Moke Lake, the hidden gem of Queenstown. The perfect place to film my first video. And the day couldn’t have been better.
Sitting in the middle seat of our hired car, squished between my brother and sister, I eagerly watched as the lake came into view. The whole car suddenly lurched. “These bloody potholes!” Dad exclaimed. I got a sudden jolt of excitement - the gravel road to Moke Lake made it all the more adventurous. Pulling up the sheet of paper with the list of my original piano songs, I tried to envision which song would suit the setting of Moke Lake the best.
That list was the key to building myself up as an Artist. I had chosen Youtube to be the primary platform to share my work, as it was on Youtube where I was initially inspired to begin my own musical journey. Ever since that first spark of passion for the piano, I had always been watching ‘Original piano music’ videos, being constantly inspired to compose my own original music. Now at the ripe age of 21, I was hurtling myself deep into the mountains of the South Island, clutching my own list of original piano music - equipped with a camera and a keyboard, I was on the mission to make a video for each of my songs. This was a beginning.
The car kicked up a cloud of gravel and dust behind us, spoiling the view. But ahead, Moke Lake soared into view, a perfect reflection of the mountains surrounding it. Stillness lay upon the lake, an invisible blanket, and not even the feather of a paradise duck could disturb the waters. I caught my breath - it was the perfect scene for my first song. With one final glance at my list, I knew exactly what song to record. “Jaqueline,” I said. Sarah looked at me as if I was speaking Spanish. “Jaqueline!” I said again, pointing to where it was written on the list. “That’s what I’m recording here! The soundscape matches this landscape perfectly, I think.” Sarah’s face remained expressionless. “Cool,” she said plainly, putting her headphones back in and looking back out the window. She was on her own journey, I guess….
As we descended the last bit of road to the carpark, I couldn’t help but feel accomplished already. I was really doing this thing. And it was really my own original way about it, too. I had seen many of the ‘Original piano music’ videos on Youtube, and I often found many of them to showcase beautiful pieces of music, but paired with un-engaging footage of their backs, or their fingers, or the front of the piano. My goal was to put my own authentic spin on things by recording/filming the performance outside, in nature. Living in the South Island gave me an advantage in this regard, because the landscapes are both numerous and breath-taking. I thought, ‘what if I try to match the landscape with the piece of music I wish to record?’ And that question brought me to Moke Lake. The car crept to a halt; we had finally arrived.
I bounced out of the car and went to greet the majestic lake and its impeccable reflection. The only sounds came from crickets in the grass, and a lonesome breeze wandering through the valley. There were only a few people around, too. One man fishing over in the reeds, a couple going for a stroll along the lake. I took a deep breath; it was time. I carried my gear over to the lakefront in succession - keyboard, stand, chair, laptop, camera - and began setting up, thinking about the recording process. Recording music outside required a bit of planning, actually. My initial idea was to capture the footage of me playing the song, and record it later. But the final piece wouldn’t be pure or authentic done that way. The song needed to be recorded on location - I wanted to capture to essence of Moke Lake. I wanted to get in touch with the spirit of the place, and let that speak through the music. That was the idea. So I needed to record the music and the footage at the same time. With my keyboard connected to my laptop via a MIDI cable, it was absolutely possible.
I set up the camera with the perfect shot - me and my keyboard were right in the centre, cushioned by the glass lake and mountains. I darted between my camera and keyboard, ensuring that the shot was immaculate. My brother sat twirling grass in his fingers nearby, watching. And my parents were off strolling along the lake with Sarah. The stage was set. And I was ready. Clicking record on my laptop and then on my camera, I took a deep breath, and strode toward my keyboard.
Time slowed. As I took my seat before the keys, I listened for the quietude of Moke Lake; let it soothe me. I sought peace in my mind within the depths of a few long seconds, briefly contemplating the emotion of the piece I was performing. ‘Jaqueline’. Eyes shut and chin high, I placed my fingers on the keys, and glided into the first phrase. And….
