Even if it doesn't pay - Gillian Welch and David Rawlings in a car park in the snow
Just keep going
I didn’t intend to make these stories, posts, or whatever whingey and sad. If they are leaning this way, they won’t always be, but I do want them to be an honest look into how things have been throughout this life, all with that constant drive and intention of making music and being right there - in it.
The world is in such a mess right now that it almost feels indulgent to ruminate on such things, but I know music can bring joy to both the giver and the receiver.
I am struggling right now. But everyone struggles sometimes.
Still, I know I am one of the lucky ones. I was lucky to find music early on.
And in these times, I know I am lucky to have a home that protects me, with windows I can stand at and dream out of endlessly, a view of the Waitakere ranges, and the best goodnight light shows you could ever hope for.
When I was growing up, my mum often called me dreamy, but not always in a positive context. Hey! Dreamy, are you drying those dishes or not? I’d be standing on the spot, slowly wiping the plate, while I was so many miles away.
But letting your mind wander and letting yourself do that is often where the songs, words, or poems come from. Beaming in through the door from that other universe.
The thing about doing this music thing for so long is - that just as the elation of performance and communicating in this magical way can be so uplifting, the downsides, the collective experience and hurts, and the history of it all add up, it starts as a dream, and in modern terms (it wasn’t always this way), you and what you do have become a commodity. But this is how it is. The recent publishing ordeal is just one of many of those situations - the unsuccessful funding applications and the feeling that I am just now supposed to go away quietly and stop trying.
You’ve had your turn. They only hurt because of the other things that have happened. But sadly, this is such a universal experience amongst fellow musical travellers.
I’ve had my turn, but it won’t stop me from pursuing a creative life. It’s my life — don’t you forget.
Still, the feeling of injustice is strong. This is not just for me but for all creative people who put themselves out there because they don’t feel as though there is a choice. There is this steel compulsion. It is something we have to do. Most of us are dreamy yet stubborn and have a list of ‘real’ jobs we have done to facilitate that - (one day, I will make that list). Just don’t get caught dreaming on the boss’s time. Nobody owes us a living - we know that, and we’ve been told that in no uncertain terms. Or at least I have.
Sometimes, against better judgment, you have to let yourself relax and believe it when people tell you they love what you do and want to be a part of it. They want to help you get there.
Then you become tied to a company that piles up an extensive and valuable roster of artists, like collateral, like a warehouse full of stock. Things have been good and exciting for a while, but when you least expect it, here it comes - the biggest sale of the century! Oh, the windfall, they say! It’s a business, babe! What a success! And then comes the slash-priced sale. We’re giving them away for nothing, folks! We bought a job lot! Sensitive songwriter types are going, going, gone!
I have been through this a few times; many of us have.
I guess you want me to get to the point. To the story in the byline. Ok. There is a thread to this rant, I promise.
Thank you to the weather gods; the sun came out yesterday. The golden light called me outside into the late afternoon, so I decided to go for a dog-less walk around the neighbourhood.
I’ve been reluctant to go on walks without Breeze, but I’ll have to lose that feeling. Usually, when walking with her, I wouldn’t listen to anything on headphones; I listen to the sounds around me, which I enjoy. But I took Gillian Welch and David Rawlings' new album Woodland to keep me company yesterday. It was the perfect setting for that music. As I walked up the hill past the small farms and into the bush polished by the rain and glowing in the spring light- I felt the healing. I felt love and joy. And I let my mind wander back…
DINGWALLS CAMDEN LONDON 1999
I have a beautiful scene in my mind's eye, one I have replayed so many times that the tape has almost worn out. Before it fades, I’ll get it down here.
It was one of those commanding performances that only Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings seem to be able to pull off. It was the first time I had seen them play live. Some say the audience at a Gillian Welch show is so quiet and attentive that you can hear a pin drop; I say you can hear rose petals falling.
The waterfalling guitar licks from Dave, their connection to each other, the intuition, the musicianship, the language and the love as they wove those high-lonesome songs into our hearts on a freezing London evening.
Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings signed to the US branch of Almo Sounds, a label started in 1994 by Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss after they sold A&M to PolyGram. It was a boutique label with a select few artists, and they intended to recreate the early days of A&M.
After much water treading and twists and turns, our band happily signed to the UK division of Almo Sounds. At that time, we were called Boom Boom Mancini (any Warren Zevon fans out there will know the song that inspired that name, and that in itself is a great yarn to come)
What an incredible roster to be label mates with, and talking to Jerry Moss about our songs… I mean Jerry fucking Moss! he loved our songs. I kept thinking in our chat… I come from Kamo Northland, New Zealand, and I am talking with Jerry Moss about my songs.
It felt kind of unreal but very good.
ANYWAY! This meant that we were essentially label mates with Gillian and David, so we were introduced as such after the show. Somehow, we ended up in the car park, talking about the show, music, and guitars, and Dave took his guitar out of the case to show us. It was an instrument of history and wonder.
