Using the field recordings harvested and processed for the Naked Sound Seventeen album (available at CO_RD Tapes here:
cordtapes.bandcamp.com/album/naked-sound-seventeen ), Coppice Halifax distills down all of the colors, scents and sounds of a Carolinian Summer like crayon wax, and pours them out across rainsoaked drum machines, sunkissed synthesizers and (sub)tropical texture.
More than simply a remix companion to the Naked Sound recordings, Subtropix is a signpost planted on the Richland County line in Columbia, South Carolina - almost 600 miles away from the currently thriving White Pillar Workshop - where Botany Bay yielded crop after crop of Halifaxian fruit. A place where Summer lasts 9 months of the year, and the nearly constant 90-100 degree heat is only broken by torrential downpours. A land where nothing dries out completely, with shaggy green grass overtaking everything in the space of a week, while yard hoses and plastic furniture disappear beneath a blanket of mosquito and snake inhabited microforests. I brought my daughter home from the hospital to just such a place, and I left great old friends behind when I drove away, through the mountains, to the windy valley I now call home.
There's no regret, no going back - but there is always looking back, and feeling some sadness, and Subtropix is one of a few attempts to come to terms with no longer being a part of the place that I lived in for over thirty years. In all honesty, I was tired of it - the weather, the politics, the idea that raising a child down there might not be for the best - and that's why it was so important to get away.
The great thing about remembering things as an artist, however, is that you can remember things however you choose to, and when you write about those memories, you have carte blanche to disseminate the past at arm's length. Remorse and regret can become romance and resolution, the sour syrup of sadness becoming a bittersweet tincture you can pocket away until the time is right again. And each time you open that little bottle up, it's always a little sweeter. Reality blurs further and further out of reach as your recollections of recollections overwrite themselves again and again. The tangibility of memory itself is fluid and vaporous, like a VHS tape you have rewound and replayed too many times, so now the blips and tracking errors are just as much a part of the subject matter as the film itself.
So, with great glowing happiness I give you Subtropix - four vials of Summer memory perfume, filtered through a human brain for thirty-four years so that only the palatable remains, however dishonest that may be. If you can never truly revisit the past, then why not make that process more enjoyable? It takes some amount of distance to truly appreciate the view, so I've provided you with both here. Contented escapism for a time and place that so badly needs it.