Cracker by Damian Christie

In case it has escaped anyone’s attention, I am not a religious man. I joked with my colleague at work that I was going to spend my Easter break watching Richard Dawkins’ series The God Delusion, and did. I had also intended to get well and truly pissed on the Sabbath in the company of a couple of friends who were visiting from out of town. I knew that the Christians had already ruined my chances of a boozy Friday; I didn’t realise they’d buggered up Sunday too.

Yes, you can plan in advance. But the beauty of the modern age is that you shouldn’t have to. At this point the ghost (metaphorical, she’s not dead) of Public Address blogger Tze Ming Mok appears on my shoulder and reminds me that while I’m throwing a tanty over being unable to buy a bottle of Pinot Gris on one of only three days out of 365, there’s a tank rolling over someone in China. To which I say probably, but I don’t live there.

Before I continue, I should add that I don’t want this to come across like some Cactus Kate-esque whinge, “wah wah wah, how hideous, where are the minions with my Dom Perignon?” I think it’s important for people to have days off. Even the minions. I think even if you say Thou Shalt Not Force an Employee to Work on a Public Holiday Against His Will, it’s pretty hard to enforce. People will be forced. On the other hand there are a lot of people who could do with the time and a half and a day in lieu, and who wouldn‘t be doing anything else that day (certainly not getting drunk, because you can‘t).

Last night on Back Benches I spoke to Mark Thomas, the owner of Real Groovy Records. He’s a good guy, and I believe him when he said he had more than enough volunteers from his staff to fill the weekend. I believe him when he said that if no-one had wanted to work, they wouldn’t have opened, simple as that.

I’ve worked all sorts of holidays before, particularly when I was in hospitality. As a student, if you took a job over summer, it was implicit that you would be working at least either or both Christmas Day or New Year’s Eve (the latter, painfully, not a holiday with time-and-a-half perks). I don’t remember it being particularly optional, but if you take a job in December, what do you expect?

What struck me last night, was how much this argument is focused on shops, and shopping. What are the rules about other businesses? You may notice, for example, that your television set still picked up all the major networks, there were people there reading the news, reporting the news (well, let’s be honest, eagerly updating the road toll, that’s the only f***ing news we get every Easter). Of the two shows I worked on, one went out on Sunday morning, and the other required me to work on Monday for it to get to air on Wednesday. Choice? Not so much. Extra pay? Not for this contractor.

I guess my point, such as there is one, should be this. Ignoring all the religious reasons for not selling booze (or letting the butcher open for my BBQ) on Easter Sunday, and looking at it from a labour (little L) point of view, if it’s about saving people from the tyranny of non-essential jobs three days a year, why not be consistent? If I have to work, but can’t buy a box of beers afterwards, why should people get to watch TV? If you really want to watch TV, surely you could tape some the day before, like I’m supposed to do with the wine.

(Please note that this is not the official position of TVNZ or its employees. I'm sure they love making telly on religious holidays. Even though they probably can't sell advertising... hmm... I wonder if they'd actually rather turn it all off for a couple of days?)

Speaking of turning off TV... Ian Audsley has spoken. Sunrise gone, Business gone

On my bookshelf there's an old three volume atlas set. I've had it since I was born I think, certainly as long as I can remember. It smells old. It's full of fantastical places, like Rhodesia, the Belgian Congo and Ceylon. It speaks condescendingly of people in developing nations; it refers to Asians as having yellow skin and makes none-too-subtle references to the evils of communism. It's as if Enid Blyton was asked to do a Social Studies Project.

But it's funny. It's funny because, as Ricky Gervais once said, referring to the Dambusters dog, Nigger, "that was in the 50s, before racism was bad".

I'm sure Air New Zealand, explaining that they have since updated an in-flight crew manual warning flight attendants to be wary of Tongans taking advantage of the free alcohol, would like to point to a 1950s publishing date. Unfortunately the document in question was written in 2008, so could conceivably be less than a year and a half old. Hardly a massive social seachange in that time, when it comes to what is appropriate vis-a-vis racial stereotyping.

Interestingly, on the one hand the NZ Herald seems to wag its finger at Air New Zealand - quoting Labour MP (and as of last weekend, its new Waitakere candidate against Paula Bennett) Carmel Sepuloni saying ""They shouldn't be making any generalisations of any ethnic group." Then, in the very next paragraph, the article points out that if you're going to generalise about anyone, you should generalise about Samoans!:

Alcohol Advisory Council figures show Tongans are not as heavy drinkers as Samoans.

