The story of Music for Four Guitars began in Bill Orcutt’s basement. There, he picked up an electric guitar, improvised several angular melodies, and turned to Logic to assemble them into exquisite lattices. The resulting 2022 album blended the rippling effect of classical minimalism with noise, representing another path for an artist whose long career has been defined by reinvention through numerous solo and collaborative projects. Music for Four Guitars eventually reached a broad audience and solidified a new facet of Orcutt’s kaleidoscopic approach to musical repetition. On Music in Continuous Motion, the premise remains the same—Orcutt devises four guitar parts and then layers them with software—but instead of making grids from these phrases, he broadens the melodies into winding drones. It’s an evolution of his minimalist music, one that harnesses the time-bending power of subtle change.
There are several ways to approach minimalism: Composers like Steve Reich and Philip Glass interwove looping phrases, while La Monte Young and Pauline Oliveros contemplated long-held tones. All had similar questions in mind: How can music be a vehicle for change, and in the process, offer space for presence? The Reichian Music for Four Guitars responded to that question by layering rhythmic patterns and observing them as they gradually shift or morph into one. Music in Continuous Motion lies somewhere between that exploration of rigorous form and floating drones, introducing sharp melodies and expanding them into swarms of sound. Listening encourages us to survey shifts as seconds go by, noticing how one melody can become completely different in the span of just a couple of minutes.
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Orcutt distorts time through looped phrases, and he flattens it by finding links across genres, music history, and his own catalog. Much of Music in Continuous Motion is reminiscent of his previous work, featuring syncopated rhythms that feel off-the-cuff and akin to the bluesy, Derek Bailey-esque style of albums like 2019’s Odds Against Tomorrow. While the individual parts may seem familiar, Orcutt stretches and contorts them until they become impressions of past ideas. “Unexpectedly heavy” builds from stormy, pulsing chords that he strikes with force. This mass swells with each strum until a twinkling riff appears like a bit of blue sky peaking through dark clouds. With “Reflective, silent,” he presents a poignant tune and muddies it by broadening and deepening its range. Elsewhere, he takes the drone into more radiant, jam band-like territory. “Unfinished not fragile” builds from a laid back riff, and though the chords become colossal, the feeling is more like a delightful afternoon at the beach.
The best minimalist pieces warp time. In these works, music becomes a space to notice how small variations lead to new places as the clock ticks. Music in Continuous Motion beckons that kind of presence as each jagged strum grows into an unruly tangle. On album highlight “Now nearly gone,” a clear-cut, nine-note scalar melody gives way to a soaring solo, only to fade back into echoes, leaving a melancholy cloud in its wake. Spontaneous riffs and meticulous repetition go hand-in-hand, stretching the song’s pulse. One of the strongest currents of Orcutt’s music is how he plays with rhythm while maintaining a meticulous approach to structure, and Music in Continuous Motion epitomizes this strength. Time will pass, and the music will always evolve with it.
