Dalot - Aquarium

A Closer Listen

Dalot‘s Aquarium is a delightful album that can be read on a number of levels: as a diary of parenthood, an ecological parable or a celebration of summer.  Or one might simply take it at face value: the story of a lionfish in an aquarium.

The thematic arc is reminiscent of Ai Yamamoto’s Pan De Sonic – Iso, which traces the daily activities of the artist’s family in a time of lockdown.  This lionfish is in lockdown too.  There’s still time for “Waking Up,” the “Everyday Routine,” and once chores are done, play. The album’s playfulness is purposeful; drawing from Greek children’s shows of the 80’s and early 90’s, Dalot composed Aquarium as the original score to Caterini Dinopoulou’s dance performance for children of the same name.  Not only can one hear childhood in the music, one can also imagine children being fascinated by its sounds, as mesmerized as they might be on a trip to the aquarium.  They may connect the lionfish’s schedule to their own; the opening, string-based loops, redolent of night, grow in insistence like a soft alarm or the widening array of morning sunlight.  Then soft chimes and wooden xylophone: it is time to wake up, perhaps even to engage in a fun game of “Peekaboo” with Mama.  Can we bring our toys out yet?  No, first it is time to get dressed, have breakfast and brush your teeth.  Remember to tie your shoelaces!

There’s a flow to life, most evident in the seamless transition between tracks three and four.  Most days evolve like the tides, awaiting novelty.  Children who watch the lionfish may notice certain repetitions: self-cleaning, investigating, feeding, resting.  But then a new melody sneaks into “Everyday Routine,” one that sounds like a carousel and circles like a daydream.  A foreboding counter-balance is introduced in “Rocks and Sharks,” swept away quickly in the ebullience of “Bubbles,” which begins humbly before introducing in swift succession an opening door, a video game bleep and the sound of bubbles escaping to the surface.

By now the children are entranced, making connections between the lionfish and themselves.  And now, after the fairytale groundwork has been laid,  the real conflict is introduced: a jellyfish named Medusa, dropped into the tank.  How will the lionfish survive?  Why are its companions unaware of the danger, mesmerized by the flashing lights and undulating tentacles?  How will the lionfish be able to go about its routine, knowing that an alluring death like a siren awaits?  And now the twist: Medusa is also a symbol of human intrusion, whether through climate change, water pollution or a combination of both.  Some species have adapted; the Pacific Garbage Patch now contains its own ecosystems.  Others have languished or perished: bleached coral, scarred manatees, stranded polar bears, endangered whales.

The set builds to an exciting, open-ended peak.  “The Swimmer” is a pulse-driven piece with the power of post-rock, suggesting a pair of narratives.  The first recalls Dory, the blue tang fish who repeats the mantra, “just keep swimming.”  The second is more hopeful: a brass-tinged tone that suggests triumph over adversity.  While it’s unclear how the story ends, the artist’s hopefulness is clear.  As the album returns to loops, adding angelic voices, one feels a sense of completion, like a day well-lived.  We imagine the dance performance concluding on an up note as well, and we’d love to see an illustrated children’s book featuring this same score.  We are all in this aquarium; let’s keep it clean!  (Richard Allen)