ON THE RIDE OF HER LIFE

The woman behind one of the catchiest songs of 2016 tells Lizzie Marvelly about the dark inspirations behind her latest release

The woman behind one of the catchiest songs of 2016 tells Lizzie Marvelly about the dark inspirations behind her latest release

If you’ve listened to the radio over the last few years, chances are you’ve heard the song Roam. You know the one. “Everywhere I roam is home / Everywhere I roam is home / Everywhere I roam is home, home, home, home, home.” It’s a catchy tune. So catchy that it’s been played close to 13 million times on Spotify, and was the most played Kiwi song on the airplay charts for seven consecutive weeks in 2016.

Behind the song, the sweet voice, pithy lyrics and earworm hooks is 26-year-old Christchurchborn musician Theia (real name Em-Haley Walker). Sitting in Karangahape Rd’s St Kevin’s Arcade on a dreary Auckland afternoon, Walker stands out. She is no wallflower. She sips on green tea and peers out through blue-lensed glasses, looking every inch the pop star she’s fast becoming.

Beneath the edgy fashion, however, there’s a warmth and shyness that is endearingly Kiwi. When she speaks, her sentences are peppered with “likes”, “I means” and “what nots”. Walker might have been travelling around the world for the last two years, opening for superstars like Sia and working with various industry legends, but underneath it all she’s just a South Island girl on the ride of her life.

She’s been singing since she was a kid. “I’ve always just loved music and apparently always sang [as a child]. I suppose I’ve always been writing as well. I didn’t really realise that I was actually writing songs but I guess I started when I was 7 or 8. I would write, like, poems and sing them and stuff. I just did it to express my feelings, and I’d always keep a little notebook beside my bed, like, all the way through school. Whenever I had anything I needed to get off my chest, I’d just write it.”

She joined a kapa haka group when she was at primary school, although a crippling fear of performing saw her opt out early on. “I didn’t realise that you had to perform, so as soon as I found out, I quit. Because I was just doing it for the love of it.”

That fear of performance would follow her for years, although when she reached high school, she began to realise that she wanted to pursue a career in music. “I genuinely don’t think I clocked it in my mind that I could actually do it for a living and as something that I enjoyed full-time until probably high school. When I realised that, I was like, ‘Okay, this is really cool, I might as well just try and step up my game.’”

Music would have to wait, however, until after university. It was important to her to do that first. “If I hadn’t done my degree I just feel like it wouldn’t have been the right timing. I’m just very grateful for being able to take the time and learn.”

Walker attended the University of Canterbury, completing a double major in te reo Maori and Maori and Indigenous Studies. She is Maori, and traces her whakapapa back to Waikato Tainui. “I finished school and I began studying basically to learn more about my identity and my taha Maori [Maori side],” she says.

“When I was at school I didn’t even think I’d get into university. I didn’t think I was smart or academic. There was just so much I got out of it; confidence, discipline, and knowing I could finish

This song is so much bigger than a song. Music is able to speak in more ways than any other form of communication or art, so it’s so important that it’s out there. Em-Haley Walker

something like a degree … I mean, that was crazy, I never thought I’d do that.”

Emerging from university fluent in te reo and with a deeper understanding of Maori culture, Walker felt more grounded in her identity. “I think that there’s a struggle anyway, trying to figure out who you are, so the more pieces of the puzzle you have available to you, the better, and it’s been really special understanding that part of me.”

When Walker speaks about her Maoritanga, it is with joy and reverence. Her kui (grandmother) played a significant role in her life, introducing her to her hapu and iwi, and constantly supporting her talented moko (grandchild). Sadly, just before Roam was released, Walker’s kui died. It was a loss that she felt keenly.

“I just kind of wish, because she was such a part of me, of my journey and so had my back and held my hand the entire time, gearing up to when I first released my music, that she was just able to be there for the rest of it.”

Her kui gave Walker the kind of strength that enabled her to overcome her stage fright. “We’d sing together — she was so fab at harmonies, she could harmonise anything. I remember when we were at her brother’s 80th. It was this packed out situation at the marae in the wharekai, really formal, where everyone is standing up and, like, giving speeches and what not and she was like, ‘This is my moko and now she’s going to sing for you.’ She turned to me and said, ‘Sing, moko.’ So I stood up in front of all of these people and started singing. That was probably the year before

Roam came out. She just sat there beaming and rocking. It was only for her. She was so proud.”

She’d no doubt be even prouder if she could hear Walker’s new song, Bad Idea. Slated for release on July 13, the song tackles the difficult subject of self-harm. It’s a song Walker felt she had to release, so important is its kaupapa (message).

“I first wrote it in Sydney and the session ended up being so short. It was only a couple of hours, so I only had the verse and a chorus. I came back to New Zealand, spent a bit of time having some space, revisited the song again and then I was like, you know what? I can’t sleep on this song. It needs to be out there.”

Bad Idea was motivated both by Walker’s own experiences and the desire to help other people. “I don’t really care what kind of success or whatever it has, this song is so much bigger

than a song. Music is able to speak in more ways than any other form of communication or art, so it’s so important that it’s out there.”

“I have struggled with self-harm in the past. There were times when I didn’t tell a soul about it and other times when I was lucky enough to have someone who I was able to talk to. It was also such a comfort when I’d read or see someone sharing their experiences. I know first-hand how important it is, to not feel alone or ashamed.”

With lyrics like “So many times I didn’t want be alive / It’s too heavy in this life / Am I strong enough to fight?” and “Hold on a second, it’s a bad idea / Don’t hurt yourself, it’s a bad idea / Breathe in, breathe out / Just let it go,” the song is both brutally honest and hopeful. It is sonically glittery, with bubblegum-pop melodies laid over a heavy, rolling bass. Despite its subject matter, it is not the melancholic dirge it easily could be.

The juxtaposition of such poignant lyrics over a happy soundscape was intentional.

“It’s more digestible for people,”