Everything Changes

I was intelligent enough to know that the number of performers who actually achieved that was small. I needed a backup plan, which is why I took a great deal of interest in the technical aspects, and the theory. If nothing else, I could hopefully find a way to convert those skills into making a living.

I had friends from within the groups. In the performers was Abby; she was ferociously passionate, but such a radical. She hated the establishment, bureaucracy. She was as left wing as it was possible to get.

I loved her passion and her desire for social justice. I assumed she was gay, always pushing the feminist element, always fighting the system. She treated me with disdain, and we fought regularly. She hated that I just went with the flow.

"Don't you care that women are treated as second class citizens?" she snarled at me one day when I refused to take one of her leaflets to a protest organised for the weekend.

"Of course I care. I'm female, but I'm clever enough to know it's the way it's always been, and fighting it won't change it."

"Coward, you're letting them rule your life."

"I'm no chicken, I'm just not interested in fighting."

"We're fighting to make your life better, easier. Women can't achieve our goals in this country. We are stifled."

"Bullshit," I shot back. "We have had four female Prime Ministers. Female Governor Generals. We were the first country to give women the vote."

"Oh big fucking deal; they promote women to positions where they're viewed as in charge, but really they're just figure heads."

"That's true of every head; it's not just women."

Like most radicals, she was impossible to argue against. For every fact I proposed, she had a counter argument. I'm not sure the data she promoted was factual, but she could produce it at the drop of a hat.

So, we fought, sometimes bitterly, but we were also friends. We were both passionate about music. She was a cellist, and a very good one. She adored the instrument, always pushing the boundaries, never prepared to conform, or comply. She hated the steadfast regimes she was expected to study. She played with fire, even the old classics.

Her love was rock music, and she listened to music where the cello was front and centre, regardless of the genre. She busted down concepts, always pushing the cello.

She won me over on her instrument of choice. I came to love listening to her find ways to insert cello into popular tracks.

We played together often, just the two of us. We sat in the production room staring at each other, she would start playing something and I would find a guitar track to fit...

Haunting ethereal sounds, impossible rhythm changes and nodal formations. Always challenging me to be different.

I loved it, and so did she. Polar opposites, we loved and hated each other. I shouldn't say hate; it was more frustration born of difference.

She always looked like she had walked out of an African village, long flowing voluminous dresses and skirts, she always wore a scarf as a headdress, much like a Muslim woman might wear a Hijab.

She never wore makeup, never wore heels, but her eyes cut through everything. So bright, the deep blue almost purple and clear. The few times I had actually seen her hair, it was worn in long fluffy dreads, the dark brown tones muted.

She drew me in; I can't explain it, she infuriated me, aroused emotions in me I couldn't explain. Still, I counted her as a friend.

The project we were currently working on was a collaborative one. We were instructed that it had to be modern contemporary, with leanings in hip-hop. Not something I was really conversant with, but recently my tastes had changed a little. I had recently found Brandi Carlisle. For some weird reason her music had stayed hidden from me, and now I was catching up.

As much as I loved Kaki, I struggled to play like her. She was on a different plain to me. Every time I tried to emulate her, I sounded exactly like that: a second rate cheap imitation. Not something I wanted.

I loved words, lyrics, and had started listening to artists who included deep meaningful lyrics: songs that said something. For some reason I was attracted to what Brandi was saying. Funny how an artist can influence you, change your perceptions.

Now my songwriting sounded more like a cross between Bic Runga and Brandi, rather than Kaki.

I was comfortable with that; I still incorporated the tapping and percussive passages in my playing, but it sounded like me. Now I had my own style.

Our project required us to all find other musicians from within the class and collaborate, build a hip-hop styled song that included and featured different instruments, giving them all their own voice.

It was hard to get others interested because Abby was such an outspoken rebel. At one time or another, she had insulted everybody, and consequently, she found it hard to find others.

We ended up with Nigel, who played clarinet, and Arthur, who played tuba and trumpet.

Blending all of us into a song steeped in hop-hop was, how shall I say this politely... challenging. Add to that, the fact Arthur and Nigel weren't really songwriters, Meant that element fell on Abby and me.

We couldn't rehearse at my flat, and apparently Abby's was worse. It mean staying late and working at the University studio's.

