Everything Changes

As always, I have to start with a huge debt of gratitude to Randi for her incredible editing, and assistance with writing.

I guess I also need to mention. This is a very long story. I considered breaking it into chapters, but on reflection. Decided we are adults. You don't have to read it all in one sitting.

Oh, and by the way. Yes, you will find errors. Randi is a fabulous editor, but I am a terrible tinkerer, and can never stop myself from delving back into the story and rewriting bits and pieces.

So, the errors are mine, and I own them. Apologies if that disrupts your reading. When you start to feel the agitation sneaking in as you find another error. Remember how much you paid to read it. LOL.

*****

Sitting with my guitar, I tried to write my new piece. It sucked; I couldn't get anything right. My fingers tangled and I fumbled. I was about to throw the damned thing away. I hated days like this where nothing worked.

Now in my third and final year of study towards attaining my Bachelor of Musical Arts, I was at a crossroads. This was it: everything I had been working for was now on the line.

My capstone was to write, perform and record an album of original music... It's what I wanted, what I had dreamed about since seeing Kaki King at the Peats Ridge Festival in Australia as a wide eyed teenager. Watching her play was absolutely incredible, her percussive inventive rhythms which ebbed and flowed. I was in love with the guitar already, but as a hobby, a pastime. It all changed that day in the blistering hot Saturday afternoon sun. Forget about the temperature, I stood in front of the stage staring at her mastery. She was brilliant, simply brilliant. The crowd around me danced and bounced, soaking up her jazzy vibe. Me, I merely stood there, mouth open, watching in disbelief.

I couldn't get my mind to correlate what my ears heard and my eyes saw. It just didn't compute.

She played again that evening, just before John Butler, who closed out the evening.

That's when I danced with my friends and my sister. He rocked, and as much as I enjoyed his guitar playing, it was Kaki who took my breath away.

The next day, Sunday, I wandered around the festival grounds, and again it was blistering hot. When you come from little old Westport on the west coast of the south island of New Zealand, these temperatures were sizzling.

I found a food van selling delicious salad and bacon wraps, and wandered from tent to tent. I hadn't realised there was going to be all these workshops. I heard it long before I saw. There she was, sitting in a stool, her guitar in hand, talking to a small group of interested onlookers.

With my wrap and coke in hand. I plonked myself down on the grass as close as I could physically get and watched, mesmerised.

Her fingers, how did she manage that? It defied logic, but the sounds were just amazing. A couple of times I caught her eye, and when she smiled at me, I felt my heart go Wheeeeeeee...

It was insane. After the workshop, I watched as she moved over to the merchandise stand, where she signed merch for happy customers and fans.

Scraping together the last of my money, I brought one of her albums. She glanced at me as she wielded her pen. "You seemed to enjoy the show."

"Wow, enjoy isn't the right word. You were incredible. How do you do that?"

She laughed. "It takes time, do you play?"

"Yes, but not like that."

"Who should I make this out to?"

"Tui, please."

"Well, Tui, if you want to get better, you have to practice, work hard. If you want it, you can do it. Believe in yourself."

I smiled broadly; she was giving me advice and talking to me. Seeing I wasn't going to move, she added, "If you want to understand rhythm, play drums. It changed my life, and I'm sure it will help you, as well."

A young guy behind me called out, "Stand beside her and I'll get a photo for you."

"Would you?" I asked her. She stood up and moved away from the table. I scurried around to stand beside her as I passed the young guy my phone, saying, "Take heaps."

Kaki draped her arm over my shoulder and we leaned in close. I couldn't believe how fast my heart was beating. I felt sure I was going to feint.

After the photos were finished, she handed me my CD, and said, "It was a pleasure to meet you Tui. I hope you follow through with your guitar playing."

When I got home after that holiday, I obsessed over Kaki, I brought everything, joined forums and fan clubs, pasted posters all over my wall, but more importantly. I started playing my guitar. It was a cheapy that Mum brought for me from the Sally Army store. I sat in front of YouTube videos and I played and played.

Dad saw the improvement and signed me up for lessons with a local teacher. I hated that; she wanted to teach me to play Greensleeves and old folk songs. I was already way past that, and she knew it. I had no respect for her because I saw her as collecting money from my parents and teaching me nothing.

