When I first started writing songs, I felt a certain affinity for song structure. I always had a sense of understanding form and seeing how it could be manipulated out of its verse/chorus patterns. Partly, if not mostly, I think this came from Led Zeppelin, who never felt it necessary to supply a chorus with vocals (When the Levee Breaks, The Wanton Song), or having new/different lyrics for each chorus repeat (The Rover). My songs from 1993 all the way to 2016 would often tweak the standard song form: suddenly inserting the upcoming bridge riff between second and third verse before the second chorus (Oh Joyous Song), bringing in the guitar solo after only the first chorus (I can Feel), shortening a song to just 2xVerse/bridge/chorus/verse/guitar solo (Coattails). Helmet were another band who had an obvious influence in this department. A typical Helmet song structure is: verse/verse/chorus/bridge (or solo)/chorus - bringing songs down to bare necessities and never overstating their point.

Learning about Sonata Form in my composition studies from 2004 through to 2006 allowed me to take a brand new look at the verse/chorus structure, but flipped around in an A/B form, with the development section replacing what I understood as the guitar solo section of a song. While my first two symphonies were mostly failures (the third movement of the first pushed way beyond my capabilities by attempting a Sibelius-like composition), they did teach me a lot about sonata form and how to use, reuse, and develop each theme. 

I even took this straight into a guitar composition that I wrote in 2013's 'A Minor Sledge'. Another tweak: here I start developing the second theme during the repeat of the exposition, and it is this early development that transitions the themes into the new key for the "official development" (the coda transposes the last part of the development into the original key). The jazz guitar piece 'This is Yours' (2014), uses standard sonata form (although, a slight tweak, in that it develops, mostly, one particular section of the second theme instead of the first theme).

Back in 2004, I was having issues with a musician friend who couldn't commit to band work, and I dramatically proclaimed that I was going to quit music because nothing ever worked out for me. My guitarist friend who I was starting a rock/metal band with, laughed, and said "You can't quit music. Even if you tried, I'd come over and visit, and you'll be scrawling notes and ideas onto your bedroom wall." 

Years later, I did quit music. When I had no more songs to write, I really had no more to give to music, and put the guitar away for about five years, and only really played occasionally when I walked into music shops. Of course, my bandmate was right: I did always go back to musescore and see what i could make of some ideas. Usually the results were atrocious, and the pieces got filed with titles like 'Mr Stubbs sucks, again', 'the reason why you don't do this' ... etc. Last year, while writing The Falling City (finished and soon to be released digitally, if no publisher can be found), I did stumble across some ideas and wrote a piece for a chamber sextet, with Bassoon as lead instrument. It's okay, not great, but it serves as a completed piece. 

I have since been playing guitar again for the last three years, realising I should never have put it down - I lost all my thumb strength and much of my shredding speed (although I never mastered sweep-picking, I was pretty quick with multiple hammer-ons), and have only got both back in small doses now. This String Duo here, like the cello theme from the third movement of Three Orchestral Scores (2006), began on guitar. A simple, but interesting idea, that, even after the key change, I could not think of how to develop it further without it just being looped (I don't have a loop pedal). So, I transcribed it to string quartet, starting with cello, and then adding the viola part. However, it seemed pretty contained within these two instruments, and I soon deleted the two violins. Although I'm not a fan of Mozart's String Duo's, I had dabbled a little in Duos with other instruments, but never completed anything with any true degree of success. I actually feel like this Viola and Cello Duo is a success (whether people like it or not, is another issue...), and it takes the sonata form again, and tweaks it by not repeating the exposition, but repeating the development only, while also adding a transitional third theme. 

I am now working on a fugue for this duo as the second movement, using two themes that have come out of this Allegro movement. 
 

• 14/03/26, Ōhaupō 

"It's too dark to see the landmarks..."

26 Years ago I was living in Auckland living out the worst days of my life. Clinical depression had destroyed every sense of self and made me a victim to all that I believed life had inflicted upon me. Proving myself a failure at life, I even proved myself a failure at trying to commit suicide, and sunk into a void of what felt like endless repetitions of depression, going to work, coming home again, rinse and repeat. 

I had nothing to cheer me up, but I had this album to keep me company through it all.