Again, time seemed to float - until we noticed it had started to snow, and Gillian said, " Well, kids — we’d better let you go; it’s snowing!” We said our goodbyes, and Brett and I headed home to our council flat off the Old Kent Road.
The night and the dream didn’t stop there - we had an album coming out in eight weeks, so we had decided (against our manager’s wishes - we had press photos to do, and she was worried we would be more tanned than our bandmates ffs!!!), we needed to get home to see our families before all the promo and touring would start.
We were booked on an early morning flight for the first trip home to New Zealand in over three years, and as we packed and made our way out to the airport in the cab for a 3 a.m. check-in, the snow was building. Everything looked heavily contrasted in black and white out of the cab window, and the snow was starting to pile up on the road. But we made it. Goodbye, London. See you soon.
Sleeping pills were taken, the mammoth flight was endured, and we touched down at Auckland airport to a blazing hot day. Stepping off the plane, I could smell the humidity and oh that delicious warmth. Everything seemed so bright, buzzing, and friendly.
My Dad was there, waiting for me at the gates. “Hello, lovey, you look good; you’re standing straight, and your shoulders are back!” We walked to his ute and drove north up through State Highway 16. I was so tired, and we didn’t talk much, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of that distant view of the mouth of the Kaipara as we got stuck on the hills behind the logging trucks. What a day. What a couple of days. What a dream.
………………………………
LONDON 2001
When I heard Gillian Welch’s "Everything is Free" from the first release on their own label, Acony Records, it stopped me still — not just because it is a thing of beauty, measured, resolute, and desperately sad—but because something in the lyric told me I knew exactly what she was singing about.
Maybe I read it wrong—(I know it was at the beginning of the free music movement, Napster, etc.,) but I also know we share an experience, and in my mind, it relates in some way to that.
………………………………
LONDON 1999
Back in London after the trip home, we received the news that ALMO had sold out to Universal - just one week before releasing our album. That meant our album was shelved, and all other artists on the label were in the same position. For us, it was the most incredibly cruel blow. It would have been tough for artists like Gillian Welch, Garbage, etc., but they had all had a few releases and built up a following, so I guess it was easier to keep going. For us, it was just the beginning, and signing to that label felt like a huge thing; it came at the end of some tough times. We had so many great things lined up for the release. We’re not even listed on the ALMO Wiki page, but it happened. I promise.
Everything is free now
That's what they say
Everything I ever done
Gonna give it away
Someone hit the big score
They figured it out
That we're gonna do it anyway
Even if it doesn't pay
I can get a tip jar
Gas up the car
And try and make a little change
Down at the bar
Or I can get a straight job
I done it before
Never minded working hard
It's who I'm working for
………………………………
NASHVILLE 2015
In 2015, Brett and I were invited to perform at the famed RYMAN (!!) Auditorium Nashville, so we invited our friend and mega-talented musician Dave Khan to come with us. We had the best time on that trip. I loved it.
I’ll tell more of that Nashville story later, but I clearly remember the three of us standing in the car park by Gillian Welch and David Rawlings' studio, Woodland, in East Nashville. We were standing there looking at the studio, concentrating hard and trying to WILL David and Gillian to appear. We may have even been particularly uncool and called out their names.
I reckon we would have been too shy to talk if they had appeared, but it is such a lovely, goofy memory.
SEPTEMBER 2024
Last week, I watched the clip on NPR World Cafe of Gillian and David’s live session and interview to promote this new album and learned how much damage had been done to Woodland Studios in the 2020 tornado that whipped through Nashville. They tell the story of trying to retrieve the gear and instruments in the dark, the weather, and how hard they had to work to rebuild the studio during the COVID lockdown and the following years. That must have been so tough, and I am so sorry it happened to them. I am so glad they kept going.
Gillian Welch and David Rawlings on NPR World Cafe
Boom Boom Mancini - Mess Up Your Life
I've never been a performer, but I spent some time as a roadie, I've seen how much mahi is involved in getting to the point that you can perform.
Hearing the tale of your label being consumed and digested by one of the corporations is no surprise to me.
I was at Sharron and Neil Finns whare once and Neil was uncharacteristically grumpy. I said to him "Dude what's up?".
Neil replied "We've spent the last few weeks in shoots for an album launch with Sony (I think it was Sony) and they spent a couple of hundred grand on the promotion and then canned it. Those costs come out of my royalties!" He went independent after that!
A recurring theme that I see with my artist mates is the conflict between art/music and Capitalism!
Everyone has to earn a living and if you can do it through art, bravo but capitalism is a cancer on this planet, and it debases everything it touches.
I lived for a while in occupied West Belfast during the war, it was Rebel Music that made the war manageable for us and it gave us respite from the horror and suffering and a passionate release for our stress and grief.
I'll be eternally grateful for the musicians and other artists in my life, you've all made my life richer, merci madame.
In light of your love for Papatuanuku and our common love for the Waitakere ranges and West Coast I'll finish with a suitable musical interlude via the indomitable Kathleen Largey.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-ZkKw4UUs0