Homage

Homage

Note on downloads: For Firefox and Safari users, right-click on the player to download audio. For Chrome and Edge users, click on the ellipsis to either download or change download speed. For this episode, I want to take a moment to honor the life and work of composer Éliane Radigue (visit her bandcamp page [https://elianeradigue.bandcamp.com] for a solid collection of her electronic compositions on the INA grm label) who passed away earlier this year. Her music invites a different kind of attention. Or maybe more accurately, it asks us to let go of attention as we usually think of it. Her work unfolds slowly, almost imperceptibly, favoring minuscule sonic developments stretched across long durations. This is not music that announces itself. It hums, it breathes, it shifts in ways that can feel more like the weather than a composition. Before fully committing to this path, Radigue worked as a professional audio tape editor. That sensitivity to detail—to the smallest splice, the slightest change—wound its way into her oeuvre of sonically expansive compositions. By around 1970, working in a shared studio with Laurie Spiegel (see Spiegel’s heartfelt post on her friendship with Élaine [https://www.e-flux.com/notes/6783469/in-memory-of-liane-radigue-1932-2026]), she began developing her signature approach using analog systems—most notably the ARP 2500 synthesizer and magnetic tape. Her goal was clear, even if the results felt elusive: to create a slow, purposeful unfolding of sound. Crucially, she didn’t insist that listeners meet the music halfway. She often suggested that her pieces be played softly—that they could exist at the edge of perception, becoming part of the environment rather than the center of it. In that way, her work reminds me of Pauline Oliveros and her philosophy of Deep Listening, a practice that expands awareness to include all sound, not just what we intend to hear. The music doesn’t demand focus, but rewards presence. And maybe that’s her lasting gift: a reminder that transformation doesn’t have to be dramatic to be profound. *** I had my own deep listening revelation many years ago before I learned of Radigue, Spiegel, and Oliveros. One night, I was experimenting with abstract stream of consciousness painting, and put on the Kronos Quartet’s album of Morton Feldman’s Piano and String Quartet [https://youtu.be/c9lsPvWeK24?si=KtfVMqWe8d817fGk]. It is definitely a minimalist piece — not filled with sparkling, perpetual arpeggios, but instead soft, broken chords interspersed with long silences.  Its development seemed to unfold at an almost glacial pace, which seemed to only register in a subconscious way while I worked. I was in the zone for a long time, happily painting away. Suddenly I felt an uneasiness that I couldn’t place my finger on, like when the woods go quiet. After several moments, it dawned on me that the piece had concluded and the CD had stopped. I was alone.  From this event I realized that music can exist as an active but not overly performative presence, something that can focus one’s attention, that has enough silences within it to almost become a calm conversation partner.  *** For this episode, I want to share an homage to Éliane Radigue played on my ARP 2600, the baby version of her own massive synth. You’ll hear oscillators softly modulating one another, slowly shifting timbres, and interference patterns between two tones, or acoustic beats [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beat_(acoustics)]. My serving suggestion is to play this fairly low, so it doesn’t drown out surrounding sounds. Play it while reading or drawing or making a meal or listening to birds, and feel what happens as it concludes. Also, don’t skip ahead! The musical changes are minimal — it’s the gradual shifts in colors and pulses that drive the piece. Similar to how the light changes at dusk. Afterthought: After recording the podcast, I discovered this excellent article [https://getcentered.io/2018/09/09/eliane-radigue-guide/] on Radigue’s drone works and how they aren’t just background sound. If you want to go back for a second serving of my performance, turn it up to Sunn O))) levels! After that, I offer a second track featuring my dad’s recently reconstituted Ocelot project guitar. It started its life as a 1960s Kent Lido electric guitar (well, it was branded a “Vernon” but it’s from the same manufacturer), similar to the guitars the Velvet Underground started with [https://www.premierguitar.com/pro-advice/wizard-of-odd/kent-copa-guitar]. It became the basis for dad’s electronic experiments, including the addition of a serious vibrato bridge and a variety of sound-modifying switches that would have made Frank Zappa or Jerry Garcia proud.  The guitar’s electronics fell apart on me after recording my Entropy album [https://colinbragg.bandcamp.com/album/entropy], so I disassembled it and added various parts to other guitars. After a couple of years, I realized that I missed it, maybe the instrument that most represents dad and his always tinkering, creative mind. So, I put it back together and added my own updates. Now it’s our shared guitar project. It lends itself to lyrical playing, as heard in this track. Also, check out the strings pinging as they slide across the nut at the headstock in the end. I discovered that this creates a nice woodland texture. I hope you enjoy it.  A "frankenstrat" or an electric guitar made of disparate parts [https://colinbragg.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/img_9729.jpg?w=768]Dig the mirror pickguard! Dad had a steel block milled for the bridge to sit on so it would sit at the correct height, and you know, sustain… *** I’ve discovered that I want to deepen this work, and would love your insights on the podcast and how building upon the podcast might unfold. It can go anywhere, from unique “happenings” to a low-cost subscription service or anywhere between. If you are so inclined, take a few moments to share your thoughts via this short questionnaire [https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeHngWNAyzlEXhVnEw_ns_ilR8u1QpMfu8YtmqMDOWiSlU8cw/viewform?usp=sharing&ouid=104492472449522097935]. It would be great to hear from you! I look forward to building upon the success of this podcast.