As Charlie Brown once said, Good Grief.
It's hard to see the value in putting such broad generalisations down in print. I worked in hospitality for many years, including a hotel in Wellington which saw a number of tour groups come through each week. We didn't have a manual specifying, like Air New Zealand's did, "Koreans expect good manners". I guess we were expected to show good manners to all our guests, whether from Seoul or Seattle. Radical, I know. "Samoans appreciate rugs because they are from a warm climate?" How about "give rugs to people who are cold and ask for them, regardless of their skin colour" (although if they're blue, that might be a good clue...)?

This is not to say people aren't more likely to behave or react a certain way based on their race or culture. I was having an argument with a friend just the other day, on whether we should have advertising specifically targeted at groups with lower uptake of health services, such as the advertising aimed getting more Pasifika women to have smear tests (yeah I know, random argument to be having while really, really drunk, but you get that). He said it was racist and condescending. I said that with half as many Pasifika women getting tested as pakeha women, something was going wrong and we needed to accept there were cultural issues involved - which is why the advertising in this instance encourages Pasifika women to go along as a family group.

Which is a much easier point to argue than something along the lines of: "Would you agree that Asian immigrants tend to be more, shall we say, cautious, on the roads?" Personally I would say 'yes', and lump them in with the elderly - but while you might hear me say "you drive like a little old lady", I'm never going to utter the words "you drive like a Chinaman." Although I do quite like the word "Chinaman", because it's from that time before racism was bad.

Either way I'd never put either in a manual. Bad Air New Zealand, bad.

But do you want to know one group, in my experience, who will try and blag free drinks and take advantage of them? Not Tongans, no, not Samoans, no. And I probably shouldn't say this, but I've seen it happen time and time again, over years of working at in bars in Auckland, these people come and visit on holiday, all bold as brass, and think they can somehow get a freebee? Or just as bad, sneak their own booze into bars and drink it like a 15 year old with a hip-flask at McDonalds? You know who I'm talking about? Wellingtonians. There, I said it.

Speaking of FREEBEES - don't say I never give you anything - I have two double passes to the fabulous King of Cajun Cool, Dr John the Nite Tripper, who is playing one show at the Civic in Auckland on Wednesday April 7th with his band The Lower 911. I would bags one myself, but I'll be in Wellington for Back Benches.

If you want to go, send me feedback (as opposed to discussing it on PAS) and tell me why you should go - having a clue who Dr John is in the first place will greatly increase your chances...

EDIT: Tickets have gone, thanks

(And if you're wondering, the title of this post is a saying my grandfather used to use, when someone was dressed up or otherwise looking pretty smart. It was meant as a good thing. A racist good thing, but still.)

"It's what we do in New Zealand," said my friend, "we take an idea from overseas, and then just make it a bit shit."

He was referring of course to the move by Wellington Airport to construct and erect a giant "Wellywood" sign on the Miramar hills. A move that seems almost universally without support or merit - although Sir Peter Jackson seemed amused by the idea - and in the Backbencher last night the opposition was extremely vocal.

I'd been discussing the idea yesterday afternoon when we touched down in the Capital. Wallace Chapman said he agreed it was "tacky", and I ran through a hypothetical discussion between a local and a bemused (which, for the record, means "puzzled", not "sort of amused") Visitor from Germany:

"So you have a sign which says 'Wellywood', why is zis?"

"Well you know, we make movies here."

"Oh yes, and vich vones did you make?" (Sorry, I don't have a very good German accent)

"Well um, Lord of the Rings.... King Kong... um, Avatar... yeah and um, a couple of others."

"So five movies?"

"Oh yeah, and Eagle vs Shark."

"And zis is sufficient for a giant sign?"

"Well yeah, it's kinda an in-joke..."

"Yes, and vat is zis joke?"

"Well you know. It's like Hollywood. But with Wellington..."

"Hmm. I see."

And it's not just because he's a German that he doesn't find it funny; the whole concept is lame.

[EDIT: Inevitably, a rather more famous German has already has his say on Youtube - hat tip Hugh]

We asked our taxi driver what he thought should be there instead. It affects him more than most, his house is right near where the sign will be. "MIRAMAR," was his prosaic suggestion. Okay, maybe not, unless we're going to start throwing up massive signs announcing every suburb, but what about a big Lord of the Rings sculpture of some description. Gollum is pretty iconic, although he's also pretty ugly, but there must be something. Or a huge King Kong perched on the hillside, swatting at the planes as they land at the nearby airport.

