Steve Braunias attends Graham Nash’s concert and his teenage daughter’s birthday party.
Friday night was the Graham Nash concert at The Civic on Queen St, doors open 7pm, concert starts at 7.30pm – we’re old, we can’t be coping with a late night. At 82, Nash may have been the oldest person in the theatre, but also the most nimble. He gave a little skip when he stepped onto the stage and picked up a guitar. He has stayed in slender shape and kept a full head of hair, as white as paper. A lot of old white-haired men end up looking like old white-haired women, like matrons of dubious honour, but there was no misgendering of Nash; although he never was a macho pop star, he has always presented as an archetype of the male species as gentle, as sensitive, as needy and sincere and annoying.
Saturday night was my daughter’s 17th birthday party, curfew 1am, don’t know when the first guests arrived – I was given my marching orders from the house that afternoon, told not to come back until 10pm. “Stay in your room,” she said. I was allowed on the premises in case a fight broke out or some other kind of drama needed my attention. I was a little worried about the potential for some other kind of drama; a few weeks ago, teenagers held a party on the street, got a bit rowdy, broke some glass, and kept at it until a neighbour went out on to the street and punched a kid in the face. The cops came looking for him a few days later. Life in postcode 1011, the most expensive real estate in New Zealand, wealthy and comfortable and agitated.
Friday night on Queen St was Auckland at its best. The warm evening, the outside tables with cold drinks and hot food. It felt like happy hour, hour after hour, enjoyed by thousands of people of diverse races, genders and ages – you can judge a society by the way it treats its creaking elderly, and I judged it very kindly indeed as I creaked along the pavement to meet my creaking friend Gary at Tanuki’s Cave. No one jostled, no one jeered. The service at Tanuki’s was respectful. I asked Gary, “How’s your health?” He said, “Do you like saké?” The human race gets a lot of bad press but we do our best to maintain something precious and amazing: civilisation.
Saturday night was a test of my thesis, expressed in a previous column, that we are experiencing a golden generation of 17-year-olds: “I genuinely suspect 17-year-old New Zealanders right now are the sanest, most well-balanced New Zealand 17-year-olds ever.” There were about 50 or 60 at the party. “Thank you for having us,” said some girl when I arrived. I hid in my room and made my first inspection at about 11pm. “Thank you for the party,” said some boy when I marched through the house. So there was a bit of vomiting, but not inside the house. So two bottles were smashed, but not over anyone’s head. They came from postcode 1011, also the North Shore and Te Atatū. Everyone looked terribly sweet and vulnerable and tender. Thesis: confirmed.
