PETER BRODERICK - Partners

One needs to exercise resolute control over one's own inspirations and aspirations in order not to fall victim to them, to the point where, from creative tools, they become the leading actors steering the director/artist's every move. And for some time now this has been the case with the ever-prolific Peter Broderick, who has become completely at the mercy of the experiences and opportunities life offers him.

After his purely modern classical beginnings, there came the turning point of the beautifully written "How They Are", a luminous, melancholy bud that blossomed during a period of convalescence: from then on, the young Portland composer more decisively pursued his shy singer-songwriter streak, each time with results ranging from lukewarm to vaguely embarrassing; just a year ago, the latest in that line, "Colours Of The Night", seemed to seal the certainty that this new phase of Broderick's output would remain the dominant one.

Right in the middle of August comes the denial: the first reports hinted at an infatuation with the eccentric figure of John Cage (already embraced on every level) and the consequent adoption of aleatoric compositional practices. With admiration, the disciple approached the master starting from the pianistic masterpiece "In A Landscape" — the putative origin of all neoclassicism to come — studying every note with such care (and perhaps also fear of getting it wrong) that he turned it into a beginner's exercise, as shown by the expressionless performance that marks the true start of "Partners".

Given a preset range of notes, "Under The Bridge" follows the order dictated by the roll of a six-sided die; the same criterion was used to decide how many and which mesostics — a form of verse-writing likewise borrowed from Cage — should make up the album's spoken introduction, set against a handful of quick touches on a prepared piano.

These two examples give a sense of how Broderick is, at bottom, forced to approach the dictates of chaos cautiously, granting it only a few variables within which to act freely.

The more or less explicit aim of almost the entire record seems to be to recreate the original sensation of the contemplative stillness of a landscape that is at once so tangible and so unreal, like a wind that only barely stirs whatever it crosses on its path ("Up Niek Mountain").

The ultimate goal necessarily rules out an infinity of variants that would distort the (always) naive and romantic character of his compositions: this isn't meant as a criticism, but rather to accept it as a given that implies certain limits, hopefully to be overcome one step at a time; yet by his very nature it's hard to believe that Broderick could risk a genuine break from his own style of writing, feeling at ease only within the quiet of his small portraits of poetic solitude.

If we keep loving his modest artistic expression, it's thanks to those moments of tenderness and sincerity that show him fully present to himself: the hushed choral quality of "Carried" and the affectionate dedication of "Sometimes" (which even includes a false start interrupted by a "dangit!") represent, respectively, the best of yesterday's and today's Peter, helping to balance out a collection of chamber-music impressionism that's not particularly original, and which the author, moreover, has agreed never to listen to again after recording it.

The truth is that across more than ten LPs from this "average" talent, with due exceptions, the decisive leap from a capable craftsman of emotions to an author fully in command of his own means has yet to materialize, even though attention toward him has remained fairly high all along, in step with the opportunity to release small albums ad libitum, regularly "fought over" between Bella Union and Erased Tapes. So much so that at times, with no malice and in cold blood, one has to wonder whether we're listening to a musician more fashionable than substantial.

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20/08/2016