The high school had a music program, but to pick it up mid-term I had to drop something else, which my parents weren't happy about. I loved the theory, breaking down what I heard into written formats made sense.

Picking up music gave me the opportunity to join the school orchestra, which was fun. I hated the music the director selected, but I learned to play with other musicians and to follow orders.

I wasn't much at doing what I was told, up till that point. I stumbled around making fun of everything. The orchestra gave me a goal. It also introduced me to some other kids my own age, and I found some new friends. I guess we were the unruly ones. We gathered together at Jake's house, because they had a big garage that his parents let us use.

That was the coolest I had ever been in my entire life. Cool and Tui, were not words often seen in the same page, let alone the same sentence. I was far from being one of the cool kids. Tall, skinny awkward and gangling: all words used to describe me at different times of my life.

At high school, the Netball coach thought because of my height I would be perfect. That might have been true if I wasn't so uncoordinated, and of course, the fact I was completely disinterested changed her mind. As we do in New Zealand, I had to try most sports, but the reality... I wasn't interested. I didn't hate sports, I simply didn't care.

Music was my passion and playing in the orchestra and fooling around in the band was what I lived for. Mum and Dad both tried to keep me focused on school and doing well with my University Entrance exams.

The band, though, we were a strange bunch of misfits. Colin, the bass player, was a rebel looking for a cause to fight, long straggly hair and fuzz on his face while he tried to grow a beard. It was a source of much laughter as the other band mates gave him hell, with never ending ribbing.

Jake was the closest we had to cool; like me he was tall, but unruly, always finding a way to look interesting. I thought he was cool because he taught me to play drums and let me use his whenever I wanted.

Tanner, he was our geeky sound guy. He played keys, but he also owned the PA, and he was really switched on when it came to technology.

Lani, our singer, okay. She wasn't that good, but she had the looks and stage presence. There was also the added advantage; She brought the weed.

We played covers; that was the bit I hated, because the music I loved, we never played. It was always top-twenty stuff. I sucked it up because I loved being in the band; just being able to say I was in a band made me tremble.

Mum hated me being in the band; she was religious, deeply so. Being Maori, music was a huge part of our culture. Well, Mum was Maori, my dad was from England, a Geordie. He loved music as well, but Mum loved two kinds of music, country, and western. Yep. Both kinds.

Dad was into punk, which is the way I leaned, as well. I loved alternative stuff, not just punk, but indie, and rock, blues. My dad was a fisherman; he had his own boat, which I used to work on with him during school holidays. I loved those days out on the boat, Dad laughing and making jokes. It was hard work, but being out there with Dad, that's what made it specialise

Mum, bless her, was the one who got me interested in music. She dragged me along to the monthly gathering of the local country music club. She was a pretty fine singer, and used to perform. On occasion, she pushed me up on stage with her, and we would sing a duet. She was so proud of me; she adored it when I got up on stage and sung with her.

The band, after rehearsing in Jakes shed, finally got a gig. It was only a birthday party, and we weren't getting paid, but we were going to be playing in front of people.

I remember it clearly; the biggest day of my life. I was shaking when we got up to play; fifty people, all waiting expectantly, clapping and yelling out.

It was awful; we were all so nervous I'm not sure we were even playing the same song, but slowly it all came together, the smoke inevitably taking away the nerves. Once the trembling stopped and the crowd started singing along, everything changed. I was in heaven.

That first gig grew into many, and we became the hottest little band in town. Okay, hardly a big thing, except I was only seventeen and it was the biggest thing that had ever happened to me.

Dad was one of our biggest fans and used to come to gigs where he could get in. It was weird watching him in front of us, dancing like a maniac and loving it, telling anybody who would listen that he was my dad.

We played together right up until I left for Uni. That was special. I was the first person from our Whanau to go to University. When I started at high school, Mum's mission was for me to take it seriously and to get my UE so I could go.

Nobody was more surprised than me when I passed with flying colours. My marks were in the top ten percent for the whole country. I have to say Mum was a little upset when I said I wanted to study music. She wanted me to take medicine, but that was never going to happen.

Dad was simply happy that I was going.

