It’s easy to fall into a comfortable pattern, isn't it? When you think of the iconic songwriters of the 1980s in New Zealand, names like Neil Finn, Dave Dobbyn, and Jordan Luck probably spring to mind first. And there’s a good reason for that – they’re undeniably brilliant. But as Debbie Harwood points out, there’s a deeply ingrained human tendency, a sort of primal response, that makes us default to the male artists when asked to name the greats. It’s not malicious, just… programmed.
Harwood, a musician herself, reflects on this phenomenon with a gentle insistence on balance. She argues that the music industry, at its heart, is about the pure joy of creation: the exploration of notes, the collaborative spark in a dingy rehearsal space, the sheer passion for crafting a song. Gender, race, or creed? They’re ultimately irrelevant when a truly great song emerges. Yet, the social conditioning persists, leading us to overlook the incredible contributions of women songwriters who have, in fact, matched their male counterparts in sales and chart success.
Think about it: artists like Sharon O’Neill, Shona Laing, Margaret Urlich, Annie Crummer, and Jenny Morris have penned anthems that have resonated deeply with audiences. Their songs, like ‘Glad I’m Not a Kennedy’ or ‘Escaping’, aren’t just footnotes; they’re integral parts of New Zealand’s musical tapestry. Harwood’s advocacy isn’t about waving a feminist flag, but about restoring a sense of proportion, ensuring these powerful voices and their stories are heard and appreciated.
She recalls a time when the industry was overwhelmingly male-dominated, a ratio of perhaps 100:1. Even her own early experiences were shaped by a certain ingrained mistrust of women, making touring with a group of men feel more comfortable. It took the close-knit experience of being in the band When The Cat’s Away – alongside Annie Crummer, Dianne Swann, Margaret Urlich, and Kim Willoughby – to truly dismantle those preconceptions. On the road, the harsh realities of being a musician demand immense resilience, humility, and talent, regardless of gender. It’s a tough gig, and the magic these women brought to it was undeniable.
Harwood also touches on a broader societal issue, highlighted by the TV series ‘Give It A Whirl’. The perception that men’s contributions in fields like music, food, and art are inherently more “valuable” than women’s is a persistent one. She theorizes that this might stem from the fact that a significant majority of music critics are male, often men who aspired to be musicians themselves. Their critical lens, naturally, tends to focus on artists who mirror their own aspirations, often male heroes, rather than the female artists who are breaking ground.
It’s a reminder that while the 80s might be remembered for its sonic landscape, it was also a period where women were steadily carving out their space, often against the prevailing currents. Their stories, their songs, and their sheer tenacity deserve to be celebrated, not as an afterthought, but as a vital and powerful force in shaping the music we love.