During a short break, we were sitting drinking coffee when Abby asked, "I never hear you taking about boyfriends. Are you dating?"

Surprised by her interest I replied, "Nah, no time. I have to start work at six-thirty in the evenings and work through to midnight, Monday to Friday. Weekends, I work at the zoo as a guide. There is no time."

"Boyfriend waiting at home?" she asked.

"No, I doubt I'll go back to Westport. There's not much of a music scene there."

"Westport, holy fuck. No wonder you're such a goody two shoes straightie."

"I'm not like that," I gasped. "Is that how you see me?" I asked in dismay.

"Oh, sweetie, you are so straight you make rulers look bent."

"I'm just being me."

"Oh hell no, you are trying hard to be what society wants you to be. I'm sure you're in there somewhere, but it sure as hell isn't what I see."

"Yeah, and what do you see?" I snapped back.

"I see a girl trying to hard to fit in. You look like you should be studying law. You dress to attract men, not in a slutty way, but you want men to like you."

"What's wrong with that?" I said, uncomfortable that I was being attacked.

"Whoa, slow down chick. I wasn't trying to offend. If that's who you are, then that's cool. I don't buy it, though. I don't believe that is really you."

"God you're so judgemental," I sniped back. "You come in looking like you just robbed an OP Shop, and criticize me for being like everybody else."

"I wasn't criticizing, merely saying. I wasn't trying to offend."

I sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. You look pretty cool actually, in a reggae, gypsy queen sort of way."

"I'll take that. Thanks." She giggled. "We better get writing, we only have two weeks to finish this."

"I have something." I said softly. "I've been writing it for a while. It was going to be a country song, but it could be changed."

She giggled crazily. "Country, girl, are you trying to get us kicked out?"

"Hey, I said we could change it. Why don't you listen instead of judging."

She nodded. "Sorry, it was a joke." With a nod of her head, she said, "Play it for me."

We walked back into the studio, and I picked up my guitar. The song was written when I was still living at home, and I was trying to figure out who I was.

I played the rhythm slowly, as written, and Abby listened, scowling. "What the fuck, girl? That ain't no hip-hop."

I changed it up, the rhythm changing to an R&B style shrill guitar, a little distortion, and a tap on the crunch pedal gave it a whole new sound. This had been going through my head for a while, but now hearing it. I nodded, appreciating the new sound.

Abby fell in straight away, a staccato minimalist approach, short hammers of her bow, then long slow draws across the strings as she found the rhythm.

Then I added the words.

Everything changes........Nothing stays the same

Everything changes.......That's just nature of the game

Everything changes........Nothing stays the same

Everything changes that's the way it is

We learn as we go, yeah on the run

And the knowledge flows,

Mother Daughter, Father Son............

From our fathers, fathers, down the barrel of the gun

Because everything changes, that's just the way it's done

Everything changes.......Nothing stays the same

It's like a winding road,

Winding through your life down past the crossroads

Like a climbing rose,

Forever changing, we come as we go

The flowing river, meanders down to the sea...

Yeah its nature's game...... everything changes, and nothing stays the same

The world keeps on turning, in endless motion

And the winds of change yeah they're blowing strong

And the changing seasons carry us along

They call it progress right or wrong

Everything changes.......Nothing stays the same

Yeah its nature's game

And yes it's relentless always on the change

Yeah everything changes...........That's the nature of the game

Everything changes...........Nothing stays the same

Abby changed as she heard the words, and she found the melody, the cello grabbing the lyrics and flow. She was into it. "Fuck yeah, girl, this I like." She was so into it; she suggested a couple of word changes, and we worked through it again and again.

In the end I had to say. "I have to go to work. Sorry, but I'll be late if I don't go now."

She stood up her cello and walked over, giving me an enormous tight all-enveloping hug. "Tui, this is awesome. I don't mean good, I mean awesome. Are you sure you're happy for us to use it?"

"Yeah, course, why not?"

"Maybe you should save it for next year when you have to record an album of your own material. This is a perfect single, I mean it, girl, this fucking rad."

"I'm happy to use it. I've got a few others for next year."

Abby sort of reeled back a little in shock. "You have more of these gems?"

