BY MIRANDA ILCHEF
On the first of April, like many other Australians, I sat huddled over my laptop while nervously awaiting a 7PM address from Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, the likes of which we had not seen since early COVID days. The worst-case scenario running through my mind was that we would be going to war in Iran. More likely, I thought to myself, was that the fuel crises had worsened to the point that widescale petrol-rationing or minimum work-from-home days were to be mandated.
I was only slightly relieved when the announcement turned out to be a three-minute, underwhelmingly simple message: don’t panic too much, but things are going to get worse before they get better – and there is only so much the government can do to help.
The piecemeal careers that most Australian musicians have are already tenuous at best. We often work across multiple roles within the industry – performing, tutoring, conducting, administration etc. As contractors, many of us don’t get paid annual, sick, caregiving or parental leave, and we often have to pay our own superannuation. The hours can be sometimes intense: like many musicians, I tutor throughout the week at schools, then perform on the weekends at gigs and concerts. (At the start of most months, I have pledged to myself to keep one day per week entirely free of work, and many months I end up only managing one per month.) Working from home typically isn’t possible for most musicians. In fact, we often need to travel far and wide, usually at our own expense and sometimes with heavy equipment. This means, as petrol prices rise, our margins get even tighter.
Jonah Sirtes, a multi-instrumentalist and music tutor who studied a couple of year levels below me at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music (pictured below), has had students cancel because they are no longer able to justify the cost of petrol to drive to his studio.
He feels the pinch himself too: he recently moved away from where most of his students are based, and with a large car to accommodate all his musical gear, his weekly petrol costs are rapidly rising – from $90 a week to $140 or $150.
“The current fuel crises makes it really difficult to have a life, to be honest,” Jonah tells CutCommon.
“My friends [outside of the industry] often ask me to hang out, and I just have to constantly say that ‘money is a bit tight at the moment’…it’s impacting what groceries I can buy and what activities I can do.”
Violinist Maya Homsma, with whom I once tutored strings to young people in Sydney’s Western suburbs, drives a car that takes diesel – so she has been hit extra hard by rising prices. I remember all too well the afternoon drive out to teach at Wentworthville. At one point, I did it three times a week and, with not enough time to use the toll-free route, I racked up a weekly toll of at least $60 using the M4. I accepted the fee because the families and kids were lovely and the work felt meaningful, which is also why Maya stays. However, Maya has started avoiding the toll roads and is looking at a combination of public transport and carpooling with other staff members, which will add a lot of time to her commute.
Maya (pictured below) doesn’t want to relocate her work closer to home – she has built ties to the community and wants to avoid disruption for the kids, whom she loves teaching, just over the price of petrol.
“Being a support person to these kids is part of the job,” Maya says.
“I am not just their music teacher – I am a supportive person and a role model to them. They talk to me about their lives and I love to see them grow…I love these kids so much.”
These are not uncommon stories. Some musicians are already adapting the way they work. A friend of mine who tutors saxophone across a variety of schools has switched to cycling or walking where possible in order to save fuel. The instrument she teaches isn’t exactly light baggage, and I feel second-hand relief that at least this fuel crises hasn’t coincided with Sydney’s scorching summer months. At least, not yet.
One of my young students, who was born in Iran but immigrated to Australia with her family a few years ago, has been teaching me a Persian song this term. It is a song about love, but in a minor key, and she plays it with a beautiful warm tone which manages to capture both longing and nostalgia. Her approach to rhythm and phrasing is influenced by the classical music of her home country, and by the end of each lesson I often feel that I have learnt as much as she did.
I am always aware that the root cause of the fuel crisis, the war in Iran, has much larger and more devastating consequences for many people than just increased petrol costs. A few weeks ago, I read about a music school in Tehran that was blown to smithereens, with pictures showing shattered traditional instruments. Luckily no one was killed, but a 15-year-old labour of love has died: the owner spoke of the family-like atmosphere that he and his wife had created, and how his students had come to see this school as a “second home”. The teachers who worked there were mostly young adults who are now experiencing the loss of their job in a war-torn and economically struggling country.
This is only one upsetting story of many to emerge from the Middle East. Comparatively, we are so fortunate in Australia. But this music school owner’s words may resonate with all of us around the world: the work of musicians can really impact people’s lives, particularly in difficult times.
I feel this first hand when I regularly have audiences or students who are brought to tears from the music I make or teach them about. Our work feels valuable most days, even therapeutic on others, but when it comes time to balance the books, it can be hard to remember that.
The past five years have felt like an onslaught of threats to creative industries – COVID, rising costs of living, AI, and this recent fuel crisis. Both myself and my colleagues are somewhat surprised to find ourselves still standing and making a living from music. Many musicians I know defected early in the pandemic, and I certainly have had to eliminate from consideration many opportunities and paths of professional development due to financial reasons. I wonder if there will be a tipping point, when being a musician becomes completely unviable as a profession in Australia, or available only to the extremely wealthy. To reduce the diversity of experiences reflected in music, or any other art form, would be a great national loss.
Portraits supplied.
Fuel images via Unsplash, credit Wassim Chouak.
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