Dobbyn at Civic: ‘It’s like a church for me’
Despite the challenges of Parkinson’s, Dobbyn says he’s still coming up with musical ideas.
“I can spot a really good idea, and it’s usually like when I’m in a hurry, or just about to leave the room, or I’ve gone out for a leak. In the middle of it, I’ll go ‘ta-da!’ and then run back into the studio and try and capture what I did.”
He’s also working on a “lyric book with anecdotes”. Asking artificial intelligence (AI) for a good title of a memoir, it suggested Beside You [the name of his 1998 hit].
“Which I thought was quite clever, but then it said [the Split Enz song] History Never Repeats. I thought that was very funny.”
On last year’s “wonderful” Selected Songs tour, Dobbyn says he was reminded how people own their own version of his songs.
“It just reminds them of tough times or good times or whatever.
“I always scan their faces, just imagining people’s stories. I can glean so much from their faces in terms of what their story might be. Through the gig, I’ll be speculating what so-and-so’s stories were and how they’re related to the other person there … It’s a game I play.”
If you’re a musician, you’ve got to love people, Dobbyn reckons.
“Travelling around New Zealand, playing theatres. To me, that’s bliss … I genuinely do love the audiences and love the people. You can’t beat it.
“There’s so much negative stuff around. In fact, most of it is designed to make you feel less than human. Demanding your humanity is an important thing for me, and demanding the best of your humanity.
“That involves community. When you’re playing music, it’s right in the middle of the community, and you can’t forget that. It’s us, you know – not us and them.”
At his Selected Songs Encore event on July 25, Dobbyn will be joined by an eight-piece band, including his son Eli Dobbyn on percussion.
The 96-year-old Civic Theatre – which inspired Dobbyn’s 1993 song Palace – is “almost like a church” for the legendary musician. It also brings back some “wonderful nostalgic feelings”.
“We used to come to town in the old diesel buses along Tāmaki Drive and walk up the street holding each other’s shirt tails. There was an American milk bar halfway up Queen Street where they had booths and a jukebox and all that, and we’d get huge milkshakes in aluminium cans.
“I was there for Marlon Williams’ gig, and it was magic, you know. If I could do half as good a job as he did, I’d be very happy.”
– RNZ