Native ingredients redefine baking
In his case the ingredients he talks about are native Australian. He is a celebrated Australian pastry chef who has lived in Sydney all his life.
The owned Blackstar Bakery whose signature strawberry watermelon cake became known as "the most Instagrammed cake in the world".
Having sold the bakery to work on other projects, he now runs an artisan cake shop and cafe, and has released Modern Australian Baking , a book described as a "masterclass" in using native ingredients to create pastries, breads and cakes.
The describes it as a "love story to the only land I have known". While his parents came from Indonesia, he was born in Australia and grew up "with a typical Australian psyche".
Having no indigenous ancestry, The does not claim to understand the connection indigenous Australians feel to their land, but as his own connection to the land he lives on deepens, he has become aware the modern idea of oneself as separate from the land, "the master of all I survey", is a dated one.
"Once we begin to accept our place within — not separate from — our environment, what we eat takes on a different significance."
While not advocating for a return to the days before industrial-scale farming, The believes people increasingly want to be connected to food in a way that is real; to be told we cannot have strawberries all year round.
"I believe we should eat in a way that connects us to the land. For the last 200 years or so, much of humanity has been acting like an excited teenager with their first pay cheque, hungrily overconsuming the land's riches. It is only in recent years that we have begun to correct ourselves, slowly returning to a way of eating that respects, nurtures and preserves our environment."
As a society, Australia has largely restricted itself to the European-centric palate of its predecessors while ignoring the plethora of amazing flavours and ingredients their land has to offer, he says.
"I do believe that by looking beyond Western flavours and incorporating more native ingredients into our baking, we will start to see a picture of what real 'Australian food' will become in the future."
He hopes people will learn to make use of native Australian ingredients in their everyday lives, in particular in baking, and that they will become more commonplace to the point Australians will reach for lemon myrtle instead of vanilla.
"It's about baking with an understanding of the climate and the land of this particular country, and the people who cook on it, alongside the unique ingredients they use. And it's about doing things in a way that is in harmony with the land and the quiet joy this brings."
However, he admits working as a pastry chef in the Australian summer can be immensely frustrating and involves a lot of short bursts in and out of a cool room.
"When everything is going well, dough is supple and compliant, but it quickly becomes a greasy mess if pushed past its temperature limits.
"The temperature during Australia's colder months is pastry paradise."
He includes a handy guide for native ingredients, some of which are available in New Zealand specialty shops and some of which are not.
He has suggested substitutions if you cannot find the native ingredients in his recipes. THE BOOK
This is an edited extract from Modern Australian Baking by Christopher The, published by Hardie Grant Books. Photography by Chris Chen. Banana bread with miso, macadamia and seaweed
Sometimes, in order to elevate an item, you need to think outside the box. The caramel miso buttercream and seaweed flakes make this version of banana bread an umami hit. Although this recipe is relatively foolproof, you'll achieve the best results using overripe bananas, which can be kept frozen and defrosted when needed. Take care with the caramel: make sure the sugar is a deep, dark colour before adding the butter to ensure a less sweet and pleasantly bitter finish. Serve with nasturtium leaves and flowers, or whatever edible flower is in season. Makes one 20×10cm loaf Serves 6
Equipment
20×10cm loaf (bar) tin
Ingredients
½ quantity cinnamon myrtle sugar
Banana bread
150g (1 cup) self-raising flour
220g brown sugar
5g ground cinnamon
3g (1 teaspoon) ground cloves
3g (1 teaspoon) ground nutmeg
55g (approx. 1) whole egg
60g full-cream (whole) milk
100g butter, melted
200g ripe bananas, mashed
6g (1 teaspoon) vanilla extract
Caramel miso buttercream
110g caster (superfine) sugar
100g thick (double/heavy) cream
25g white miso paste
150g butter, softened
120g icing (confectioner's) sugar
To garnish
dried red seaweed flakes
toasted macadamia nut pieces
nasturtiums or other edible flowers
Substitutions
macadamia nuts with almonds
Method
Preheat the oven to 160˚C. Grease and line the loaf tin.
To make the banana bread, sift the self-raising flour into a large bowl, add the sugar and spices and mix well. Add the egg, milk, half the melted butter, the banana and vanilla. Stir with a wooden spoon until just combined the mix should not be completely smooth and still have lumps of banana visible. Pour the mixture into the tin and bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean. Immediately brush the loaf with the remaining melted butter and sprinkle with the cinnamon myrtle sugar.
