I Laugh, But Not Too Hard, and I Look, But Not Too Far - Hayden's The Closer I Get turns 20
Unless I’ve manufactured this memory, the first time I can recall seeing a copy of Hayden’s The Closer I Get was at a record store in the Cherry Vale Mall, in Rockford, Illinois. I remember seeing it, and recognizing Hayden’s name—I knew it from the theme he recorded to the idiosyncratic 1996 Steve Buscemi vanity project Trees Lounge. I looked at the CD, looked at the tracklist on the back, and then I placed it back in the H’s.
20 years later, I wonder if I had bought it at this point, probably within its first year of
release, if it was an album I would have understood and appreciated as a 15
year old—if it’s the kind of thing that I would have carried with me from my
teenage years into young adulthood, or if it’s the kind album that I wouldn’t
have identified with, and would have struggled to make any kind of connection
to.
In 2003, I bought a used copy of The Closer I Get from a second hand record store in Dubuque, Iowa.
It would have been during the latter half of my second year in school, and it
was a bit of a blind buy; I saw the cover art and instantly recognized it, and
when I got it back to the dorm and placed it in my gigantic, clunky five-disc
CD changer, and heard the pensive first guitar strums of the titular track, I
connected with the album immediately.
I still do, every time I listen to it. It is, without a
doubt, one of my favorite records of all time.
* * *
Hayden Desser’s debut full length, released in 1995, was
titled Everything I Long For, and
three years later, on his sophomore outing, there is still an awful lot of
longing. I realized that recently, listening to the album with a more critical,
or at least a more thoughtful ear, as opposed to sitting with it for enjoyment.
The only record of Desser’s to be backed (in America, anyway)
by a subsidiary of a major label, it’s also probably his best, or at least most
satisfying, from start to finish, and it finds Desser, only in his late 20s at
the time it was released, making gigantic growth as a songwriter and performer,
while working with a whole stable of producers, recording in various locales,
and still managing to create a record that works as a cohesive whole full of
both tension and release.
I wasn’t familiar with Desser’s earlier, more esoteric
debut, or the EP that followed, prior to listening to The Closer I Get—so my introduction to Everything I Long For was listening to the 20th
anniversary reissue of it in 2015. One of the things that really struck me
about it was how much dissonance and anger he packed into a number of the
songs—dipping into this very unsettling, shouty register with his voice that
would have been startling to hear upon its release, sure, but was most
definitely starting 20 years after the fact—it certainly had not aged well, and
it was comforting to know that he had grown out of it, and in a relatively
quick fashion.
Throughout The Closer
I Get, Desser paints incredibly vivid portraits with his lyricism, and he
really wastes no time, getting right to business in the album’s titular opening
track—“When I said I would try to be
calm, I lied to prove myself wrong,” he begins, in a half-mumble as the song
eases effortlessly into a very slow, shuffling, trudging rhythm behind him. “The truth is in the details, and the
writing’s on the wall,” he continues. “And
the closer I get to being strong—the less to go wrong.”
Of the album’s 13 tracks, two of them are instrumentals, and
of the 11 remaining, a number of them are steeped in a sense of melancholic
longing. The cumbersomely titled “The Hazards of Sitting Beneath Palm Trees”
finds Desser at a beach, narrating a scene where the object of his (presumably
unspoken) affection is attracting the attention of a number of others—“And just before you reach me—he speaks,”
Desser sings. “His face is red, and he’s
talking to breathe. You get up to leave as the sun hits the trees, and you jump
in the water with him at your feet.”
The same unspoken affection, though in a slightly more
romantic, or well-meaning framing, arrives in the country and western tinged
“Two Doors,” where Desser tries to catch the eye of a woman he sees checking
into the same hotel he’s staying in—it turns out they are staying in rooms that
are side by side—rooms that are connected through the doors inside that lead
from one room to the other. He never really works up the courage to even speak
to her, however; through the paper-thin walls of the hotel room, he hears what
movie she’s watching on the television, and he chooses to watch the same thing.
There’s a similar image constructed in the song that immediately
follows it, “Between Us to Hold”—vivid and sparse, Desser recalls trying to
teach someone (presumably a girlfriend) how to play the guitar over the course
of many long sick days.
Just because Desser grew out of that shouty, angsty, and
dissonant method of singing doesn’t mean that this is a fragile and quiet folk
record—far from it, at times, as he steers songs into a ramshackle, indie rock
snarl—you hear bits of it in the album’s first half on “Hazards,” but it really
kicks in at the start of what could be looked at as the second half of the
record, on “Better Off Inside,” though this is merely conjecture on my part
based on the way the album is musically structured; the liner notes split the
album up into two sides, and the second half begins with the acoustic and
sparse “Between Us to Hold.”
