Peter Broderick — Float

The UK-based label Type has put out a pair of exceptional albums in the last few months. Before Grouper's latest gem, which I'm still swooning over, they released the debut from composer/multi-instrumentalist Peter Broderick. It's a sweeping, cinematic set, full of sustained pianos and haunting strings, all adeptly performed by the 21-year-old wunderkind.

Hailing from Portland and currently residing in Copenhagen, Broderick has tellingly contributed to both folky Pacific-Northwesterners Horse Feathers and Danish post-rockers Efterklang.  On his own, he explores minimal, textured soundscapes in the vein of Max Richter or labelmate Sylvian Chauveau. Like Richter's The Blue Notebooks, Float seems to score a film that doesn't exist, deftly conjuring a visual world and evoking an emotional narrative with its spacious compositions and rich dynamic range.

Broderick isn't doing anything as inventive as that other shockingly gifted young composer, Nico Muhly, but he clearly has an impressive command over texture and timbre. He tosses in everything from celeste to banjo to accordion to musical saw to flesh out the pieces on Float. The scattered vocals are a bit distracting, but the album holds up as an outstanding introduction to this young composer.

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