For the caramel miso buttercream, add the caster sugar to a saucepan with 60g of water and brush the side of the pan with water until there are no sugar crystals above the water line. Bring to the boil over a high heat and allow to go to a light caramel colour. Turn off the heat and stand by with the cream while the caramel continues to cook to a deep brown colour. This should take about 10 minutes. Add the cream and whisk to combine. Add the miso paste and whisk until incorporated, then pour into a heatproof container and refrigerate until cool. Add the butter and half the icing sugar to a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and beat on medium speed until light. Slowly pour in the miso caramel while whisking, then add the remaining icing sugar until the desired consistency is achieved. Transfer to a piping (icing) bag fitted with a plain 8mm nozzle.
To serve, cut a slice of banana bread and lay it on a plate. Pipe on small dots of miso caramel buttercream, then sprinkle with dried red seaweed flakes. Garnish with toasted macadamia nut pieces and nasturtiums, or whatever flowers are in season. Flowering wattleseed biscuits
I know the end of winter is near when the sides of the highway are suddenly dotted with the bright-yellow pompoms of Australia's national floral emblem, the golden wattle. The flowers of this species are edible, but I don't find them as fresh or delicious as fennel flowers, which look similar but are far more pleasant to eat. Wattleseed, on the other hand, is wonderfully nutty, making it ideal for crunchy biscuits. Makes 10 biscuits
Wattleseed biscuits
160g (⅔ cup) butter, softened
80g icing (confectioners) sugar,
sifted
20g (approx 1) egg yolk
240g plain (all-purpose) flour
20g ground wattleseed
Lemon icing
75g (½ cup) icing (confectioners) sugar, sifted
40g lemon juice
50g fennel flowers
(3-5 per biscuit)
Substitutions
Wattleseed with caraway seed
Method
Cream the butter and sugar together until light. Add the egg yolk, mix well, then blend in the flour and wattleseed. Roll the dough into a log 5cm in diameter, wrap in plastic wrap and rest in the fridge until firm.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C.
Cut the roll into 1cm thick discs and transfer to a baking tray lined with baking paper.
Bake for 20 minutes, or until the biscuits have turned golden brown at the edges.
For the icing, mix the sugar and lemon juice in a bowl then spread over the biscuits with a palette knife or the back of a spoon. Top with fennel flowers to resemble wattle. Leave to set for 1 hour.
Cinnamon myrtle sugar
Ingredients
5 g cinnamon myrtle leaves
100g caster (superfine) sugar
20g ground cinnamon
Substitutions
Cinnamon myrtle with bay leaf
Method
To make the cinnamon myrtle sugar, grind the cinnamon myrtle leaves to a powder in a spice grinder. Add to a bowl with the sugar and cinnamon and mix together well. Upside-down quince and quandong polenta cake
Astringent green apple-esque quinces undergo an amazing transformation when cooked slowly, turning an alluring deep red and filling your kitchen with a sweet yet fresh aroma. In this recipe, the quinces are cooked in a low oven overnight and then made into an upside-down cake with the quandongs, which add acidity and complexity. Makes 1×23cm cake
Ingredients
100g apricot jam, for glazing
Overnight quinces
750g caster (superfine) sugar
1 vanilla bean, split lengthways and
seeds scraped
1 cinnamon stick
3 cinnamon myrtle leaves
4 quinces
Caramel
125g caster (superfine) sugar
50g butter
50g quandongs, soaked in orange juice
overnight
Batter
225g butter, softened and diced
225g caster (superfine) sugar
165g (approx. 3) whole eggs
2g (½ tsp) ground cinnamon myrtle
75g (½ cup) gluten-free plain (all-purpose)
flour
75g (½ cup) polenta
10g baking powder
150g almond meal
180g full-cream (whole) milk
Substitutions
Quandongs with dried cranberries
Method
For the overnight quinces, add 1 litre (4 cups) water and the sugar to a pot large enough to hold all the quince. Add the vanilla seeds and bean to the pot with the cinnamon stick and cinnamon myrtle leaves and bring to the boil, then remove from the heat and leave to cool.
Peel the quinces and reserve the skins. Working one quince at a time, cut into segments about 3cm thick. Using a small, serrated knife, cut the core and seeds from each segment (set them aside) and immediately plunge the quince into the cooled syrup. Repeat with the remaining quinces.
