If color is one of the contents of the world,” wrote William Gass, “then nothing stands in the way of blue’s being smelled or felt, eaten as well as heard.” Blue, by Sebastiano Carghini, continues the great, cerulean tradition of artists engaging a word that is never just a word, the color that’s never merely color. Tape loops of old studio hardware are played through a few cassette players and effects, and in turn, Carghini conjures many blues: the hiss of electricity, water’s rounded frequencies, a field of forget-me-nots.
Heavy on the low-end, rhythms are turned melodious, yet they never quite burst into the visible spectrum. Like the color, these tracks are more concept than function. Blue, the album, is moody in the sense that there is depth of feeling, but melancholy is just one pigment on the two sides of this spectral work. Guided by feeling far more than intellect—and smarter for it—Blue enters that place in the mind where moroseness and brightness converge, a place shadowed and cool.