Latest news with #NgāAoERua–TwoWorlds
NZ Herald
14-05-2025
- Entertainment
- NZ Herald
Marlon Williams brings te reo album tour to Gisborne's War Memorial Theatre
Williams then began his own set also in darkness with his commanding lone voice setting the tone, soon accompanied by his skilled band The Yarra Benders, which includes multi-instrumentalist Dave Khan, Ben Woolley and Gus Agars. Williams explained that his album came out a month ago and there was also a premiere in Auckland for his documentary Ngā Ao E Rua – Two Worlds (directed by Ursula Grace Williams), where many whānau from Gisborne went up for the premiere. A lot of the set was songs in te reo from the new album, but Williams also threw in favourites such as My Boy from the album of the same name and his own version of The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, a hit for Roberta Flack in 1972. Williams also performed a song he said was written by the late songwriter, musician and academic Hirini Melbourne, that was also in te reo, as well as his own song Arahura, which he dedicated to those in the South Island. It was his third time at Gisborne's War Memorial Theatre. 'It's good to be back in whānau land.' KOMMI came back to the stage to sing several more songs with the band and Williams and the band closed out the set to a standing ovation. Williams' right-hand man, the talented Khan (who has played with the likes of Neil Finn, Sir Dave Dobbyn and Reb Fountain), proved himself able with the double-bass and guitar, and his strength as a musician was to the fore. The tour continues in Rotorua and Hamilton this week, before a stint in Australia, followed by gigs at Auckland's Spark Arena, Dunedin and Christchurch next month. Hopefully it won't be too before he heads back to Tairāwhiti to delight again.
The Spinoff
01-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
Review: Marlon Williams finds home in Ngā Ao E Rua
Alex Casey reviews a new local music documentary four years in the making. One of the many crack-up conversations in Marlon Williams: Ngā Ao E Rua – Two Worlds happens when the musician visits his mum in Lake Kaniere. They are heading out on a walk in the infamous wild West Coast weather, and Williams has forgotten his raincoat. 'Hopeless,' his mum jibes from the driver's seat. 'You haven't got enough clothes on, no wonder you always get sick.' Williams stays silent. 'So,' Mum moves on. 'When are you going to Haast to record your waiata album?' It's a moment that symbolises so much of what the documentary is about – the reality of someone holding many different identities at once, including being both a petulant teenager getting growled by his mum and an award-winning, globe-trotting musician on the cusp of making his first album entirely in te reo Māori. 'Different parts of me, I guess,' Williams reflects when visiting his marae in Tōrere, soon adding 'uncle' to that growing list of roles. The first feature length documentary by director Ursula Grace Williams (STILL HERE, Zealandia), Ngā Ao E Rua follows Marlon Williams (no relation) around the country and the world for a whopping four-year journey. It's not only the origin story of his new album, Te Whare Tīwekaweka, but a deeply personal story of reconnection with whakapapa and language. 'It's a sensitive project but I'm being open about it and the mistakes I'm making,' he says. You might expect a portrait of a solo musician undertaking the biggest challenge of his life to plumb the dead serious depths of a tortured lone genius, but both the documentary and its subject seem totally disinterested in any kind of moody myth-making. Instead, Williams appears deeply normal – playing board games and basketball with his buddies, yakking about his gastrointestinal issues and psoriasis, and struggling for an exceptionally long time to use a corkscrew. We do get hazy sequences of touring and the toll it takes, but the film is largely rooted on home soil. Given the director's award-winning back catalogue exploring the complexity and beauty of life in regional Aotearoa, it's no surprise that every location is shot more beautifully than the last. The aquamarine water of Ōhinehou shimmers against the looming jagged hills, the lush forests around the West Coast heave with mist, and the camera basically smirks whenever it cuts from the blue open skies of Aotearoa to the stinky smog of London or LA. The film is especially moving when it travels up north with Williams and his dad to Tōrere, where little cousins run around at sunset, the whānau stack wood and watch fireworks, and he performs 'Aua Atu Rā' on the marae ātea. Williams talks frankly throughout about his own shifting relationship with te reo Māori, and the responsibility he feels to these future generations. Collaborator Kommi Tamati-Elliffe explains that pressure plainly after one writing session: 'these waiata, these songs, will be passed on forever.' Those waiata are weaved through the documentary with ease, wrapping the viewer up in the same beautiful cosy blanket that we're seeing crafted in front of our eyes. There is a brief sequence that lets a necessary chill in, when Kommi talks about teaching against a backdrop of controversy, and how 'being Māori means to be culturally taxed.' Media clips from Don Brash and co highlight this ongoing opposition. 'You cannot go to a playcentre in the country now without learning te reo, even without a brown face for miles,' spits Brash. 'For me, it is not of value.' It is a shocking and ugly sentiment that rips through the gentle vibe of the movie like a Gaudi toenail (if you know, you know). But it also serves as a crucial reminder of the wider political context in which this casually revolutionary creative project is taking place. Don't be fooled by the light touch of the filmmaker, or Williams goofing around with a punching bag: this is a brave, essential and joyous film that couldn't have arrived at a better time. Much more than another music documentary, it feels like quietly witnessing a piece of history.