Lay a large piece of muslin (cheesecloth) over the quinces and add the reserved skins, cores and seeds on top. This will keep the quinces submerged and add pectin to the syrup. Place the pot over a low heat and warm until almost boiling, then remove and transfer to an ovenproof dish. Bake for at least 6 hours, or overnight, at 130°C .
The next day, check to see how your quinces have progressed. If a deeper colour is required, increase the heat to 150˚C and continue baking until the desired colour is reached. Keep in mind the colour will deepen further when the cake is baking. Remove the quince from the oven and allow to cool. Discard the cheesecloth with the skins and cores. Strain the quinces from their liquid. Grease and line a 23cm round cake tin with baking paper.
To make the caramel, add the sugar to a saucepan with 75g water and mix well. Brush the side of the pan with water until no grains of sugar remain above the waterline. Place over a high heat and cook to an amber-coloured caramel, then turn off the heat and whisk in the butter to emulsify the caramel. Pour into the prepared tin.
Strain the quandongs from the orange juice — they should have swelled in size. Arrange the quinces in the bottom of the cake tin on top of the caramel, then use the quandongs to fill any gaps.
Preheat the oven to 160˚C .
For the polenta cake batter, add the butter and sugar to a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and whip until light. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating between additions. Sift the dry ingredients together and fold into the mix, alternating with the milk to loosen the batter. Pour on top of the quinces and use a palette knife to smooth the surface flat. Bake for 50 minutes. The cake is ready when a skewer inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean.
Remove the cake from the oven and allow to cool in the tin for 20 minutes. Carefully flip the cake on to a cake platter and slowly pull the cake tin off. The fruit should come away easily (if any of the fruit has stuck to the tin, carefully move it back into place).
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Otago Daily Times
5 hours ago
- Otago Daily Times
Native ingredients redefine baking
Christopher The aims to show people how native ingredients can become a valuable part of everyday baking and bring people closer to the food the land has to offer. In his case the ingredients he talks about are native Australian. He is a celebrated Australian pastry chef who has lived in Sydney all his life. The owned Blackstar Bakery whose signature strawberry watermelon cake became known as "the most Instagrammed cake in the world". Having sold the bakery to work on other projects, he now runs an artisan cake shop and cafe, and has released Modern Australian Baking , a book described as a "masterclass" in using native ingredients to create pastries, breads and cakes. The describes it as a "love story to the only land I have known". While his parents came from Indonesia, he was born in Australia and grew up "with a typical Australian psyche". Having no indigenous ancestry, The does not claim to understand the connection indigenous Australians feel to their land, but as his own connection to the land he lives on deepens, he has become aware the modern idea of oneself as separate from the land, "the master of all I survey", is a dated one. "Once we begin to accept our place within — not separate from — our environment, what we eat takes on a different significance." While not advocating for a return to the days before industrial-scale farming, The believes people increasingly want to be connected to food in a way that is real; to be told we cannot have strawberries all year round. "I believe we should eat in a way that connects us to the land. For the last 200 years or so, much of humanity has been acting like an excited teenager with their first pay cheque, hungrily overconsuming the land's riches. It is only in recent years that we have begun to correct ourselves, slowly returning to a way of eating that respects, nurtures and preserves our environment." As a society, Australia has largely restricted itself to the European-centric palate of its predecessors while ignoring the plethora of amazing flavours and ingredients their land has to offer, he says. "I do believe that by looking beyond Western flavours and incorporating more native ingredients into our baking, we will start to see a picture of what real 'Australian food' will become in the future." He hopes people will learn to make use of native Australian ingredients in their everyday lives, in particular in baking, and that they will become more commonplace to the point Australians