Monthly Archives: May 2010

Such a lovely place

I’m used to people getting to my website through unusual googles, but every now and then something comes along that manages to surprise me. And indeed recently someone got to my website by searching for hotel california lyrics about the hutt valley.

Now, at first glance, this would suggest a hilarious radio-station parody of the Eagles’ classic song with the lyrics changed to reflect the unique cultural nature of the Hutt Valley.

But it could also mean that the “Hotel California” lyrics are actually about the Hutt Valley. This isn’t about the dirty LA music scene of the ’70s. No, it’s about life in the Hutt.

I think the latter is the more likely scenario. Let’s examine a selection of lyrics.

On a dark desert highway

Dark – the high hills of the Hutt Valley mean that the sun sets earlier, plunging the valley into darkness.
Desert – while not technically a desert, there are parts of the Hutt Valley that do feel like a barren desert. If not geographically, then architecturally.
Highway – State Highway 2 runs the length of the Hutt Valley, and includes the road engineering marvel that is the Petone Interchange.

I heard the mission bell

This is actually when you get a text from your mate who says “wanna do a mish?” and you are all “kewl” and then you show up to his place and go real hard, eh.

And I was thinking to myself, “This could be heaven or this could be hell.”

The Hutt Valley offers many different types of experiences – the New Dowse gallery, the Lower Hutt civic buildings, the Upper Hutt Roller Skating Club, vast tracts of car-centric suburbs, gangs, Queensgate mall. These could be considered “heaven” and/or “hell” depending on what your hobbies and interests are.

So I called up the captain, “Please bring me my wine.”

The Hutt Valley is just over the Rimutakas from the Wairarapa, a rich wine-growing and grape-growing area of New Zealand. The “captain” this lyric refers to is obviously involved with the Toast Martinborough festival, and is about to pour a festival-goer a sample glass of pinot gris.

Welcome to the Hotel California

The Hutt offers a range of fine accomodations, ranging from budget accommodation, to four-star motels for the dicerning traveller. And there’s also that one with the steakhouse attached, which is quite good if you like steak but don’t want to have to walk too far to your bed.

Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice.

This is obviously a reference to the wide range of products available from Westfield Queensgate. You can go to the Warehouse and buy some mirrors and then No-More-Nails them to your bedroom ceiling. Then you can celebrate your handiwork with some strawberry Lindauer. Man, that stuff’s real yum. But you should make sure the No More Nails has set hard before you lie down under it, because if you were sitting there enjoying a Lindauer and one of the mirrors fell on you, that would be really annoying and you’d probably spill the Lindauer and then you’d have to go and change the sheets. What a blimmin’ hassle.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

The Hutt Valley is a prison that will trap you for life.

Golden moments from the Poi E video

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Poi E has recently reentered the charts, thanks to its inclusion in Taika Waititi’s rather good film Boy, and his new video for the song.

But I’m rather fond of the original video. In fact, I’d say that the video for the Patea Maori Club’s 1984 number one single is almost as famous as the song itself.

It has a simple structure: first verse and chorus – down on the marae; second verse – down by the Aotea canoe; second chorus – out on the streets of Patea; funky break down – the big city; final choruses – back in the Patea hall.

But within these few locations, there are little visual gems that make this video a treat. Here are my ten favourite bits from the original Poi E video.

Mt Taranaki

The video opens with an upwards pan over this image of Mt Taranaki. It’s later shown to be a mural painted at the back of local hall, but with this slightly grainy footage, if you squint it almost looks like Mt Taranaki on a misty morning. Interestingly, when Poi E was released, the official name of this volcano was Mt Egmont. It would be two more years before Mt Taranaki got equal name status. I like to think the Patea Maori Club had a little to do with that.

The dog with the poi

The first section of the video is the Patea Maori Club performing Poi E in front of a whare nui. This could lead to a disastrously boring video – like “Sailing Away” two years later – but the Poi E video mixes it up by including footage of this crazy dog running around with a poi in its mouth. Did the dog steal the poi or was he the club’s special kuri performer?

Mutton chops

Look at those mutton chops. Just look at them. Now, this video was made in 1984. Mutton chops were at their fashion peak in the mid-’70s. Yet this fellow has lovingly held on to his unfashionable facial hair. In fact, it looks like a bit of a ’70s shag do lurking underneath that headband. He has his look and he’s not changing for anyone.

The boy

I love this kid because he’s really enjoying himself. While the rest of the kids look like they’re just there to participate in the filming of the music video, this chap looks like he’s there because he loves the song. Standing tall and proud and really digging the music. Nice one, little fellow.

The milk tanker

I think this was a happy accident. At this point in the video, the group are standing in front of the concrete canoe, but trucks keep thundering past, ruining the shot. But the film-makers cleverly incorporate the trucks into the video. Here comes a milk truck, and a bit later there’s a cattle truck. Hey, this is what life is like in Patea.

Aotea waka arch

This isn’t actually a hidden delight of the video. No, this concrete waka is one of the main stars of the vid. It’s a slightly kitschy design, but has come to be an icon of Patea. It commemorates the Aotea canoe that brought the first Maori to the Taranaki. This takes the PMC out of the traditional marae setting and puts them firmly in a what can only be a small New Zealand town.

McDonald’s

The action moves to Manners Mall, Wellington. And when it’s the mid-1980s and you’re from a small town, what symbolises the big city? McDonald’s. It’s cool, it’s urban and the outside of the building has “McDonald’s” embossed in plastic. I bet they all had Big Macs after filming was complete.