We weren't a wealthy family; that meant me taking out a student loan, although being half Maori, it meant I was eligible for a grant from Ngai Tahu, my tribe. Every year they helped deserving students. My marks were what sold it. The fact my marks were so high, they were generous. It kept my loan down and saved Mum and Dad some money.'

It was a sad day when I left. My parents drove me to Nelson, where I caught a flight to Auckland. I was nervous as hell. Not just because I was leaving home, but Auckland was the biggest city in the country.

Mum had already organised a flat for me to move into. I was sharing with another couple, and a guy. At first it was cool, but when the single guy, Paul, started coming on to me, it became very uncomfortable. The couple, Holly and Loris, were nice, but they encouraged Paul. They thought I needed somebody in my life. When we had drinks, Paul became aggressive.

Holly said one night. "What's the matter, Tui? Paul is a nice guy, you could use some loving."

"He creeps me out. If he doesn't lay off, I'm calling the cops."

"Wow, holy snafu... There's no need for that. He's just being friendly," she gasped in dismay.

"Nah, friends know when to stop and that no means no. I like you guys, but if he doesn't back off, I'm calling the cops."

She hugged me tightly before adding, "Chill, I'll talk to him."

"Thanks, Holly."

She did talk to him, and then it got really uncomfortable. He kept giving me the evils every time we were together.

It made me question who I was again. I had this conversation with myself regularly. I felt uncomfortable in my skin. It wasn't new; I had felt that way since my girlfriends discovered boys. I never really discovered boys. Not like they did, anyway.

It was like boys were the only thing we talked about. I joined in and mentioned a couple I thought were okay. In truth, I was playing games. It felt dishonest, but I didn't know how to handle it. I faked it. Went on a couple of dates, even kissed a couple, but that was it. I never felt an attraction, not like my friends any way.

I figured it was because I hadn't met the one... The one who was going to steal my heart, leave me foaming at the mouth with wanton desire. It simply never happened.

Now I was in Auckland, the huge melting pot of humanity. There was no shortage of guys, in fact my classes were full of them. Some were really nice, clever, articulate, intelligent; I didn't understand why my heart didn't flutter, or miss a beat.

Not that I had much time to worry about it. With classes and work... yeah I had to get a job to make ends meet. It wasn't glamorous, cleaning offices at night. The money was reasonable, but left me with no time for any sort of social life. I was a bit envious of others in my classes. They were going to parties and concerts. All I did was work and study.

At the flat it was awkward; Paul couldn't take a hint, and the initial warnings about reporting him to the police seemed to have vanished. Now he was back to his old ways of lewd suggestive repugnant offerings. The guy was a pig.

When at home, rather than joining in, I locked myself away in my room and tried to get up early so I didn't bump into him after I had a shower.

Meeting Lilly was the best thing that ever happened. She was in my creative writing class. At first I thought she was a bit up herself. She always had beautifully crafted stories, although when I tried to talk to her, she fobbed me off. I tried a couple of times, thinking the first I had caught her on a bad day.

One day, I was sitting on the grass laying on my back, my sandwiches finished. It was my chance to think. I gazed wondrously at the clouds as they wafted across the sky.

I felt the shadow fall across me, turning to my right, there was the waifish Lilly. "Mind if I sit with?"

I sat up, wondering why. "Plenty of grass, pull up a blade."

She sat easily, dropping smoothly into the lotus position. She opened her lunch box and started picking at what looked like a rather lovely creamy broccoli salad.

I tried not to lick my lips, but it looked scrumptious. She saw and reached out her hand holding the delicious delight. "Would you like some?"

"Nah, thanks, but I already ate."

She left her arm outstretched. "I don't mind, I have some fruit here, as well."

I grabbed it eagerly, the little plastic fork soon shovelling the delicious morsels into my salivating mouth. My eyes closed as I savoured the exquisite spicy flavours. "God, this is amazing," I said between hungry mouthfuls.

She smiled, rubbing a particularly bright Gala apple. "Thanks, it's an old recipe my Gran taught me."

"I don't know how you afford it with the price of broccoli, though," I replied curiously.

She shrugged after biting into the crisp sounding apple. "I'm lucky, my parents give me a generous allowance.

"Thank you, mum and dad," I said light-heartedly.

"Don't your parents send you money?"

