Growing Up in a House of Music
Cameron Paxton’s path to becoming a composer was never straightforward. Born into a military family, his early years were scattered across the United States — North Carolina, Texas, California, Hawaii, Indiana, Virginia, Wyoming. The constant moving gave him glimpses into many different versions of America, but it also meant he often turned inward for stability.
At home, the atmosphere was loud and feminine. With three younger sisters and a mother who sang at church and sporting events, music was ever-present. His father, a “rock and roller from the ’70s,” filled the house with Led Zeppelin, Steely Dan, and other classics. But Cameron found his own space in solitude.
“Because I was the only boy, I usually had my own room,” he recalled. “That’s where I’d pick up the guitar and play for hours. It was my way of creating a private world.”
That mix — chaos outside, solitude inside — became a defining trait of his creative life.
The Air Force Years: Security, Structure, and Diversity
After high school, unsure of what to do next, Cameron followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the Air Force. He was assigned to nuclear convoy security, guarding missile silos spread over 10,000 square miles. Days were long, often 14 hours, spent in Humvees under watchful eyes.
For someone destined to be an artist, it was an unlikely environment.
“My sergeants would say, ‘Paxton, what the fuck are you even doing in the military?’ And they weren’t wrong,” he laughed.
But the experience left its mark. For one, it gave him a crash course in diversity. “The best part of my experience in the Air Force was just being able to meet and work with so many different types of people. It helped me understand how I fit in.” Different races, religions, and social classes were thrown together in close quarters, and Cameron learned to see beyond his own bubble.
At the same time, he wrestled with the military’s conservatism and religious undertones. Sitting in a Humvee, surrounded by soldiers reading Bibles, he knew this wasn’t his world. Yet even in that environment, he carried a notebook of ideas and found time to create music on an eight-track recorder with zip disks. Against all odds, his art survived.
Youthful Urgency: Recording on Cassette and Becoming c.layne
Before the Air Force, Cameron’s creativity had already started bubbling. As a teenager, he stumbled upon a strange piece of church equipment — a cassette recorder with a cheap built-in mic. He smuggled it into his room, recording guitar riffs and makeshift songs. One night, a candle melted part of its plastic shell. The church never got it back. “It became mine,” he said, grinning.
That crude setup taught him something profound: the power of capturing ideas before they disappear.
“I would have an idea and just get it down quickly, then move on to the next thing. These days I’m so nitpicky. The trade-off is that the music sounds better now, but it takes so much longer.”
In 2001, just before joining the Air Force, he began releasing music under the moniker c.layne. What started as scrappy indie rock grew into albums spanning psych-pop, art rock, and experimental soundscapes. A small label, Magnatune, even signed him. It wasn’t fame, but it was validation: someone believed in his art.
The Struggle to Balance Inspiration and Discipline
When you’re young, creativity feels limitless. Cameron remembers working long days in the military and still writing music late into the night. Looking back, he marvels: “These days I work normal hours and I’m nowhere near as productive as I was at twenty.”
Why? Part of it is energy. Part of it is perfectionism. And part of it is the natural shift from youthful urgency to mature craft.
We spoke about the fragile nature of inspiration. If you don’t act on it, it fades into familiarity. “When you have that spark, you’ve got to attack it right away,” I suggested. Cameron agreed: “If it’s there, you just have to roll with it. You can’t count on it for later.”
But he also highlighted the other side of creativity: discipline.
“Even if that fire isn’t there, keep the coals burning. So that when inspiration does come back, you’ll have those muscles ready to act on it.”
It’s a paradox every artist must live with: chasing sparks of lightning while also learning to make fire from embers.
The Fall and Rise: Ghosted Projects and Pandemic Reckonings
After leaving the Air Force, Cameron moved to Nashville, then Austin, chasing music opportunities. He joined bands, wrote albums, and kept creating under c-layne. But making a living from music proved elusive.
At one point, he landed his first “game music” gig, working on an iOS puzzle game. He poured in hours of work. Then the developers ghosted him. No release, no credit, no payment. It left a bitter taste. “That experience put me off game music for years,” he admitted.
Then came the pandemic. Like many, Cameron was forced into reflection. Scrolling through the endless titles on the Nintendo eShop one night, he had a realization: every single game had music.
“Somebody’s making music for all of these. Why not me?”
It was the turning point. He researched how to connect with developers and discovered Game Jams — short, frantic competitions where teams build games in 48–72 hours. He joined Ludum Dare, one of the biggest jams, and through it met the developers of what would eventually become Dome Keeper.
“Honestly, it was too easy,” Cameron laughed. “I struggled for 20 years to figure out how to break into game music, and once I decided, it happened almost instantly.”
Dome Keeper: Breakthrough and Expansion
Originally titled Dome Romantik, the game was simple: dig for resources, defend your dome. Cameron’s atmospheric soundtrack gave it weight and identity. As the project grew, rebranded, and signed with publisher Raw Fury, the music expanded too. What began as a handful of tracks blossomed into a full, rich score.
The release of Dome Keeper brought Cameron recognition far beyond his c.layne albums. Yet he didn’t see it as an endpoint. For him, it was another chapter in a lifelong process of becoming.
“Game music requires discipline. You can’t wait ten years between albums if you want a career,” he noted.
But it also reminded him of why he creates in the first place: to translate ideas into sound, whether in a scrappy cassette recorder or a polished game soundtrack.
Creativity as Growth, Not Stasis
Toward the end of our conversation, Cameron reflected on how cities change. Having lived in Austin since 2008, he’s seen it morph from a quirky cultural hub into a booming tech city.
“There is no ideal version of a city,” he said. “It’s either growing or dying.”
The same is true of creativity. There is no perfect moment when the artist “arrives.” There are only seasons: childhood solitude, military rigidity, scrappy cassette tapes, ghosted projects, pandemic reckonings, game jam breakthroughs. Growth and decay, endings and beginnings, discipline and inspiration.
Art is never static. Like cities, like people, it is always in flux.
And that may be the deepest lesson of Cameron’s journey: to embrace the constant becoming.
Prefer to Watch or Listen?
🔴 Youtube: https://youtu.be/44_p50a2uLk
🟢 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/745QkiOBRAZUn739dx8kKp?si=2t3Nk8MjQ8W2YfH7ansgOw
🟣 Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/ca/podcast/cameron-paxton-dome-keeper-composer-interview/id1528017679?i=1000728019705
