The Music Your Favorite Game of Thrones Characters Listen to
Have you heard of the band Hinds? Samwell Tarly has! Being a maester, he’s undoubtedly the indie snob of the lot. He knows all the best Westeros venues where he can meet the bands afterwards. He’s quick to remind you that he knew about Mumford and Sons back when MySpace was still a thing. He’s been overheard saying, “Not now, Gilly, I’m listening to Justin Vernon’s demo of For Emma, Forever Ago!” But he’ll begrudgingly accompany her to an acoustic Coldplay gig in Kings Landing, with a sigh and earplugs – because even if the music grates on his soul, there’s no need for tinnitus. He’s not sure about the new Vampire Weekend. As for his favorite band? He’s not going to tell you, for fear of them going mainstream.
Sandor Clegane (aka The Hound)
Sure, his relationship with The Mountain might mirror that of the Gallagher brothers, but The Hound doesn’t waste his time listening to nasally britpop. No, this salt-of-the-earth killing machine doesn’t mess around. He wanders Westeros listening to classic rock standbys like The Who, Cream, Led Zeppelin, Rush – nothing fires him up quite like a Neil Peart drum solo. But all of that solitude in the rolling mountains can make even the toughest man despondent – that’s when he turns to the baritone vocals of The National.
Brienne of Tarth
She’s stoic. She’s a woman of few words. She’s also the first to jump headfirst into a mosh pit to kick ass and take names. She’s not afraid of GWAR; no, GWAR is afraid of her. Before swearing an oath of fealty, she first checks the Dead Kennedys touring schedule. However, behind that steely gaze and iron wall of emotions, an inner turmoil brews as she tries to come to terms with how she feels about Jaime. And when that surfaces, Ani DiFranco’s “Untouchable Face” gets some serious repeat+1 action.
The Night King
Winter may have just arrived at Winterfell, but winter actually dropped on June 5, 2001. That’s when the Night King stopped listening to Nickelback and exclusively started playing Radiohead’s Amnesiac on repeat throughout his icy wasteland. But things change. People can only take so much of that album. People get stabby. As a result, Thom Yorke’s shrill haunting warble is merely spinning plates in a White Walker-free North. You and whose army, now, huh?
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