Graham Richardson adopts the role of the Beautiful Soul – that innocent, melancholy position which abhors at the wicked ways of the world and which structures it in advance in order to open up a space for its own activity. Though usually associated with passivity rather than activity, these richly textured ambient compositions actually stem from the latter, from a concern for function rather than the ethereal. Richardson’s sound is robust, sometimes rough and, as he occasionally teeters between trance and silence, one can now and again hear the effort required to make the note. Pieces are at their best when this is indeed the case, when tiny shifts in pitch produce beatings that move at slightly different speeds, looming over a fixed tone, and thus emitting varying degrees of aural disturbance. Problems ensue, however, when pieces are suitably dreamy and forlorn, but display little in the way of arch affectation. ‘Mountains’, for instance, displays a starry-eyed piano melody, accompanied by isolated fragments of muddy analogue delays, yet its volume, tempo and manner of attack is lackadaisical and without variation throughout the duration of the work.
In trying to give other works more of an undercurrent, Richardson opts for mid-paced beats to keep it all from going asunder. More often than not, though, as demonstrated on pieces such as ‘Your Birds’ and ‘Fear’, this leaves the music gliding by too smoothly. Along these lines, an impatience sometimes comes into play, as Richardson wants to infuse the slow-moving textures with a dramatic sense of event that is not compatible with the logic of the field in which he is operating. The result is ‘Nightlight’, a piece which seems overblown in its lush, shimmering textures, tinkling chimes and cascading harmonics. For all that, the work does suggest a certain potential that might still be tapped – ‘I Remember When You Were Good’, with its evocative pianistic flourishes, suggests avenues of more depth and reward.
Max Schaefer
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