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about
A few years ago I was speaking at a literary event in Auckland and an old friend of mine came up to the signing table. He’d been through bad times, that was obvious. I’d spied him—without recognising him—while I was onstage. Everyone else was seated; he was the only person standing in the hall and he’d been making his way slowly towards the front, sidling along the wall. It wasn’t a good vibe and it flashed through my mind that this figure might rush the stage. But what for?
Anyway, here he was, shaking my hand, telling me his name, though now I’d recognised him across twenty-plus years. There was no small talk. He was on a mission. He said that it was time to for us to say sorry. Well, all right but what for exactly? No, not to each other, he told me, but to a lot of other people. Then he started naming names.
He looked very intense as he did the roll call. Had we really been so insensitive, so cruel? A few of the people he named seemed very unlikely candidates, and when he told me that we—what was with this we?—should say sorry to a good friend of mine for some wrong the friend would be very surprised to hear about, I got sick of the apologising mania. Hang on, I said, I don't think that's right. I was laughing too.
He stared hard at me. Then he started to reach inside his jacket pocket, and I had another thought: Did he have a knife in there?
No. It was an envelope. An apology, he said, for a girl whose name was written on the envelope. I had to give this to another friend who might still know this girl.
Now I’m not unfamiliar with such programmes that work through the business of making amends, seeking out past contacts, asking for forgiveness etc. My old friend had gathered up whatever support he could and he goes forth with my good wishes. And I’m sure there are people I should apologise to. But, please, in my own good time. This way, with my old friend looming over me — all these accusations—well, no. Not sorry.
Plus he never once said, By the way, I enjoyed your reading, or, Hey, isn’t it funny you turned into a writer, remember how we used to talk about D.H. Lawrence and Frank fucking Sargeson.
Envelope delivered, my old friend went off into the night.
Then I wrote this song, which I give to him.
credits
from New Spirit,
released October 11, 2012
Damien Wilkins - vocals, guitars
Craig Terris - drums, bass, lead guitar, bells
Engineered by Craig Terris; mixed by Craig Terris & Tom Watson at The Surgery, Wellington; mastered by Mike Gibson at Bonfire Audio
The name of this album perfectly encapsulates everything I love about Elizabeth's musical output from the Darlings to Allo Darlin' to these precious songs: an unyielding optimism that is never naive, and by being so, becomes wildly contagious. Some music tells you that "everything will be ok", but her music actually makes you believe it, even when the lyrics hint at doubt. Michael Feck
My route here was a lifelong obsession with "The Free Life": music that has haunted me for more than 40 years. The interpretation is stunning and captures that strange mix of loss and hope. It radiates into the far corners: cathartic piano chords in Bright Shining Star, summer poppies from that drought of '76. The golden storm that pulled a village into the North Sea and we all had to grow up. You think you can't get some things back but in art you can. Delevine