Thank you Mark Sandman for your beautiful visions, words and music.

And thank you always to the wonderful musicians who helped create the Morphine sound with Mark: Dana Colley, Billy Conway, and Jerome Deupree.

"You're a bedtime story,
the one that keeps the curtains close.
And I hope you're waiting for me,
'cause I can't make it on my own." 

Simple!
Just visit your local library and fill out a REQUEST FOR PURCHASE form available at the desk, or click the link online.

With inflation rising faster than wages and salaries, it's no surprise less books are being bought. And with the rise in cheap(er) audiobooks and ebooks, it's even less surprising that these would be an alternative purchase method.

But libraries still love you. And bookshops still love you.
And both want you to come in browse, buy, or take out on loan.
And authors still love you when you support both libraries and bookshops.

But if you do find that supporting an author with money that is better spent on groceries and house bills isn't possible, one of the best ways of being supportive is through library loans.

Library loans give a clear indication that there are readers available for this book, and this author is worth paying attention to. Even more so than reviews, since reviews can either bolster or weaken, and in some cases destroy, an author's reputation. Reviews are definitely helpful, even when they're negative they still bring attention. But if a review is time and thought beyond your cup of tea, then the next best thing, if not the best thing overall, is to just walk on into your local library and get their book out on loan. Even if you don't read it. No one's going to know, and it really doesn't matter; just the act of getting the book out shows that it's a book worth having in the library.

But what if the book isn't already in the library?
Simple!!
Just ask at the counter if they can order one of the author's books in. If you can't get into your local library, visit the website and click the online REQUEST FOR PURCHASE link.

No author expects you to put money where you can't afford to put money. It is a great privilege just to be read. And having one of our books in the library available for enthusiastic readers to have the choice to read, is the next best thing, and just as helpful!

✍✍✍📖📚📚🛋🤓
Kia kaha

"As the ivy climbs along the walls, so must the pen along the paper."
For to tell one's story, in prose or poetry, one must dissolve time of its weight and fly free through the syntax of memory.

Rain outside is travelling sideways. Loose branches have dropped from trees and scattered across the lawn, wires dangle from powerlines, and the cat remains hidden in some corner of protection where an old shed depletes its life amongst sawdust, old battens, and upturned concrete sinks. An entire tree has been felled by this cruel wind, relentless and bitter to it’s subjugating end. 

Here was summer . . . for a few days. And then it was the madness of autumn sprung upon us. Autumn without the colour. 

We wait for February now. Where December was once known to have sprouted beach umbrellas and backyard barbecues, it is February that brings the promise of sunshine in these years of climate changing seasons.

Zinger first came into my life as the “grey kitten” of the litter that my friend Sheree’s cat Zephyr had birthed in Riverton, New Zealand, around the end of 2006, or the start of 2007. It had only been a few weeks since my first cat, Hazel Nutbar with Nougat and Honey, had passed away after being hit by a car. My friend invited a group of us over to her place and explained that the owner of the property would only allow one pet to live in the house with the tenants. It was far too soon for me to take a kitten after the death of Hazel, I explained. But as each bundle of fur bounced around the room, climbing and clinging to sofa sides, playing with trouser ends, rolling and tumbling over one another, and chasing each other between friendly legs, the one and only grey kitten born from a tabby (see photo), started sniffing around my feet, and then tried attacking my toes, before jumping over my feet and swinging around my ankles. Sheree quickly quipped with a pointed finger, “That one’s yours.” My protests were useless as the other friends chimed in “She’s chosen you – you can’t reject her now, Warwick!” And so it was. I had a new cat enter my life. 

I was hardly serious with the naming of my previous cat, Hazel. My first pet since a child living on the farm, and one that had been born from a stray under the porch of the flat that I was living in at the time on Pomona Street. One day her brown tabby eyes looked up at me (and to be honest, in that pose, she kind of had a face like Darth Vader), and the name ‘Hazel’ came easily. But the rest of the name was both a symptom of her craziness as a kitten hiding behind a shower curtain and jumping out at you like a mini Godzilla, and my fondness for all things caramel. So Hazel Nutbar with Nougat was the result. 