"Nah, sometimes, but depends on how the fishing is. Dad's a fishermen."

"How do you get by then?" she asked querulously.

"I work nights as a cleaner for Spotlight. We clean offices after they shut down at night."

"Shit," she gasped. "That must be tough, what time do you finish?"

"About midnight, but that depends on how bad they are. Sometimes one O'clock."

"How do you study?"

"Lunch break, and after I get back to the flat. I get a couple of hours before I go to work."

"Golly, that must be awful. Do you at least get weekends to yourself?"

"Actually, no. I work at the zoo as a guide on weekends."

She grimaced. "Look, I wanted to explain. I'm sorry I was short with you. I know I can seem a bit snobby, but I'm not like that. You caught me on a bad day."

"I didn't think anything like that," I lied, feeling my cheeks flushing with guilt.

"Rubbish, I don't blame you for thinking it. I have been struggling with my cycle, lots of cramps, and I have been grumpy."

"Why me? If you've been biting everybody's heads off, why choose me to say sorry to?"

"Because you were being nice and didn't deserve it. Some of the others actually deserved it."

I laughed softly, not wanting to say I agreed with her. Reading my mind, she leaned closer. "It's okay. I know some of them are pompous dicks."

"What are you studying?" she added as she munched through her mouthful of apple. Damn, the sweet succulent sounds of that apple...

"Music," I replied, waiting for her to break out in hysterics.

"Why the creative writing class?"

"It helps with my songwriting."

"Choice..." she said with an air of haughtiness. "I love music, I can't play anything, but I love listening." She squinted, her eyes narrowing. "I take it you play something?"

"Guitar mostly. Although I do play drums and I have been learning keys, as well."

"Wow, super talented. I would like to hear something you have written."

Colour me impressed, she had managed to draw me into her world so easily. I replied quickly, "I have a couple of pieces on my phone..."

"Sweet, hand it over. I want to listen, see if you're any good."

I selected my favourite song, which was me playing guitar and singing one of my own songs. Taking the phone, she pressed play and raised it close to hear better.

I heard the song playing and watched as she closed her eyes and listened, her head nodding in time with the music. After it finished, she glanced at the phone. "Would you mind if I listened to some others?" She was already scrolling,

I shrugged. "Yeah, no worries."

Once she started, there was no holding her back; she listened to half a dozen before I interrupted. "Sorry, I have to go, I'm going to be late for class."

Almost reluctantly, she passed the phone back. "Super cool songs. Not at all what I was expecting."

That made me laugh. "Oh yeah, what were you expecting?"

"Not sure, I got the impression you would be more urban."

"I'm trying not to be pigeonholed. I want to be me, not a copy of my favourite artists."

"Really, who is your favourite all time?"

"Kaki King, she is the one who set me on this path."

"You know her?" She seemed completely shocked.

I giggled. "No, I met her once at a concert in Aussie. We talked for a little bit, and we corresponded for a while. She is incredible."

"Yes, I like some of her stuff, as well. She's edgy and weird. I love that about her."

I was surprised she even knew her. Not many of my friends did. "Yeah, she is definitely edgy."

With my phone in my handbag, we walked off together, Lilly on her way to the library, and me for my Audio Technicians class.

This was a favourite class for me, learning to understand the complexities of recording, using the different audio interfaces and equipment. It gave me an insight into sound: how it travels, how it is effected by environment, spaces, walls, ceilings.

It did require lots of collaboration with other students as we were allocated projects. It was impossible at this point for all of us to get individual training, so it meant working in teams. There was a small group from within the class, gear geeks, and I loved working with them. They weren't the in crowd; these kids were here to learn, and they were serious.

Music is different to most classes. The people attending had their own agendas. There was the sound tech crowd. They saw their future in the sound production arena, and that's what they were focused on.

There were the performers, who were focused purely on performing, the rest was superfluous, and they weren't that interested. If it wasn't about them, they didn't care.

Then there were the musicians, focused on their particular instruments; that was their goal, to be the worlds best whatever player.

There were some peripheral groups, the songwriters, the teachers. Me, I went into this with a broad spectrum approach: I wanted to be good at everything. I wanted to walk away with my degree, and hopefully a road to becoming a performer who could make a living from it.