the beginning and end aren’t quite as strong as everything in between, and there are some moments cuts from the film that I wish were kept. I especially object to the omission of the first instance of the Gondor leitmotif; it’s quiet, but solemn and noble, reflective of Gondor’s diminished but still proud stature. There are some other elisions that also sting, but that’s just the biggest offender in my eyes. Otherwise, what made it onto this release is an excellent summation of
Fellowship of the Ring and everything that makes it great; its tone is about as versatile and flexible as the film’s, it’s every bit as epic as both the films and its source material deserve, but it also knows when to pull back and give the listener time and space to breathe. The attention to detail is also stunning, creating particular passages for particular places, people, or objects, adapting them to certain circumstances when necessary, and also recontextualizing them in some cases. This score is meticulously composed on every level, and if you saw the film and liked what you saw, you absolutely shouldn’t miss this.
Favourite tracks: “The Shadow of the Past,” “The Bridge of Khazad-dûm,” “Concerning Hobbits,” “A Knife in the Dark,” “The Breaking of the Fellowship,” “The Treason of Isengard,” “The Great River,” “Flight to the Ford,” “The Black Rider”
Least favourite(s): “May It Be,” “The Prophecy”