Or maybe, just maybe, nothing. Tourists don't come to New Zealand for tacky gimmicks and references to our film industry. They come here for unspoilt beauty - so why spoil it? Why not a bit of greenery for its own sake; nature, uninterrupted? Absolutely. Postively.

__________________________

Sticking with the movie theme for a bit, how 'bout those Oscars eh? I'm sure I wasn't the only one surprised that Hurt Locker beat Avatar in two main categories. The former is an effective example of war porn delivered largely without message, and IANAS (I am not a soldier, can I coin that one?) but I thought there were some fairly spectacular examples of how soldiers wouldn't behave throughout the film - leaving oneself vulnerable to sniper fire throughout a protracted hunt for more ammunition being one obvious example; while Avatar is yes, flawed, but you still walk out going "wow!"

So on that note, Dominic Corry of Herald on Sunday and bFM fame (in his role as Fabian Fanboy) and I are trialling a wee project, doing video film blogs for this wee website, you may have heard of it, nzherald.co.nz. They could do with your support, so go and check it out - the first one, our Oscar picks may be a bit redundant now, but feel free to watch it anyway, and there should be a new one up in the next day or two.

PS: I'm going to the Pixies tonight. And again tomorrow. Stoked.

As much as I love my hometown of Auckland, I have in the past lamented its lack of... I guess I'd call them metropolitan bonding experiences. Wellington has its Cuba Street Carnival and its International Festival of the Arts among others, Christchurch has its Buskers Festival and annual "Where's Brownie?" competition, where residents try and find a non-white face in the CBD.

So I love it when I have a weekend like the one just gone, filled with enjoyable and unique events. Not only is each event entertaining, but together I come away with a real sense of belonging to my city, and of my city belonging to me.

After a friend's boozy birthday party on Friday night, we scraped ourselves together (the better half and I) and got out of the house mid afternoon in time for the final Music In Parks event for the summer. Put on by Auckland City Council in various parks, I went to one featuring SJD and Dimmer a month ago in Pt Chev, and Saturday saw the Datsuns and the Bats et al, in Kingsland's Nixon Park.

If you don't immediately know where Nixon Park is, you're not alone - none of my friends did either. Turns out it's the one just off Bond Street. I drive past it every day, and yet have never stepped foot on its grass. That's the beauty of Music in Parks - it opens you up to spaces you've never considered before.

Aside from the MC, whose tone was completely off for the event - imagine a 91ZM radio host excitedly announcing seminal Flying Nun act The Bats and you're halfway there - the event was great. The weather was stunning, the bands were all in fine form, and the Datsuns finale included one of my favourite Ramone's tunes (The KKK took my baby away), which was IMHO better than anything they'd played up to that point. But then I'm not a huge Datsuns fan, and you didn't have to be to enjoy sitting in the sun with friends, quietly drinking away your hangover.

The next day (after another friend's boozy birthday party) we had intended to head over to Waiheke for the annual Onetangi beach horse races. However thanks to the Fauxnami, the ferry and the races were cancelled. So instead we had another sleep in, and in the afternoon made our way to the Parnell Baths - again my first time there, at least as far back as my memory stretches - to see a number of my friends perform a sychronised wading routine as the Wet Hot Bitches/Beauties (the latter B-word being employed for what was I guess a family-friendly event).

Sychronised wading, if you're not familiar, is what you do when you aren't adept at treading water while performing a routine, so you do it in waist-deep water. The eight-minute routine was a tribute to Michael Jackson - a medley of the late King of Pop's tunes culminating in the 40-odd WHB's forming a giant letter M in the pool. It was impressive if understandably loose in places (most of these women hadn't so much as pirouetted in a puddle until a few months ago) and again the weather was stunning so we all had a swim of our own at the end before heading off to the next event.

The Lantern Festival is always a favourite - I've written about it here before - so it was great to squeeze it in. Still salt-encrusted from the Parnell Baths we joined the hordes in Albert Park and along Princes Street, milling along in crowds reminiscent of the Big Day Out, or Christmas Eve on Oxford Street. We picked our way along the food stalls, $2 here, $5 there, one of my favourite ways of eating, just like my childhood growing up among the Hawker stalls of Singapore. My only disappointment was that in leaving it to the last day of the festival, all the fluffy tiger hats had sold out. We left before the closing night fireworks display and wound our way back home to fall, sated, still salty and stuffed with satay. When you take the time to suck the marrow out of this town, it can be a great place to live.

Friday afternoon, I hang out a late load of washing, hoping it will dry in the last few hours of a gorgeous sunny Auckland day. Among the t-shirts, an old AC/DC tour shirt. I’ve hung it out to dry many times over the years, but never with as much reason as today.