Birders

Note on downloads: For Firefox and Safari users, right-click on the player to download audio. For Chrome and Edge users, click on the ellipsis to either download or change download speed. I find that my body increasingly wants to honor the changes of the seasons, and once December rolls around, I am in hibernation mode. Everything in my workaday life comes to a sort of half-cadence, and I try to shut things down enough so I can truly close the year out, steel myself for the long drive to visit family, and once I hit the couch nine hours away from home, relax.  And once I am relaxed and have a few days off, my mind starts to spin creative ideas for anything that gives my art life purpose. There are ideas for album covers, podcasts, potential collaborations, electric guitar wiring schemes, all sorts of things. But once January hits, these embryonic plans often take a back seat to getting back into the swing of life. But they are still in there, simmering. One thing that we enjoy these days is seeing the variety of small birds on our front porch, taking turns at a bird bath turned seed platform. The smallest birds will come in as a group, and as many as eight birds will all be in the bath, contentedly poking at the seeds. Sometimes an argument will strike up, and birds will hop off into the adjacent bushes, a water dish, or a nearby Adirondack chair. My favorite moments are when I spy a single bird sitting in the bath or on the chair, doing nothing at all. Enjoying a moment of reprieve as life flies around them. The first piece of the podcast is with Deisha Oliver, improvising cellist, composer, collaborator, and Atlanta performance art impresario! Along with aerialist Sadie Hawkins she is cofounder of Flight of Swallows [https://www.flightofswallows.com] (I sense a bird theme here!) a collaborative effort that is joined by a revolving cast of musicians and movement artists who excel at improvisation. They incorporated pop up installations, sculptural elements, site specific movement, and audience participation throughout their body of work.   Our piece today is titled “A Waltz for the End of time” and is the music for a dance piece by Douglas Scott and his Full Radius Dance [https://fullradiusdance.org/] company. Full Radius Dance is a professional modern dance company in the field of physically integrated dance based in Atlanta. The company features dancers with and without physical disabilities. We first performed for this piece sometime in the 2010s with my cousin, artist and musician Christopher Salmon [https://www.instagram.com/christophersalmonart/]. The piece was performed a second time in 2024. This is the version you are about to hear, and I present it to you now in advance of Full Radius’s upcoming show titled Collective Memory: The 35th Anniversary Celebration and Performance It happens March 20 – 22, 2026 at 7 Stages Theatre [https://www.7stages.org/]. The second piece is a 70s style sci-fi synthesizer improv with Blake Helton. We’re gearing up for a set hosted by the Atlanta Synth Club [https://www.instagram.com/atlantasynthclub/] on March 1st at the Brazilian coffee house and bar Buteco in Grant Park [https://www.butecoatlanta.com/buteco-beacon]. We dubbed this session “Computer Planet” – a page out of my childhood picture book “Galactic Aliens” [https://archive.org/details/galacticaliensalanfrank1979/mode/2up] by Alan Frank. The third piece returns to the Full Radius recording session, with Deisha’s cello running through my effects. Listen for the footswitches getting picked up by the cello mic.  The third performance is a duo with my old buddy Michael Terebecki. We’ve enjoyed listening to and making immersive sounds together for a long time now, and we’ve joked “let’s get together and write some stuff” since high school. This track is from late last year, featuring his synth and my electric guitar.  The fourth performance is a duo with my old buddy Mike Terebecki. We’ve enjoyed listening to and making immersive sounds together for a long time now, and we’ve joked “let’s get together and write some stuff” since high school. This track is from late last year, featuring his synth and my electric guitar.  I’ve realized that simply listening to music while doing nothing now almost feels like an extravagance. But when I do this, I always feel refreshed afterwards. Multi-tasking is a false bill of goods. Take your time back!

(Re)Percussions

Note on downloads: For Firefox and Safari users, right-click on the player to download audio. For Chrome and Edge users, click on the ellipsis to either download or change download speed. This episode features four pieces for your listening and contemplative pleasure. The first piece is built up from that rock ’n’ roll sound of strumming the muted strings of the guitar for a percussive effect. Like that crazy sound in the pre-chorus of the Radiohead song Creep. Chuck chuck!  The second piece is a slow synthesizer sequence, with various oscillations creating a bell-like pulse over the top. Nothing like a sawtooth wave to bring those feelings of future nostalgia! The third piece starts with a dark, muted march-like ostinato and transforms into something akin to a murmuration of starlings accompanied by a soft, jazzy guitar. The fourth track is from 2005, from a session with Blake Helton and the great Hungarian guitar wizard Sándor Szabó. We prepared the strings of our guitars (Sándor played a giant, 18-string guitar and I played a normie classical guitar), and Blake placed cymbals and small gongs on his drums to create a beautiful, almost ritualistic moment. This was an exciting rediscovery, and I hope to surface other tracks in due time.  It has been a year, huh? I hope your family is well and that your holidays are filled with simple pleasures. See you next year.

