Joe Walsh
Introducing the artist: Joe Walsh
I’m struggling with this beginning. I want to pack it all in, succinctly like, so that you don’t go anywhere. And I don’t want you to go anywhere because I want you to read all of what is below in the Q&A. If you’re on the clock and it’s ticking, skip my bumbling questions and just read the responses, because the responses are magic. They are from singer, songwriter, musician, Joe Walsh. A guy who knows so, so much about the live music scene in New Zealand because he has been here, there and everywhere, and released some killer tracks along the way.
We grew up in different places, me and Joe. Me, Worcestershire. Joe, Ireland. But there is something we share. Which many of our generational comrades share.
Oasis.
In part, it was about the music, if the band was your cup of tea. But it was also not about the music. It was about us. A movement. Quite what, I don’t know. As the post-Thatcherite oppressive shackles came off, we had the birth of superclubs, Britpop, curtain haircuts, anoraks and bucket hats as fashion, Trainspotting, CD players with mega speakers, holidays via Teletext, no tuition fees, and a weekend in August 1996 when 250,000 people watched a band from Manchester play two shows at a place far from home called Knebworth, and 2.5 million others who applied for tickets waited for the VHS to come out.
You see, and I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, our generation as teenagers when Oasis emerged could be the last generation to experience what we did. Other generations before us had Elvis, The Beatles, the Sex Pistols. They had Acid House subculture in hijacked warehouses, squats and fields. They had Nirvana. Then we had ours: Oasis.
As Joe quite rightly articulates it, it was truly an extraordinary time. And again, as he accurately puts it, we don’t have these ‘movements’ anymore.
I so desperately want to see one again. Not for me; I have no interest in being part of one again. But for all the people who are missing out on the mad, liberating buzz of a collective moodshift of cultural identity. I fear all the predatory algorithmic noises out there will crush such a shift. People prefer to stay indoors and swipe, or come out, fiddle with their phones, and isolate themselves from the cameraderie; from the shared communion.
Here’s hoping I’m proved wrong, and here’s hoping you’re still with me because I’m going to hand you over to Mr Joe Walsh, a guy who recently made my day when he played The Whole of the Moon at a gig, and would finish conclude his dream festival with a track that was the soundtrack of my favourite summer (you get to find out lower down).
Over to you, Joe.
Q. I like to begin with an introduction into your creative life. So, if you were to write a bio about what makes up your creative, artistic life both past and present, what would you write?
A. Bio (Short Form)
Emotive reflective dreamer of songs, words, ink and wine.
Bio (Long Form)
I’m a lover of music. Almost in what now feels like an ‘old school’ way to love music. Music is and was the soundtrack to my life. I used to make mix tape cassettes for friends when I was in school. That’s what songs meant to me back then, even as a child. Those feelings that songs conjured up in me, I wanted to share that with everyone around me. And then from hearing that music and seeing bands playing those songs… I wanted to play it… I wanted to be in the middle of that noise, that euphoria, that chaos, that escape.
I was given a guitar for Christmas when I was around 12 or 13 I think, and then I was offered lessons and classes in school… and man, I fucking hated it. I hated the theory of it. Reading music?… I never gave a fuck about being technical. I wanted to be Marc Bolan and I didn’t ever see him reading music!!!!! I just wanted the music to hit me in my heart and soul.
So I gave it up for a couple of years and then revisited it on my own terms when I was like 15. And then I just played along in my bedroom with T. Rex & Bowie & Guns N’ Roses and whatever else music was echoing around the house!!! My childhood home was a trove of music… vinyl, cassette, VHS, CD… you name it, my folks had it. And that was it… I just played along with songs and honed my craft!
But then came Oasis… and wow, they changed everything. Now if you were around the UK and Ireland when Oasis hit, you may not have liked Oasis, but you cannot deny they changed the entire ecosystem. It was truly an extraordinary time. We don’t have those ‘movements’ anymore. The ’60s to the early ’00s were defined by music, fashion, trends—those cultural movements.
That’s disappeared now I fear. Everything’s too sterile now, too immediate, too polished, too rehearsed, short-form content, too fucking clinical… too many fucking algorithms.
(Although I do want to add a caveat to this because I’ve been so excited to see how Lorde launched this new record and how her legion of fans have interacted with it… also important to note the insane communities that have been built around IDLES & Turnstile.)
