Once upon a time…

I…

knew quite a lot about music. New music, underground movements, about-to-break acts infact so passionate was I about the blessed stuff that I actually considered applying for an ‘A&R’ (Artists & Repertoire) role and moving out of my chosen industry.

I researched the music press religiously and attended as many gigs as I could. The dingier and darker the venue and the more facial hair on the punters attending the better, and that was just the ‘chicks’. To that ends I actually believe that there may still be a few pairs of my shoes still stuck to the various floors of venues so coated with beer and bourbon that their surface texture more resembled marmalade than wood or concrete.

Those days were also filled with extreme irony in that if you ‘got on’ a band early that was a euphoric nirvana to be shared widely with jealous muso peers. However once (and if) that same band broke commercially I would drop them like a plate at a Greek wedding.

And then it happened…

My beautiful children arrived…

Replace the 1am screaming of lead guitars with that of a little human and substitute the astute studying of the music rags for the thumbing through of baby-book pages looking for assurance that biting is just a phase. I should probably stop some time I guess. To be clear though & quite simply put mes enfants are the most exquisite, sublime & joyful thing to have ever happened in my life!

What’s the bloody point of this post?

Well it’s that I’ve found one again after all these years. A great new band. I was coming back recently from an overseas business trip on Air New Zealand and listening to a channel called Kiwi FM. Dedicated exclusively to original New Zealand acts. Then I heard this song. That voice. The wistful beautiful lead vocal, ethereal harmonies, erudite lyrics and musical maturity belying their young years and tighter than a Hollywood facelift.

May I present to you The Peasants and Letting Go.

Advertisements