A chord on a machine with no chords
Fake it fast enough and the ear believes it: how NES composers built harmony from a chip that could only play one pitch at a time.

The arithmetic of impossibility
A chord requires at least two simultaneous pitches. The 2A03's two pulse channels and one triangle give a composer three melodic voices total — and if the melody is occupying one pulse channel and the bass is locked to the triangle, that leaves exactly one voice for anything else. Harmony, rhythm, countermelody, inner voices: they all queue for the same wire. On a piano you voice a C-major chord by pressing three keys. On this chip, you press one, release it, press the next, release it, press the third — and you do it fast enough that the ear stitches the sequence into a single sound. That technique is arpeggio, and it is the defining texture of nearly all NES music that sounds harmonically rich.
The phenomenon is not unique to the 2A03. It is rooted in how auditory perception works: the auditory system's tendency to fuse rapid sequential tones into a single perceptual object is what Albert Bregman called auditory scene analysis, and composers had exploited it long before digital hardware. Baroque keyboard players arpeggiated chords on the harpsichord because its plucked mechanism could not sustain. The banjo roll and the guitar strum both spread a chord through time. The 2A03 just makes the process mechanical, exact and very, very fast — typically cycling through three chord tones every few frames of video output, around eighteen distinct pitches per second.

What that sounds like, and why
At that speed the individual pitches stop being individually audible. The ear hears a fused pitch at roughly the lowest tone in the sequence, coloured by the harmonic relationships above it, with a characteristic shimmer that no natural instrument produces. That shimmer — bright, buzzing, slightly metallic, slightly sweet — is what people mean when they say something sounds like a Game Boy or an NES even when they cannot name the hardware. It is the acoustic signature of the constraint.
Composers on the NES learned quickly that the choice of inversion and voicing changed the colour dramatically.
Composers on the NES learned quickly that the choice of inversion and voicing changed the colour dramatically. A root-position triad arpeggiated upward reads differently from the same chord with the fifth in the bass. Omitting the third collapses the sequence to two pitches and produces a hollow, open sound the triangle reinforces well. A pulse channel arpeggio can be made bright and punchy by cycling through tight intervals at high speed; the sense of propulsion it creates is almost rhythmic as much as harmonic. Hirokazu Tanaka's work leans toward tritones and unresolved intervals arpeggiated over sparse, unsettled textures, producing unease rather than warmth.
Speed also determines register. An arpeggio cycling at sixty events per second in a high octave sits in frequency space closer to a chord tone cluster than to a melody note; it begins to function as timbre rather than rhythm. Slow it down and it becomes a broken chord, an accompaniment pattern, something you recognise as playing a sequence. Sunsoft's composers, working on titles like Batman (1989), pushed speeds toward the upper limits, blurring the arpeggio almost into a new waveform — a technique that influenced the later tracker scene heavily, where the effect has its own parameter column and a community of practitioners who tune it by ear.

Tim Follin, working primarily on third-party NES cartridges, used multi-channel arpeggios simultaneously to imply dense harmonic stacking that the channel count should not permit. By arpeggiating across different rhythmic subdivisions on each channel, he created a polyrhythmic shimmer that behaved less like a chord and more like a texture. Music researchers studying Follin's NES arrangements have noted their unusual density relative to the hardware specification, achieved through the same basic mechanic every other composer used, just sequenced with exceptional precision.

The deeper point is structural. The 2A03 did not stop composers from writing chords. It changed what a chord meant: not a simultaneous event but a temporal one, not pressed but swept, the harmony existing in the listener's reconstruction of a sequence rather than in any single moment of audio. That is a different kind of music — not worse, not impoverished, just shaped by different physics. The shimmer is the constraint made audible, and after forty years it still sounds like nothing else.