INTERVIEW:Laura James's musician husband died two weeks before the birth of their daughter. Two years later, she is planning a gig in his memory, writes SINEAD GLEESON
EVERY COUPLE HAS shared interests, but for Laura James and Derrick Dalton, music was almost a way of life. It was a passion for both of them before they met – at a gig Dalton was playing with his band. Dalton was a well-known guitarist in Dublin music circles (and member of The Skips, Hey Paulette, The Deportees and Crumb). They started going out and went to about 2,000 gigs together.
“I was 21 when I met him at a Huggy Bear gig,” James says, “but I knew him from playing in bands, and he eventually asked me out. We both loved music. He proposed to me at a Mexican Pets gig when he was very drunk and we had only been going out for a few months. I told him that if we were still together in 10 years, he should ask me again. He was a very patient man. When he eventually proposed, years later, I bought him a guitar as an engagement present.”
The couple married in 2007 and in September 2008 they were delighted to be expecting their first child. Over the previous couple of years, Dalton, who worked in St James’s Hospital, had suffered from depression, but had been seeing a counsellor. That year, he had been off medication, but had resumed it during his wife’s pregnancy – without telling her and without following medical advice. “We were both very focused on the pregnancy but Derrick wasn’t confiding in me as much, and he was a little withdrawn. He was going for therapy and I thought he had gotten a lot better.”
For any parents, the imminent birth of a child brings a sense of possibility, change, and an expectation that your life will never be the same again. For James, the final weeks of anticipation turned into something unimaginable when Dalton took his own life, aged 40, two weeks before their daughter was born.
“On the Saturday beforehand, he bought new shoes and a book, which are not really the actions of someone who plans to do something like this. When I heard the news, it was unreal. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Your whole life is pulled from under you. You are completely numb, but that numbness is the protection that keeps you going. The realisation of what had happened didn’t hit me for three or four months. You just want to die yourself, to be with him, to see him again, but they say that for every suicide, six people’s lives are devastated by it. It wrecks those lives for a long time.”
In the midst of dealing with immense grief, James gave birth, exactly two weeks later, to their daughter Julie. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, she is startlingly like her father. “I’m delighted she looks so like him, but it was a bittersweet reminder that after 14 years with someone, you have this lovely baby and he wasn’t there to see her.”
Like many people, Dalton didn’t confide in friends or family about his depression. He was quiet, shy and, “had his moody days”, but James believes music was a huge outlet for him in the absence of opening up to others. As well as playing guitar, Dalton had his own studio at their home and recorded albums with several Irish bands, and a John Peel Session for his own band Hey Paulette.
“I used to joke with him, saying that music was more important to him than me. He would wake up in the night and tell me that he had to go and record something before he forgot it. Once, he told a friend that he would be happy to spend the rest of his life recording music on his four-track in our little studio. Music kept him going and it allowed him to express himself, but it was a burden in its own way, in that he never had enough time.”
Laura believes that mental illness is hugely stigmatised in Ireland, and that people – especially men – don’t deal with their emotions. “People suffering in this way think they’re a burden and through their distorted thinking, they think death is the only way out. If Derrick could have seen the impact his actions would have on me and his family, he wouldn’t have done this.” Since Dalton’s death, James still suffers from insomnia, agoraphobia and panic attacks.
As his second anniversary drew nearer, she decided she wanted to celebrate his life and pay homage to the DIY recording ethic they both loved. Before his death, he completed an album with his band Crumb and a solo-project single under the name Aeromodeller. Laura got both projects mixed, mastered and pressed (on vinyl – another joint love of theirs) and is launching both at a tribute gig, where several of his friends will play.
“It’ll be like having a big party where he’s not there. I’m apprehensive as it’ll bring a lot of people together who were all bound by Derrick, and I wanted everyone to have the records for all their support. It’s the best music he ever made, but I can’t listen to it – yet.”
Crumb had fans as far away as Japan and James plans to play Dalton’s music to Julie and show her clips of their gigs. “Derrick’s father was also a musician and on his grave it says ‘May the Music Play On’ and that’s something I’ll always think about when I think of Derrick.”
A Night in Memory of Derrick Dalton takes place next Wednesday at Whelan’s, Wexford Street, Dublin 2. Admission is €12, which will include copies of the Aeromodeller and Crumb records. All profits to Aware. The album can bought online at yesboyicecream.com
