Tag Archives: playing music

2 Days in Christchurch (part 4)

2 Men in a Shed

No one knows what men get up to in their sheds. Books have been written, TV series made, but the mystery remains.

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When I think of a shed I think of (Great) Uncle Willie on the way out to New Brighton. Uncle Willie and (Great) Aunty Lizzie had no children of their own (and ate pan-fried chips every night). When Mum took us out to Breeze’s Road to visit he would usher me and my sisters out to the shed to show off his meticulously tidy tools while Mum talked to Aunt Lizzie in the formal sitting room surrounded by elephants and other nick knacks from their African travels. I was fascinated by the little shadows of each tool painted on the shed wall (so you knew where each tool went). I would lift up each one to look at their shadow. Better still, Uncle Willie had a dart board on the shed door where he taught us to play ‘round the world’. We were under 5 (or thereabouts), very wary of the sharp darts, thrilled to be allowed to chuck them at the numbers on the board while Uncle Willie made a steady stream of funny whistles and duck noises to amuse us while the women talked about who knows what.

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I spent Saturday afternoon and evening in Blair’s shed in New Brighton. We weren’t making wooden toys for the grandkids, fixing a car or boat, inventing the internet or escaping her indoors. We were talking, listening to music, drinking snakebites and eating unsalted peanuts. I’ve known Blair since I was 12. We met on my first day at high school at the dawn of the ‘80s. We were both from the wrong side of town, so to speak, and had to bike across Christchurch to get to the manicured fields of Boys’ High in Fendalton. We started playing music in our first band in the 6th form, practicing several nights a week in Jason’s garage in Ashgrove Terrace, playing our first songs in front of people in Damian’s carport at the end of the year.

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I got my first bass guitar from Blair for $100. A maroon Diplomat copy of a Gibson. I had no idea how to play it. I just hit the stings and hoped no one glared at me. Thud thud thud. Thuddy thud thud.

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A few months after that first party All Fall Down (as we now called ourselves) played our first professional gig at the Star and Garter overlooking the Avon River on a hot summer’s night. I was 16. We were awful. How do I know? Because I recently listened to a tape if it.

We must have had some charm because people kept booking us to support every Flying Nun band that came through town as we relentlessly practiced, practiced, practiced morphing from the (somehow) endearingly-naïve yelled kiwipunk that I played with Jason, Blair and Brett into the crafted ‘60s melodies and harmonies (with a shifty dollop of country twang) that I played with Blair, Esther, Stephen and Bert in the final AFD gigs four years later.

 

Like all bands, there were a lot of drummers, but only Blair and me played all 77 gigs (and countless rehearsals).

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So it was great to sit and reflect. The tapes of the early stuff I had digitized from Damian were as awful as we remembered. Unlistenable. Our on-stage chat failed to charm the audience and the endless tuning killed any flow to the set.

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It’s quite something to peak back at your youth and cringe. Our voices sound the same. But what was encouraging is how good we got. I had no idea. There are many good songs and performances in those final recordings.

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After heading inside for a cracker lasagne with Amanda and their son, Nico, we returned to the shed to listen to some Swim Everything jams (the band I played with Blair and Damian (and Brett) in the early ‘90s). It was a lot more rock than AFD. And so much better with Brett’s drumming, as opposed to the more ubiquitous (and awful) drum machine.

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Blair still plays and records music in his shed, and makes a lot of art. I’m lucky enough to decorate my home (and blog) with several pieces made there over the years. He has recently released a solo record which is bloody good.

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Some local young musos/fans have tracked him down and they’re learning the songs to play live next month.

Late in the evening as we sat in the shed, Blair suggested something I had never considered. That we played some of the old AFD songs. Live. Inconceivable. The logistics and effort. The lack of interest. The death of Stephen 4 years ago. But one of the musos Blair is playing with goes out with Stephen’s niece. So maybe, maybe.

Sheds are like garages. A place to escape. And dream.

Second-hand copies of the AFD EP are selling for $239 online. Next year it will be 30 years since we recorded and released it.

There’s a target to aim at.

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Blair’s album ‘Cardigan Bay’

All Fall Down ‘Eastern’

 

Rage Against the Light

I’m thinking of going to see the Buzzcocks. I love their songs. Perfect tunes that sound as fresh as they did in the 1970s. I want to sing along with these legends of the punk/pop pantheon. But it’s a work night. And I’m getting old. No longer able to shake off a late night.

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I used to see everything that came to town. Loved it. Loved the music, the lights, the noise, the people. Two years ago I went see Garbage. It was my first proper concert in many years. I didn’t known they were in town. Saw an ad on telly offering cheap tickets. Went along. Loved it to bits. I was never a fan but the sound was great, the band full of energy and the joy of performance.