I laughed, packing away my guitar. "They're hardly gems. I'm not even sure they are that good."

"Oh, this one is fucking off-the-wall good. If the others are anything like this, you are going to have something special."

Work was difficult for me that night; lots of weird emotions swirled crazily around my head as I vacuumed and mopped.

Even back at the flat, finally in bed, I couldn't sleep. Lilly was being friendly, which made me feel warm, then Abby. Were my songs that good, or was she being nice?

Guess we'd find out tomorrow when Nigel, and Arthur heard them.

The day started great. I walked into my first class, creative writing, and Lilly greeted me as she was talking to our teacher. "Hello, Tui." A quick air kiss, and she walked towards a desk and sat beside me. "Ready to kill it?"

"Not so sure there will be any bloodshed, but I'll give it a crack." Mr. Jeffries, our teacher, continued his delve into turn-of-the-century romance writers. Lilly kept leaning over with funny little quips regarding Mr. Jefferies. It was impossible not to giggle. She was so suggestive, making obscene remarks about what he would be like in bed.

He did deserve some of it because he fancied himself as something a bit special. Those thoughts I had kept to myself up until this moment. Lilly, though, was not afraid to share what she was thinking.

He noticed our exchanges and wandered up the aisle to to where we were sitting and stood staring at us. "Care to share your little anecdotes with the rest of us, Lilly?"

She shook her head, her smile unwavering. "Nothing special, just discussing the benefits of pornography in literature. What do you think Mr. Jeffries, is pornography a valid form of literature?"

Lilly's cute coquettish smile had him off balance immediately, and his brash manner disintegrated. Frowning heavily, he stated firmly, "Perhaps you would be better suited focusing on the work in hand, Lilly."

"it's a valid question though, isn't it?"

"Lets move on, shall we? Less chatter and more work."

This was my first experience of being in the inner circle. Lilly was by far the most attractive girl in the class and had drawn the attention of Jeffries on many occasions. I had watched from the other side if the class as she wound him around her little finger. She had all the tricks, toying with her hair, sliding a pen or pencil into her perfectly pouting lips.

As he walked back to the front of the class, she whispered, "God, he is so easy."

I didn't have her level of confidence, or experience.

As we walked out of class, she said, "See you for lunch on the quad?"

"Sounds like fun." I couldn't explain why it suddenly meant a lot. We had been going to the same class since forever, and she had ignored me the whole time. Now she wanted to be best friends; it didn't make sense. Maybe it was a prank, and her usual gaggle of cling-ons were waiting in the bushes to spring out and assault me. God knows, but it certainly made my heart race.

Walking into the audio workshop, I found Abby already had Arthur and Nigel bailed up in a corner. The moment she saw me, she waved me over. "I've just been telling the boys about your song. They're as excited as me. We have to get this thing started."

As it was part of our project, we were allowed to use one of the smaller studios. I rushed off to grab my guitar from the locker, and we convened in studio six.

"You lead us off, Tui. I'll come in with you through the pre-chorus bit."

I started the intro, letting it build slowly, the volume low, but the growl from the distortion pedal giving just enough bite to give it lift.

Abby let it build until I got to the change, then she came in with that long-drawn howl from the cello.

As I glanced quickly at the boys, they were already nodding their head and looking with surprise at each other. Arthur lifted his tuba and found a deep resonant note that simply hung in the air. As he got the feel, he started to build the back blocks of the rhythm, much like a bass player would do. Nigel followed suit, but disappointingly, it sounded shrill, out of place, and he couldn't find a way to make it work.

He vanished, rushing out of the studio and returning with a saxophone, and immediately, he was in the mix. He was really getting into it, his foot stomped powerfully, his whole body moved with the beat.

"Oh bloody hell, Tui. That is amazing," Arthur said approvingly.

"Yeah, it's hot, no question. Sorry, but I couldn't make the clarinet work," Nigel apologised.

"Hey, sax works for me," Abby replied as she glanced at me. "Tui, what do you think?"

"Oh yes, I thought it worked. What do you think, does it need drums?"

"Definitely." Arthur added. The general consensus was, drums would help give it presence. We could use programmed drums, but I liked the idea of it being real. There's nothing quite like the sound of the drums.

