.. Daisy Bell,
which was enough on its own to fill me with dread. Then the trademark
‘Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning everybody’ and
an hour (it seemed longer) of sheer torture was underway. There was
not one memorable moment from that audio hell I could relate to you
and, for want of anything better to do, I suffered interminable hours
of Aunt Daisy’s dithering endorsements of cooking and cleaning
products with the odd recipe thrown in. Why I didn’t just pick
up a book I don’t know.
There was another local Christchurch magazine-type show on 3ZB that
I think might have been on in the afternoons, presented by Molly MacNab.
There’s not much at all about Molly MacNab in Wikipedia, so
you can assume her fame was exclusively local, but she was very famous
to our family because she lived just down the road from us.
I say road, but Kidson Terrace was actually a cul-de-sac, half way
up the Cashmere Hills that overlook the flatter-than-flat cityscape
of Christchurch. My family’s rather imposing looking two-storey
weatherboard home had an unruly macrocarpa hedge down one side adjoining
the house next door and I remember Molly MacNab’s neatly trimmed
version at the front of her home protecting her celebrity from prying
eyes. The local lads of our age didn’t know what to make of
the fact that she lived there with a female companion, but that just
added to her mystique.
Anyway, one Christmas Molly decided to take one of the local tiny-tots
into the studio in the big city to pass comment on the 3ZB Christmas
tree and selected none other than my brother, Richard. According to
him he was driven into town and escorted into the studio where he
had a microphone thrust in his face and asked what he thought of the
Christmas tree.
‘Mmph six bootiful’ he said and fled the scene in tears.
Richard also remembers something else about Molly MacNab. It was something
she allegedly said on air one day that also caught the attention of
our late mother. It went something like this. ‘Wonderful news,
girls! I’ve just had bamboo matting put in my back passage and
I think it looks good and will last forever!’
Many years later it was my turn to come to the attention of the trusty,
crusty radio station 3ZB, and my band, Chants R&B and I had the
strangest of encounters with 3ZB’s most modern and hip presenter,
one Murray Forgie. (Not for Murray the adoption of some slick alias,
obviously).
The band had just made the momentous decision to leave our hometown
of Christchurch and take our chances in far-off Melbourne. Well, it
was actually mostly my decision because thanks to my grand-parents
I had come into some money for my twenty-first birthday and paid for
the band - and the gear - to be flown over to Melbourne. (Incidentally,
I clearly thought that it was a lot of money when I somberly volunteered
to Mr Forgie that it was a whole £50 to fly the gear over to
Melbourne, but you couldn’t even get it to the airport for that
money these days, that’s if they would take it for you at all).
The Chants had quite a following of fans, so a substantial number
of them decided to pop on down to the 3ZB studio to show their support
– whether it was fifty or a hundred and fifty was a matter of
conjecture during the interview. Listening* to the interview Murray
Forgie does sound slightly nervous and the band’s not being
particularly helpful, but it could’ve been far worse. * Listen
here
I confidently predict there is work for us already arranged for us
in Melbourne and fail to see anything unusual in the fact we are leaving
our home market of New Zealand before our upcoming single’s
release. I suggest we might look at the American market rather than
the UK after we’ve conquered the Australian scene and it’s
all rather naïve and sweet, especially in light of the actual
sequence of events that saw the band break up ignominiously within
six months of arriving in Melbourne.
So now it’s confirmed. I’m actually seventy-three years
old. As I write it’s still officially my birthday. The dishes
are in the dishwasher and Maria and Susie are chatting about what
girls can talk about endlessly and George Benson is crooning to himself
on my PC, which has been commandeered for the purposes of partying
in lieu of an actual stereo. Jeremy has disappeared into another room
as Jeremy often does at these times and Richard and Mary have gamely
disappeared down the pitch black driveway – we must look at
getting some lighting down there one of these days.
I spoke to Vincent at Laneway Music while driving to Officeworks today,
which is about the only look-in music gets in my life these days.
We’re still having issues with some grasping record companies
over the ownership of copyright, which is just as ludicrous as it
sounds. Over the past few months I’ve been assembling an album’s
worth of songs which are in various stages of completion. Most of
them, however, are nowhere near it. I’m happy with the prospect
of continuing to work on them but finding the time needed is tricky
– I grab minutes here and there.It’s still more attractive
than starting on writing a book.
Young women continue sending me odd messages on FB. Life goes on. |
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