Where to begin? For myself, and many of you, the words "Ocean Lion" conjure up a world of sound and texture that feels distinct from many of my other recordings. The project began in the Spring of 2008, as the first two tracks on what would become the first Ocean Lion album, recorded as a birthday gift for my friend Erik, whose music remains an important influence on my own. In the time since then, I've recorded two more volumes under the heading, the second being more of a Pawleys Island-adjacent dub techno outing, and the third being a triptych of beatless ambient excursions, which is already almost seven years behind me, unbelievably.
I always knew I'd return to Ocean Lion, that I envisioned it from the start as a four-volume run, inspired by the then-canon of Wolfgang Voigt's first four GAS albums, but I never could quite grasp the where and when of those visitations, with Ocean Lion material surfacing and receding like the tide itself, ignorant of my desires, blind to any time passing at all. It is with this notion in mind that Ocean Lion IV arrived - I fondly think of it less as me diving into the sea, and more that I've been pulled beneath the waves by the undertow and displaced into its permanent blue kingdoms. Several friends and listeners brought Ocean Lion into our conversations, unbeknownst to one another, and as always, the universe never fails to communicate to me what I ought to be doing, so here I am again, standing on this shore, exhausted.
I've brought with me four ornate bottles this time, filled with the seduction of purple liquors retrieved from fabled shipwrecks, equal parts melancholic longing, faded memory and the sweet poison of nostalgia. These I have poured for myself across two weeks of brain-fried evenings, sitting in my studio, consumed by the stress of the modern world and my forever changing placement within it. I can no longer tell whether or not these things are for me, or if I've simply been compelled to bring them up to the surface again for some other reason yet to be discovered. Ocean Lion, as ever, simply is.
Looking back at the series up to this point, it's almost unrecognizable now, with IV bearing so many different feelings and atmospheres that once again, what I think of as Ocean Lion is changing even when I cannot detect it. I found myself asking questions like "Can a Coppice Halifax album have so many guitars?" and "Am I content with this being the end of this series?" I think of Sun Cast, and things like Pawleys Island or River Mural before and after it, and realize that I have long ago made my peace with the fact that my work is one big Venn diagram that overlaps in gradient percentages with itself, that lines and boundaries change, or have been revealed to be absent to begin with. The dubby basslines from the first album have returned, covered in distorted guitar barnacles and coral shapes, while the subdued motorik rhythms have floated fully to the surface, sunburnt and waterlogged like chunks of driftwood. Like pinhole stars in an ink-black sky, notes of synthesizers and samplers have pointillistically scattered and coalesced into polymetric arrangements, ornately decorating the frothing sea like a glittering crown.
By the end, we're left with a plaintive strum on ten bronze strings, wavering across the breeze like an echo of a lost love, somewhere off the coast of the nearest strand's doomed civilization. The clouds part and the waves calm, just enough for the sad sunshine to peek through and remind us of all the wonderful things we used to know, all the curious thoughts we used to ponder, before draping an overcast shroud across us once again in this cosmic evening, weighing heavily upon us with that abyssal gravity, as we sink again beneath the tidal pull, alone and together all at once, desperate and displeased with whoever we are.
But is this the end? Artistically, it is up to me to decide, but I have to be honest with you, as I often am, and candidly admit that even I don't know. This line of work is not as obvious as others, with the linearity and completeness that so many other vocations offer. Instead I'm left with the turn of a page, and another empty new one, and sometimes the book sits there accumulating dust for years while I am off in other pursuits, while other times, I already know what I will write before I begin. For now, let's just enjoy this small golden hour together before the sun sets, and we'll say that we'd like to see each other again, even if we don't completely know that it will happen. The green hills of tomorrow are always alive with nascent unspoken wisdoms, unaware that they too will become the empty valleys of memory, so perhaps we'll find ourselves there, or perhaps we won't.
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Previous entries in the Ocean Lion series:
Ocean Lion -
coppicehalifax.bandcamp.com/album/ocean-lion
Ocean Lion II -
coppicehalifax.bandcamp.com/album/ocean-lion-ii
Ocean Lion III, Part I -
coppicehalifax.bandcamp.com/album/ocean-lion-iii-part-one
Ocean Lion III, Part II -
coppicehalifax.bandcamp.com/album/ocean-lion-iii-part-two
Ocean Lion III, Part III -
coppicehalifax.bandcamp.com/album/ocean-lion-iii-part-three
Lioness -
coppicehalifax.bandcamp.com/album/lioness
Lioness II -
coppicehalifax.bandcamp.com/album/lioness-ii