First order of business was to record it. We decided to lay down separate tracks, that way we could modify, add effects, delete without losing the rest of the work.

Click track enabled, I laid down my guitar track. Next came Abby with her cello. It is amazing how a song sounds so different when you are listening, rather than playing. Sitting in the control booth, watching through the large glass window, the room filled with the ethereal eerie sounds. The cello was quickly becoming my favourite instrument. It could sound so deep, so pervasive, and then without a break, elevate you, the fine melodic lines lifting you as it carried the song to a higher plain.

Watching Abby play was such a breathtaking experience in itself. Her whole body moved and flowed. Her eyes shut, her face changing with each passage as she experienced the ebb and tidal pull of the song's emotions.

Arthur was next into the studio. He was an enigma. How do you describe a young man who on the surface seem emotionless, his cheeks swelling as he breathed life into his instrument, his fingers fluttering on the valves, his lips pursed, his cheeks red and flushed.

Arty wasn't like a music student at all. He probably looked more like an accountant. His clothes pointed in that direction as well. His eyes remained hidden behind his condensation covered glasses. It was part of him; he didn't outwardly express emotion, but when he played, there it was; he felt the music, his foot tapping in time with the click.

"Fuck, he loves it. Look at his face," Abby squealed. "He is in the zone."

Nigel was next in, and he was the exact opposite of Arty: thin and wispy, hawkish features, dressed like a sixties jazz player. He was outwardly an extrovert, he moved, not quite a dance, but movement was part of his facade. His hands moved up and down the pearly white keys.

Like Arty, his cheeks swelled as he blew fresh life into the song. He started with a subdued, almost reverent approach, his notes sparse and carefully chosen, adding life, or choosing to allow space to hold the line.

His soft approach let the song build gradually to the crescendo where he attacked, the notes cutting and powerful, adding beauty and deception.

We took a break as we sat coffee in hand, listening and adjusting the balance, choosing places where each individual instrument could shine. It took us many takes before we were happy, although I wanted to add more. I felt the intro could be lifted a little with the addition of acoustic, rather than the metallic drive of the electric guitar.

That would have to wait until I had my acoustic with me. It was time for the vocal tracks. Again, we took turns, laying down each track separately.

Lunchtime was upon us before we knew it. "Oh shit. I have to go," I apologised to the others.

"Where you off to girl?" Abby asked.

"I'm meeting a friend for lunch. Sorry, I already committed to it."

"Sweet, no worries. We can get back to it later. Meet here again at one?"

I nodded, feeling her eyes boring in. "Sorry, I will try to hurry."

"Chill, girl, there's no rush."

It was a bright but humid day. The sun beat down mercilessly as I burst out through the doors. Lilly already sitting under the shade of a big old Pohitakawa tree, Its vibrant red foliage glowing like a beacon.

Another apology. "Sorry I'm late," I gushed as I sat beside her.

Lilly leaned over for a cheek kiss. "Hey no worries. Gosh, like, it's a beautiful day, right?"

Glancing up at the wispy clouds that scudded listlessly across the sky, I nodded. "Yeah, it's nice."

As I unpacked my tomato and cucumber sandwiches, Lilly, handed me a plastic container. "I made you some of the broccoli salad, although this time I added bacon. I hope that's all right?"

Her generosity caught me off guard. Accepting it with open hands, I replied, "You didn't have to do that, Lilly. I mean, I'm grateful, but I did bring lunch."

"Don't be silly. I loved bringing it for you. I saw how much you enjoyed it." She handed me a bright red Gala apple for dessert. "I brought you one of these, as well."

"Wow, you are so thoughtful. Thank you."

"How are your music classes going?" she asked as I munched into the tasty creamy delight.

"Really well, actually. I'm working with a small group. We don't have enough resources for everybody to record their own stuff, so we have to work and collaborate as a group."

"That's a shame," she replied. "I hope you get to work on your material?"

"At this point, we only have to record one song. Lucky for me, they chose one of mine." Proudly, I gushed, "It sounds amazing. The others have really helped bring out elements I never knew were hiding within it."

"Choice, that sounds amazing. Writing can be a bit insular. When I write, everything else sort of vanishes."