It all starts with a single note. Goldmund’s piano pieces dance daintily, but they’re not just a series of pretty, melodic passages and passing notes. Deep, textured swells accompany the piano on its journey, and exceptionally beautiful music is the result. Less is more – quite often, you don’t need anything else.
The gentle chords help to wash away the heart-breaking agony and the depthless suffering experienced by so many people throughout the year (and throughout the twenty-first century’s fifteen short years). When the headphones come off, we’re back in a cruel world shredded by incomprehensible violence, but as long as the music’s playing, she’s comforting and protecting us, shielding us all with fingers as soft as a lover’s, flowing far-away dreams into our hearts. The songs cradle you. In her arms – that’s the only place you want to be. Let’s stay like this forever.
They’re precious pieces of music that remind us of the constant, unfading good in the world. Some scars can’t be healed, but music is amazing in that it helps to stitch up ragged wounds. Sometimes will help you escape, lift you up and help you recover. Showered in a golden light, the music opens itself up. All you really need is a piano. Nothing else matters. One by one, the notes illuminate the music, bringing light into people’s lives. Like a daytime report from The Weather Channel, the inner skies are currently overcast, the weather cloudy and inclement. Rain trickles down the side of the car window. Tears slide slowly from wet eyes.
For the most part, the compositions are slow to move, and the shadows of passing clouds only temporarily darken the music. For instance, ‘Cascade’ is slightly heavier – and slightly sadder – than the others. It’s almost as if it’s been dragged back into reality. But the piano – and the music as a whole – keeps its warm, if not optimistic, ambient tint. This is the same man responsible for Helios, after all. As always, the lovely, soft trails of reverb significantly contribute to the ambient feel, glowing with a fading light. You can focus your attention on the music with sharp listening, but you can also zone out and, as a result, the music filters in and fills the space. You might think that a decent ambient album should do that, and you’d be right, but Sometimes is a slightly different story because, for the most part, the pieces are short and sweet, barely eclipsing three minutes, and yet still it’s able to take you away to another place. Every note is a drop of sunshine. If allowed to seed, music can change the world. A single note can do that.