Little Criminals: The Story of a New Zealand Boys' Home by David Cohen Page A
Authors: David Cohen
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and wandered back to their waiting transport; most of the others showed little or no interest inthe brave experiment they had been invited to behold. Eventually the Japanese guests shuffled off, leaving the travel agency that had arranged the ill-starred tour to fire off a letter apologising profusely for the ‘peculiar’ behaviour of its charges.
As far as visitors dropping by the institution went, however, it was neither his old man nor any other occasional oddball that Jonathan remembered most clearly — or even in later years a slightly earnest young television presenter from the nearby Avalon studios named Bob Parker, who had an obvious passion for inspiring youngsters. Rather, it was a surprising musical moment in the week leading up to Christmas in 1968.
These were the formative days of 2ZM, a local AM radio station that was looking to distinguish itself from the middle-of-the-road format of its precursor station, 2YD. Stewart Macpherson, recently returned from Britain and working as a morning jock, had been charged with coming up with ideas on how this might best be achieved. A newsworthy event was especially needed during the festive season, when the rival ZB network made a big deal out of associating itself with some establishment charity. ‘Because we were attracting young people,’ Macpherson explained, ‘we had determined that we would do a live breakfast session with live musical elements to it put on by someone who could perform.’
The challenge was to match the right act with the right venue in such a way as not to drag the event down to the level of cheap parody that is often typical of such charity initiatives. Eventually he hit on the idea of a young up-and-coming band from the Hutt Valley turning in a surprise performance at Epuni. The group he approached quickly agreed to the gig. A short while later, along with a technician, they loaded up an old Cortina van, headed for Lower Hutt and, by the dawn’s early light, presented themselves to Maurice Howe.
The boys had no idea how their morning routine was to bedisrupted. The morning had passed typically enough up until this point. The usual tasks and lineups, the filing in for breakfast — scrambled eggs all hot and milky — had all been attended to in the usual monastic silence. Halfway through the meal, however, the boys were told to face the concertina sliding doors that separated the dining room from the recreation lounge. Worried looks were exchanged. What could this mean?
Soon enough they had their answer. The doors clattered opened to reveal the host of Macphersonland seated behind a mixing desk next to a group of youngish performers decked out in frilly shirts and poised with their instruments. As the drummer counted four, the band swung into a sweet and anxious version of ‘Reach Out I’ll Be There’, the Motown track popularised a couple of years earlier by the Four Tops. The worried looks dissolved into unalloyed pleasure. You could feel the small joy sweeping the room. Awriiight ! The band took a deserved bow. Thus began the loveliest of breakfast meetings with the soon-to-be-famous The Fourmyula.
‘I don’t think the boys believed what they were seeing,’ Macpherson reflected 40 years later, ‘but it was at least as much a buzz for us too. I mean, it was crude, in the nicest sense, but it worked. And we were doing something different, something special, something with a bit of risk involved.’ In the end the band performed three 20-minute sets. A snapshot from the emotion-filled performance shows the kids looking on in obvious rapture, riding the music for everything it was worth.
‘I guess it was unusual for everyone,’ added band-leader Wayne Mason, reflecting on one of the more unusual performing turns his group took before parlaying its natural youth and verve shortly afterwards into the plangent psychedelic melodies of the evergreen hit ‘Nature’. Most dramatic of all was the set’s showstopper, the climax to a
As far as visitors dropping by the institution went, however, it was neither his old man nor any other occasional oddball that Jonathan remembered most clearly — or even in later years a slightly earnest young television presenter from the nearby Avalon studios named Bob Parker, who had an obvious passion for inspiring youngsters. Rather, it was a surprising musical moment in the week leading up to Christmas in 1968.
These were the formative days of 2ZM, a local AM radio station that was looking to distinguish itself from the middle-of-the-road format of its precursor station, 2YD. Stewart Macpherson, recently returned from Britain and working as a morning jock, had been charged with coming up with ideas on how this might best be achieved. A newsworthy event was especially needed during the festive season, when the rival ZB network made a big deal out of associating itself with some establishment charity. ‘Because we were attracting young people,’ Macpherson explained, ‘we had determined that we would do a live breakfast session with live musical elements to it put on by someone who could perform.’
The challenge was to match the right act with the right venue in such a way as not to drag the event down to the level of cheap parody that is often typical of such charity initiatives. Eventually he hit on the idea of a young up-and-coming band from the Hutt Valley turning in a surprise performance at Epuni. The group he approached quickly agreed to the gig. A short while later, along with a technician, they loaded up an old Cortina van, headed for Lower Hutt and, by the dawn’s early light, presented themselves to Maurice Howe.
The boys had no idea how their morning routine was to bedisrupted. The morning had passed typically enough up until this point. The usual tasks and lineups, the filing in for breakfast — scrambled eggs all hot and milky — had all been attended to in the usual monastic silence. Halfway through the meal, however, the boys were told to face the concertina sliding doors that separated the dining room from the recreation lounge. Worried looks were exchanged. What could this mean?
Soon enough they had their answer. The doors clattered opened to reveal the host of Macphersonland seated behind a mixing desk next to a group of youngish performers decked out in frilly shirts and poised with their instruments. As the drummer counted four, the band swung into a sweet and anxious version of ‘Reach Out I’ll Be There’, the Motown track popularised a couple of years earlier by the Four Tops. The worried looks dissolved into unalloyed pleasure. You could feel the small joy sweeping the room. Awriiight ! The band took a deserved bow. Thus began the loveliest of breakfast meetings with the soon-to-be-famous The Fourmyula.
‘I don’t think the boys believed what they were seeing,’ Macpherson reflected 40 years later, ‘but it was at least as much a buzz for us too. I mean, it was crude, in the nicest sense, but it worked. And we were doing something different, something special, something with a bit of risk involved.’ In the end the band performed three 20-minute sets. A snapshot from the emotion-filled performance shows the kids looking on in obvious rapture, riding the music for everything it was worth.
‘I guess it was unusual for everyone,’ added band-leader Wayne Mason, reflecting on one of the more unusual performing turns his group took before parlaying its natural youth and verve shortly afterwards into the plangent psychedelic melodies of the evergreen hit ‘Nature’. Most dramatic of all was the set’s showstopper, the climax to a
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