will reach for lemon myrtle instead of vanilla. "It's about baking with an understanding of the climate and the land of this particular country, and the people who cook on it, alongside the unique ingredients they use. And it's about doing things in a way that is in harmony with the land and the quiet joy this brings." However, he admits working as a pastry chef in the Australian summer can be immensely frustrating and involves a lot of short bursts in and out of a cool room. "When everything is going well, dough is supple and compliant, but it quickly becomes a greasy mess if pushed past its temperature limits. "The temperature during Australia's colder months is pastry paradise." He includes a handy guide for native ingredients, some of which are available in New Zealand specialty shops and some of which are not. He has suggested substitutions if you cannot find the native ingredients in his recipes. THE BOOK This is an edited extract from Modern Australian Baking by Christopher The, published by Hardie Grant Books. Photography by Chris Chen. Banana bread with miso, macadamia and seaweed Sometimes, in order to elevate an item, you need to think outside the box. The caramel miso buttercream and seaweed flakes make this version of banana bread an umami hit. Although this recipe is relatively foolproof, you'll achieve the best results using overripe bananas, which can be kept frozen and defrosted when needed. Take care with the caramel: make sure the sugar is a deep, dark colour before adding the butter to ensure a less sweet and pleasantly bitter finish. Serve with nasturtium leaves and flowers, or whatever edible flower is in season. Makes one 20×10cm loaf Serves 6 Equipment 20×10cm loaf (bar) tin Ingredients ½ quantity cinnamon myrtle sugar Banana bread 150g (1 cup) self-raising flour 220g brown sugar 5g ground cinnamon 3g (1 teaspoon) ground cloves 3g (1 teaspoon) ground nutmeg 55g (approx. 1) whole egg 60g full-cream (whole) milk 100g butter, melted 200g ripe bananas, mashed 6g (1 teaspoon) vanilla extract Caramel miso buttercream 110g caster (superfine) sugar 100g thick (double/heavy) cream 25g white miso paste 150g butter, softened 120g icing (confectioner's) sugar To garnish dried red seaweed flakes toasted macadamia nut pieces nasturtiums or other edible flowers Substitutions macadamia nuts with almonds Method Preheat the oven to 160˚C. Grease and line the loaf tin. To make the banana bread, sift the self-raising flour into a large bowl, add the sugar and spices and mix well. Add the egg, milk, half the melted butter, the banana and vanilla. Stir with a wooden spoon until just combined the mix should not be completely smooth and still have lumps of banana visible. Pour the mixture into the tin and bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean. Immediately brush the loaf with the remaining melted butter and sprinkle with the cinnamon myrtle sugar. For the caramel miso buttercream, add the caster sugar to a saucepan with 60g of water and brush the side of the pan with water until there are no sugar crystals above the water line. Bring to the boil over a high heat and allow to go to a light caramel colour. Turn off the heat and stand by with the cream while the caramel continues to cook to a deep brown colour. This should take about 10 minutes. Add the cream and whisk to combine. Add the miso paste and whisk until incorporated, then pour into a heatproof container and refrigerate until cool. Add the butter and half the icing sugar to a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and beat on medium speed until light. Slowly pour in the miso caramel while whisking, then add the remaining icing sugar until the desired consistency is achieved. Transfer to a piping (icing) bag fitted with a plain 8mm nozzle. To serve, cut a slice of banana bread and lay it on a plate. Pipe on small dots of miso caramel buttercream, then sprinkle with dried red seaweed flakes. Garnish with toasted macadamia nut pieces and nasturtiums, or whatever flowers are in season. Flowering wattleseed biscuits I know the end of winter is near when the sides of the highway are suddenly dotted with the bright-yellow pompoms of Australia's national floral emblem, the golden wattle. The flowers of this species are edible, but I don't find them as fresh or delicious as fennel flowers, which look similar but are far more pleasant to eat. Wattleseed, on the other hand, is wonderfully nutty, making it ideal for crunchy biscuits. Makes 10 biscuits Wattleseed biscuits 160g (⅔ cup) butter, softened 80g icing (confectioners) sugar, sifted 20g (approx 1) egg yolk 240g plain (all-purpose) flour 20g ground wattleseed Lemon icing 75g (½ cup) icing (confectioners) sugar, sifted 