Hayley Westenra by Hayley Westenra Page A

and I are still haunted by the sight of him dressed up as Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer at the Coca-Cola Christmas in the Park concert back in
Christchurch one year when we were small. We thought that Dad would make an excellent Rudolph, but it turned out that his dancing was not quite up to scratch; and, I'm afraid to say (sorry, Dad!), his singing is not much better, either. But that is the worst thing that I can say about him – other than his singing and dancing, he's the best Dad anyone could ever have.
    In June 2002, I made my debut atCarnegie Hall in New York at a concert that Russell was performing there. Once again, I performed 'Pokarekare Ana' as a duet with him, but there were technical problems halfway through my solo song. I could suddenly hear the high-pitched whistling sound of feedback. The level of the sound was starting to get bigger and bigger and I knew that at any moment it could blow into an ear-splitting screech. It's really not something that any artist would want to happen to them during their Carnegie Hall debut.
    I just battled on. In a setting that prestigious, it's simply not a problem that I had expected. After all, this was not a little village hall somewhere in the country, but rather America's foremost classical-music venue. As I stood on stage, I could feel a sense of frustration welling up inside me. So much emphasis had been placed on this concert, as all the big shots from the American arm of Decca were there. A great deal of time and care had been taken over my hair, makeup and wardrobe. It was a huge deal and everything went smoothly apart from the sound – something that you would have thought they would have double- and triple-checked. People were very complimentary about my willingness to keep on going on the stage, but for me it spoiled what should have been a very special night.
    A crew from the television programme Sixty Minutes followed my first trip to America. While we were there, they
filmed me and the rest of the family taking a horse-and-cart ride around Central Park. The driver asked me why I was being filmed. I explained that I was a singer from New Zealand.
    'I hadCharlotte Church in my cart a few years ago,' he said. Now, Charlotte is somebody whom, although I've met her only the once, I feel I know extraordinarily well because her name came up in every single interview I gave in the first few years of my career and still comes up in every other interview I give now.
    In the old days the question I was always asked was, 'Charlotte Church – do you mind the comparison?' For the record, my answer was always, 'No, it's fine. I can understand why the comparison's drawn.'
    Now, the question is, 'A contemporary of yours, Charlotte Church, has gone down the pop route. Are you going to follow?' And, again, for the record, my answer is always, 'No, I'm very happy with the style of music I'm singing. I want to stay true to who I believe I am as an artist, so I'll continue working in the classical-crossover area.'
    My one meeting with Charlotte was in a hotel bar, where she was sitting with her singing teacher. It was after I had appeared in Cardiff in concert with Russell Watson. After I had been on stage, Russell's manager Perry told me that Charlotte Church was in the audience. By this time, she seemed like the most famous person in the world to me, as her name was trotted out by every journalist I ever talked to, the world over.
    We finally met at the St David's Hotel later that evening. I was sitting with Mum and a few of the musicians and I breathed in sharply when I saw her in the doorway. I nudged Mum and whispered, 'Charlotte Church's just come in.' I was suddenly very nervous of meeting this girl, who was only a year older than I was. Afterwards, I turned to Mum and said, 'How cool, getting to meet her!'
    We were introduced and I talked to her very briefly, but she was constantly sending text messages on her mobile phone. Apparently, her boyfriend was waiting for her in