I love the Allotment Tapes. Perhaps that’s a bit simple, but Ben McElroy’s ongoing project to document, collaborate with, and share the world of St. Ann’s allotments in Nottingham is a small slice of magic. This is quietly important work. The size and maze-like quality to St. Ann’s are like a kind of score, each space offering its own story and sonic blueprint. McElroy’s open-hearted exploration of these spaces feels personal, giving each volume a warmth and vulnerability that’s heightened by the whimsical, effervescent music underpinning everything.
I have no connection to the allotment system in the UK (I only learned it existed five or six years ago when becoming obsessed with Monty Don), but the lives of the people who tend to these small parcels of land are relatable to anyone who tends to anything. It also reminds me of the large vegetable garden my grandmother had when she lived out in the country, before a tornado wiped out her house in 1991. This is living music and life as art, and McElroy’s gentle adoration shines through, opening the maze to everyone.
Hear all the current volumes (and everything else Ben is up to) at his Bandcamp page HERE.
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So before we get into St. Ann’s and the allotments, I’m curious about your earliest memories of really noticing sound. Is there anything you remember that has stuck with you, whether it’s a sound from the environment or music, that you still think about?
To be honest, if there were any revelatory moments during my childhood, they are lost to time. Music really started to hit me as a teenager; I guess I was pretty lonely at that point, and music helped me feel less alone… so singer-songwriters like Neil Young/Nick Drake… but I also loved psychedelia and, slightly later, dub reggae… and slowly learned to zoom in and really pick up on the subtleties of the music (improved hi-fi systems from subsequent birthdays/pocket money savings helped!).
Some things that stand out- Pink Floyd Atom Heart Mother with its fragments of field recordings/spoken words and sound collage-ness… felt like really stepping into the music.
A friend also had this ‘super stereo’ set up (he had each speaker on completely the opposite side of the room)… I remember hearing Police and Thieves by Junior Murvin there and being amazed as the guitar bounced from one speaker to another (possibly helped along a little by certain substances).
What was it like growing up? Was there a lot of music in the house? And when did your interest in music turn to playing and composing?
Not really a lot of music was played in the house. My mum used to sing a lot around the house… so lots of tunes… generally fairly mainstream.
I was definitely a fan before a musician, and the music I loved inspired me to play and want to write music… I had not quite sounds, but vague colours/spaces in my head that I wanted to express somehow… but it took me a long time to develop the skills on instruments.
I played drums in a band during school, but was never really a natural drummer. I had various beaten-up guitars which I very slowly got more competent at and would make little tape recordings- firstly just using a double tape deck and swapping tapes (until the earliest recordings disappeared!) and at some point getting hold of a Tascam 4-track and just playing around.
This was it until, in my early 20s, I moved to Nottingham to do a music tech course, moved over to a computer and made some recordings as The Four Fishermen. I also started playing with some proper musicians, which forced me to up my game considerably! And then I bought a cheap violin with a student loan and started scraping away!
And then, more related to the project – what was your experience with allotments or growing spaces before this? Was there a specific plot, or maybe a specific person tending one, that was important to you?
My Granny was a keen allotment holder, so maybe that was somewhere in my head… but, consciously, I was interested in land usage and nature. There are spaces I love out in the countryside… but it felt important that it was somewhere local/accessible… allotments seemed the perfect place. Then I started exploring St. Ann’s a bit more and realised what an amazing space it was and that a whole project could be based there.
Allotments really seemed to resonate with my creative aesthetic of using repurposed/conditioned instruments and tech, not being too precious about a bit of mess around the edges.
So, the Allotment Tapes. I guess the place to start is rather obvious – but how did the idea for this project come to you? And how long had you been planning it before it officially began?
I guess from about Summer ’25. I didn’t feel ready to make a full album just yet; I had just realised Elkwort and wanted to let that breathe a little. I’d been following Laura Cannell’s monthly series and thought, how amazing that was, and wondered whether I could write at that speed- be less precious and let the sounds really reflect the moment.
I also really loved the podcast Uncanny Landscapes by Justin Hopper and liked the idea that I wouldn’t be the focus; I could let others tell the story.
I love how the sound sources change and shift across the different volumes, and it’s such a variety of toneworlds and sonics. How does a location or conversation point you in a particular direction as far as the instrumentation goes?
I kind of just follow intuitively, both with the sounds and what bits of spoken word/field recordings to use. Some of the bits of music were already recorded, and I guess I just played with them until they seemed to fit. Some of the more recent bits have been recorded onsite/around the same time… I still couldn’t really say I consciously wrote something to fit a particular conversation. Likewise, a lot of the spoken word was chosen more for how it sounded/felt than concisely giving info… I was searching for an emotional resonance… I guess in the same way I would for wordless sound… this felt right, so I followed this.
