For many, an invite to the Silver Scrolls is a golden ticket.

On Wednesday night, the Scrolls Awards event was my maiden voyage with a press pass. Money can’t buy a ticket to rub shoulders with this many notable celebs - let alone have a reason to sidle up to them for a few intimate words about life behind the scenes at one of Aotearoa’s most prestigious music awards. 

Beneath a layer of makeup and clothing curated to maximise my fledgling-like courage levels, I was in unknown territory, testing my footing, like I was up ten thousand feet. 

I don’t currently reside in a halfway house, halfway down Dominion Road - but I wouldn’t rule it out as part of this life’s journey if I continue to pursue writing as a means of providing for my family. 

If you don’t understand these references to testing my footing, or living in a halfway house at some point, you may not be as much of a fan of Don McGlashan as me. His songs are part of the 90s teen-spirit era of my life’s soundtrack. 

McGlashan was inducted into the NZ Music Hall of Fame at the awards, which gave me a reason to talk with him on purpose about music success, touring, why he does it still, and what it means to him- even if it felt like I was free falling out of a plane to do it.

The Silver Scrolls is an event for artists, judged by artists. Being seen by your peers as worthy of recognition is a different kind of prestige to having fans or money - it's a different kind of treasure, a hard-won bounty for many days and nights spent often in solitude, believing that something will become of your work with no monetary incentive or fixed endpoint in sight. 

I pondered the question, 'Why do it?' There’s barely any money in it, so…is it for the glory of one day becoming a classic, like Don McGlashan, and being inducted into the Hall of Fame? And if, perchance, one becomes the next Don…where to next?

Cheap feeds and rich experiences

In his induction speech (above), McGlashan spoke of lifelong industry friends like SJD and Tim Finn, his family and the joy and sense of belonging he gained from collaborating with other musicians. 

He also publicly apologised to his kids for dinners involving financially limited ingredients and inattentiveness in their making, due to his pursuit of music-making and touring as a career. This reverberates through me as I sit down to write about why we - artists of the land of the Long White Cloud - persevere with the toils and troubles of creating, despite the many roadblocks. 

I was intrigued by McGlashan’s recent tour of provincial towns throughout Aotearoa, and why, at this stage of his career, he still goes to small-town New Zealand to perform in places that many stars of his calibre don’t. 

Why does he travel those roads less travelled and less populated? What’s in it for him - because obviously, it's not lucrative in the monetary sense of riches. 

On his current national tour (running through to November), McGlashan says he’s been trying to answer that same question himself.

“I think mainly, it starts with my need to explore - because I love exploring the country. And also I think for me, I'm learning as I get older that writing songs is about breathing in the world and breathing it back out again through a song. If you're only breathing in the world, in a city, then you're only getting a part of it. But to go around the country and breathe in those amazing roads and beech forests and seascapes and people - then I think when I next sit down to write a song, something more interesting is going to come out. 

"So it's really quite selfish. I'm not going out to play gigs because I want to do a favour to anybody. It's really helping myself.”

On the road again

Describing the tour so far, he singles out several of his South Island stops - Lyttleton, Golden Bay and Barrytown as highlights. 

“There are ones that stand out, there's so many of them but Barrytown, which is one of the recent ones that we did, was really cool…a big range of people, different generations, a real sense of community. A whole bunch of people coming in and setting up the chairs and then hanging out afterwards. Just this little wee hall with maybe half a dozen houses around it and the Tasman Sea roaring a stone's throw away. 

“We played a place called Loons (in Lyttleton), which is really great, but it was so cold and windy - there was a big storm going down the country. We had to have a heater and aim at the heater at the tenor horn and the euphonium (McGlashan playing above) I use during the set. We had to fill up two hot water bottles and set them on top of the two brass instruments, and they still went out of tune. But it was a great vibe in that audience. 

"It doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to sit down and write a song about Barrytown, or a song about Lyttleton but that whatever story I'm working on will be strengthened by all those experiences I've had on the road. I think that's why I do it.”

Live music is about those imperfections, those moments of magic and experimentation. McGlashan explains how that same night, one of his fellow performers rolled the dice with a borrowed, quirky instrument.

“Have you ever seen anybody play a theremin? It's an instrument that works on magnetic fields - you just move your hand above it - and it creates a sort of spooky wailing sound. It's the most beautiful thing to watch somebody playing it, (Anita Clark) just tried it out that night and she brought the house down.” 

Clearly, McGlashan is not done with creating, exploring and travelling new musical landscapes. His drive to explore the new in music and in life is a theme that carries through our conversation.

Don delves deep

Before McGlashan was whisked off to his next-in-line news hound, I asked what has kept him going (besides cost-effective dinners) over his 40-year career span, hoping it might give me as well as the rest of us a spark of his resilience and stamina to persist with creative endeavours.

“For me, the faith in the next song is a big spur. I've always got songs where I can sort of see the faint outline of them, but I can't really see what the picture is. They sustain me because no matter what happens, I’ve got to get closer to that song. 

"The other cool thing is what happens when you play in front of an audience. You can never predict how people respond - when people will lean in and really go crazy for a particular song. Or they’ll ask for requests - they’ll pull out something that I've forgotten, from years ago, but it's mattered to them. 

"It just goes to show that you've got no jurisdiction about how the songs are received. I love that about performing. I love performing in any kind of smaller places because it's more likely that people will come up and talk to you afterwards. 

"If you're at the Powerstation (Auckland) people just go home. But at Barrytown Hall or at Loons in Lyttleton or the Muscle Inn at Golden Bay, I got some great stories from people afterwards - about their lives, about how songs have intersected with their lives… how a particular song helped them through a patch or a particular song was the soundtrack to some road trip that they did.”

Find your own voice

Not all songs can be written about Dominion Roads if you want to become Aotearoa’s next Don McGlashan. 

You have to get out there and breathe in the salt of the earth - in all the nooks and crannies of this small country we call home at the end of the earth. You need to be fed by a lust for exploration, a connection with people and how they relate to and resonate with your work. 

And you might find yourself apologising for bringing your kids up on the cheap by putting cost-effective dinners on the table when you accept your place in the hall of fame. 

I get the feeling from McGlashan that it’s been worth every minute - and it spurs me on with my own creative pursuits to hear this from one of our best in the business. 

After four decades in the music industry, McGlashan describes a life more varied, one that’s far from bending under its own weight. Less like a central city main thoroughfare, more like a 40-year road trip down NZ’s Pacific Coast Highway - with the euphonium and electric heater in the back, some lifelong friends along for the ride and an eclectic, colourful, joyful soundtrack.