To make a thing like that, you'd need to know what you were about.

Here I proclaim my unfashionable love of New Zealand band The Mutton Birds.


not my image

Since my teenage years I have conducted our musical affair mostly in cars and kitchens and through the public privacy of my earphones. Never live and never at parties. And not usually with anyone else, unless it is a home-early housemate, catching me stacking wet plates and keening along to Ngaire. 

It is not shame that makes me omit them from band-sharing conversations, but fear of an indifferent response. The Mutton Birds make me feel a bit desperate. I just want you to love them.

The man behind the words, Don McGlashan, has that imperfect kind of male voice that I prefer over crooners/shouters. It is a head-voice: clever and clear as if he were calling out to you over the music at a barbecue. Maybe telling you in confidence about the misfortunes of a neighbour. I watched them from my window. She was shaking her head. The cops were standing with their big hands hanging down.

This is White Valiant. The wonderful, fence-twanging creepiness of the recording is lost in transcription. Better listen to it. (If you don't like it, don't write back.) 

 

White Valiant

You’re from the family that moved in up the valley. It’s lucky I picked you up and not somebody else.   We’ll have to turn inland - there’s been a landslide at the quarry. And though I say it myself, you couldn’t have better help if you found yourself losing your way through here. You can still see the moon though it’s the middle of the morning. You can smell the clay. Like I said, you can count yourself lucky. Not many people know this way. Let’s turn off for a minute. I’ve see something - let’s take a look now. But hold on tight - this stretch has needed fixing for years. Over there, I knew it. Can read these roads like a book now. If you drive them every day...  In the last half hour a lot of cars have been through here. You can still see the moon though it’s the middle of the morning. You can smell the clay. Like I said, you can count yourself lucky. Not many people know this way. Here we are - on that hill over there. See all the cars parked in the field, and the crowd walking down the fenceline. You can still see the moon though it’s the middle of the morning You can smell the clay. Like I said, you can count yourself lucky. Not many people know this way Remember where we left the car.  Remember where we left the car. Remember it’s a white Valiant. (White Valiant.)  Remember it’s a white Valiant. (White Valiant.)