Barnacles

Note on downloads: For Firefox and Safari users, right-click on the player to download audio. For Chrome and Edge users, click on the ellipsis to either download or change download speed. This episode’s featured instrument is the bass guitar. The dark, sometimes dulcet tones remind me of   whales and their slowly unfolding songs or conversations.    A memory: back in high school, my buddy and bassist Brian Kirk and I saw Neil Starkey perform at the Inman Park Festival in Atlanta. Neil is a bass legend whose double bass had such an impressive look that we dubbed it the whale. It seriously looked like it had barnacles on it. I think about that bass, whales, and my longtime friendship with Brian often when I play the instrument. The first piece is an evolving loop – a fragmented melody played on the fretless bass is the source loop. Various tempi, small repeated samples of the loop, and pitch morph throughout the piece, sinking ever deeper into the depths. The second piece is a duo with Blake Helton on drums and percussion from a performance with Crossover Movement Arts in 2009. The fretted bass guitar is prepared with an alligator clip and paper woven between the strings. It reminds me of traditional Gnawa music and the gimbri, a three-stringed lute. The third piece is a soliloquy on fretless bass, this time both mic’d and run through some ambient-generating effects. I love playing in this mode either first thing in the morning or at the close of an evening.  It’s funny hearing the 2009 piece makes me realize that I had ideas on how to approach the bass guitar back in 2009, but it took many more years until I codified my own sort of style via the Sataras Quartet. It’s a sort of a what-if? scenario: what if Geezer Butler played the double bass in a free jazz group?

Thinning the Veil

Illustration for 2025 Drawtober Day 8: Demon. See Facebook / Instagram for the series. Note on downloads: For Firefox and Safari users, right-click on the player to download audio. For Chrome and Edge users, click on the ellipsis to either download or change download speed. This episode features three long form pieces, the first and third from a recording session with Blake Helton way back in 2009. What was even happening then? We were! I love these tracks, and hope to release them as some sort of EP in the future. We didn’t fall back on our familiar instruments during this session, but combined acoustic sounds such as my voice, gongs, hand percussion, and an autoharp stripped of its dampers with electronics like loopers, harmonizers, filters, of course Blake’s trusty Minimoog. The results are deep and rich, and remind me of many of our 1970s touch points in early experimental krautrock and fantasy and horror films.  The first piece sets the scene with an icy, otherworldly procession of choir, gongs, and autoharp.  The third piece has wonderful rhythmic movement made of muted gongs, thumb piano, fuzzy filters, delay lines, and eventually a guttural, rhythmic vocal. This one really reminds me of Can and early Kraftwerk. Listening to these soundscapes, I wonder why I eventually donated that autoharp. I could get my Henry Cowell / John Cage playing piano strings fix without having a giant piano! Someday I’ll find another one and adopt it. [https://colinbragg.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/helton-bragg-on-tour.jpg?w=750]In 2021. [https://colinbragg.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/designer-2.png?w=1024]In the AI future, our brains loaded in ‘bots. The second track is a piece titled “Theme from Yellow Smoke” and was created for a multimedia collaboration with visual artist and photographer Kevin Hoth in 2006. Kevin is an awesome, creative, questing spirit whose work “delves into the transformative potential of image disruption, acting as a catalyst for transgression, healing, and synthesis.” Yes it does!  See Kevin’s website [https://kevin-hoth-4tpj.squarespace.com] and Hopper Prize interview [https://hopperprize.org/kevin-hoth-interview/] for a look at his vibrant, vital photography. The piece begins with gongs and possibly prepared guitar. A short interlude of a sped-up, looped plucked instrument appears and makes way for a distant duo of feedback guitars and some sort of morse code tapped out with the switch on a Les Paul. Previous elements are juggled and reiterated for the finish, along with one of my favorite extended guitar techniques: rapidly moving a slide in a small section of the guitar neck, activating all the strings without any attack. With reverb, I can approximate a ghostly string section.  I can’t remember the context of this piece, but I am getting some David Lynch and Angelo Badalamenti vibes. The little people in Mulholland Drive. The reverse house explosion in Lost Highway.  Finally, the episode concludes with a short guitar loop I recorded maybe 20 years ago. It’s a palette cleanser with a steel-guitar flavor, it returns us from our pilgrimage through strange sound worlds.  Lenny Bernstein was sometimes critiqued for his introductions for modern pieces for his concert audiences. It was said that his intro to “The Unanswered Question” lasted longer than the piece itself!  Typically, I like to be surprised by new music and not read about it, but there’s something interesting about writing out the form a piece or improvisation takes. It helps me to think about form and how music moves through time. Maybe it makes me more honest, or aware of how long someone can actually stand to listen to a pentatonic, histrionic guitar solo.