Day 6: Ōtautahi, pt. 2
Welcome
Yesterday we played our second night at The Church Pub in Ōtautahi.
I joined Tristan and Anthony for a breakfast outing, leaving our hotel and walking five minutes through a rejuvenated and optimistic city centre to a café that had come to us highly recommended. Akin was a modern space that we found ourselves in, sparse concrete walls contrasting with warm, wooden surfaces, a clean and simple décor that was softly illuminated by a precise deployment of track spotlights. The feel of the room fairly guaranteed the quality of the food and I confidently ordered the first thing that caught my eye on the menu, the Crème Brûlée Toast, an egg-soaked slab of bread, fried and flamed, laid carefully on a bed of spiced berries and citrus, and dressed with a dollop of vanilla mascarpone.
This meal sat gently in my belly as I set out for a run, heading generally east towards the coast, but following the winding Avon River Trail for a pleasantness that can only be found in the presence of such a calm and dignified waterway.
The weather was pristine, clear skies and a late morning warmth tempered by just enough breeze to keep any perspiration at bay. Twice on my journey I passed through a suburb that had been red-zoned, rendered unusable by liquefaction as a result of the 2011 earthquake. These are heartbreaking landscapes to cross, reminders of the devastation suffered by this city, yet the reconquest by nature upon these streets is beautiful to behold.
I arrived in the coastal neighbourhood of New Brighton, set behind the sand dunes of a spectacular east coast beach, a geography that must be reminiscent of that town in southern England from which it borrows its name, or perhaps resembles one of the other six New Brightons that can be found in various outposts of empire scattered across the globe. The real reason for this journey though was to see my Whanau and I ended my run at their house, spending the afternoon visiting with my two nieces and their new puppy.
Back at the venue I found that Jonathan had acquired a new instrument, and I must confess that I was not surprised by this turn of events as I had lobbied long and hard to get him to purchase this 1960s New Zealand made Jansen guitar. Liz and Jon had spent their morning driving to Ashburton and returned in the afternoon with a pristine example of one of these rare, hand-made creations, rescued from thirty years of sitting under the bed, and ready to be returned to a playing condition.
I had my own errand to run and although it might not have been in pursuit of a masterpiece like Jon’s unique piece of NZ musical heritage it was still a useful and sturdy piece of musical equipment that I had been happy to score for a good price on New Zealand’s online auction website Trademe.co.nz. After soundcheck I drove the van to Cashmere, a suburb in the south of the city, and picked up a microphone stand with a very long boom arm, its balance helped by a heavy brass counterweight on the tail end. It turned out that this suburb is spread across the Cashmere Hills and as I arrived for the pickup I found myself enjoying a rather breathtaking view of Ōtautahi and beyond, the Canterbury Plains stretching out towards the central island mountain ranges, dramatically illuminated by god rays that burst through openings in the cloud.
My new microphone stand.
Arriving back at the hotel I joined my bandmates for dinner and we enjoyed one of the most desirable temperatures for a human, that found by the equilibrium of sitting outside on a fresh evening but warmed by a gas heater. The dusk had brought with it something of a chill after this day of mostly clear skies and when we reached the venue we found that all the greyhounds were well wrapped up in their jerseys, none trusting their sleek and thin fur coats to repel the cold. There were a number of dogs that had come to our show, invited along to spread the word about the Greyhounds as Pets Campaign, a worthy cause that is hopefully helped by the magnificent form of Cole who modelled for one of our tshirts.
None of these dogs were keen to stay for the night’s musical events but we did have a full house of humans that had occupied every corner and crevasse of the venue. This old stone building is full of personality, a 150-year-old structure, once the Trinity Congregational Church, rescued after severe earthquake damage and beautifully restored to live out its new life as a public house and music performance space.
The crowd were alive and excited when Mim Jensen went on at 8:30 and she was warmly appreciated while she and her band delivered a polished performance, her nicely styled vocal twang cutting powerfully across the top of a rhythm section that knew when to hang back and when to dig in.
We went on an hour later, enjoying the calm and reassurance that comes with playing a second night on the same stage, and sapping up the energy from this crowd that was both rowdy and respectful. Our set was butter smooth, salted and rich, and disturbed by not a single technical interruption, for a change. Midway through the proceedings I was blessed with another piece of ego-building attention, a continuation of the nationwide celebrations for my 500 blog posts milestone, a live prizegiving segment where I was presented with a giant cheque for 500 Boints (Beths Points). Thanks to my bandmates and my partner Tess for this wonderful keepsake, a piece of memorabilia which already has a home waiting for it above the fireplace.
The author with his boints cheque.