Sonic choreographer Paul Bradley directs a slow motion waterfall of sound on Chroma, his seventh release in the last year. Both vivid and subtle, the maelstrom of sound disguises rather precise coordination of attacks, which evoke very strong emotional and aesthetic responses in the listener. In fact, in comparison to previous efforts, Chroma, as a sonic analogue of a kaleidoscope, as a lovely play of tonally moving forms colored autumnal yellows and glass bottle-green’, is one of Bradley’ most simple, altogether accessible statements so far.
Indeed, the colors, as simple qualities, manage to provide pure sensuous pleasures over the course of the work. The recording consists of seven short compositions, where Bradley conjures dream-tangled nightscapes in which synthesizers, used sparingly and effectively, supplement the ebow’ expressive range, and heighten the mood through harmonic coloration. It’s gentle and plaintive music mostly, carefully paced, and tenderly crafted. Unencumbered by a need to hallucinate, to transport the listener into a delusional temporal continuum, these drones calmly yet mysteriously rise out of one pool of silence and disappear into another, along the way, passing through subtle modalities of change and dynamic processes of particle synthesis.
Specifically, track two sketches smoothly oscillating scenes that arrange delicate textures within swaying tonal passages while others, such as track six, are less airy and open, more grounded, pastoral even, with minimal repetitions expanding and contracting across a frequency spectrum, slowly building an endless breath-like quality. Certain compostions go so far as to enjoy themselves, freeing the listener up to simply relax. More than a fine play of sensations, though, Chroma maintains structure, and expresses a deep ineffable content such that certain moments seem touched with a tincture of the sublime.
Max Schaefer
