A Thank You Note to Neil Finn

Day Twenty-Two

Dear Neil, thank you for teaching me how to play the guitar.
I sometimes wonder why my dad didn't do it,
but you were likely a better teacher than my dad,
who I think went into the wrong profession.

But thank you for using the happier chords, unlike Radiohead,

and the easier chords, unlike Sting.

My dad called you middle-of-the-road but I think

I saw nuances my dad never did. He was a bit stuck.

Neil, you taught me calmly, from a distance but

a different kind of distant to my dad, the way

he was always coming home from work looking beat

and nodding-off in front of the 6 o'clock news.

I visited New Zealand once, Neil. Saw Lion Rock,

walked down Marine Parade; all the geography of your music.

Kind-of like when I visited Sheffield with my dad

and all the folk there remembered him

and his mam's sweet shop.

And I remember feeling strange,

with all these people recognising my dad.

Like they knew him.

Like he was knowable.

Neil, it's so cool how your sons are on your records,

how you share the stage with them like it's no big deal.

Your arrangements showed me the shape of a melody,

and I wonder at your family working music like softwood.

My dad was a carpenter and I think he taught me

only how to hold a hammer.

He could make real furniture -

the kind that's made with love and lasts.

He could fix cars and electronics, he could plumb

with only the odd mishap. He knew how to fish and make

enamelled jewellery, and tile a bathroom beautifully.

Once in a blue moon, he'd reveal he could play the drums

or the banjo or the ukulele or the mouth organ.

Once he invented a beeping gizmo, to tell when it rained.

It's strange, isn't it Neil? That I can't do

any of the things my dad could do.

He might have taught me many things

that I might now be proud of, but

he stopped making music.

Stopped working wood. 

Gave up trying to fix things.

Gave up.

As if he had never loved or shared a single thing.

Strange, Neil, that I can play guitar like you,

but not like dad.

How I've found my own way to play the same songs.