A Closer Listen
This spring, the LAAPS label brought our attention to Yukon artist Dalton Alexander with Almost Home If I’m Still Alive, combining tracks from two previous releases. This fall, the artist justifies the attention with a short but memorable set of new material.
The feature that sets Alexander apart from other artists is the space he provides for field recordings: not just nature sounds, but personal recordings that sound as if they have been taken from camcorder, tape recorder and phone footage. The black and white cover of the new release and the nostalgic, sepia-toned video for “Chadburn and Meadowood” cement the impression that these recordings may have come from a previous era, perhaps even the artist’s own history. A bell is rung, leading to film of an idyllic backyard childhood; the ambient notes sneak in around the edges like growing trees. The time stamp reads 1994, which seems about right. Summer turns to autumn, Halloween decorations appear, the neighbors show off their new motorcycle, then speed away. (Note: the dialogue from this last part is in the video only.)
The liner notes reveal a different story. These field recordings, although they sound abraded, are new. The artist had returned to his hometown for his grandmother’s funeral, and was flooded with memories; he recorded as much as he could to recapture that aural magic. Amazingly, many things remained the same as he remembered them: “the essence of childhood … still hummed with life.” At the time, he didn’t know that this would be his final visit to his childhood home; the house was sold while he was recording the album.
In “By the Window,” rain pours down as the artist plays guitar, recalling the feeling of being unable to play outside, followed by that of finding something to do. But in the next track, Alexander walks across gravel, accompanied by a variety of backyard birds. Wind chimes sound while traffic passes humbly in the distance. On the second side, one of these sounds will distinguish itself from all the rest: that old childhood friend, the ice cream truck. This one, thankfully, is idling; the children do not have to chase it. An amusing dialogue ensues. In “After Dark,” fireworks burst in the distance. One recalls not only the shows that one has seen, but those that one was not permitted to attend, and the wistful joy of watching from miles away. Alexander adds an unobtrusive drone, like an opaque yellow highlighter. A train horn blows, alerting the neighbors to its presence. Piano and crickets populate the closing piece, a comforting goodnight.
We’re well past the era in which families invited each other over to watch home movies; it’s questionable whether this was ever really popular, or just tolerated. But something has been lost when the best one can do is hold someone’s attention for a 30-second video clip. A third option is sound. Please Take Nothing But Memory, the title reads, suggesting a walk in a protected nature preserve. Sound evokes memory as well as any photo or film, and in some cases is even better, as the mind creates its own images. Alexander is making photo books of sound, and we’re happy to flip through them again and again. (Richard Allen)
Thu Sep 26 00:01:31 GMT 2024