Surviving Aotearoa: An Amanda Palmer interview

AMANDA PALMER: Surviving Aotearoa

An interview by Tim Gruar with live photography by Doug Peters.

Amanda Palmer has just released her brand-new five-song e.p. called ‘New Zealand Survival Songs’, featuring material she wrote and recorded during a two year stint waylaid in Aotearoa with her young son during the pandemic.

Supported by crowdfunding, these five tracks honour her truly life-changing experience and time here as an accidental Kiwi. They also contain contributions by Julia Deans and Aurelia Torkington, plus an ironic revisit of two earlier tracks, performed live, that have taken on a weirdly prophetic existence.

Amanda is in Aotearoa for a quick tour of the new ep starting on Sunday 21st January and I had the opportunity to have a chat with her about her time here, her extraordinary life changes and returning to her own post-Covid/post-Trump country.

By her own admission, Amanda Palmer’s history with Aotearoa has been “weird and coincidental. Synchronicity has visited me several times whilst I’ve been here.” She’s referring to a number of incidents that overlap with both her personal and creative lives.

Let’s go back in time a bit. Only hours before the massive earthquake that hit Ōtautahi Christchurch in 2011, Palmer was at Napier Airport about to get on a plane to go South, where the venue she was playing that night was destroyed.

A couple of years earlier, she’d rushed off a quick song, whipped up in the dressing room at Bodega Bar,  Wellington, about New Zealand. It was a knee jerk response to fans calling for equity, after she’d written the now infamous ‘Map Of Tasmania’ joke song. The final lines of her crudely written new track bemoaned the perils of tight tour schedules, twittering the scenery instead of seeing it in person. She sung it every time she came back. Always zipping in and out, in a hurry. If only she could stay a bit longer…

Be careful what you wish for.

In 2020, whilst on a quick visit to Hawkes Bay – Palmer was faced with a dilemma.  It was March 14. Her gigs in Christchurch and Auckland were under threat and the country was about to officially go into lockdown. And fate took over. She was stuck here. Scrambling for a place to stay, Amanda rented an Air BnB in Havelock North, and brought over her son, Ash, and husband (at the time), writer Neil Gaiman, to join her.

With only one friend in the country, some borrowed clothes and equipment, and overwhelming pangs of homesickness she hunkered down like the rest of us “to watch the end of the world and the destruction of humanity!”

And then it got worse. Neil left for England and did not return. Her marriage fell apart. Stories from friends and whānau back in the States were even worse. Covid hit people, deaths, sickness, Trump, Proud Boys and Racists. The world was crazy, manic and all through it she told herself and others she was just ‘fine’. But that wasn’t really true.

Today, when I catch up with her over WhatsApp, Palmer is in Queenstown – enjoying the scenery. Not rushing.

It seems whenever she comes to Aotearoa, something major happens. Chaos and friendship follow her.  “Yeah. I decided to re-label my self the ‘Harbinger Of Joy’ just to alleviate the misconceptions that I bring the plague wherever I show up!”

This chaotic life, over these last two years especially, have become a story you couldn’t write.

“You might try,” she says, laughing.  “I realised when I got back to the States that I was walking around with the delusion that everybody’s story is about as crazy as mine because of Covid. And then, when I told people, I realised that this story was really unusual.”

She talks about how the separate coincidences of being caught in a lockdown in Hawkes Bay and the separate and unrelated events that led to her divorce all amalgamated into the position she found herself in, where she had to rely on the kindness of strangers to support her. She was an American living abroad. She was a solo mother. She was an artist stranded and separated from her audience due to a pandemic, relying on her Patreon.

“I was reflecting on how I was in this unique position, with optimism and reliance on the kindness of strangers was a kind of lifestyle.”  She’s referring to the subject of her book, ‘The Art Of Asking’, which documents her career from a living statue and artist, to a recording musician with Brian Viglione in the Dresden Dolls, and going solo with support from fans and crowdfunding. Palmer has made her own special connections with her fans, who are intensely loyal. “… and that’s not everybody. That’s me and my attitude towards life, for better or worse.”