40g lemon juice 50g fennel flowers (3-5 per biscuit) Substitutions Wattleseed with caraway seed Method Cream the butter and sugar together until light. Add the egg yolk, mix well, then blend in the flour and wattleseed. Roll the dough into a log 5cm in diameter, wrap in plastic wrap and rest in the fridge until firm. Preheat the oven to 180˚C. Cut the roll into 1cm thick discs and transfer to a baking tray lined with baking paper. Bake for 20 minutes, or until the biscuits have turned golden brown at the edges. For the icing, mix the sugar and lemon juice in a bowl then spread over the biscuits with a palette knife or the back of a spoon. Top with fennel flowers to resemble wattle. Leave to set for 1 hour. Cinnamon myrtle sugar Ingredients 5 g cinnamon myrtle leaves 100g caster (superfine) sugar 20g ground cinnamon Substitutions Cinnamon myrtle with bay leaf Method To make the cinnamon myrtle sugar, grind the cinnamon myrtle leaves to a powder in a spice grinder. Add to a bowl with the sugar and cinnamon and mix together well. Upside-down quince and quandong polenta cake Astringent green apple-esque quinces undergo an amazing transformation when cooked slowly, turning an alluring deep red and filling your kitchen with a sweet yet fresh aroma. In this recipe, the quinces are cooked in a low oven overnight and then made into an upside-down cake with the quandongs, which add acidity and complexity. Makes 1×23cm cake Ingredients 100g apricot jam, for glazing Overnight quinces 750g caster (superfine) sugar 1 vanilla bean, split lengthways and seeds scraped 1 cinnamon stick 3 cinnamon myrtle leaves 4 quinces Caramel 125g caster (superfine) sugar 50g butter 50g quandongs, soaked in orange juice overnight Batter 225g butter, softened and diced 225g caster (superfine) sugar 165g (approx. 3) whole eggs 2g (½ tsp) ground cinnamon myrtle 75g (½ cup) gluten-free plain (all-purpose) flour 75g (½ cup) polenta 10g baking powder 150g almond meal 180g full-cream (whole) milk Substitutions Quandongs with dried cranberries Method For the overnight quinces, add 1 litre (4 cups) water and the sugar to a pot large enough to hold all the quince. Add the vanilla seeds and bean to the pot with the cinnamon stick and cinnamon myrtle leaves and bring to the boil, then remove from the heat and leave to cool. Peel the quinces and reserve the skins. Working one quince at a time, cut into segments about 3cm thick. Using a small, serrated knife, cut the core and seeds from each segment (set them aside) and immediately plunge the quince into the cooled syrup. Repeat with the remaining quinces. Lay a large piece of muslin (cheesecloth) over the quinces and add the reserved skins, cores and seeds on top. This will keep the quinces submerged and add pectin to the syrup. Place the pot over a low heat and warm until almost boiling, then remove and transfer to an ovenproof dish. Bake for at least 6 hours, or overnight, at 130°C . The next day, check to see how your quinces have progressed. If a deeper colour is required, increase the heat to 150˚C and continue baking until the desired colour is reached. Keep in mind the colour will deepen further when the cake is baking. Remove the quince from the oven and allow to cool. Discard the cheesecloth with the skins and cores. Strain the quinces from their liquid. Grease and line a 23cm round cake tin with baking paper. To make the caramel, add the sugar to a saucepan with 75g water and mix well. Brush the side of the pan with water until no grains of sugar remain above the waterline. Place over a high heat and cook to an amber-coloured caramel, then turn off the heat and whisk in the butter to emulsify the caramel. Pour into the prepared tin. Strain the quandongs from the orange juice — they should have swelled in size. Arrange the quinces in the bottom of the cake tin on top of the caramel, then use the quandongs to fill any gaps. Preheat the oven to 160˚C . For the polenta cake batter, add the butter and sugar to a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and whip until light. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating between additions. Sift the dry ingredients together and fold into the mix, alternating with the milk to loosen the batter. Pour on top of the quinces and use a palette knife to smooth the surface flat. Bake for 50 minutes. The cake is ready when a skewer inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean. Remove the cake from the oven and allow to cool in the tin for 20 minutes. Carefully flip the cake on to a cake platter and slowly pull the cake tin off. The fruit should come away easily (if any of the fruit has stuck to the tin, carefully move it back into place).