Then again, I tried not to be too precious with the continuity of the sound. Before the project started, I had to remind myself to be kind to myself and just let what came out come- there’s not really time to be too picky when releasing a new thing every month!
The balance of spoken material/conversation and music across these tapes is really fascinating (and, to my ears, quite well balanced!), and I like how some volumes feel a bit more musical than others. It works. What decides how that balance takes shape in a particular tape for you?
Again, I tend to play/listen intuitively… when it feels right, it feels right. I listen to the recordings quite a bit in various places… in the car sometimes… sometimes I’ll put them on and try and doze off (not in the car!)… if anything sticks out/feels wrong, that normally rouses me.
August’s tape Dig and Dinner is quite a bit busier than others, and the conversation less edited. This felt right as the space it documents, Ecoworks, is a community garden and quite busy… on the other side, June’s tape documents a now untended nature reserve and features no conversation at all.
St. Ann’s seems to have this very maze-like quality. Has that sort of sense of enclosure and discovery shaped how you structure a tape? Does the way you physically move between spaces inspire those choices in the music?
Hmm, maybe, sometimes I think of the tapes travelling around the site a bit.
Val Turton appears on two different volumes because, as you said (and I love this), ‘she had too much plot wisdom’ for one tape. What was it about her that made you want to bring her back for the third tape?
Firstly, I just had more bits of her conversation that I hadn’t been able to use yet and that seemed to fit. Secondly, the second tape with Steno didn’t have loads of stuff because I’d been a bit shy with the recorder (it was the first conversation I’d had) and missed bits as we moved around his space.
But Val has also taken real interest in the project, offered me her space as a base, and really helped inspire me to continue… so in that way she has been a presence throughout the project.
On Volume #5, you’ve got both Gail and Peter, whose plots sit next to each other. I love the image of the two plots being so different, the immaculate rows on one side, the wilder space on the other. How did recording two very different philosophies of tending land in the same visit change how you thought about what a garden even is?
So Gail and Peter are husband and wife; I just thought that was a really nice story and that people can co-exist happily with their different philosophies… I think they are partly different to complement each other too; Peter has the veg side covered, so Gail decided to create something different.
On the one hand, I’m conscious of how important land use is for the environment. On the other, these spaces aren’t really that big in the grand scheme of things, and the St. Ann’s plots vary so wildly depending on the tenants’ needs/desires/values.
Urban Nature seems like a pretty unique space in the scope of this project, a no-longer-managed wildlife habitat. How do you approach a site that’s sort of actively disappearing, or at the very least changing shape, while you’re recording it?
By sneaking in! But really, throughout the project, I’ve tried not to let myself/my ideas get in the way too much and just let the people/places speak for themselves.
Actually, a lot of the plots are untended… possibly the holder couldn’t keep on top of them. It doesn’t take long for nature to reclaim… I have conflicting views on this tbh.
I really liked hearing Rachel Brooke talk about accessibility and the value of green space in a city/urban environment (preaching to the choir, here!). Have those conversations shifted your own thinking about what the project is documenting, beyond the actual sound of the place?
I think I was always interested in documenting people’s relationships to these environments. The fact that it is an urban/accessible space was an important reason why I was drawn to it.
Looking back over the months so far, has anything about St. Ann’s really surprised you? Something you didn’t expect to find when you started this project?
Well, the initial plan wasn’t to just be based at St. Ann’s; it wasn’t until I’d got my head around the size and scope of it that I realized this is the project here.
I think, at the start, I’d thought about writing about the space myself, but I quickly realised that I knew very little compared to these people, and that the allotments had been such an integral part of their life for so long… the more I’ve progressed, the more I’ve wanted to leave things to speak for themselves with as little prodding from me as possible. I think this is becoming true of the music too.
You’ve said that January will return in 2027 (well, I mean… you said that, but also… time). What could a second pass at a place or person you’ve already recorded add that the first visit didn’t?
Did I say that? Ha, I can’t remember… maybe I just meant time. 🙂 Though it would be interesting to revisit people and the project at some point… I definitely have some ideas for that; might have a little rest in January though!
I have thought about a kind of Time Machine box, maybe burying the tapes and various artefacts picked up over the year. It could be interesting but also pretty devastating as, honestly speaking, the future is looking pretty scary at the moment.
Well over half a year into the Allotment Tapes, has your sense of what this project actually is changed at all from when you first thought of it as ‘something connected to land use and nature’?
I think that’s still important, but also just the little stories, connections.. Though it’s been quite a busy project for me, I really wanted to convey the space, the slow meandering conversations, the imperfections… so important in this world of super quick soundbites and creeping AI…
And lastly, I’ll close as I always do… What are some of your favorite sounds in the world?
Ooh, well, I really love distant things, church bells when they swing in and out of time… the indistinct spaces in between sounds… mooing and the obvious bird/nature sounds… typewriters, analogue cameras. I have a lovely old metal water canister that makes a lovely ding.
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