The Wisdom of the Shire

The Lord of the Rings could easily be turned into a Broadway musical because nearly every inhabitant of Middle-earth bursts into song at the drop of a hat, from our favorite lay-singing Ranger to a chanting Barrow-wight to a chorus of long-limbed Ents. Even the Orcs and Goblins are predisposed to song and would probably scream heavy metal if they could.*

Hobbits, however, are the most prodigious singers. And they love to sing about the fun they’re having while they’re having it. They’ll join in a “walking song” while they’re out for a stroll, or croon a “bathing song” while scrubbing their wooly feet, or belt out a “drinking song” while guzzling beer. They want to express their joy for life, and one of the ways they do that is with song.

The importance of song in Tolkien’s works is sometimes overlooked. The Silmarillion—the mythological underpinning of Middle-earth—begins with a cosmic melody. Heavenly spirits called the Ainur, the first creations of the god Ilúvatar, intone together in beautiful harmony, filling the Void with their music. But the demigod Melkor, the most powerful amongst these entities, doesn’t want to play along with the others, and creates a discordant music of his own, drowning out the others and silencing them. He ends up in a musical showdown with Ilúvatar—sort of like “dueling banjos” across the vaults of heaven.

In The Hobbit Bilbo is bewitched by a Dwarven song, and it’s one of the main reasons he heads off on the adventure to the Lonely Mountain. You wouldn’t think a bunch of tough-as-iron Dwarves would be musicians. But Thorin and his followers show up at Bag End with their own musical instruments in velvet bags: harps, fiddles and flutes. Imagine a bunch of murderous-looking Hell’s Angels taking over your house and then breaking out into folk songs!

The Dwarves chant a haunting hymn of the Lonely Mountain—a poetic tale of gleaming gold and shimmering jewels and a rampaging dragon. A dormant part of Bilbo suddenly flames up inside him and he realizes he wants to “wear a sword instead of a walking stick.” That night he falls asleep with the Dwarven music still in his ears—a song that has more power to entangle the Hobbit’s soul than any wizard’s spell. His dreams are “uncomfortable,” meaning they’re filled with a yearning that goes beyond his simple life in the Shire.

We’ve all had an experience like this. With me it was U2’s The Unforgettable Fire, an album that was so completely different from anything I had ever heard up until that point in my life. It blew me away. That record was full of stories: civil rights and the majesty of nature and tempestuous love and addiction. Even the title had meaning—it was a reference to the horrors of Hiroshima. The lyrics spoke to my teenage heart. This was poetry. It made me want to read books, and venture out into the world, and discover something about myself. When was the last time music did that for you?*

Bilbo doesn’t have much to sing about on the trip to the Lonely Mountain, and the Dwarves never play their instruments again. But this Hobbit, who didn’t have a shred of poetry in him before setting out on his adventure, comes home with poetry in his soul. As he and Gandalf are heading back into the Shire, Bilbo starts reciting his famous “The Road Goes Ever On.”

Whenever I come back from a trip—especially if I’ve traveled far and been gone a long time—I hear those words in my head. This song has some of the greatest lyrics ever written about the allure of the road. It’s about wanderlust, but it’s also about the joy of coming back home. On a deeper level it can be taken as a song about death and the journey of the soul, going on and on even after this life is done. A prim and proper Hobbit goes away with the Dwarves, but a troubadour returns to Bag End. Bilbo spends the rest of his life composing songs and poems.*

When I was twenty-two I literally lost the ability to speak or sing. I had to have a painful reconstructive surgery on my face to correct a genetic defect, and it took me about a year to teach myself how to use my mouth and jaw again. For months I was practically mute. My face was so altered I didn’t even recognize myself in a mirror, and friends I’d known my entire life passed me on the street without knowing who I was.

One of the things that kept me sane during this dark time was The Lord of the Rings. I read it over and over again for comfort. To forget about the agony and the humiliation that went along with this temporary disfigurement. Reading Tolkien was like hanging out with an old friend and having a joyful conversation—a conversation I couldn’t have in real life.

Since that experience I’ve never taken for granted my ability to communicate, and I have empathy for people who are afraid to speak up or let their voices ring out. We are interactive creatures, and one of the most profound ways we express our thoughts and emotions is through song.