Either way you look at it, the second half of The Closer I Get isn’t the ‘louder’ side
of the record—not at all, really. It’s just happens that “Better Off Inside,”
is, like, the one final loud gasp before Desser begins bringing things down for
a somber conclusion.
After the second instrumental of the album—“Instrumental
With Mellotron,” which is slightly more emotionally built than the wandering
and hazy “Waiting For A Chance to See Her,” the final four songs really work to
close The Closer I Get on a very
introspective note—the meditative, mantra-like rumination on the death of Elvis
Presley on “Memphis,” and becomes incredibly cinematic with the tumbling piano
and string arrangements of “Nights Like
These.”
Desser revisits a track from the 1996 EP Moving Careful with the growing
desperation of “You Are All I Have”—here, cleaned up quite a bit and strummed
out at a noticeably more even pace, it also features slightly more additional
instrumentation along side his tense acoustic guitar. The growing anxieties of
the song’s very plainly stated, stark, and almost dangerous lyrics are among
the darkest on the record—“If you go
away, I don’t think that I will survive. I’ll wait outside the front door till
you arrive,” he sings, then later, changes the lyrics in the song’s final
verse—“You’re stronger than me, I have
just realized. You won’t be outside of the door till I arrive.”
The Closer I Get
ends with a very simply structured acoustic song, “I’ll Tell Him Tonight,”
though its very basic strumming is juxtaposed against what may be some of the
most vivid and impressionistic lyrics Desser has penned—reflecting back on a
traumatic childhood memory involving who is, presumably, a younger and possibly
troubled sibling. “I remember the day it
came,” he begins. “Flashing lights
and sirens rang—they took you, and put you inside.” Then, later, “How come everything has to change? I wish
were four and six and in the rain. When we were six and eight, we dressed the
same.”
I’d never consider The
Closer I Get to be a dark record; it certainly can be moody, but in the way
it closes, very matter of factly, with “I’ll Tell Him Tonight,” it leaves the
listener with a weighty, haunting feeling—again, much like that sense of longing,
is something I never really picked up when listening to this record with an
analytical ear turned off.
* * *
I sometimes wonder if the reason I think that The Closer I Get is Desser’s most
approachable or listenable record is only because it’s the first one I heard,
and therefore, had the most connection to. In 2004, I blind bought the then
just released Elk Lake Serenade, and
I definitely did not connect with it—I don’t remember really enjoying any of
the songs on it, and to this day, I couldn’t tell you why. It wasn’t for lack
of trying. I have also sat down with Desser’s two most recent albums, as well
as the reissues of Everything I Long For
and Moving Careful—and none of these
have had the immediacy, or the emotional resonance, that The Closer I Get has.
Was 1998 Hayden Desser ‘peak Hayden’? I don’t know. Is this
the album that was supposed to break him in to the U.S. and make him a
household name—I’m not sure. But being on a Universal Records ‘hip’ subsidiary
certainly implies that was the case, however, that is not what happened.
Desser still, to this day, remains an elusive figure with a
cult following in the United States, and as expected, he’s more or less, renowned
in Canada, even though there, he’s still just elusive, though just more
popular. His sparse Wikipedia claims that there have been a number of rumors
about his passing, simply due to how reclusive he is capable of being—so much
so that he has opted to let the Canadian label Arts and Crafts handle releasing and promotion of his last two efforts, as opposed to doing it through his own,
long running, Harwood imprint.
The Closer I Get
is one of those records that is representative of not just one time, but at
least for me, two times—the time that produced it, and the time that I found
it, or rather, it found me. It’s an emotional record, yes, but it brings you to
the brink of something, and then pulls you back—never sending you over the edge
into tears or hysterics, which is just one of the ways Desser shows the kind of
control he brought to the songwriting and crafting of the record.
There are records that I consider to be among my favorite
that are also ‘important’ records to both the artist, as well as to the history
and evolution of contemporary popular music. Is The Closer I Get one of those? I can’t speak to that. It’s not
important enough to Desser to have been given the 20th anniversary
reissue treatment; it was, however, released on vinyl for the first time in
2014 as part of Record Store Day in Canada, limited to 1,000 copies—the least
expensive of which is going for $140; the most expensive (still sealed) is
double that.
Evocative, almost too personal at times, and pensive in its
tone, The Closer I Get isn’t a
perfect, or flawless record—I never claimed it was. But it’s a transformative
artistic statement, albeit a subdued one, with an thought provoking nature that
resonates much louder than the music found with in, stretching out through time
farther than the expected shelf life of pop music.
You can still order The Closer I Get on CD from the man himself.
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