LETTERS FROM THE EDITORS : A Bird in the Hand
A letter from Sam:
The last month or so has been peppered with a weird breed of grief. The passing of the iconic Martin Phillipps spurred tributes from Aotearoa and abroad, and for me marked the first time I’ve felt sincere, moving grief for somebody I’ve never actually met.
Martin’s intimately crafted songs were unique globally. His soft delivery and succinct yet vivid lyrics gave his art a strong identity. I hesitate to bang on too much about the Dunedin Sound for fear of becoming a broken record, but that era of Flying Nun music has been essential to my development as a musician, and without its ripple effect I believe my years living in Ōtepoti would’ve looked much different.
In 2019 I had dinner at Emerson’s in Ōtepoti with my uncle and two of my cousins. On the way back to my flat we walked past Starters Bar where the Chills were playing with Marlin’s Dreaming. Marlin’s had just played and the Chills were about to start. My uncle asked if I wanted to go in and I said no. Walking past Starters back to my flat on Queen Street is a memory that plays in my head often. Why didn’t I go in? I think it might’ve been because I was tired, or I had something early the next morning, or because I didn’t feel like going to a gig. I don’t actually know why. I don’t remember why I didn’t go in, but I remember not going in.
I’ve missed too many opportunities for bad reasons. Too tired, too expensive, not convenient enough. In reality, how many opportunities strike when you’re well rested and cashed up with heaps of spare time? I can’t recall a single one. Most times it’s taken me years to realise I won’t get the chance to do these things again. Realising in retrospect you’ve missed your final opportunity to do something is a deeply un-fun feeling.
The answer is pretty simple, but sometimes it’s not easy. I’ve decided to do everything I can. I’ve started going to gigs the night before a 4am wakeup for work. I say yes to playing every gig I can and I figure out the logistics later. I’ve started spending slightly more than is responsible for things I know I’ll remember. I won’t remember stretching myself thin to experience these things, but I will remember these experiences.
I can’t stop myself thinking about the Chills at Starters in 2019, but I can say yes to the next gig that I think I might be too tired or too skint for. I’m going to keep saying yes to the less than perfect opportunities, because time tends to fade their imperfections. Groggy wakeups and empty bank accounts don’t last, but the memories of these experiences do.
This is my band, jam henderson, playing Starters Bar in 2020. We’re on the same stage the Chills played the night I decided to forgo their gig and go home. If I could go back to 2020 I’d tell myself to say yes more, even when yes isn’t the easy answer.