I guess I’ve gone totally off-piste here with this ‘Bio’…
Ok, so I’m 16, I’m starting to write songs and am getting really quite good at the acoustic solo thing! That evolved into a bunch of mates getting a local covers band together. We called ourselves ‘Small World’ and we played a heap of local gigs. It was a magic time for me. Playing pubs when you’re too young to drink in them, learning to banter with the crowd, learning to be in a band. Totally magic.
The whole cover thing gets some serious shit. I never bought into that. I had 2 rules… never ever ever ever play songs you didn’t like… and always have fucking fun playing the ones you love!! That was it!
That guitar took me to Australia where I got a regular gig and kept writing songs… my own musical landscape evolved hugely over there because they were listening to totally different music to what was being played in Ireland. Triple J was in its peak and guitar music was everywhere. As were gigs! Every single pub had a gig. Proper musos, proper songs, proper punters.
That same guitar took me back to Ireland, where I forged out an epic career playing every week in an Aussie/Kiwi bar that quite literally changed my life. I met my wife in that bar. I wrote some of my best songs in that bar. I met some of my best friends for life in that bar… and by some magical fate I got an offer to play an acoustic opening set for a band I’d never heard of called ‘The Exponents’… little did I know that that 20-minute opening slot would change my life and give me the musical career I’d always longed for (and fucking worked hard for too, I should add!!)
Within a year of that gig, I’d moved to New Zealand and that guitar had gotten me into The Jordan Luck Band. I am now coming up to 19 years in Aotearoa and 17 in the Jordan Luck Band. There’s some mythical luck of the Irish right there.
I am also the singer in my own band, Ekko Park. Whilst seeing some line-up changes over the 15 or so years we’ve been together, myself and Nick D (the drummer) have forged something super special. We’ve had some great success and have written songs and played shows that I will be eternally proud of.
Over the past four years I have also been a New Zealand-based guitar player for Gin Wigmore. This came about during Covid as Jordan Luck Band and Gin were on the same festival bill. Another epic sliding doors moment in my windswept and interesting career. This one though, is so fucking outrageously special to me. Mostly because I’m such a huge fan of Gin’s music. I knew all the songs long before I had to learn the parts to play them.
I do still pinch myself.
“The saddest day of your life may inspire a song, which in turn may become someone else’s favourite song and somehow get them through their worst days. It’s the lineage, the journey of the song that makes it so special.”
- Joe Walsh
Q. Can I ask you about words, reading, poetry, literature, and songwriting. To create your lyrics, how much do you think you might delve (consciously or unconsciously) into what you’ve been inspired by? For example, I often walk around with Dylan Thomas’ voice rattling around my brain. Other times, I might be hearing The Smiths or a First World War poet. What are such voices or passages that might come into your head?
Oh man you’ve opened Pandora’s box here… I am an avid reader to say the least. We have two book tower shelves in our ‘reading corner’ either side of our hifi speakers in our living room. And the question/argument of lyrics vs melody vs arrangement I have had many times. Take Wonderwall for instance. For me one of the best pop melodies of all time… but the lyrics mean nothing. And take that vs Bob Dylan’s Masters of War, simple guitar and simple melody with one of the greatest lyrics ever written. Life On Mars, again lyrics really don’t make any sense, but one of the greatest passages of pop music ever written.
What’s more important? Melody or lyric? For me… I’ve always been a lyric guy. I’m such a sucker for a great lyric. And Nick (from Ekko Park) will tell you I pain over my lyrics. I have dozens of little note books full of lyrics that I have on me all of the time. I hate digital. I could never write lyrics on my iPhone for example. Pen and Paper. Maybe there’s a romance to that. I don’t know. But here’s a funny one… I’ve written so many lyrics on planes/flights. Maybe it’s the complete isolation of a flight that I find inspiring, calming, easy to focus. And because of that I actually have a collection of ‘sickbags’ from various airlines covered in lyrics!!!!! That’s true. That’s quite mental really!!!
I totally get that you hear Smiths lyrics. What a wordsmith. Lyrics really started to interest me when I moved to Australia. I was really deep diving in to Pearl Jam. I got into them post the Ten era so I was hearing Vs. and Vitalogy and Yield and just being totally blown away by Ed Vedder’s lyrics. Even their most mainstream songs, take Black for instance: "And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass of what was everything.”… fuck me what a lyric. He paints pictures with his words. And moreover he animates those pictures with his delivery. He can break your heart with a whisper or a scream. It’s such an art. That’s where I learnt that I wanted to feel, to breathe and to live the lyrics. Every line I wrote needed to come with meaning.