Is music an important part of your life? Most of us listen to music, of course, or watch some variant of the “root out the next pop star!” TV shows. But do you actually sing yourself? And have you ever wanted to learn to play an instrument like a guitar or a ukulele? Because I’m here to tell you you’re never too old to pick them up. I didn’t learn to play those two instruments until I was well into my thirties, and since then some of the most fun times I’ve ever had with family and friends have been sitting around playing music together. It’s remarkable how a bunch of Americans can sing a uniquely Australian song like “Waltzing Matilda,” while understanding very little of the strange words, yet connecting to the heart and soul of the song in a powerful way.*

The Hobbits aren’t worried if their voices are up to anybody’s standards, and that’s one of the reasons they feel such freedom to sing. They just pipe away to their heart’s content. Sometimes, however, they give voice to song when they’re terrified and alone. When Sam is sitting outside the Tower of Cirith Ungol, utterly at the end of his rope, he starts to sing in a “thin and quavering” voice some tunes from his childhood, with snippets of Bilbo’s lyrics he’s heard over the years. And then his voice grows stronger, and all of a sudden he rings out with a fully formed song that’s all about hope and the coming of spring. It’s his way of defying the darkness of Mordor. It’s his “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

Aragorn is connected to music in a way that is almost mystical. When he and the Hobbits are hiding out from the Ringwraiths on Weathertop, he sings to the Shire-folk “the Lay of Leithian”—the ancient love story of Beren and Lúthien. The song mirrors the Ranger’s own story of a mortal falling in love with an Elf. For Aragorn, however, it’s more than just a tale from days gone by. The lay links him to his own history and gives meaning to his life in the present in the same way folk songs do for people around the world.

Bilbo and Aragorn become friends when the Hobbit moves to Rivendell. The Ranger collaborates with the Shire poet and they work on an epic about Eärendil the Mariner. Bilbo loves grand tales of the Elves and the earlier ages, but he’s also capable of writing introspective and unpretentious works, like the short unnamed song he sings to Frodo about death and what the world will be like when he’s gone. It’s Bilbo’s “Yesterday.”*

There’s one character in The Lord of the Rings whose life is practically a nonstop musical—and that’s Tom Bombadil. He sings about himself, and about the woods and river and starlight and his beautiful wife Goldberry. You can just imagine him breaking into “Life’s a Happy Song” and all the trees and animals of the Old Forest coming to life and singing along.*

Tom Bombadil also uses his songs to cast spells. When the Hobbits end up inside the tree-trap of Old Man Willow, Tom sings them out of their predicament. Tom’s words are magic, and Frodo later uses his lyrics to call for help when his friends are captured by the Barrow-wight—a creature who just happens to be a singing ghoul!

After the Companions lose Gandalf in Moria, they find a haven in Lothlórien and take respite there, listening to the sounds of Elves singing lamentations to Mithrandir (the Elvish name for the wizard). The Hobbits can’t understand the “sweet sad words” of the Elves, but they are touched to their hearts. This is something the Hobbits comprehend completely—the inexplicable expression of emotion with song. The Elves inspire Frodo and Sam to come up with their own spoken memorials for Gandalf.*

Even Galadriel is a songstress. When the Companions leave Lothlórien she sings them a farewell song while playing the harp. One can imagine her “sweet” voice weaving a melancholy tale of the end of her Elven kingdom and the departure of her kind from Middle-earth. It’s Galadriel’s version of “I Dreamed a Dream.”

I’ve heard people say a particular artist or type of music has been “the soundtrack of my life.” For some people it’s Nirvana, for others it’s Broadway show tunes. I’m always amazed how a song heard on the radio can take me back to a moment in my life with the power of a time machine. Whenever I hear The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun” on the radio I’m instantly transported back forty years to one of my earliest memories—listening to that song on the car radio with my mom singing along with her lovely voice. That’s magic.

Nowadays it seems like the music industry has taken commercialization to a whole new level of corporate control and greed. Companies can track your likes and dislikes on the Internet and even get access to what you buy and how often. I have no doubt that someday they’ll figure out a way to create synthetic “artists” tailor-made for customers. There will be no more human connection to music and the people who make it.

I have a solution to part of this problem. Start making your own music. Create the soundtrack to your life. If you have children, sing to them and sing with them as much and as often as you can. Make and invent and play your own music, just like the folk of the Shire would do. Have your friends come over and teach each other songs. Buy yourself a ukulele—don’t be intimidated, it only has four strings! You can be playing your first song in a day.*

At the end of The Lord of the Rings, after the Ring has been destroyed, Sam and Frodo are brought before Aragorn* and his host of warriors and praised for their deeds. Sam is overwhelmed when a minstrel comes forward to sing the lay of “Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom.” Sam can’t help but burst into tears. He and Frodo (and their adventure) have become a song—a lay that will live on and inspire others long after they are gone from Middle-earth.

The Wisdom of the Shire Tells Us …

“Your voice wants to sing the story of your life. Let it be.”