Taura Eruera-putting the fire back in the belly

Tu Tangata, Issue 14, 1 October 1983, Page 12

Taura Eruera-putting the fire back in the belly

Lunchtime in Auckland city. Sounds float past on a cool breeze people laughing, talking, eating and coughing as the nagging traffic continues its tirade. Music teacher, Taura Eruera enjoys

it. Sitting on a bench in the middle of the busy babble he nods to passers-by and keeps an eye and an ear to the street. His broad face partners a topknot of black hair. He talks easily, articulately and his fingers pluck an imaginery guitar. “I really like this place. It’s got a good feel,” he says smiling, a broad smile. Taura used to be an anthropology lecturer at Auckland University but in his heart he knew it wouldn’t last forever. “I was marking 600 exams and I got up to the 30th when I thought ‘hey, what would you rather be doing?’ and it was playing music so I finished marking that exam and left.”

Music, he knew, would “put fire back in the belly”. The first flame was lit when the street character, Chiefie entertained Taura’s neighbourhood with times from his steel-stringed guitar. Then there were the annual Ratana Church hui in Wanganui with the united sound of 35 brass bands and the heavenly harmony of the choir. “I never really liked going to church because I was compelled to do so but the music was magic it was like heaven on earth. I really loved it.” The following years of formal training at Westlake Boys High School left him cold and from there went to university twice before graduating with a BA in anthropology and Maori studies. Taura says: “It was a good but I think I got on their nerves a little bit when I kept asking questions that couldn’t be answered.

“People would go away to study a remote island for a year and come back with all sorts of observations. They’d talk about what the chief thought about such-n-such and what his wife thought about this, then I’d say “well, what did the gardener think?” and they’d be stuck because in all the time they were there they only talked to the so-called key people and not the others who mattered just as much.” By the end of 1976 Taura had had his fill of academia and had marked his last exam. Armed with his teaching skills he began to tend to the flickering fire in his belly. “It was quite hard at first. Like coming out of the third form and going straight into a Ph.D. I didn’t have much background but I knew what I wanted.” So for three years Taura stayed at home with his children training his

skills and teaching music while his wife, Bronwyn worked. “It was helpful to me. I learnt a lot from that experience.” The next step took him across the sea to the Guitar Institute of Technology in Los Angeles. He believed there he could achieve more in one year than was possible in 25 years in New Zealand. But it was no easy task. “Four times I came close to coming home. It was quite a revelation to me, I’ve never felt that lonely before, all there was was eating, sleeping and music. “When I got pictures of the kids it would be real bad. When people talked about music I was fine but as soon as they talked about family I just had to get up and leave. “In a place that’s as big as that you get the feeling nobody would notice if you dropped dead in the street. People become inhuman.”

He pauses and casts an appreciative eye over the street. “Musically it was just what I wanted but on the personal side it was a real revelation.” He laughs: “When I came home I crossed the road and had eight conversations with people, in LA that was the number I’d had in three months.” From LA it was back to Grey Lynn to open the School of Creative Musicianship. “I opened the school for three reasons because I love it and I wanted to demystify music. People think it is out of reach but anyone can play. Two, because I wanted to help people develop a professional attitute instead of just being technicians. A lot of people aren’t interested in being original but I think it’s important. “And thirdly, because I wanted to work against the idea that commercial musicians need not be taught. I think thats incredibly shortsighted.”

“The school is the only one of its type in the country and it’s achieving good things. The first 10 played for years and they have to sit down and take apart what they have been doing it takes time and that shocks them.” The learning process takes place in a cold, untidy room in Ponsonby. Watched by his students Taura paces the floor issuing instructions: “Write pah, pah-pah pah pah-pah pap-pap-pap-pah...” Foreheads crease as students stare at pieces of paper as if waiting for the magic formula to appear. The school is doing well but Taura is still kindling that fire. “I’m writing music for two independantly made movies and I’m talking to the Education board about teaching non-classical music in schools. “At the moment I’ve got lots of pokers in the fire but nothing has actually ignited... but it’s only a matter of time.” Debra Reweti