With this new grey one in my life, I carried on the tradition:

• Zinger Burger Zephyrova Grey

Zinger Burgers weren’t even my favourite Burger King burgers, but I liked the feel of the name. And she came to really suit it.

I had already been at the flat on Pomona Street for a year or two, and relationships with my younger flatmates was a little strained. We moved onto Ythan Street with two other (very hippy) flatmates. These cold walls became our home for the next 2 or so years, and fond memories of the growing kitten include feeding Zinger one morning before leaving for class and returning home to a whining meow that revealed, when I opened my bedroom door, Zinger’s head stuck in the catfood can! I felt so stupid (for leaving the can in the room), and so sorry for her – I had no idea how long she had had her head stuck in the can: whether it was all day, or just half the day. But boy, did she look relieved when I pulled the can off her meaty-plastered head!

After deciding nothing could be done with a music degree except teach music, I left Invercargill in 2008 for 6 months to do 3 English papers at Massey University as a second subject to support the post-graduate teaching diploma I would pursue in 2009. I had given the care of Zinger to my new flatmate, who was very keen to put a bell around Zinger’s neck to warn the birds of her presence. “Please don’t put anything around her neck,” I asked. I absolutely hate collars on cats. And as much as I love birds and want them to live fulfilling lives circling the skies, I also accept that cats are predators, and that is just a part of their nature. I returned in the winter of 2008 to find Zinger with a collar around her neck. I took it off immediately. My flatmate rolled her eyes.

Once I decided to become a teacher, I no longer wanted to live in unclean and neglected student flats ('flats' in NZ are often the older large family houses that accommodate more bedrooms for students to rent out), and upon starting the diploma I quickly moved into the clean, tidy, and warm house of an already established teacher. Unfortunately, Zinger didn’t like the sudden change of environment and clawed her way out of my hands before I got her through the front door and bolted for the fence at the back of the property. Three days I was calling her name, morning and night, and eventually she peeked her head out from behind a bush and came to me. I carried her inside and fed her straight away. That year went by, and the owner was moving to a new job out of town. But he knew another teacher who had a room available and was happy to have a cat. We travelled there with Zinger in the car whining about moving again – something she just wasn’t keen on – but this time, she stayed in my arms as I took her inside. She was really a very polite cat who gave owners of houses no trouble at all. I, on the other hand...
 
Life in Invercargill hit a wall. Friendships dissolved, opportunities were scarce, and I needed to find my own feet again. So I packed up my belongings into my car, placed a litter tray on the floor of the front passenger seat, spread a top bed blanket over the stack of belongings in the back, and let poor, whining about moving again, Zinger have the freedom to move around as we travelled three days back to Gisborne, stopping in Christchurch for the night. When we got to Picton, the next available ferry wasn’t until after midnight, so I parked up at a sports field to bide the time as night descended. Legs felt a little cramped from driving all day, so I got out for a midnight stretch. But as I went to the passenger side to grab something in the front seat, Zinger bounced across from the back and jumped out the door and disappeared! I was in a panic. There were no sports field lights on, it was pitch black, and Zinger was never one for making lots of noises, in general, a pretty quiet cat all and all. I called out, found my phone, turned on the flashlight, and walked around the field calling out her name over and over. 5 minutes went by, and after panicking and cursing myself, Zinger sticks her head out from behind a power box that I had my flashlight on, and she walked (very casually) back to me. I think she just wanted a break from the car! Have a stretch of her legs and have a toilet break outside, just like me!

My all-time favourite memory of Zinger occurred after the ferry arrived in Wellington and I drove off the ramps, out of the shipping yard, and onto State Highway 2 at about 4 o’clock in the morning, and Zinger, who had been hiding under the front passenger seat (possibly for the entire sea voyage!), finally came out, sat up on the seat, looked about her, and then walked over onto my lap and under my arms while I was driving at 100km/hr up the motorway, and climbed her front paws up the driver side door to look out the window at all the bright lights passing us by. I felt her sense of quiet now. No more whining, just sad acceptance of travelling again.

