Henessey Griffiths heads to the Silver Scrolls to find a much-needed respite from the reality of being a musician – and to learn just what was in that Little Black Box Stan Walker sang about.

The narrative of being a musician has pretty much always been that of the struggling artist. Everyone is feeling the sting from the current cost of living crisis, mass redundancies, and general apathy, and musicians say they’re feeling it especially. If music or the arts are your passion, then it shouldn’t matter what financial or commercial gain you get from it – the cultural enrichment is nourishment enough. But unfortunately, cultural enrichment doesn’t pay your rent.

So awards ceremonies like this year’s Pōneke-hosted APRA Silver Scrolls, acknowledging excellence in songwriting, waiata, and composition, are a small reprieve from the constant grind (if you can make it onto the guest list). On Tuesday night, the St James Theatre foyer overflowed with all-black ensembles paired with AS Colour tote bags, a buzz of electricity, and a lingering waft of cigarette smoke. 

The mix of musicians and industry insiders floated off the excitement of being glammed up on a school night while sipping free drinks and schmoozing. When an announcement signalled the bar’s closure, a pregnant pause fell over the mingling audience.

The finalists for the night’s titular award were Anna Coddington, Georgia Lines, Mermaidens, Skilaa, and Stan Walker. When I spoke to Anna Coddington, just a few minutes before she received the top Silver Scroll prize, she was soaking in the opportunity to reconnect with peers. “I’ve already bumped into some amazing people, I realised just how long it’s been since I’ve seen everyone,” she said. “It’s so nice that everyone is able to be in the same room together.” Award shows are kind of like family reunions.

Emcees Bret McKenzie and Lisa Tomlins brought a cool, calm, and collected energy to the evening. There are moments of the ceremony that seem somewhat self-serving, especially as the focus of the night goes mainly towards the finalists, with no mention of the other artists who were shortlisted.

Not many of the other shortlisted artists have travelled here for the occasion, which comes off as a bit of a surprise until you realise that it’s something that just isn’t feasible. The reality is that these artists are independent, and can’t afford to take time off from their day jobs, book flights and accommodation out of pocket, just for one night where they can pretend that they aren’t being crushed by the industry. Mermaidens drummer Abe reflected: “even in New Zealand, there’s an industry that exists, but how many of those actual musicians have a career of just being a musician?”

The whole event felt shrouded in a dark cloud of reality. One of the more profitable ways of being a working musician right now is through touring, which has taken a dive since the Covid years. As one musician told me, “it’s really hard to sell tickets at the moment. It’s definitely turned into a buy-on-the-day mentality, which is really rough if you’re travelling for gigs.”

The lack of stability means these artists are constantly toeing the line of creative fulfilment and creative burnout. A member of Music Helps, a charitable organisation set up to help musicians, mentioned that they’ve seen an increase in people reaching out to their support line, Backline, which provides a wellbeing service for those in the arts. While it’s great we have systems like this in place to provide support, it’s indicative of the current feeling across the arts.

But getting too wrapped up in the cynical nature of trying to live as a creative would ignore the moments of respite the ceremony provides. There was a loving tribute to those who have passed, accompanied by Anthonie Tonnon covering ‘Submarine Bells’ by The Chills. After, the evening’s most anticipated award, the Silver Scroll, was awarded to Coddington for her bilingual anthem ‘Kātuarehe’, and her acceptance speech was poignant: “Toitu te Tiriti and Free Palestine.” Then, the finale: McKenzie performing his Oscar winning song ‘Man or Muppet’.

Throughout the whole event, I had a burning question for one man in particular: Stan Walker. For the past 15 years, I had been left to wonder what actually was the little black box at the bottom of the ocean that he sang about all those years ago. I had a bird’s eye view of him the whole night, but my attempts to send telepathic signals to reprieve my curiosity were wasted. Finally, towards the end of the night, my chance came to ask the question that’s been eating away at me for over a decade.

The “girl” he gives me oozes with natural charisma. “I was given that song, and I only found out the meaning years later. The box was orange.” It’s either a rather poignant metaphor or a deflection to try and shut me up, but at least I have my answer.

As the night drew to a close, an overall feeling of excitement in the air was met with the grim realisation that many of us still had to go to work the next day. Despite it all, a lot of the musicians in the crowd felt a renewed sense of optimism, inspired by their peers to keep creating.

One local artist I spoke to noted the cognitive dissonance with a night like tonight – on the one hand feeling motivated and inspired, and on the other, feeling the crushing reality of trying to make it in showbiz. “You feel way more connected to the community around you,” he said, “but then you go back to your bedroom and open your demos, and realise ‘actually, this is really hard’.”