"I don’t know whether I’m the boxer or the bag.” - that just struck me so hard. That felt like a mantra of the era. Angst vs Love vs Compassion vs Anger. I have so many of Vedder’s lyrics tattooed on me. "I’ll ride the wave, where it takes me.” Simple genius.
I knew that Vedder was an insatiable reader too, and I knew he loved Kurt Vonnegut. In the Bush-early 2000s-era Pearl Jam released a series of skate decks with some of their favourite writers’ faces on them. So I deep dived into these: Vonnegut, Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky. This was writing and thought processing that I’d never experienced before.
“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.” - Howard Zinn
“Everyone’s worried about stopping terrorism. Well, there’s really an easy way: Stop participating in it.” - Noam Chomsky
I also realised that some of Vedder’s lyrics were directly inspired by passages or quotes from these guys. Down has the lyric "You can’t be neutral on a moving train.” That’s Howard Zinn. What a fucking lyric that is. I sat on those words for so long. Such a stunning, thought provoking line.
Zinn and Chomsky were inherently political. And I myself (coming from a politically charged North of Ireland) was always and sometimes to my detriment, fiercely interested in this. Especially the correlation of the human rights movements of the American South and of the North of Ireland.
John Hume was a life long politician and a voice for the Human Rights movement during the most difficult and tumultuous time in my life. Only in my maturity and older age have I come to realise the significance, eloquence and courage of the man.
“Difference is the essence of humanity. Difference is an accident of birth, and it should therefore never be the source of hatred or conflict. Therein lies a most fundamental principle of peace: respect for diversity.” - John Hume
When I moved back to Dublin I got introduced to an Irish band called Whipping Boy. And fuck me that band, in particular their album Heartworm (best Irish album of all time), completely changed my outlook on music. I hadn’t heard anything like it. They opened a lot of doors for me to new music to find and explore. But Fearghal their singer… that man was first a poet. His lyrics were otherworldly to me. Poetic and undeniably Irish.
“In the morning I am a recluse, lost in memories
Ideal situations and convulsions
I’m never in and I can’t remember
They built portholes for Bono so he could gaze out across the bay
and sing about mountains maybe
You are what you own in this land.”
This type of writing connected with me on a whole other level. There’s an epic Whipping Boy press image from back then and Paul, guitar player, is wearing a Brendan Behan
t- shirt… and much like the PJ skate decks, I deep dived in to Irish writers that were inspiring Whipping Boy.
It’s kind of ironic you mention Dylan Thomas. He and Brendan Behan had similar ailments in life… I’ve heard them both described as ‘Drinkers with a writing problem’.
There’s definitely a synergy there. Behan was controversial as a human, but fuck I loved his writing. Borstal Boy is a genuine classic.
“It’s not that the Irish are cynical. It’s rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for
everything and everybody.”
He was foolhardy and brash by design but could also be deeply moving.
“At the innermost core of all loneliness is a deep and powerful yearning for union with
one’s lost self.”
And of course he could be fully irreverent…
“Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it’s done, they’ve seen it done every
day, but they’re unable to do it themselves.”
From Behan I found Seamus Heaney. And what a writer he was. I was lucky enough to
visit his little rural museum/exhibition a few years ago and the most wonderful surprise was
finding that most of his poems were in fact recited by the man himself. I just stood there
with these headphones on and Seamus was talking to me. It was a profound and
unforgettable experience. Just beautiful.
“Since when,” he asked,
“Are the first line and last line of any poem
Where the poem begins and ends?”
These words can also relate to songs. The saddest day of your life may inspire a song,
which in turn may become someone else’s favourite song and somehow get them through
their worst days. It’s the lineage, the journey of the song that makes it so special. If I write
a song it’s because I need to say these words, I need to clear my head, to release anger,
to express joy, to question the world. In many ways the life of the song only begins when
you, the artist, release it out to the world.
I love the questions a song can ask.
Sometimes hidden. Sometimes clear.
“The end of art is peace.” Seamus Heaney
What a line that is.
Upon moving to Aotearoa I was so lucky to get to meet Sam Hunt, who for me is New
Zealand’s greatest living poet. What an absolute character that man is. I got a taste of
what it must have felt like to hang out with Thomas and Behan. What a wordsmith. And
what a voice, what an accent, undeniable. A dead set national treasure.
