John Broaddus' CD, 4 at 18

[Hypnagogue]

There's no need to set aside time to listen to John Broaddus' 4 at 18. Start the CD and the music will, of its own accord, manipulate the fabric of time to carve out a place in which you'll comfortably exist as these four ambient pieces, each a touch over 18 minutes long, move lazily around you. This is a CD of glacial-drift chord changes and sleeping-breath swells, a subtle journey with no determinate destination.

The album's strength is in the varying textures of the four pieces. (There's a temptation to refer to them as "movements" in this slow-motion symphony.) "One" grows from an insistent drone borne on a stellar-wind backdrop; this is the one that creates that temporal hiding spot, slows the breathing and begins the drift. "Two" opens with a resonant pulse that at first threatens to undermine the ease of the first track. The sound initially borders on intrusive, if not a bit tough to listen to, but as it evolves, it begins to shimmer and take on a certain liquidity. Late in the piece there is the sensation of perceiving the sounds through a curtain of water. "Three" moves the emphasis from ethereal to tangible; the solidity of a temple bell adds a sense of rhythm to the flow. And "Four" slides back into the drift, familiarly combining the the dark drone that opens the work with the wavering tones of "Two" to close the circle and bring the voyage to a pleasing end.

All in all, this is a CD of discreet beauty that gets better with each deeper listen.
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