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Good Garbage Wellington

Buoyed along by the experience I went to see Neil Young and Crazy Horse a month later. I love his music. He is a major player in the rock pantheon. But the whole thing paled next to Garbage, the rock tiddlers. Neil was good but the band felt tired. Fair enough. They are getting on. Shuffling around like shadows of the past.

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Neil Young & Crazy Horse Wellington

That’s why when an old friend/bandmate asked if wanted to go see The Fall recently I had to yes… but no. Back in the day Mark E. Smith could trot out compellingly crap/good performances. Now he is known to wander around the stage like a grumpy pensioner who can’t find the toilet.

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Angry young man

The first proper concert I saw was Glen Campbell when I was eight. My mother took me to see him at the Christchurch Town Hall.

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Bill & Boyd

Which is wonderfully young for your first proper concert. Yay for Mum. I loved it. We sat upstairs in the front row with my cousin Linda. Bill and Boyd opened the show. I knew them from telly. They were funny. Long hair and droopy moustaches. They sang ‘Put Another Log On the Fire’, which we sang at school. Women’s libbers and male chauvinist pigs. Hee hee. It was 1975.

 

9064625But Glen was the star. Top of his game. Hit after hit with jokes and stories. He played along to a comical silent film of him as a cowboy. Did a great imitation of Vegas dinner-show Elvis.

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The Rhinestone Cowboy

I couldn’t help singing along and was stopped many times by my mother. No photos allowed. No recordings of any kind. How things have changed.

I saw him again in 1991 as an adult at the same venue. This time sitting downstairs with rock band friends, Blair and John. It was good but I remember little. No doubt we pre-loaded in rock ‘n roll fashion. Maybe Glen had, too. He had a dark booze and cocaine period.

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Last week I watched I’ll Be Me, the documentary about Glen Campbell’s final tour and descent into Alzheimer’s. I felt ambivalent about watching it. It’s a pig of a way to go. It took my father. I recognized the same coping methods my father used to deflect the condition. Jokes. Side-steps. Anger. Distress. But what raised the doco above horrorshow was watching the tour. The danger the band felt (which included three of his children) not knowing if Glen could keep it together through the song, through the set. He did. It was astounding. A full-blown Alzheimer’s causality coming alive with lights, music and applause.

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Yes, he was reading the lyrics from an auto-cue, but so did Brian Wilson when I saw him 10 years ago. And Glen could shred up wonderful guitar solos when required. Didn’t need anyone to guide him through every move.

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Tonight Elton John is playing here in Wellington. We’re told it’s our last time to see him. Only $99. I will be a great show. He’s a consummate performer, but doesn’t pique my interest. ilxe9exYesterday I watched a video posted on Facebook of Fleetwood Mac playing in Dunedin two nights ago. They are more to my ‘see-the-gods-of-yore!’ liking. Christine McVie is with them for the first time in years.

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Fleetwood Dunners

In a couple of weeks AC/DC are here at the stadium. The Aussie pub band that done good. But so many of the members have shuffled from the stage (booze/speed/Alzheimer’s) there’s only AC (or DC?) left.

 

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Fun for the whole family

The say all political careers end in failure. It seems to be the same with music. Hits disappear, crowds vanish. Those with commercial success are bitter the critics don’t rate them. Those with acclaim resent the lack of money. So old bands/acts are now coming to your town. It’s how they make money with record sales dead.

Last month I picked up a bass for the first time in over a decade (back when I had randomly jammed with Voom).

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Buzz from Voom!

I was at my friend Mark’s 50th and we were jamming in celebration. A friend has a great band set-up, can play solid drums and snarly blues guitar. We played Sympathy for the Devil for ages and it sounded pretty darn good. Better than the Stones. Of now, not yore. It was energetic, sharp, on the edge of danger. It made me think for the first time in years that I would love to play bass again.

I haven’t played live since the late ‘90s. At the King’s Arms in Auckland. It was awful. A lounge bar on a Sunday afternoon. Two guys with guitars and a drum machine as The Letter 5. No stage to lift you above the indifferent clinking of glass.

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But last month I was astonished by how good it felt playing bass with a punchy rock drummers and guitarists (there was four of us). Maybe it was the snakebites in the sun, or the cookie to top it off, but I felt like I was in my early twenties again.

Playing Shirley Boys'& Marion High School Dance 21 June 1986 (photo by Damian Zelas)

Teenage bass

Somehow I can’t imagine Pete Shelley reading his lyrics from an auto-cue. But if he needs to, that’s what comes with age, I guess. Like a big belly and thinning hair.

 You tried it just the once, found it alright for kicks

But now you found out, that it’s a habit that sticks

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The second time I saw Glen Campbell