And to see him perform is a transformative experience. When he sets himself to start a
poem, one arm out to the side, that brooding drawl shatters the airwaves and for that
moment he is those words, he is that poem and he’s just vibrating on a whole other level to
the rest of us…
“I want to come back as a wave
that in summer breaks in on beaches
full of people and fibrolite baches;
stroke delicate down, slowly
slip off your tiny bikini.
I want to come back as a wave
that scatters among the bathers
go down as they come up for breathers
splatter and spume at their ankles
make every body beautiful.
I want to come back as a wave.
And though I love the estuaries,
bare coasts and autumn memories –
I want to lift you now and float you
as you, too, come as a wave.”
- Wave Song, Sam Hunt
Moving on to today’s world there are some huge and inspiring voices out there whom I adore.
In music – For Those I Love and Kae Tempest are writing some truly breathtaking lyrics.
Blindboy’s collections of short stories are so beautiful. Mikey Cullen is a young Irish poet with a huge voice. Gabor Maté, Omar El Akkad and Ta-nehisi Coates are some of the most
important literary voices around today.
Over the past 18 months I’ve also found real inspiration from starting my journey with Te
Reo Māori. I’ve always loved languages. In fact it was really only languages that I
excelled at in school. My reo journey is moving slowly but I feel a deep connection to it.
A lot of this comes from an incredible teacher I had (Rīhari Warnock) who has such a
gorgeous and soulful connection to the language that I just found his classes so moving and
inspiring. He once stood up in class and turned to the side to signify looking backwards.
And he said he was actually facing the future. He saw Te Reo Māori as often walking
backwards into the future, with our eyes to the past. I just thought that that was such a
profound sentiment and so beautifully taught. I’ll never forget that moment. It made me
realise that this path with my reo may be long and often difficult, but it will be forever
inspiring.
From there I’ve deep dived into understanding Māori wisdom and its connection to
mythology, sayings and karakia. Again I love how beautifully visual the language is. My
friend Dr Hinemoa Elder has written some wonderful books on this – Aroha and Wawata.
I could go on forever here ,David, so I’ll sign this question off with another piece that I
have tattooed on me. Written by Professor Epeli Hau’ofa and inked by Terje Koloamatangi.
“It is the water that connects the people of the Pacific.
We should not be defined by the smallness of our islands but in the greatness of our
oceans.
We are the sea, we are the ocean. Oceania is us.”
“Ko te wai te ara tūhonohono i ngā iwi o Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa
Ehara i te mea kia noho ko te iti o ō tātou moutere hei whakataukī mā te ao, engari ia te
nui whakaharahara o ō tātou moana. He moana tātou, he moana waiwai. Ko te ao
moana, ko tātou tērā.”
“Jessie is an astonishing guitar player. Unlike me, she has the technicality and theory, flowing through her veins… but man she has soul.”
- Joe Walsh on guitarist Jessie Booth
Q. The Ekko Park track Phase Her, from the E.P Let’s Talk About Last Night… The End of the World, is (from my perspective) a track of immense maturity in the sense (again, from an outsider’s perspective) the melodic journey, lyrics, and emotion require years of craft and application to get to the stage of creating the track (one of the NZ tracks of 2024 in my mind). What I’m stumbling here to ask is firstly, how proud are you of it? And secondly, what are your thoughts when you reflect on tracks they may have germinated from many years of toil, and passion, before coming into full being.
Beautiful question. I fucking adore that song. And if I was asked to sum up where
Ekko Park is in 2025, it’s that song in a nutshell.
I distinctly remember writing the front to it. I was learning some Gin Wigmore songs
at home and playing with some new effects. Somehow I turned on like 5 random-ass
modulation effects and boom… that’s where that weird starting effect comes from.
Instead of turning them all off I just started jamming. I didn’t need to play too much
because the effects filled up so much space and really felt kinda Sigur Rós to me.
Nick and I worked the song in the rehearsal room as we always do. We always want to
find the right feel and vibe for the song before we introduce it to the others. We loved
the verse and chorus lift… but felt it needed a fierce bridge. Sometimes it’s already in
the room. That elusive part of the song. It floats around you. It may break you trying
to find it. Sometimes it’s hiding in the corner, just out of reach. But sometimes you get
lucky and you just see it or feel it and it fucking fires first time. That bridge is so fucking massive. When it hits live it’s fucking transcendent. We reintroduced the verse and chorus to finish the song. But it left an itch I couldn’t scratch. That bridge was so fucking melodic and dynamic that I felt we needed to get the song back there again. This is where Jessie comes in.
