Once upon a time, I worked in health as a nurse.  A key principle when working on a ward was to plan for discharge on admission, thinking about the exit during the entering. It helped with treatment planning. I don’t do that work now. 

When I started this residency, there was no way I wanted to think about it coming to the end. But 12 weeks is twelve weeks, time passes, and I catch myself thinking about how to wrap it all up, planning to ensure I have captured as many recordings, and as much other material, as possible, especially with a view to the coming year.

When I think about the shape of 2025, the first few months will be busy assembling the recordings into albums. At present, there will be at least two, one of solo works, and a second of exquisite excerpts from the collaborative recordings gathered during this time. Also there will be an exhibition, scheduled for June at Toi Pōneke, and this will be the grand culmination of this residency, the release of the albums, a sound installation, and accompanying media like video and pictures. I’m also in the early stages of blocking a tour of Aotearoa in July, from top to bottom [if you are interested in a show in your town, then please make contact]. And towards the end of the year, both Chrissie and I are going to Tainan, Taiwan, for a residency.

There have been some substantial life changes in recent years. This has, in its own way, moved these opportunities into focus. For the next few years, the primary efforts are to apply maximum effort to see where this project might go. To commit my finite time to see how this work can develop. All the previous projects, tours, and paraphernalia have been gleaned in the spare spaces around a life of full-time work and parenting. I see this, now, as my one chance to push the potential of this project as far as my bravery will take me, and without expectation. The doing is a success. 

Someone asked me if I’d like to continue with a hired studio so I could come and go as I please in an ongoing way. I feel the answer for now is, “No thanks”. I like the delineation of time, the finite space, and the limited resources. The idea of time ticking away helps me to focus my attention. I work better if I have a clear idea of my limitations, boundaries, or some provocation to work towards/against. I would be useless if I had access to all the toys all of the time. It’s one of the reasons I like my limited drum kit. It has specific dimensions, tones, and voices, but I am constantly exploring to see how far I can push these set parameters into new areas that will be interesting to me. It’s like the entry point is set and fixed, but I’m constantly searching for new exits.

This was the week of the Toitū the Tiriti Hīkoi. Estimates of between 45,000 to 100,000 people gathered in the city to oppose The Treaty Principles Bill, proposed and pushed by the right wing party, ACT. It is a dog whistle for racist politics and behaviour, and an extraordinary waste of money given ACT’s coalition partner said they will not support any further. And some astute analysis has pointed out that this has nothing much to do with equity or equality of race politics, but more to do with the removing of any obstacle for corporations as they eye up resources for exploitation. It was a remarkable gathering to be among, incredibly focused, uplifting, and clear in purpose and message. It is the largest protest in this country’s history. It was not the end of a process but a start. Tiriti forever!

This weeks collaboration partners were musician David Long, sound artist and photographer Kedron Parker, and son Nico Buhne. Each session was incredibly different from the other. David brought cello, acoustic guitar, and effect pedals. Kedron brought hand-made drums, a two-string viola, random percussion, voices, and other sound making nic-nacs. Nico brought a trumpet and tootled beautifully. Both fantastic sessions, which are cooling their heals on a hard drive, as I need some distance between the recording and the mixing. This boundary is essential.

Soundbitten:

1. It gathers like wind in restless trees or baritone bees. Not hive mind, but like-mind. Individual x thousands. 10,000 sing, unison in union. Over the hush of 12,000 a Kuia calls. 20,000 in tune. 30,000 walk the talk, 40,000 vocal, 50,000 loud. Numbers are drowned out. It sounds like carnival, kids, music, chant, laughter, haka, solidarity, opposition, a position.
2. 12 women’s fingers resonate the mouths of wine glasses. Old men beat a table with canes, slam books, teach pain. The sauna roars with laughter, amplifies the shame. Madonna screams at photographers, fights the paparazzi, wrestles them into stones. The music is the metal of strings and of metal. Jarman’s Garden is full of silence till the sound comes. Lights…
3. It’s her mother’s flower, her late mother. Although the flower is cut from the root, it contains the energy of life from the cells within, decaying. She lost her, recently, it’s still fresh. Fresh like a flower removed from the stem. But with two sensors on the greenery, essence appears, invisible but audible. And she can interact in any way she sees fit. We hear her.
4. He speaks words – they hear lies – they hear facts. He talks to camera – they hear inflammatory – they hear solidarity. He says sentences – they hear confusion – they hear inclusion. Like all good performers, he knows his audience. He’s going to make it all great again. They applaud. He shouts at them. They cheer. The music must be loud. He dances.
5. It’s a box of sound reels but no machine to translate. Those voices lost, there but trapped, obsolete. A suitcase full of cassettes, duplicates, one-offs, moments captured on magnetic magic, parts of parts of the past frozen in time, sometimes in 4/4, sometimes 5/4. Under a container of CDs, burned but cooked, new tech that has already met with entropy.