Scoop
21 hours ago
- Scoop
On Using The Tax System To Boost Funding For The Arts
Despite the myriad concerns being expressed about the Regulatory Standards Bill – including misgivings by his own Regulations Ministry and scorn from constitutional law expert Sir Geoffrey Palmer – David Seymour has professed to find no merit in any of the objections. Sure, he'll add in a reference to the Treaty if people can make what he considers to be a sound argument for why he should do so – but in the same breath, Seymour made it clear that he had no intention of actually honouring any Treaty responsibility to Māori. Truly, there are none so blind as those who will not see. Show Art The Money Often, a false division gets made between art and commerce, and that helps to explain why art tends to be treated as a social luxury: an optional extra, and not one of life's essentials. Everywhere you look, the arts are coming under pressure from rising costs, changing patterns of arts consumption, and declining support from donors and philanthropic foundations. What's to be done about it? weekend, the NSW state government announced plans to hold an 'arts tax summit' at the Sydney Opera House in September. The gathering will explore ways to radically reform the tax system with the aim of shoring up support for the arts in Australia. The ideas being floated include: giving wealthy patrons added tax incentives to donate to the arts, offering tax relief to the owners of vacant commercial premises if they rent them cheaply (or for free) to artists, and allowing artists to claim a wider range of production-related expenses on their tax returns. Reportedly, this NSW arts summit will be attended by NSW Treasurer Daniel Mookhey, and about 150 donors, venue operators, art investors and tax experts. [Just how many artists will be invited is unclear.] 'The sector is telling us,' Mookhey told the Sydney Morning Herald, ' that tax policy settings are a significant impediment to artists' business viability, international competitiveness and income stability.' Arguably, artists deserve better. At last count, the arts and culture sector contributed an estimated $A123.3 billion annually to the Australian economy. In the year to March 2024, New Zealand's arts and creative sector contributed $NZ17.3 billion to our economy, or 4.2 % of GDP. In other words, the arts and cultural sector more than pays its way. According to Infometrics research in 2023, the arts/culture sector grew by 5.3% that year, compared to only 2.9% growth for the rest of the economy. Some 117,0000 people were employed in the arts/culture sector in 2023. Only 11,000 of them identified as Māori, well below the ratio of Māori within the general population. So, even on strictly economic terms, the arts sector is punching above its weight. As the Infometrics survey pointed out : Productivity (measured as GDP per FTE) in the Arts and Creative sector grew by 1.7% to $155,539. Over the past five years (2018-2023), productivity has grown by 3% per annum on average, where the total economy has remained relatively flat (0.2%). Point being: arts funding deserves to be treated as an investment, not as a handout. One of those tax incentives being seriously considered in Australia i.e enabling vacant commercial premises to be made available to artists at little or no rent, deserves to be investigated here in order (a) to give creative people a place in which to create and (b) to help to revitalise the depressed commercial areas in our towns and cities. Reportedly, its worked elsewhere. Footnote: Other countries are treating arts funding as an investment in social wellbeing and economic growth. Last year, Ireland extended its Basic Income For The Arts funding programme into 2026, and put $35 million euros more into it: Launched in 2022, the pilot scheme is examining the impact of a basic income on artists and creative arts workers over a three-year period. Payments of €325 per week [that's $NZ634! ]are being made to 2,000 eligible artists and creative arts workers, who have been selected at random. Here's the rationale : " I believe that Ireland holds a unique position in the world, where our culture, Ár dTeanga and our artists are the beating heart of our society," Minister Paschal Donohoe commented. "There are record numbers visiting our national cultural institutions. Irish writers are some of the best in the world – giving us pause to reflect on the world around us, to make sense of it or, indeed, to escape it entirely for a moment." Not surprisingly, artists in Ireland like the scheme a lot, and say it improves the quality of their work. Footnote Two : On that score, it is worth noting that in New Zealand, Budget 2025 kept the level of our Large Budget Film Production Grant at only 20%. This rebate is available to international film productions in return for the increased spending, jobs and skills expertise that these major film projects inject into the New Zealand economy. Problem being, our current rate is no longer competitive. In Australia, it is 30%. In Ireland, the headline equivalent rate is 32%. As in NZ, there is no overt cap to Ireland's film production incentive, which is based on whatever is the lowest figure: 32 % of qualifying expenditure, 80% of the film's total production costs or 180 million euros. As for government support to Ireland's own film industry, there was an 8% increase last year to the incentives for local feature film productions that utilise Irish creative talent. The coalition government has provided no similar, additional stimulus to our own local film industry. The Art Budget blues Given New Zealand's current ideological fixation on cost cutting for its own sake, Creative NZ's retention of funding of $16.6 million in Budget 2025 counts as a relief, even