Arts
The Brazz
by John Dix
An epic encounter with New Zealand rock legend Graham Brazier.
My first session with Graham Brazier didn’t get off to a good start. We’d sat around the Brazz’s kitchen table at his home in Grey Lynn, chain-smoking and drinking beer. The occasion: the release of his new album, East of Eden. To get the formal side of the interview out of the way, I’d said, “Third solo album, the first in 16 years. What have you been doing in between drinks?”
“What, like I drink six beers to your one?” Brazier sneered.
To which I replied, “What drugs are you on now? What the hell are you talking about, Graham?”
Brazier reminded me about an article I’d written about Jordan Luck three or four years ago, in which I’d concentrated too much on Jordy’s drinking habits. “I suppose you’re not interested in the music, eh, John? You just want to write about Graham Brazier the ex-junkie. Well, it’s been done to death. But okay, okay, ask away, go on, ask about the drugs, go on, go on.”
And so we talked about the album and we talked about books and we talked about how he was brought up above his mother’s bookstore – when all I really wanted to know was whether he’d really given up the hard drugs.
It’s always difficult writing about friends, and my relationship with the Brazz stretches back to Hello Sailor’s 1970s glory days. We’ve never been really close buddies, but we’ve shared some mischief, and I’ve written thousands of words on the man and, yes, I’ve documented his lifestyle – the potted sex and drugs and sly grog history – as much as anyone.
When Hello Sailor split up for the first time in February 1980, Brazier hit the skids as the opiate addiction that had contributed to Sailor’s demise really took a hold. He was busted once, twice, then three times. He fought to stay out of prison while fellow Sailors Dave McArtney and Harry Lyon both retained their positions of importance on the New Zealand rock ladder.
Brazier put out a single, the excellent “Six Piece Chamber”, which died without trace. His health and welfare deteriorated. He was a tragedy waiting to happen. And then in late 1981 came the album Inside Out, a smug and knowing collection of street-wise anthems that, although no bestseller at the time, stands as one of New Zealand rock’s genuine classics. This was followed by Brazier’s Legionnaires, which came to feature both Lyon and McArtney. Inevitably, there was a name change back to Hello Sailor, and the band have continued to gig and record sporadically to this day.
There was a second solo album (1987’s Brazier), and, in between Sailor gigs, Brazier has continued to perform solo (“a troubadour with a guitar and harmonica, singing sea shanties”), low-key gigs that pay the rent. As he proudly says, “I’m the only Hello Sailor who is still a professional musician. Music is my only income.”
We met again, two weeks later, this time at Lou’s place. I gave him directions and I gave him instructions: “You bring the beer, I’ll provide the smoke and whisky.”
He arrived at noon, walking his dog Kitty, and we set up camp in the back garden. I was still buzzing from the Black Caps’ win the day before, but the Brazz wanted no part of it. No cricket fan and no rugby fan. “I’ve never played a game of rugby in my life,” he tells me, “but I’m very proud that I sang the National Anthem at the only rugby league test ever played at Eden Park.”
Rugby league being a passion (“It’s the only genuine proletarian sport”), Brazier regaled me with 30-year-old yarns of his playing days. A name-dropper at the best of times, he said, “Shane Varley was a great league player, played for Richmond, Auckland and New Zealand. F---ed both his hips. He once told me, ‘I gave it my all for f--- all money. Like you, Graham, we were both before our time.’”
It’s the sort of tribute of which the Brazz is most proud. Loosened up by a couple of beers with whisky chasers, we started reminiscing about some of the old Hello Sailor crew: Dave Gapes … Pat Crowe … yeah, and whatever happened to Johnny Warren?
The Brazz: “Johnny came running backstage after one gig and said there was a big, big guy who wanted to see me. I thought, ‘Uh-oh, drug debts, f---, get outta here.’ But it was [league legend] Kurt Sorensen. He’d enjoyed the show and gave me a bottle of Scotch.”
Our afternoon passed pleasantly until, around 5.00pm, we’d cut the whisky, beer and cigarettes, plus a half bottle of red wine. Too pissed to wander the streets, so it was our mate Tezza who answered the call. Brazier recognised him immediately – Tezza had worked for Festival Records at the time of the first Hello Sailor album.
During Sailor’s promotional tour, Tezza was hospitalised in Wanganui following a motor accident. “I was rapt when the entire band came in to see me,” he told us. “Not just because they gee-ed me up, but because the nurses gave me preferential treatment after that.”
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