“I learned some ‘Olympic level’ ‘techniques’ [laughs] during Covid. And I got a humbling perspective on my own naivety. I was also faced with my ‘American-ness’. While Kiwis are quite reserved compared to Americans and Australians, they are also masters of asking and community. It’s a small community. People understand the connected-ness of help and need.”

Whilst efforts from crowdfunding and intermittent touring helped financially, it was also the smallest acts of everyday strangers that also helped her get through two years stranded in our paradise, far away from her home in New York.

That includes the tiny acts by the couple in Hawkes Bay that owned the Air BnB where she stayed. “I was lucky to have two incredibly supportive ‘landlords’, Nick and Jude. They showed me where to get the best apples in their garden and we planted one too. Ash had rides on Nick’s  ride on mower. They loaned us bicycles and Jude was bringing over things from the garden and jam. She planted a Rimu tree with my son, Ash.”

“It was those small but significant acts of generosity, when you are so far away from what you know and also know nobody but one or two people, that really makes a difference.”

She reflects that “my semi-fame, as an instagrammer, a touring artist, may have helped a little but was more of a liability, than a ‘help’. I was regarded with a degree of suspicion that an average Mom and Kid might not have encountered.”

Maybe that’s the Kiwi way, as we try not to acknowledge publicly famous people. We allow them to keep a low profile and leave them alone in cafes and on the street. We are used to Liv Tyler, James Cameron, Shania Twain, etc, popping down to the shops for a bottle of milk. No need to bother them for a selfie.

“That was sort of the case. I was at a BBQ in Hawkes Bay for example, and two people came up afterwards, saying “I didn’t want to bother you. I read your book…”  And I’m there by myself, no one was talking to me and NOW they come up. Why didn’t you fucking talk to talk to me!  I was standing here with my kid. We could have had a conversation for hours! [laughs] That can backfire. I’m not as famous as James Cameron. People haven’t always heard of the Dresden Dolls or my work or my ex-husband’s work. I found that really refreshing.”

It was this amalgam of themes that develop into the songs that Palmer wrote here during Lockdown. She was trying to sum up her experiences and tell the story of what happened.

The ep’s opener, ‘The Man Who Ate Too Much’, comes out of her time in Havelock North. There are tiny references to specific people who helped her along the way. Like her friends Kya and Izzy, Aiden and Lou and Roisin, who all made simple domestic gestures with immeasurable positive impacts to a stranded American and her son.

The song, she says, is also a connection to the giant who lies prostrate across Te Mata Peak. So the legend goes that this is body of the Waimārama chief Te Mata, who tried to eat a section of the hillside to get to a wahine. In similar ways, in her song Palmer refers to another man who has bitten off more than he’s prepared to chew – her absent ex-husband: “Eight-thousand miles away/ The man in the house gets a little more broke every day”

I ask her about that song, that hastily written, ‘New Zealand’ (written in response to ‘Map Of Tasmania’), especially the lines claiming she’d like to stay here longer. “It aged strangely, didn’t it?” The prediction she didn’t want to write? This time, in these two years, did she really get to connect with our whenua, with our land? And if so, how did it come about for her? Being a travelling musician and a nomad, was it hard?

“Yes. Especially when I moved to Waiheke in the second Lockdown. We spent a lot of time in the bush, on the beach. Ash spent time with new friends and climbing the Pohutakawa trees. I wrote a song about them for his Kindergarten class. He joined the local Sea Scouts troop, learned about shells and things. He learned karakia kai. We moved in. Didn’t just close the blinds and live a little ‘American Life Abroad’. We connected with our neighbours. One of the things that was so important was revisiting the sites in nature where important and connected things happen.”

