As the trimester winds its way to its inevitable and bathetic conclusion, spring seems in the air. Wellington has, for today at least, shown itself to be an entirely tolerable city weather wise. It’s been a dreary spring for the most part, with only hints of hope now and then. Today was a good day, marred only by wind. Here’s to a great summer and lots of wandering around the wharf and savouring the café life which is really a treat here.

I’m about to have my debut on New Zealand television tonight. A few weeks back, I was asked to comment on the status of country music here in New Zealand (mainly in reference to its absence from commercial radio) and talk about the genre. While hardly an expert, I can waffle on with some degree of expertise (aided by my many great country albums, which I was asked to supply as props). Not sure how I’ll look on the magic talking box, once the editing gets a hold of me. It was a bit forced, with the interviewer and myself cramped into a tiny room at Radioactive, with her in her cowboy boots and all bright and cheery and me underslept and probably sounding more like like Droopy Dog than I wanted. Not in my best radio voice or form, but I’m not really fussed.

The show itself is an arts and culture show, Frontseat, which has tried desperately to spruce itself up by going all “perky” (which consists now of the host wandering around various settings in Auckland and mugging for the camera). I can’t really abide by that, and it’s turned me off the show. That and the fact that it airs at well past my bedtime. It’s also eerily reminiscent of much of the CBC’s arts programming which just went for the middlebrow, wherein someone (usually Evan Solomon) feigned surprise or pitched their CBC-voice an octave higher at anything that might seem too provocative or controversial.

On another note, I’m finally getting my publishing act together. I hope to have two articles out in the next month or so, one ready to go for the end of this month and the next slotted into a special issue of the German journal Spiel. They’re related pieces, in the sense that they take up issues of play and humour in the New Berlin. More on those things later, but it feels good. Little did I know that so much of my academic life would be taken up with the tedium of admin tasks.

Yesterday, Saturday, I spent the day at a symposium on creative industries, which yielded many nice surprises. Not as dominated by management Richard Florida types as I thought. It was much more modest and interdisciplinary. The end result was the start of a fledgling network, with a possible symposium on Wellington as a “creative city.” Yes, they’ve taken that on, too. I suppose I’ll really have to sink my teeth into the music scene here (I’m doing my best and can recommend local heroes So So Modern as an antidote to a scene overshadowed by its dubby other).

The day finished with a friend’s housewarming, in which the couple, a Dutchman and an Indian/Maori woman, did a nice tricultural job of welcoming us into their new digs. Songs and multilingual greetings all ’round. A very good night, which finished with everyone sitting down to watch the NZ vs. UK rugby game. Us “arty” types exempted ourselves from the proceedings.

I’ve also finished up two calendars for 2007. One is titled “World,” and the other is “Wellington.” You can find pdfs of sample versions here and here. I’m asking for $25.00 for these (or $45.00 for two). If you have access to Paypal, you can send it that way, or you can send me a cheque for the NZ equivalent. Send an email to geoff.stahl@vuw.ac.nz

I’ll be DJing later this week, and I’m humming and hawing about whether or not to play these two as part of the intro set. I want to set the mood, which should be a funny one, and then cut to some bottom shakers later. One you’ll recognize as yet another Bollywood rework of an 80s classic. The other is from Bernard Estardy, a French musician known for his work with Nino Ferrer, his countless library albums and the album “La Forumule de Baron,” from whence this gem is plucked. Let me know what you think.

Le G.

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