You know what's hard? Not making sound. Especially when you've got instruments right in front of your face. Like today's song. I'm constantly amazed not just at Harold Budd's melodic restraint, but also how he resists the temptation to resolve his ideas. Maybe it's a genetic predisposition to give direction to movement, but very few people have the instinct to make music that drifts, hangs, or lingers without coming to a comfortable rest. It's what separates the good ambient work of people like Budd and Eno from pony-tailed New Age baloney. This piece feels like an un-hurried reach, an unfolding that reveals nothing. But with a slight sense of disturbance that keeps a small but necessary part of your brain at rapt attention.
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