In Nick Bollinger's preface for
Goneville, the author describes the two New Zealands he grew up in – the one
where males worshipped rugby and beer, and a rather more free-spirited bohemian
one, where art and music was at the centre of everything. No prizes for
guessing which version Bollinger found himself more comfortable in. In fact,
Bollinger embraced the latter with such ease, he'd eventually go on to become
not only an accomplished musician, but something of a highly influential
tastemaker in his role as an arts critic, columnist, and music reviewer for the
NZ Listener, and more recently, with Radio NZ.
Goneville, nowhere near Wanganui |
Goneville works on a couple of
different levels. Firstly, it’s Bollinger's memoir, his account of growing up
in Wellington during the late 1960s and early 1970s. Secondly, it’s a detailed
– if not quite complete – history of the capital’s music scene throughout the
1970s and into the 1980s, as seen through the eyes of a man who was very much
at the heart of that particular scene. There’s also a natural crossover into
all things social and political, and it provides a genuine snapshot of a world
– or of a fledgling nation – that we’ve, for better or for worse, long since
left behind.
Things jump around a little bit
to begin with, but much of the early part of the book deals with Bollinger's
childhood – with stories about growing up in 1960s Wellington, attending Onslow
College, discovering music, and an acknowledgement of the hugely positive role
his free-thinking, academic father (who died while Bollinger was
still in his teens) had in shaping his own worldview.
From there we move into the core
of the book, covering off Bollinger’s formative musical experiences; sneaking
into gigs whilst still underage, playing wild-west-type gigs with school
friends in the Hutt Valley, and being inspired by bands like Mammal, Blerta,
Space Waltz, and early Split Enz (Split Ends), to name just a few.
During his time at university, Bollinger
was recruited as the bass player for Rick Bryant’s blues and soul-based
collective, Rough Justice, and much of the book deals with his weed-ravaged
experiences on the road, something of a hand-to-mouth existence, travelling in
what might loosely be described as a “hippy bus”, as the band traversed the
nether regions of New Zealand’s live music circuit.
Bryant features heavily throughout,
along with local promoter-come-Dragon manager Graeme Nesbitt, plus there’s a
fair bit about the late great Bruno Lawrence. Bollinger writes passionately and
at length about each man. He clearly reserves a special affection for Bryant in
particular, and the much-travelled rocker is the key protagonist in several of
the more humorous anecdotes on offer.
“He (Bryant, whilst driving the
bus) starts telling me about the soul singer Joe Tex. This leads into an
analysis of Tolstoy and winds up with the history of the New Zealand labour
movement. It feels as though I have stayed at university, although it's hard to
say what paper I have enrolled in.”
Onetime Lion Breweries promoter
Richard Holden also features prominently, and there’s real insight into just
how difficult it was for local bands to find the right balance between being
able to earn a living, and fulfilling a wider ambition to produce original
work.
Richard Holden, on bands looking
for work in brewery-owned establishments: “There has been some good original
music but a lot of original rubbish. They will have to realise that we're not
in the musical genius business. We're in the entertainment business.”
There’s also some interesting
stuff around the breweries' attempts to control or monopolise nightlife and the
live music circuit, with nepotism and licensing restrictions making it near
impossible for venues like Wellington's Last Resort and Charley Gray's Auckland
club, Island of Real (just two examples of many), to become fully licensed.
Bands and promoters were forced to play a game imposed upon them by the beer
barons if they wanted any level of exposure – beyond, by dint of some miracle,
landing a “hit record”.
Rough Justice, 1978, Bollinger - bottom right |
In some respects, Bollinger completes
a full circle by the end. The counter-culture that took him under its wing in
the early-to-mid 1970s had, according to all other accounts, supposedly died by
the early 1980s. Yet in the form of punk and the protest movement, here it was
again, reinventing or manifesting itself in a remarkably similar way.
Writing about the
ultra-conservative Robert Muldoon gaining a third term in office as Prime
Minister in 1981: “He (Muldoon) often talked about ‘the ordinary bloke’, a
notional person on whose behalf he was fighting. The ordinary bloke seemed to
be a New Zealand male who just wanted to be able to do a day’s work, go home,
drink beer, and watch rugby. Anyone with progressive views on education,
environment, or equality, was the Prime Minister’s natural enemy.”
Which is pretty much where we
came in.
There’s a generous helping of
black and white photos scattered throughout the book, all meticulously
documented in the closing pages, multiple sources (of quotes and other content)
are noted and acknowledged in great detail, and as you’d expect from someone of
Bollinger’s pedigree, there’s even an extensive “selected discography”
referencing the work of many of the bands covered in the book.
It’s an important book. Not just
for fans of the Wellington music scene of yester-year, but for anyone keen on
the social history of New Zealand. You simply won’t find anyone else more
qualified to write about this stuff. Recommended.
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