One last chance to make it real.

The night's busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere.

This short essay begins as it means to go on, with the premise that "Thunder Road" represents the very zenith of human musical achievement. Feel free to read on whether or not you're fortunate enough to have come to terms with this stark, clear reality, or if you're still trawling the musical backwaters in search of your own private dream records.

You can't trawl a backwater, I guess, but when it comes to mixing fishing metaphors, I'm a shark with a brand new tackle box.

It's barely possible to walk down Penny Street, enter the library/museum/Starbuck's or log into facebook without it being asserted, re-asserted and subsequently confirmed by someone that Lancaster is a veritable sturgeon of raw talent, swollen to bursting point, stuffed to the gills (I'll stop now) with incredible artists, songwriters, dancers and actors.

If I had a bowl of kedgeree for every time I'd heard...

There's something magical about this place... It's just unbelieveable how much great talent there is in this tiny town...

... well, I would essentially have too much kedgeree. It doesn't keep, you know.

That's the end of the fish references now, guys. Really. You get the idea, though, right? The town is just normal. It's got a normal number of buildings with a normal number of people in them with a reasonable distribution of guitars, pianos, drumkits, violins, paint brushes and yoga mats. Actually, maybe more yoga mats than normal. Of those people, some do their art in a way that is pleasing/powerful/moving/credible and the overwhelming majority don't.

Now, I'm not here to be a joyless trout about it. I love this place. I have the privilege and pleasure of regularly interacting with a good number of people who have powerfully enriched the flavour of the delicious anchovy dip that is my musical life.

This is not a romance, though. If we think Lancaster itself is what's causing this, we're basically abandoning mathematics. What's causing it is that people like making music/drawing pictures/weaving baskets/dancing and they like doing it in the vicinity of other real people and forming clubs, societies, bands and support groups to make their hobby more likely to be fruitful. This happens everywhere.

Yet so often we gaze at the "Lancaster scene" like a shoal of teenagers who have fallen in love for the first time. Like a stickleback waiting to grow into a blue whale.

I know what you're thinking...

"What's the point, Wright, you curmudgeonly old twat?"

Well, Lancaster, I'm here to tell you my point, so draw up a chair.

The almighty fucking legend Bruce Sprinsteen sings so sweetly in his actually perfect anthem "Thunder Road"...

Show a little faith, there's magic in the night
You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright.

I step out most evenings armed with a rock hard plectrum and a small notebook of chord/lyric reminders. More often than not they'll get used in some open mic or after-pub wine drinking error.

I'm easy.

I just love the town. I love people singing. I love it when someone's written (or just loves!) a song and wants you to hear it even if it is a bag of shit. Because a heartfelt song is someone being there.

I see so many different people, and all too often I'm aware that they have never met each other. It seems so sad to me. Such lovely people. Such a great hobby. Such a reason to have hope. Show a little faith. After all, there's magic in the night, right, boss?

I have endlessly deliberated. How come the guys who bang out the solo (note perfect) from Hotel California every Tuesday at the Golden Lion don't know the guys who sing their own songs at the Yorkie or the Storey? They'd get on so well. Especially in a community that so often bemoans limited audiences and insufficient networking opportunities.

Of course, we know the answer.

If we're going to set up events that showcase the latest great talent, if we're going to write critical reviews, if we're going to set up little labels and function as each other's PR companies with helpful photography sessions, friendly write ups, etc... in short become a like-for-like microcosm of the systems that we percieve as damaging when writ large... we draw a line.

A line that, sadly, I will see one side of on a Tuesday and the other on a Friday.

Such lovely people living so close to each other with so much in common separated merely by desired outcomes.

Open mics devoid of great songwriters because they're at the Storey on Friday and on Diversity on Saturday afternoon so they don't really want to do all of it anymore. Bands putting in conservative, solid performances because there's a fair chance of them getting reviewed.

Of course, it's many artists' desire to move on at some point... to leave the amateur scene in favour of the professional environments, but what are we doing professionalising the proving grounds? People are being selected to play at showcase shows, reviewed on the internet, talked about on the radio before they've played in public twice and after getting a demo together one Sunday afternoon at a mate's house.

There were no fewer that ten "album launches" this summer in Lancaster, mostly of this kind. They were generally put on and promoted in a professional manner, the papers were told, facebook was alive. The events were publically reviewed and the CDs pored over and analysed.

We are collectively holding this stuff up and saying "hey, guys, look at Lancaster, it's amazing! Check out our raw awesome talent."

It's not amazing though, is it? It's great that we're doing it and helping each other. It's great that we're singing and dancing and drinking and networking and recording and taking pictures and playing at being great artists. But honestly, if we hold it all up saying "this is Lancaster, world, come and tap into our incredible depths of magnificent art" the world will look back and say "dudes, this is happening everywhere. You're just people making records. Hold up your geniuses and we'll pay attention."

Of course, there have been some excellent artists in this town over time. If only there was a fish based metaphor I could use to describe the phenomenon of a big artist in a small town.

I wonder if they finally got to grips with the Boss's most perfect gift...

We've got one last chance to make it real, to trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in the back, heaven's waiting on down the tracks.


=============================

David Wright is a local songwriter and member of the group New Zealand Story.

Their album Show Your Workings is available for listening and download here:

http://newzealandstory.bandcamp.com/

It's awesome and you should buy it if you like it, as that's what keeps the band going.

Killed By Bees.

Bzzz.

They circle around the handful of singers who had the good fortune (or good sense) not to care what people (like them) thought when they were kids (either way) or who (embarrassingly) are purging the fact that they did.

Get out of your bedrooms kids, your art-future lies in the hands of others now.

Don't be shy. I love your songs. They're great! So great they should be part of a showcase. My showcase. Uncertain but flattered, she agrees.

So, she turns up to find that her most carefully organised interpretations of crippling things she may never understand are beset either side (in time, though it may as well be spatially) by a juggler and a comic poet.

This is weird. Still, chin up, it's the next step.

She's nervous, of course, and what in christ's name is singing into a mic all about?

As she finally gets settled during the third of her allotted five vignettes of real moments that changed her life... she glances down and sees someone scribbling away.

Bzzz.

A mere 9 months later, guitar given to her nephew, she's top of the board in the AXA office for fixed term life cover plan sales, barely able to remember how a Cm7 was played, let alone why she'd want to in the first place.

Butter Pies

I was just undertaking the "walk of shame" from The Cables and stopped into Potts for one of their famous pies.

"Could I please have a butter pie?"

I always feel a bit silly about where I put the "please" in a shop based request.

In this instance that wasn't the problem.

"A bu'er pie?"

"Yes, please."

She went and got it for me, I paid, etc.

As I was leaving...

"two bu'er pies please."

That was me told.