A Closer Listen
Oxymardyke is both heartrending and inspiring, suffused with a melancholic character revealed only by the backstory. The ears receive it as a celebration of life. These are Philip Jeck‘s final sonic offerings (although we may yet heard unreleased work from the artist). Chris Watson relays the tale with heartfelt words. Watson had made a series of recordings at the Oxmardyke rail crossing and after some conversation had shared them with Jeck, who was fascinated by the area’s history. In January 2022, Jeck was admitted to the hospital. In precious, all-too-brief moments, he found relief from the pain, sitting up, working with these sounds on his laptop: remembering who he was, perhaps reflecting on his legacy, sharing his talents with the world for what would be the final time.
It is impossible to separate the contributions of the artists on this record, nor would we wish to: Oxmardyke is a collaboration of mutual friendship and respect. Jeck’s groundbreaking work with turntables and loops has already found a place in music lore, while Watson, perhaps more than any single artist, has helped to bring field recordings to the attention of the mainstream.
One can only speculate on Jeck’s thoughts, but it’s reasonable to guess that he may have felt an affinity with the Oxmardyke gates, knowing that they had since closed, while their sonic echoes remained. One recalls the history of the crossing through sonic prompts, in the same manner as listeners now recall Jeck, making this set all the more poignant.
Jeck slows sound, then magnifies it, like a scientist returning to a slide. In “Coop,” the loops are pulled like taffy, while the birdsong is crisp and clear: a collision of nostalgia and reality. “Drum”drops hints of sonic ballroom into a mist of squawking seagulls. Notes emerge as if from a locked basement. A train passes, seemingly without slowing. When the brakes are eventually applied, no one seems to depart. Is this a ghost train? If so, it echoes Watson’s own El Tren Fantasma (2011), the attention of “AH” diverted to rustling tracks and descending glissandos, like fading signals.
By “Salt End,” the rain has begun to fall, but life goes on, despite the title. The clouds are closing around Jeck. The sirens are starting to sound. The artist says, “I still have more to give,” and he does. A distant announcement is made. Perhaps Jeck hears it as a boarding call: but not yet, not just yet. There are still greetings and goodbyes, arrivals and departures. One can imagine the artist rising from his bed, taking a last look around, and boarding the last train before the station itself is closed. Watson enters the room, sees his final notes and completes his final elegy. In the final piece, the train horn sounds as the waves crash against the shore. Both fall silent; all falls silent. But their sounds are not forgotten. (Richard Allen)
Mon Jul 17 00:01:57 GMT 2023