Jessie is an astonishing guitar player. Unlike me, she has the technicality and theory
flowing through her veins… but man she has soul. Holy fuck does she have soul.
She could shred all fucking day but she is tasty as fuck. She’s not inclined to be one
of those wanky guitar players who for me, seem to do nothing but vomit all over the
fretboard. Sweeps are for chimneys.
I digress.
I remember Nick and I played the song for Jessie and she loved it. She wanted to put
some dissonant notes over the space and I think that’s when I found that outro riff. And
then we just said to Jessie to fucking do her thing. Jessie just takes that fucking
outro and fucking soars. It’s melodic, it’s fragmented, it’s intense, it’s just fucking
delicious. Nick totally reacted to what Jessie was laying down. They are both
incredible on this track. A huge thanks to our producer Greg Haver who worked to
really capture this song in all its beauty. Sometimes songs just don’t go to tape the
way you’d hoped. But the recording of this captures something really special.
To answer maybe both parts of your question, you’re absolutely right to say there’s a
maturity in this writing. I could never have written Phase Her when I was starting out.
No fucking way. I am so blessed to be in bands with Jordan and Gin. Jordan wrote
Victoria when he was 17. Imagine that. At seventeen writing ‘She gets glances since
they first greeted, sent salutations that can’t be repeated, she’s become a social
institution, prepares her prey like an execution’. No, never could I have written
anything close to that. And Gin wrote Hallelujah when she was around that age. Just
remarkable to be writing songs like that at that age. They both have the ‘stardust’.
It’s taken me all the hundreds and hundreds of gigs to get me to where I now sit with my
writing. I think there’s some really great moments on the early Ekko recordings but
I’m most proud of the most recent recordings for sure.
Note from interviewer: Go and listen to Phase Her.
“It’s taken me all the hundreds and hundreds of gigs to get me to where I now sit with my writing. I think there’s some really great moments on the early Ekko recordings but I’m most proud of the most recent recordings for sure.”
- Joe Walsh
Q. I’m going to take you back to a Gin Wigmore gig at Totara Street in March 2023. I’ve been to dozens of fantastic gigs at Totara Street. But there was something about that one that was on another level. It was (and this sounds naff) electric. Hopefully that leads naturally into the question (as you were in her band on the tour): When you look out at a room and it is rammed with people hearing you play, and lapping up what you and the band are producing, what does that feel like? And has that feeling changed over the years?
Man, what a fucking show that was. The audience just seemed electric from the moment
doors opened. You could feel it from backstage. Band on fire. Gin on fire. Audience on fire.
Just the perfect storm really.
We played Homegrown the week before and they had to close the fucking stage off and not
let any more punters in. That Homegrown show will live with me forever. I remember
looking around at one point and just feeling like we were in another world. It’s hard to
describe David, but there’s this point, this vortex, where you can’t really even hear what
you are playing, you’re just part of this wave. It’s shared. It’s the band, the audience, the
stage, the lights. It’s absolute euphoria. It’s why we do it I guess.
I remember the first time I looked across the stage during Victoria and seeing Jordan sing
it. I remember the first time I looked across the stage and saw Gin singing New Rush. It’s
kinda like ‘how the fuck did I get here… How fucking good is this… and what a fucking time to be alive…’ all rolled into one.
That euphoria has always been there for me but I do have to say, the feeling playing with
these guys is something different. It must be akin to joining the Premier League from a
Non-League team. The first rehearsal with the Jordan Luck Band blew my fucking mind.
It was like ‘oh fuck, this is what it means to actually really be in a band’. The calibre of
muso’s in the JLB and Gin band is the absolute crème de la crème. Those experiences
have helped take Ekko to that level too I feel/hope.
For years I was pissed off with Liam Gallagher for basically standing around and doing
fuck all on stage except singing. I was used to seeing bands go nuts on stage. Then I
saw him say in the Supersonic doco, that he just stood there because he was
mesmerised by the moment. All around him was chaos and euphoria and he just wanted to
be still and take it all in. He was the calmness in the storm.
I’ve used a lot of words here to tell you that that feeling, that moment on stage is actually
indescribable.
