Nick Cave and Warren Ellis have solidified their niche as composers of the desolate and decayed. Although they’ve occasionally veered off into the post-apocalyptic, their scores most commonly find themselves in hopeless neo-westerns. The duo’s score for Taylor Sheridan’s directorial debut Wind River showcases perhaps their strongest work in this subgenre.
Wind River features an empty, frozen landscape, where the tundra is as deadly as the murderers who have been driven mad by its isolation and neglect. It is a place whose sparse residents face a primal struggle with nature, a relic of a long-gone pioneer age. It is ever-daunting, a sure killer of anyone in its grasp; a slow but certain death.
Cave and Ellis capture the land’s deadly, desolate nature through stripped down, minimalist strings and piano that meander in a certain hopeless darkness. Most prevalent is a wailing string motif that calls out across the landscape like the herald for the specter of death. The repetition of these pieces weigh on the listener, pulling them into the morass of the endless tundra. Panning exposition shots of majestic mountains and rolling forests become ominous.
The most unique part of the score is the use of vocals. Film music composers rarely use vocals (the most notable exception being the classic “creepy” choruses or chants in some horror films) as they tend to distract from the film. Listeners’ ears are conditioned to immediately tune into vocals and lyrics. However, Cave and Ellis manage to implement vocals to great effect in Wind River. Hummed choral melodies often back ominously whispered vocal lines that speak of isolation and sorrow. These tracks often play over those daunting exposition shots. This combination heightens the feeling of helplessness, acting as a warning of the landscape’s danger.
Eventually the score leads to a certain catharsis, an acceptance of the immensity of the environment. All our struggles and tribulations stand dwarfed.