Concerts are a funny thing. I’ve been waiting to see the Pixies for a couple of decades now. Of course they were broken up for most of that, but when they reformed and started touring again a few years ago now, I always swore I’d see them if they got as close as Australia. They did, I think, a couple of years ago, but I was overseas somewhere else at the time and couldn’t see them. So my excitement at beating the hordes to get a couple of hotly contested tickets to their upcoming Vector Arena gig was palpable. One of my favourite bands, playing one of my favourite albums, in my town.

So it’s weird then, isn’t it, that when they announced a second show at the much more intimate Powerstation (I assume by a factor of about ten?), and I again try to get tickets, but fail (the guy at Ticketmaster told me they sold out in 15 seconds – he sat down at 9am to answer calls, and they were all gone by the time he’d answered the first one), I feel ripped off, like I’ve missed out on something special, gutted even? I’m going to see the Pixies – something I’ve dreamed about for years now – but other people are going to see them somewhere better. Oh well, I'm sure I won't feel that way after I've seen then, whatever the venue.

When it comes to AC/DC however, no stadium can be too big. Fifty-odd containers, hundreds of crew, hundreds of kilometres of cabling, a giant locomotive, cannons, pyrotechnics and an inflatable tart measuring storeys high. (Oh, and my friend Vicki, who today prepared some flower arrangements for their private jet ride home.)
I wouldn’t want to see them at the Powerstation. They rocked Western Springs last night in true dirty rock and roll fashion. I’ve never been to a concert before where women in the audience actually flashed their breasts to be broadcast on the giant screens placed either side of the stage – I assumed this was something that went out of fashion in Motley Crue concerts in the eighties. But oh no.

AC/DC may only have three chords, but damn they play them well.

Earlier in the day, a friend* had gone to a local supplier of pipes and other paraphernalia to enable him to discretely indulge in his favourite poison at the concert. While he wasn’t wearing an AC/DC t-shirt, the old Westie woman behind the counter took his money and asked “So you’re going to AC/DC tonight? Yeah, we’ve been flat out today!”

Shihad played support; another great stadium band, and quoted almost word for swear-word what Midnight Youth had said of playing Big Day Out this year: “We’ve been listening to these guys for f***ing ages – it’s a f***ing privilege to play on the same stage as them tonight.” AC/DC don’t need to swear; we already know they’re cool.

One of Jon Toogood’s favourite tricks is to get everyone to wave their hands in the air from left to right, as they launch into the crunching intro to ‘Pacifier’. It never fails to raises the hairs on my neck, seeing thousands of people move like that in unison. I have a theory, that for almost everything there exists, somewhere someone has a sexual fetish about it. I often wonder if up on the perimeter overlooking the audience, some old man in a raincoat is indulging himself vigorously, growling “oh yeah... move as one... that’s right... yeahhhh....”. No-one else every thought that? Okay, just me then.

It’s been a great week for music, and while it was a few days ago now, I can’t write this blog without mentioning the inaugural Laneway festival. A concept that started in a lane in Melbourne, and spread across Australia, local lad Mark Kneebone brought it to Britomart for Auckland Anniversary Day last Monday. It sold out and was a great success despite a typical Auckland summer’s day – overcast, scattered showers.

For those of us who found this year’s Big Day Out line-up a little on the stale side, Laneway was the opposite – a number of hot new acts, most of which I only knew one or two of their tracks. A lot of people raved about the XX, although they were a little low-energy for my tastes. Seeing the Phoenix Foundation is always a good time, and this was no exception. I had been excited about Echo and the Bunnymen, although purely for nostalgic reasons, and while my buddy Simon sang enthusiastically to every track, they sounded like they were going through the motions. As I guess you do, quarter of a century after you were famous.

The highlight of the night for me? Florence and the Machine. As Florence practiced her hairography, joked with the crowd between songs and most of all impressed with her powerful vocals, a friend remarked – “it’s like everything before this was just a support act for her”, and he wasn’t far wrong. I need to go and buy that album.

As I said, Laneway was a sell-out, and it was great to have a big event in the centre of the CBD, something Auckland is sadly lacking compared to our other big cities. A few teething issues – massive queues for not just beer, but most food too – but I really appreciated the fact that the event hadn’t been oversold. Even at the end of the night, it was still easy to get a good view of the bands on the main stage, and walk around without having to barge through. Mark tells me (my report will be up on Monday publicaddress.net/radio) that they’re already booking acts for next year, so I guess that means Laneway will be a fixture of the summer concert series from now on. Choice, thanks Mark.