“We planted a Kowhai at Awaaroa, on Waiheke. Every year we go back and visit the tree. Ash and I both have pounamu that we wear around our necks. We come to Waiheke and Wakatipu. Ash has this ritual where he dips them in the water and powers them up for the next year ahead back in America.”

“For better or worse, this is where my kid grew up.  He’s always going to be part of this land’s story and it’ll be part of him.” While Ash grew up here, Palmer tells me that her New Zealand Residency has just come through, too.

“The political environment in America leaves much to be desired. Not that yours is fantastic but it’s looking way better. But I’ve spent enough time here (in Aotearoa) to be keenly aware that, as a foreigner, it’s a privilege and an honour to be here. Because I don’t want to join the ranks of the billionaires that just have a bolthole on the bottom of Waiheke Island. I want to stay part of the actual community, here.”

Living on Waiheke was the inspiration for another track on the e.p – ‘Whakanewha’ – about the Whakanewha Park. A bit of a silly song, she says. But it was also the place of sadness and anger, as it contains some thinly veiled vitriol for Neil’s departure. Clearly the scene of a final parting, it seems: “And then you lied to me at Whakanewha / And you sealed it with a kiss / I wanted to live with you, but, fuckin’-aye, fuck you / No one on Earth could live like this”.

She also draws on the fauna of the place, with the news of his leaving like a felling in the forest: “Another falling tree no one can hear but me / Another suicidal mass / Landing on my doorstep, thanks a ton.”

Palmer won’t speak now of the exact reasons for her divorce. That is a story she is yet to tell. “In time,” she says, “Maybe I will.” And that goes for her son, too. “I do mention a lot of what happens to Ash. In these songs there are vignettes of us together, on walks and at home. Experiences and thoughts. But not everything. That’s his story to tell, not mine.”

‘Whakanewha’, which translates to ‘shading eyes from the setting sun’, also features vocals from Aurelia Torkington, who Palmer had initially recruited to help with her social media and discovered was an up and coming singer.

Fans of ‘Amanda Fucking Palmer’, the artist, have been on her journey with her as she blogged, insta-posted and wrote music documenting her time here during Covid, before and after. And acknowledging that Palmer is the queen of social media and self-determination when it comes to connection with her audience, I think it’s incredible how she managed to control her own narrative, despite that very same narrative consistently spinning out of control. I wonder if she sees it that way.

“That’s a complicated question. A massive amount of my personal story as taking place behind closed doors and still is. My divorce coincided exactly and coincidently with the very first lockdown and happenstance of New Zealand. My divorce didn’t happen because of Covid or New Zealand – for completely different reasons. That’s a story I did not tell, and will remain behind closed doors for a very long time. But it’s still important to me because I’m the kind of artist and human being I am – to remind people that I wasn’t just a woman who got stuck in New Zealand and decided to stay. I was a woman with a kid, a solo parent for the better part of a year while trying to navigate finding accommodation and somewhere to live in this country. It was a real triple threat. By far and away the hardest thing and the hardest year.”

“But the flip side of that,” she continues, “is the kindness I was shown. People who opened their homes and hearts, gardens and kitchen tables to me and Ash – I’m not even sure, even though it’s been expressed many times, if those people understand the extent of my gratitude. They might seem like mundane offerings but even the teeniest kindnesses were like water in the desert.”

One of the many was Jamie Macphail, who Palmer name checks in the single, ‘Little Island’, which she calls her ‘love letter’ to Aotearoa. He runs the ‘Small Hall Sessions’ in rural venues around Hawkes Bay, featuring artists like Reb Fountain and Julia Deans – the latter of whom Palmer met and recruited for this song. She’ll be helping out on the Auckland and Wellington shows in her upcoming tour.

She says that all the people name checked in her song were all supportive of this. By her own admission, Palmer has a habit of using real people in her music.

“I’ve gotten into enough trouble over the years to tread gingerly when I tell a story that’s not necessarily mine to tell. The first time I played ‘The Man Who Ate Too Much’ was at the ‘Small Hall Sessions’ in Te Awanga, and Kya and Roisin were there. It was really emotional. It was like delivering a ‘real time’ musical thank you note to these people for their kindnesses.”