Wood. It sounded like dry wood. I stopped immediately and opened my eyes, heart sinking. I played a few notes; again, they sounded bland, and didn’t float out as I hoped they would. “Damn! It’s broken,” I said to nobody in particular. Daniel responded though, rising from the grass and walking over. “It’s my sustain pedal,” I told him, picking it up and pressing it with my fingers. “I can’t play the piece without it,” I said, defeat seeping into my voice. Of course. Something had to go wrong. I couldn’t play the piece without the sustain pedal - it was possible, but it would sound stiff and lacking of emotion. I wanted the performance to be flawless! I tossed the pedal down and began packing up my gear.
“Well there goes that plan!”
— — —
The next few days meandered along like Autumn leaves caught in a breath of wind. I saw my family off at the airport; watched the plane they were on launch into the skies and over the mountains. I sat on the Queenstown waterfront for some time, watching ducks live their simple lives. I mulled over the unfortunate failure of my first video attempt - it was even more disheartening that I couldn’t even go busking with a broken sustain pedal. I didn’t realise until that moment how much my music relies on the sustain effect. If only there was a place in Queenstown I could buy one, I thought hopelessly. There wasn’t, of course. I was almost about to give up entirely and return to Dunedin empty handed, like I did on my first busking mission a few weeks prior.
But the next day, I decided to go to Arrowtown. No place blossoms like Arrowtown in Autumn - and I still had my camera. As soon as I entered the cozy streets, I was taken aback by the mesmerising scenes around Arrowtown, and had to pull over. The hills above Arrowtown were flourishing in colour; oranges and yellows and greens all melting into each other, like a painters palette. It was the kind of scene you see in a New Zealand post-card, or one of those calendars where each month shows a new picturesque landscape. It was exactly the kind of the scene I envisioned for one of my piano songs, called ‘Stuck on Her’. It galled that I wouldn’t be able to play and record it. But I vowed to make at least one video on this mission to Queenstown, and I wasn’t going to break my promise. This scene was precisely what I was seeking!
I drove to higher ground, and found a scraggly grass field overlooking the colourful hill. Wasting no time, I grabbed my gear and began hauling it over the field to the far end, thinking about how I would go about doing this. The only way was to get the footage of me playing the piece, and record the actual piece at home later. While it was going against the authentic touch I was striving for, I had no other choice. I flurried about the grass, setting up the keyboard, setting up my amp, positioning the camera and checking the shot, dashing to reposition the keyboard, dashing back to reposition the camera. After about 10 minutes I had it perfect - me and my keyboard central in the shot, blending into the magical background. Just as I was doing the final shot check, a lady randomly came and stood in front of the keyboard, looking at me sheepishly. I snapped a photo.
(To date, this is one of my favourite photos I’ve taken)
As the lady went to join her group (who were looking at what I was doing very wonderingly), I hit record on the camera, and strode to the keyboard. I started to cringe the moment I began playing the song - without the sustain, it really did sound hopelessly wooden. Nonetheless, I pretended to play it with all the emotion I could muster. The hard part, I realised, would be recording the actual song to match this footage later. So I swayed as I would have if I was really playing it with all of my heart. It was a great shame that I couldn’t record it then.
And that was it. I got it. I captured a video of me playing one of my pieces with a mesmerising backdrop. Sure, I still needed to record the actual piece of music. But regardless of that, I felt happy and accomplished. Finally, I was creating Art. I was making the videos I always planned on making. And the feeling I got as I marched back across that grassy field, keyboard on my shoulder and camera in my hand, could only be described as victorious.
— — —
Tucked away in my little Dunedin abode a few days later, I found that it wasn’t too difficult to record the song, in the end. Although it wasn’t in the moment, it still carried the emotion and authenticity. The final product was something I was very proud of - I had captured Arrowtown, and recorded ‘Stuck on Her’.
I grabbed my list of songs, and crossed ‘Stuck on Her’ off the list. I was excited; this was a beginning. Next time, I vowed to make sure all my equipment was working first!
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