Music Union : Live Your Music

Story and Illustration by Alexis Hawkins

Hipster Kiwis laying down the funk at The Good Luck bar in Wellington, New Zealand.

As a point of fact, I should never be the most gangster person in a bar, no matter what. With that in mind, let me take you on a journey to the other side of the world where there indeed was a bar, hosting a hip-hop show no less, that had the street cred of a Coldplay concert.

The Good Luck is a local watering hole and music venue in Wellington, New Zealand. Why was I in Wellington? Well, it’s just about as far away from New York as you can get, but that’s another story. Steel doors and a windowless storefront made for an intimidating façade on a street eerily reminiscent of San Francisco, from the coffee houses to the crap weather.

I’d been in New Zealand for a few weeks at this point, but had yet to venture out to a local show, so when I saw ads posted around the small, swank, seaside city for “REAL Hip Hop,” I was intrigued by the promise of hardcore kiwi beats. Now, I’ve been to hip hop shows in Los Angeles, and while I don’t exactly fit the profile at these shows, I at least know what I’m in for, but the uncertainty of an international hip-hop audience was a bit daunting.

I stood outside convincing myself that I was down enough to enter this den. I argued my case in my head: I’d been to an invitation only Snoop Dogg show once, I’d just been tattooed the night before by a former member of the Latin Kings gang, and whatever bitches, I was from South Central!

So after some internal debate I concluded that indeed I was “mad ill” enough to enter The Good Luck. First obstacle: the bouncer at the top of the stairs that led to a dark underground with more steel doors asks for my ID, which I’d conveniently left back at my hostel room.

“Oh, umm I’m 24.” I’m screwed, I thought.

“Oh, alright then.” Hmm, just as I suspected – it was surely going to be hella-sketchy down there. I mean, I have the ability to look tops 21, but that usually requires a heap of makeup and a shoulder padded blazer as I storm into a liquor store in Korea Town acting like I just got out of my stressful 9 to 5 job in the hopes of not getting carded.

I entered the subterranean level of The Good Luck, which is modeled after a Chinese Opium Den. The ambience was actually pretty relaxing and there weren’t many people around, so I grabbed a pint of the only New Zealand brewed beer that doesn’t taste like carbonated river water, Lion Red.

“There you are, love,” the bartender smiled handing me the glass. Hmm, not the most badass way to serve a drink, but ok.

What happened next was not expected, although, had I looked at the clues, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. A grand total of eight New Zealand hipsters occupied the dance floor before a DJ enthusiastically spinning tunes that harkened to a 90’s I’d never heard before. Kiwis in converse were laying down possibly the whitest dance moves I’ve never seen. I laughed to myself, eyebrows raised high towards the ceiling, musing over my earlier anxiety about this show.

Am I the most badass person in this room? Knowing this to be one of the seven signs of the apocalypse I didn’t stick around long enough to find out, but just long enough for a couple more Lion Red’s.

I pushed my way back through the damp streets against unearthly strong winds that seemed more fitting for another planet let alone another hemisphere. In the midst of these hurricane-like conditions that no one else seemed too affected by, I caught sight of a Maori dude rapping under the dim light of a closed storefront. Maori are the indigenous people of New Zealand (think Whale Rider, and if you’ve never seen the film Whale Rider…then go see the film Whale Rider and thank me later).

Alas here were the sick rhymes I’d been promised. Nothing about his bitches and ho’s. Nothing about his fancy car or house like so many popular hip hop songs today that pretty much sound like an episode of Cribs, auto-tuned and under 3 minutes. This was the real deal. No steel doors – just a baseball cap for spare change.

On the whole, Wellington blew me away (literally and figuratively). It seemed like everything in the city was some kind of venue for theatre, music, film and art, and it will forever remain the city in which I enjoyed the best burger and hot chocolate of my life, until of course I eat a better burger somewhere else.