though inflation will erode some of the funding's net value. Direct government funding provides about 25% of Creative NZ's revenue, with the other 75% coming from Lotteries Board money, which has inched up to $52.78 annually for the next four years, from $49.5 million in 2023/24. The current lotteries plus government funding comes to an annual total of $69 million, well down from the $87 million the arts received during the last year of the pandemic recovery period. In a familiar gambit, 're-prioritisation' has also seen funds shifted from one scheme and added to another to create an illusion of extra government support. At Creative NZ for example, funds for the umbrella Toi Uru Kahimakea programme (formerly praised to the skies by Creative NZ for expanding the range and reach of the arts in New Zealand and for being one of the organisation's 'most significant annual investments') will now be poured into the general funds available to arts organisations. Similarly, the Ministry For Culture and Heritage will see much of the funding for the National Fale Malae Project ( an intended showcase for Pasifika art and culture) being 're-prioritised' for other purposes. The recent funding cuts and job losses at the Ministry (which will sharply reduce the country's awareness of its own history)have been met with horrified public opposition. To no avail, so far. As for the community funding for arts -related community assets such as libraries, community organisations and Minister Nicola Willis once again raised (on RNZ yesterday) the spectre of National imposing a cap on the annual rates increases that local councils are allowed to propose. This pandering to property owners resentful of anything being spent on community facilities and events they don't personally use, is deeply alarming. An arbitrary rates cap poses an obvious threat to council spending on the likes of libraries, community arts events, and public transport.(Yesterday, Willis spoke about the need to reduce council spending 'on fanciful projects.') By driving down rates revenue, a rates cap policed by central government would force communities to make ugly choices about which public facilities councils can continue to support. In the process, the rates cap would also undermine the international credit rating of councils, and increase the costs of their borrowing for essential infrastructure. Instead of an imposed rates cap, Local Government NZ President ( and Selwyn mayor) Sam Broughton wants local and central government to collaborate on solutions: 'From the international analysis it is clear that a rates cap will have unintended consequences on communities; it will restrict the ability of councils to invest in infrastructure and risks their financial instability, and we need to avoid examples show that a rates cap will have the opposite effect to what the Government wants to achieve.' Footnote: BTW, and in the interests of informed collaboration, there is nothing 'fanciful ' about local council or central government spending on the arts. Artists pay taxes and help lift the nation's GDP, as well as enhancing the public's sense of wellbeing and cultural identity. If artists could afford to live downtown e.g. if tax system changes did enable unused commercial properties to be occupied at peppercorn rentals – this could revitalise the inner city, boost retail spending, provide part time labour for cafes and restaurants, and enhance the value of adjacent downtown properties through the added foot traffic (and tourism) being generated. Footnote: In 2019 Victoria University academic Jonathan Barrett analysed how a capital gains tax could make more people feel inclined to invest in art. Don't Rely On The Market Some people, including a few artists, find the very notion of state funding of the arts to be a hard concept to embrace. For one thing, there's a certain lack of romance involved. An artist starving in a garret is a more heroic image (at least, until the gum rot sets in) than an artist pulling a government cheque from the mailbox en route to the potting shed. Charges of elitism over arts funding (why this art form over that one, why them, not me) tend to clang up hard against the sense that this stuff is really important, contributes to our national identity etc etc. All of which is worthy of debate, provided it doesn't lead to policy paralysis, One way to justify spending on the arts is to demand a commercial return, as one would with any other commodity. That argument is self defeating. Why? For one thing, society benefits from what economists call the 'spillover' benefits of arts creation and consumption, just as it does in other non-quantifiable areas. Inevitably, the 'spillover' returns to society from spending on art, public healthcare, state schooling, science and the military are notoriously difficult to quantify, and establish a market value. Defence spending for instance is as costly as its benefits are nebulous. Yet for some reason, successive governments have been willing to write the NZDF – and them only – a blank cheque. Why not science? Why not the arts? There is also a so-called 'option value' argument for arts funding, whereby whilst you or I may not choose to patronise an art gallery or a ballet, many of us would still like to see such things supported, and kept as a viable option for others, or for our grandchildren. To illustrate this notion of option value, economists routinely offer the jokey old anecdote about the King of Naples, who once told the composer Antonio Scarlatti that he felt fine about supporting the Naples Opera, just so long as he was never actually invited to attend the confounded thing. Another key economic driver for regular boosts in arts funding was a point made decades ago by the economist William Baumol – namely, that arts activity is simply not conducive to the technological advances and the productivity gains that have been obtainable elsewhere in the economy. This syndrome – routinely called 'cost disease' or 'Baumol's disease' - applies equally to the funding for public health and education as much as it does to the arts. All such sectors entail services – creating art, educating kids, caring for sick people – that are next to impossible to automate and to mechanise. 