“I did, though, call up Jamie, who also helped me do some touring, to ask permission to confabulate his life story in a song.  The story (in the song) about his sister is true.”

“I remember the call.  I remember the café I was in when I made it. “Good news”, I said, “I wrote a song about you. Bad news, it has some confabulated facts. Please approve.” He did.”

She says that when playing to USA audiences, she has to explain some of the references – like who the Mongrel Mob are. “They don’t know about the Mob. We have gangs like the Crips and Hell’s Angels.”

When prefacing the song ‘The Ballad of The New York Times’, she speaks of the inevitable doom scrolling that we all inevitably did during the worst of the Covid times, as we searched for those kernels of hope amongst the rotten cobs. As the song documents, Palmer was reading the Times trying to find out more about what was happening at home – the ‘dumpster fire’ that was New York at the time. I ask her when she finally returned, what she was expecting and what she actually saw.

“I’ll never untangle the experience of coming back to New York after Covid with the experience of returning as a solo parent, needing to co-parent my child. I should have been returning to unpack boxes in my old life but instead it was more like setting up a new life there – a newly shaped family. Had I comeback to an intact marriage and the old plan, it would have been a completely different story.”

“Returning to America was shocking, putting my own divorce issues aside. There was a traumatic, emotional debris that is hard to describe. But you can feel it everywhere you go. In the shops. On the subway. On the train. Out in the playground. The nerves of Americans are fucking fried!”

“So much has been badly damaged, repaired badly or not repaired at all, in terms of Political divisiveness, the Covid and Vaccine bullshit and economic instability and the anger within communities and families. It just feels as fragile as glass! It didn’t feel like a warm, cosy homecoming. It feels like part of my country is irrevocably broken.”

But, she says, although she’s worried about the future, there’s still hope for her country. Americans are creative and innovative people – “smart and crafty”.  “We are a huge collection of weirdos, having come from different places, trying to figure it out. What really makes America great is that everybody is there and we are all going to try and figure it out together.”

And what about her other community, that of the Dresden Dolls. Palmer has reunited with drummer Brian Viglione and has been touring sporadically over the last year. The Doll’s community was always a strong bond of alternative artists, burlesque, freak and any others who considered themselves outside the boundaries of the mainstream. Their shows always featured support from alternative dancers and circus performers who ‘volunteered’ their services for their shows.

“The Dresden community is one of a kind. Getting back in my old band and playing those songs, they have real meaning to people. It gives me a sense of homecoming comfort. It isn’t going back to Boston or Woodstock (where she started out). It’s getting back on stage with the Dresden Dolls and feeling like myself – at home, with my people.”

“Revisiting those songs gives me an appreciation of how off the wall I was back then, too. I miss that. ”

And the band have a new record underway. Plans to record are hush hush for now, although some songs have already been played on tour. How they will end up on disc is yet to be determined.

Returning to Amanda’s new release – ‘New Zealand Survival Songs’, she says “I have more and more appreciation of the medicinal power of music. To come back and play them to the people who helped give birth to these songs, who helped me, is an honour. There’s a place music can reach nothing else can.”

“I really did face a level of anxiety of fear and panic that I’ve never faced in my adult life. It was writing songs that calmed me down. The ability to put pen to paper, chords together and try and explain my state of mind was more therapeutic than anything. When I look back, this collection isn’t the most commercial, but it was definitely the one that towed me out of the dark. This collection of songs that I wrote down here – is the closest thing to a mainline catharsis as it gets!”

Amanda Palmer is performing three shows across the country, kicking off with a sold-out show at the Sherwood in Queenstown before hitting Auckland’s Q Theatre on the 24th January and Wellington’s Old St Paul’s on the 27th January. Tickets to both the Auckland and Wellington shows are still available but get in quick as they’re sure to sell out!

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