“Seeing people singing the words.
Seeing couples hug a little tighter when we play a certain song. Seeing people just losing their minds, being taken away from the world for a moment in time. It’s just pure ecstasy. It really is.”
- Joe Walsh
Q. NZ music venues, I daresay like any country with a live music scene, vary from decor, to stage space, level of intimacy with the audience, acoustics, and all the little quirks and kinks they have. As a musician, and band frontman, what are the elements that make you relish returning to a venue?
Oh man this country has some of the most amazing venues. But you are right. Some
just have that thing. That vibe. That smell. That history. That fucking soul.
San Fran, Wellington. What a venue. Steeped in history. A dangerous as fuck drop
off side of stage. Graffitied green room, rock and roll as fuck… BUT the absolute
worst load-in in Aotearoa, ha!
The Mussel Inn, Onekaka. A tiny wooden almost alpine-like house out in the bush
that is so fucking tiny, we cram 120 people in there, the stage is made of beer crates
(it’s a brewery) but fuck me what a vibe. I adore playing that place. I always enjoy Totora Street, Mt Maunganui – epic as fuck stage, big PA, two-tiered audience. That place has the vibe.
I have a real soft spot for Playhouse, Mapua, Nelson. Such a beautiful space. Epic
stage. Mad as fuck interior. I love playing there. And as someone who also books the JLB gigs… there is a line that links all those I mentioned and it’s the people running/owning them. Each a great fucking character. Each dedicated to their venue.
Christian at San Fran, Jane (and her whole family) at Mussel, Jay and Ross at Totora,
Nic and Manu at Playhouse. I can’t help but think these venues would lose something
very special should any of those folk not be involved with them.
There are also some stunning big stages to play here. R and V is incredible. Gibbston
Valley is truly breathtaking. But I will say I’ve never been a punter at either venue, just
as an artist, so I can’t speak to them from out front!!
I think I’ve noted above that once a gig, especially an outdoor gig, gets to a certain
size, you just lose the scale of it. The big ones are fucking fun for sure but I love the
intimacy of an indoor show. Sweaty rock and roll. Seeing people singing the words.
Seeing couples hug a little tighter when we play a certain song. Seeing people just
losing their minds, being taken away from the world for a moment in time. It’s just
pure ecstasy. It really is. The minute I lose this feeling. The very first time I stand up
there and feel like I’m phoning it in, I’ll fucking quit. I truly hope that day never comes.
“I think it’s undeniable that music is probably in the worst place it’s been since the 60s. Why? Because bleeding artists dry and ripping artists off is the industry standard.”
- Joe Walsh
Q. Now I may be leading the witness here a wee bit (so apologies for that) with this question. You will know live music venues in New Zealand and overseas as well as anyone I’ve met. How important is it for us, for society, for communities, to have thriving live music venues, and places to gather and hear music?
It’s lifeblood. It’s culture. It’s expression. It’s nostalgia. It’s all the things. And we are
losing so many at such a rapid rate. It’s truly devastating. Just look at the void that the
Kings Arms has left in Auckland. That place was a venue, a community and a heartbeat of
a city all in one. And it’s never been replaced.
How many stories do you hear of people buying an apartment and lodging complaints
about live music at the venue next door, you know the venue that’s been there for
fucking decades.
There are two sides to this coin today as I see it. I’m super encouraged by some of the
younger bands around who seem to be dragging guitar music back over the hill and into the spotlight.
Over the past couple of years I’ve seen Powder Chutes and Fan Club grow from literal kids
into fully fledged performing bands. And they are fucking killing it. And they have
created an audience.
So I’m hopeful.
But you cannot get away from the societal change. Rock and roll used to go hand in
hand with alcohol. Meaning that bars would put live music on because it brought in
punters. Punters drink. The bands get an audience. Everyone’s a winner.
But you look at somewhere like The Zoo in Brisbane. A super established venue with an
unbelievable history. They had to shut their doors. They released a statement saying
that in the year leading up to closure, they sold more tickets than any other year in the
decade previous. But bar sales dropped off to such a point that the venue was
untenable. You can put that down to the fucking outrageous price of drinking out now, or the fact that young people are drinking less. Regardless, it’s a fact.
“The thought of trying to release a single now is so fucking exhausting. And if it doesn’t hit the Spotify editorial, it is fucking dead. Simple as.”
