From a wee toddler singing on the bus to entertaining unsuspecting commuters on Auckland’s trains, Geneva Alexander-Marsters reflects on her life on public transport and the POP Waiata project she initiated in 2017.

I used to sing on the bus as a kid. My mother would take me with her on the morning commute to Auckland City. She used to run her own clothing brand, ‘A-Ray’, and had a shop just off Queen Street. The bus was probably my first public audience.

Growing up here, I noticed very quickly that Auckland drivers are quite possibly the worst. I know this is an unprovable opinion – and there are a lot of good drivers out there. But you know what? I’ve seen some pretty hectic driving. Joining my fellow JAFA compatriots on these spaghetti streets is far too unnerving. Being a pedestrian has always felt like the safer option. One day I might sit a driver’s licence test, but I do get around just fine with public transport and the ol’ waewae express.

I have used public transport for my entire life. It’s a slower commute, and there are definitely triumphs and disasters. Sometimes I work on the cardio sprinting toward a bus leaving me behind, other times I slowly lurch toward my destination. Being a commuter on public transport takes a lot of patience, and it can be a bit dull sometimes. There is a lot of room to dream about winning Lotto and buying a Tesla or some kind of helicopter laser dolphin jellyfish… daydreams don’t have to make sense.

It was during one of these dreamy commutes that I came up with a perfectly sensible idea: What if the bus driver could play music? Every now and then the driver has the radio going; sometimes they sing along. It’s fun. Since public transport keeps this city moving, a bus driver deserves to enjoy music. They’re legends!

So sometime last year I responded to an open call for submissions to Auckland Council’s POP project, an initiative to brighten the city through public activation. I initially submitted an idea called ‘Karaoke Bus Driver’. The driver would pick a playlist they liked and the passengers would be invited to sing along to a karaoke screen on the bus. I thought it could be good for New Zealand Music Month – a great way to highlight some hardcore Kiwi bangers. This became the foundation concept for POP WAIATA.

I’m Māori and bilingual, but I noticed after my school years that it became significantly more difficult to engage with te ao Māori and I could feel my reo slipping away. Any opportunity to weave te reo into my day to day took tactical thought. It’s a guilty feeling.

I sing in a band called SoccerPractise. Te reo is my strength and the bilingual lyrics I perform are an opportunity to invite audiences to engage with this taonga in an alternative music context. What is great about the POP WAIATA project is the audience are unsuspecting. It was Anahera Higgins from Auckland Council who understood that the ‘Karaoke Bus Driver’ idea had a wealth of potential to build upon and she helped me realise the true purpose of the original concept.

POP WAIATA is an activation that was initiated in June 2017 on Auckland trains. The very talented Tawaroa Kawana and I boarded an unsuspecting train one day of each week for a bit over a month. Armed with an acoustic guitar and a catalogue of familiar Māori waiata we introduced ourselves, shared a little history about the song and invited the train to sing along to the words provided.

We decided to sing on trains rather than buses because they are quieter and their scheduled stops are easier to track. The first time around, I was a ball of nerves, worried that we were encroaching on the passengers’ personal space. I thought there could be a little tension and was pleased to find out that my anxiety was unnecessary. People loved it. We had children singing with their parents, the elderly having a ball and tourists rapt with attention doing their utmost to sound out every syllable.

Not only was the project a success, it reminded the general public that te reo Māori is relevant in daily life. Something as simple as singing a waiata allowed a group of strangers to practice te reo and have fun along the way. Māori is an oral culture. Tikanga, stories, and wisdom are bestowed across generations through various art forms. Establishing a connection in person is part of being human, it is the best way to exchange information and enlighten our community.

If POP WAIATA happened again, I would do it in a heartbeat. It’s pretty amazing what can be achieved when there is a little time to daydream.

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Alex Casey dissects episode four of The Handmaid’s Tale, including tense baby showers and a walk down memory lane. Contains spoilers, obviously.

June, in the sacred words of Fur Patrol, am I surprised to see you here with Lydia? No. No I’m not. After last week’s literal plane crash disaster, I knew it was only a matter of time before we returned to the Gilead to check in with our Matron Saint of Cattle Prodding. June is counting the number of roses on the duvet – or “comforter” as they ironically insist on calling it in dystopia – chained to the bed with even less to entertain herself than a pig in captivity. At least piggies get a ball to play with.

Straight off the bat, something feels different in the Gilead this time. June’s eyebrow stays quietly cocked, her chin defiantly pointing outwards, her mouth occasionally blurting out casual aggressions hidden under niceties about the weather. Getting a taste of the outside has changed her forever and, so long as Aunt Lydia is going to try and force feed her the fake guise of Handmaid ‘freedom’, she’s going to continue to spew it right back up. For now.

This episode we are back to Keeping Up With the Waterfords – which would be the worst reality show ever made – and are offered a new side to Serena Joy. She seems constantly torn between hating and resenting June with every inch of her being, and wanting to protect and nourish her as she grows “her” unborn child. With pregnant June on the run for 92 days, a baby shower is definitely in order. Shoved to the side as the posh women fuss and open luxury toys, June reminds us all that she holds the true gift. “I felt the baby kick for the first time last night,” she snarls quietly from the outskirts.

It’s the relationship between June and Serena Joy – also June and every woman in the world of this show – that’s becoming more and more fascinating as the show exhales and expands. In a disarmingly tender scene, Serena Joy creeps in to June’s room and spoons her, gently resting her hand on her pregnant belly. It looks like a scene out of The Gilmore Girls or some crap, not to mention the fact that we also got to see Selena with her hair down AND smoking a cigarette. Three dimensional? She’ll show you three dimensional.

Through flashbacks to the pre-Gilead world, we see another important interaction between two women in a very different hellish situation. When June met her baby daddy Luke, he was with another woman. When they began sleeping each other, he was still with another woman. That woman is finally given a name and a face in this episode when she confronts June after a yoga class and begs her to stay away from her partner.

For all the excruciating scenes that The Handmaid’s Tale dishes out, this one was equally as torturous. It’s a testament to the show that they can make melodramatic affair confrontations land with as much of a wallop as someone cutting their own ear off, that’s for damn sure. “Did you ever think of me?” asks Annie of June. Very heartbreaking and very horrible.

I’m yet to mention the real “Other Woman” of this episode. There are no two women more at war with each other than June and Offred, both trapped in one body and equally keen to subvert and obey. As Aunt Lydia moves into the Waterford residence to make smoothies and take June for walks, it’s obvious that she is working towards something. She’s simply not that nice. That something turns out to be the hanging dead body of the driver who helped June escape, a reminder that everything she touches can be punished, even if she can’t be.

“It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault,” June is forced to chant to herself as she stares at the corpse, welcoming Offred closer with every utterance. Wrapping her bonnet around her head to obscure her face, we see June slowly slip away as she potters down to market. Directly down the barrel of the camera, Offred looks blankly at us, robotically muttering the same thing over and over again. “We’ve been sent good weather. We’ve been sent good weather. We’ve been sent good weather.”

Uh oh. Here’s hoping the forecast changes soon.

ELISABETH MOSS FACE OF THE WEEK

A five star snarl.

SHOT OF THE WEEK

Move over Wes Anderson.

TUNE OF THE WEEK

Not one for Friday drinks but maybe good for the Saturday hangover?

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