The girl

Look how happy she is! Arms reaching out as if to hug the world. Every performer wants this sort of reaction from the audience. Absolute genuine adulation and appreciation. She doesn’t care about the music video shoot either. She just want to dance along to her favourite band.

The new wave chicks

We’re back at the local hall for the finale, then suddenly these two truly outrageous ladies show up. The hair, the eyeliner, the off-the-shoulder top, the jewellery, the pout – just what are these two new wave babes doing in a Patea Maori Club video? I’m not sure, but it is a nice nod to the sort of other culture the PMC were up against in the pop charts.

Poi George

The new wave chicks can’t keep a straight face for long. The camera zooms out to reveal this fellow who we shall call Poi George. A Maori fulla with Boy-George-style plaits and non-Boy-George-style poi. I don’t even know where all this action is taking place in relation to the rest of the video, but this is my absolute favourite bit of the video. They knew exactly what they were doing – they knew they were making a video for a song that was going to be a hit.

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Watch the video for Poi E at NZ On Screen
Buy Poi E at iTunes or Amplifier.

The old brown museum, she ain’t what she used to be

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At one end of Tory Street is Te Papa, at the other end is the old museum building. Actually, let’s be more formal – it’s the old National Art Gallery and Dominion Museum. Yeah, that’s more like it.

The museum building opened in 1936, but lasted only 60 years, moving into the Te Papa behemoth down the hill. The museum building is now occupied by Massey University’s College of Creative Arts. They put all the pretty subjects into the pretty building.

I have a vague memory of having visited the old museum, but it was in the early ’80s and my memory is fuzzy. I remember that the building was brown, and that’s about it.

I consulted The Shell Guide to New Zealand for Maurice Shadbolt’s take on the museum, circa 1969:

[The museum] has much for visitors. [The] Art Gallery, though its New Zealand collection is patchy and unrepresentative, also has much of interest.

I decided to explore the building and see what ghosts were still lurking.

From Buckle Street, it’s a bit like sneaking up to a haunted house. The old overgrown pohutukawa trees either side of the War Memorial seem spooky and a little menacing. But combine that with the very serious solemnity of the adjacent National War Memorial, and all that’s missing is an engraved warning of certain doom for trespassers.

Approaching the building, it seems so full of hope and grandeur. It’s a building that says, “Hey, look at us! We’re a dominion now, and we have a museum and an art gallery! Just like a proper grown-up country.”

But with all the plaques naming great men and events, there is also the knowledge that the building wasn’t enough. It might have looked impressive from the outside, but it soon proved to be too small on the inside.

Inside, the main foyer seems oppressively small. I can’t help comparing it to the Auckland Museum with its grand entrance hall. It’s big and has always managed to keep up with increasing visitor numbers over the decades. But the old Dominion Museum’s entrance hall is so small, it feels like maybe I’ve accidentally walked in the back entrance. But I haven’t.

It was a Saturday so the university was all but empty. The stone surfaces echoed every noise, making me self-conscious of every step. I also had a vague paranoia that maybe I’m not supposed to be there. That a stern person would jump out from behind a pillar and say, “You’re not a student and/or a lecturer! Get out! Get out now!”

I came to the Grand Hall. In the past this housed whare and waka and other everyday objects of traditional Maori life. Now the hall was used to house an exhibition of work by industrial design students.

Massey’s website says the exhibition provides “a quirky interpretation of everyday objects.” See what’s happened? Nothing’s happened. Everyday objects are taken out of their ordinary context and put on display in the Grand Hall.

I noticed the handrails on all the big staircases in the museum building had metal kiwis supporting the rail. It looked a bit kitschy, or possibly quaint. But then I realised that Te Papa is full of such kitschy, deliberate symbolism. It’s done a lot more subtly at Te Papa, but it’s there – “grid-like spaces reflect the patterns of European settlement.”

Outside, I went for a walk around the museum building. Again I was struck by how small it was. How did this make do as the National Museum and Art Gallery? And maybe that’s why Te Papa sometimes feels empty – too much explanatory text and not enough objects. Maybe they just didn’t amass a big collection because they had no room to keep it.

Though, in The Shell Guide to New Zealand, Maurice comments that the “museum’s displays … are well arranged.” I imagine an impeccably organised Manhattan studio apartment writ large. And if you open the giant moa sculpture, there you’ll find an ancient Greek pottery… filled with freshly brewed tea. And that’s half a sixpence for a cuppa.

As I approached the back of the building, I heard some gangsta rap playing. “Oh no,” I thought. I am intruding upon the turf of the notorious Mt Cook G’s. They will surely step me up rool hard.” But when I turned the corner, there were no notorious G’s. A lone speaker was piping out the gangsta rap to no one.

Perhaps this is like the opposite of places that play classical music to keep away loitering teens. Perhaps Massey Uni wants to scare off codgers. “Yeah, piss off back to the War Memorial, gramps. This space is for the youth gone wild!”

Back around the front of the museum building, I took one more look at its audacious facade before I headed off down the hill. The old museum building feels like your aunt whose husband ran off with a younger, sexier (albeit crazy) woman. Eventually your aunt remarries a nice man who treats her really well, but he’s not your uncle and it just doesn’t feel the same like it did in the happier days.

Yo, Nightliners

The future is a wonderful place

Robyn Gallagher

Adventures in words and web