- Joe Walsh
Q. Can we step into a broader question about the music industry/community/scene in Aotearoa New Zealand for artists (solo, duo, bands). Firstly, what are your thoughts on where it is currently? And where it might be heading? Are we in a good place? Difficult place? Is there strong/adequate/dwindling support there for artists to create and perform?
Look I think it’s undeniable that music is probably in the worst place it’s been since the
60s. Why? Because bleeding artists dry and ripping artists off is the industry standard.
Spotify, what a fucking travesty that is. A fucking oat flat white can cost you $8.50 today.
A fucking coffee. Yet no one’s willing to spend $10 to own an album. A fucking album.
Forget the energy, time and money the artist has spent on it. What about the absolute
pleasure that album can bring. It could fucking change your life. It could sway the clothes
you wear. The colour of your hair. It can give you a voice. It can make you dream. It can
help you find your tribe.
Albums used to mean something. I was recently reading that some kids now don’t even know the songs they listen to. They only know the 13 seconds of a chorus because that’s all that’s used on TikTok… I mean what the actual fuck. (fuck I must sound like an old man huh!!)
I don’t really even know that you are just an artist anymore. You need to be a content
creator. It’s so demoralising. Imagine telling Jeff Buckley that he had decent songs but
needs more short form content for engagement. I want to dance on a coffee table and
scream my fucking heart out to IDLES.
The thought of trying to release a single now is so fucking exhausting. And if it doesn’t
hit the Spotify editorial, it is fucking dead. Simple as.
You see the news this week about the AI band who’s all over Spotify? Fucking end
times.
There is undoubtedly some incredible music still being made. I just hope the landscape
stays sustainable.
And NZ really is punching for sure. Global scale look at Lorde, Alien Weaponry and Benee.
Look at Tami Neilson and Marlon Williams. Look what Devilskin have built up. Six60, LAB, Kaylee Bell, Teeks, Avantdale Bowling Club, SWIDT.
I look at someone like Cassie Henderson building her tribe and it gives me huge fucking hope.
Oh and I’ve recently stumbled upon Ratbag… check out ‘look what you’re doing to me’…
what a fucking song. Wow!
“Over the past couple of years I’ve seen Powder Chutes and Fan Club grow from literal kids into fully fledged performing bands. And they are fucking killing it.”
- Joe Walsh
Q. This is one of those list questions/dream scenario questions. Not the ‘pick five dinner guests’ but instead this: You have got your pick of any bands or solo artists past or present to play a one day festival. Who are you picking? (there is no limit). And where would you like it to be held? You can go wherever you want. San Fran. Kings Arms (back in the day). Celtic Park. Wherever.
Celtic Park, holy shit!! Imagine that!! That would be the stuff of dreams, but those huge
massive gigs, I’ve been lucky enough to play some insane ones, I dunno, once they get
to a certain size you just don’t really appreciate it any more! I’m thinking at a beautiful
winery somewhere in Aotearoa, sun coming down over the vines, a natural amphitheatre
and a fucking epic stage and PA… that’s the shit!! Like the Gibbston Valley venue or
somewhere similar in Bannockburn, Otago. Breathtaking.
Dream Line Up - WOW this is going to be a joy/nightmare!!!!!!!!!!! I’m not going to pick
any of my own bands so here goes…
Doors 9am
John Butler Solo 9:25am - 9:55am Ocean = Breakfast of champions!!
Jeff Buckley Solo 10am - 10:45am over bloody mary’s and tears…
Wheat 10:45am - 11:15am
TenSpeedRacer 11:30am - 12pm
Elemeno P 12:15pm - 12:45pm
Frightened Rabbit 1pm - 1:30pm
Violent Soho 1:45pm - 2:15pm
Sigur Rós 2:30pm - 3:15pm
Interpol 3:30pm - 4pm
Idlewild 4:15pm - 4:45pm
Whipping Boy 5pm - 5:30pm
Fontaines DC 5:45pm - 6:15pm
IDLES 6:30pm - 7:15pm
Young Fathers 7:30pm - 8:15pm
Oasis 8:30pm - 9:30pm
Pearl Jam 9:45pm - 11:00pm
David Bowie featuring Marc Bolan, Amy Winehouse and Aretha Franklin! Fucking imagine
that….. 11:15pm for as long as they fucking want…
Underworld to close out with Born Slippy and fireworks…
READ MORE: INTERVIEWS WITH ARTISTS
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