We arrived in Gisborne at my Mum and Dad’s 7 hours later, and from there she become the permanent third household member of the home that I spent my latter teenager years in. While I began my teaching career in Gisborne, and lived with Mum and Dad off and on, I was also looking for jobs out of town, and I knew deep down that there was never going to be a guarantee that I would settle down, so I handed the reins of cat care over to my parents permanently. They did a great job of accepting her (though, initially, my father was a bit diffident, having been a farmer and more used to farm dogs and horses). But they all soon grew to enjoy each others company, and even my aunty Cilla found joy coming over and feeding her when Mum and Dad were away. 

I know she lived a wonderful 15 years in Gisborne, and met many of my parents’ friends and relatives, caught the regular mouse and occasional sparrow, ran for her life down to the backyard to hide when my sister turned up with her non-stop yapping chihuahua, and also accompanied Mum up to the end of the drive to make sure she got off to her morning walk safe and sound. And every time I came home for a visit, she was ready to have me sweep her up in my arms again. 

The last time I saw her was in February when I returned to Gisborne for a few days. She was looking older, moved slower, but she still came over and welcomed my attention as I scratched and rubbed under her chin, dribble happily falling from her lips. 

Thank you to Sheree for gifting this beautiful daughter of Zephyr to me.
And thank you to the flatmates who let Zinger into their lives and took care of her when I wasn't around. 
And thank you to Mum & Dad for their wonderful attention to Zinger, accepting her, buying her food, taking her to the vet, and giving her the best home any pet could ask for. 

Zinger B. Grey, 2007 - 2025

Are you a seeker for the next big thing? Do you go into bookshops looking for the current bestseller that all the bookshops are promoting? Do you hunt down the next Pulitzer/Orange/Booker Prizewinner? The current/past Nobel Prize winning authors (do you really like reading Hemingway?). 

Do you prefer your books to have a common theme? 

• Space travel
• WWII
• Historical
• Dragons and Elves
• Political

Or are you like me – always looking for something different to read; gliding past with ease all the display books on the display stands with stickers and banners advertising their importance and universal acclamations, and looking instead with curiosity for that one book that no one is giving any attention to. Maybe it’s only had one glowing review, one lukewarm review, or no reviews at all. Maybe that book you are looking for is the one that sits on it’s own, tucked in on the shelf between Patterson and Proust, a reserved confidence on its spine, winking at you with an enticing allure.

Maybe you just need a cover that doesn’t scream “BUY ME, BUY ME – I’M JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHERS!!!”, but quietly whispers “Hey you walking down the aisle, wanna come in and flip through my pages? See what you find?”

Books are wondrous things, filled with words that could delight, encourage, and inspire; or darken, disappoint, and dismiss. But they all deserve a place on shelves to be discovered, flicked through, and considered for a time in our lives to be read.

The hardest thing I've ever had to do, is continue living a life I did not want to live.

The easiest thing I've ever done, is to make a change so I could enjoy the life I was living.

I wrote a new journal entry today, the first in my green handwriting book since 1st June - a full four months ago. 21 days after that I started a job as a yardperson/forklift operator assisting builders with timber purchases, while also serving behind the counter when needed. The job requires filling out dockets detailing the yard products with the accompanying codes so the purchases can be invoiced to the company. I didn't like any of the pens I was using, so opted to use my writer's pen. It seems a little sacrilegious, but I had ordered the wrong pen inks - black instead of blue - and was loaded up with all these refills I was unlikely to use, since I'm such a stickler for using one specific pen and blue ink to write with. So my writer's pen with black ink became my job pen for writing out dockets and any specific notes on offcuts I needed to make. 

So, in this sense, yes, I have been writing, I guess. 

Outside of that, there have been a handful of Goodreads Reviews of the books I finished and was unsatisfied enough to have some words about. 

And my previous blog where I talked about music needing to be in every part of our lives, rather than letting it exist in its own space for special occasions: concerts. This subject I have more to say about, and today's handwritten journal entry was a case where I needed to express some more along those same lines. 

Right now, as I type this, I sit in the living room of the house I am looking after while the owners are on holiday, only the sound of my fingers hitting keys, a few tweets from birds, wind and tyres on the tarseal far below travelling through the valley, the plonk of the cat outside climbing over the railing and landing on the verandah, can be heard. I enjoy this quiet without music. 

I enjoy the red sky burning under grey clouds above without beats and melodies distracting me from the beauty of its glow.

The night grows dark, and I am at peace.