4 Gigs, 4 Nights

Wednesday is about books, or reading - sometimes it's just about writing. Today, the four gigs I went to in four nights. And the one other time I managed that...

I’m back from a huge weekend in Auckland. I spoke to someone about it after — she said, “that sounds cup-filling”. What a wonderful, and accurate description. Along with seeing three really great, wildly different shows, I caught up with friends, had dinners and brunches, watched my neice play water polo and my nephew play cricket, played the drums with my 13yo nephew too. Had a great catchup with my brother and sister-in-law, wrote a bunch of new poems on my phone as I walked around Auckland, and even got back on the podcasting horse — and wasn’t wildly kicked off at all! (Maybe you’ll get to hear a new podcast episode soon…aiming for at least one a year these days, a drastic reduction from one a week, but hey, times have changed…).

You possibly haven’t noticed this at all. But I’ve been going through something of a rejuvenation; a reconnection. I’ve been burnt out and jaded as all hell. I was roundly shat on by RNZ, and they somewhat crushed my dreams. This, at the end of several other rug-pulls.

You carry on. You write right through it. And if you’re reading any of these words, you’ve signed up (in some capacity) and I’m so grateful that you have.

I’ve been delivering at least three newsletters a week for three years, so the rumours of my burnout could also be deemed a wild exaggeration, but this is a reduction. At one point, six or seven years ago now perhaps, I was writing several reviews every single day, and putting out a podcast once a week. It was a hit and hope existence too — would the radio feature, or the podcast, or the review of a gig, or the freelance feature for a magazine be the thing that caught on? Would the latest batch of poems and short stories go anywhere beyond Facebook? Would the email from the artist grateful for coverage of their obscure album lead to more interesting new music from other, lesser covered artists, and would any of this lead to actual paid work? Etc. It was sometimes humilating, often exhausting, but with just enough of a whiff of something nearly exhilirating. It was, at times, an impossible schedule, but I kept it going until the carboard wheels on my tin toy car finally rubbed themselves down into nothing.

Enter Substack — for the rebuild. And time off. Away. In a relative sense…

Anyway, somewhere along the way I decided that I should write about gigs again, because it’s fun, and because I (mostly) always loved it. And because not many people are doing it.

I’m trying to turn up. And last week I had four gigs in four nights, across two cities. Which instantly reminded me of the one other time that happened. It was back in 2010. Those were the last of the child-free days. It was a lot easier then. Obviously, I was a lot younger too…

It was the middle of the Arts Festival (as it is now, actually — so bascially 14 years to the day, give or take a week). On the Thursday night, I went and saw Calexico. From memory, they were a tiny bit disappointing. I certainly wasn’t feeling it. It’s hard to find my reviews from that time. Stuff has removed my name, but kept some of the content up. Other reviews have been scrubbed. But here’s what I wrote about Calexico. That was an insanely busy Festival, one of the last of the golden era, out every night for weeks on end. The sort of nightmare that everyone else is sure is a dream. You just sound like an ungrateful fool going on about how bored you are and how tiring it is going to gigs for free. But it takes a toll, and it was hard to enjoy everything. This was my least favourite time seeing Calexico. And of course they were still good. Funny, writing this now, thinking back, becasue I saw Calexico just a couple of weeks ago — as part of my new commitment to get along to things more often (again) and write about them, and my god, Calexico was just amazing:

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Anyway, back in 2010, they were just okay. And the next day I jumped on a plane and went to Auckland to see the Pixies — and I couldn’t wait to finally see one of my favourite bands from when I was a teen and a uni student. I remember doing a phone interview with Serj Tankian in the afternoon from my motel room, and even that couldn’t break my spirits.

But the Pixies sure did. I paid for my ticket, but by then writing about gigs was (is?) a hard habit to break, and I was writing a daily blog for Stuff, as well as writing reviews for the paper. I so wanted to love seeing the Pixies performing Doolittle in its entirety, and other favourites, but I found them charisma-less and dull. And it really bummed me out — the reason for the trip had been to see them. Here’s what I wrote.

An offer by a promoter, the next day, to see Lady Gaga is what saved that trip! Now, I was not a Gaga fan, I knew who she was of course — she was nearly the Taylor Swift of the time (at that time). Gaga has since morphed into something else, this was the end of her stadium-era really. The reinvention was just around the corner. I’m not sure she’s ever been back to NZ, and I didn’t listen to her at the time, nor for years after. But seeing her was like seeing a circus show, or some elaborate staging, like Bowie’s Glass Spider tour, or something like that. As I said at the time. I remember thinking, and probably saying, that it was funny to see Pixies and Lady Gaga back to back, one for free on a whim, one that I’d saved for — to buy tickets, flights and accom — and it turned out the act I wasn’t even a fan of was the one that worked best. I have always liked this about gig-reviewing. It’s what happens on the night. The years of fandom, and any research, can help you. Or they can hinder you somewhat too…

It was straight home on the Sunday, dump bags, and taxi down to the MFC to see Harry Connick Jr. I can’t find my review from that time — just this tangential reflection — but he was wonderful. As Harry Connick is. Total class act. I was tired, and not really in the mood, but he was so, so good.

So that was the 2010 Gig Quadrology. 4 Gigs, 4 Nights. A never to be repeated experience…

Until just last week.

I see Mogwai on Thursday.

I see Graham Nash on Friday.

I see Dinosaur Jr (playing Where You Been) on Saturday.

And I see Mr. Bungle (with Melvins opening) on Sunday.

You’ve had those reviews fired at you already, but there they are again, if you missed one or two or all of them, or ever wanted them in one place.

What a run of gigs. Mogwai was utterly transcendent. Nash, a legend — worth it for that alone. And the amazing players (and some of the songs) he brought with him. Dinosaur Jr and Melvins are just noisy favourites. Inimitable. Influential. No one else does it like them. And Mr. Bungle was just sensational. To see Mike Patton again was one thing, but to see him flanked by not only Trey Spruance and Trevor Dunn, but fellow metal legends, Scott Ian (Anthrax) and Dave Lombardo (Slayer). Well, that’s a cake with incredible icing.

I returned exhausted, elated. Ready for four days off before I “gig” again. But yeah, there was something so soulfully enriching from having, and recordeing, these experiences.

So what if music journalism is dead? Long live music! And experiences. And yes, I’m lucky. Very lucky. But someone told me, long ago, that we make our own luck. You only have to look at the world through any sort of lens to know that’s not really true. But in this case it might be. Regardless, I’m so grateful my cup has been (re)filled.