'This means that as wages go up in these handicraft services,' Baumol said, 'there is no productivity offset to rising costs.' (Lorde, Taikla Waititi, Shane Cotton etc do not come off a production line.). At this point, the free marketers would probably say – well, why not leave it the market? If people want art, then let them pay for it. Yes, Baumol wrote, but what quality would the prevailing market settle for? Wouldn't such a market be inclined to downsize by cutting out rehearsals and other production costs, and concentrate on the likes of sure-fire Broadway hit musicals, rather than on Shakespeare or on untried new talent? In other words, the centre-right formula of holding the funding at current levels – and looking to the market and/or the community for extra money – is unlikely to result in (a) quality (b) diversity and (c) anything other than the recycling of the known and the safe. All of which would quickly erode the option value and the cultural capital of our art, both here and overseas. It would be self-defeating, in that it would diminish/destroy the value of the product. the very worst, an added investment by the state in art and culture is certain to deliver better social and economic returns than gifting landlords with a $3 billion handout. Footnote : Australia is a wealthier country than New Zealand. Yet its artists hardly have it easy. According to the SMH article linked to above, the average annual income of professional artists in Australia is $A54,500, earned via insecure projects and commissions. A writer's average annual income is just $A18,000, and the median annual income for musicians is $A15,000. Plainly, starving in a garret for your art isn't a lifestyle ' choice' that died out at the end of the 19th century. Needing The Love There's no particular reason for linking to this, beyond it being an all-time favourite video. Oh baby lady girl. Art is its own reward :
Scoop
21 hours ago
- Scoop
Country Artist Ben Mastwyk Releases New Single 'Reputation', Ahead Of His New Album
Ben Mastwyk, the Australian cosmic cowboy and interstellar troubadour, is fast approaching launch time for the release of his fourth album, Let Me At The Night, on July 18th. Mastwyk's previous single, 'Let Me At The Night', which featured on Countrytown, ABC Radio's Saturday Night Country, and Double J's Tower of Song, was a heartfelt country power ballad that captures the restless spirit of someone yearning to break free from isolation and return to the vibrant nightlife they once knew. Now Mastwyk releases 'Reputation', a song that takes a loving swing at the haters and gossipmongers. " People talk. The rumour mill runs rampant. Gossip is the devil's radio The shiny ones attract attention. And talk travels," states Mastwyk. " 'Reputation' was born from whispers of talk on the town, about myself and my crew. It's funny when these things get back to the source. My take is that if people are talking about you it then you're attracting attention!" The single rides one hell of a sweet bounce and groove courtesy of Craig Kelly's bass and Patrick Wilson's drums. A honky-tonk dance floor gem of the highest order, pedal steel and electric guitar vie for space under the mirror ball as Mastwyk goes for gold with lines such as ' Disco balls and smoke machines, Strobe lights and laser beams, Jacuzzi nights, red limousines, Is how we got ourselves a little reputation.' 'Reputation' will be music to the ears of fans who appreciate the fun and immense musicality of acts such as The Texas Gentlemen and Paul Cauthen. Let Me At The Night is a bit of a fantasy record for Ben Mastwyk. He really discovered the DNA of his band The Millions over the last few records, and this time, they all wanted to push the boundaries. Mastwyk was lucky enough to receive funding through a Creative Victoria Creative Works grant, which allowed him to really lean in and record the album he wanted to make, without cutting corners. Working with producer Michael Hubbard at The Shrimp Shack studio in Melbourne, Mastwyk initially set out to make a '90s country-inspired record—and in a way, he did. But instead of sticking strictly to that particular sonic palette, he found himself leaning back into the genre-bending, experimental approach he first explored with his original band in the actual '90s. " It's still a country record in my eyes: narrative-based songs that explore the themes I've been circling in my writing for years," he says. " But we've really dialled up the experimentalism—pushed our sonic palette further than we ever have before!" The songs are more anthemic—designed to kick the party off right from the get-go and sustain that energy till the end (and beyond). Mastwyk recently got the chance to test this new material live at the Tamworth Country Music Festival across three huge nights. And it worked. Big party energy. A crowd ready to rumble! " Each time I've made a record, I've had a space and an audience in mind. My first album Mornin' Evenin' was written for small rooms, intimate spaces, and quiet Sunday mornings. The next couple were made for Melbourne barrooms—the venues I was in love with at the time. This album, though, was written with festivals and bigger crowds in mind." With a thematic arc that runs across the album, it picks up where the last few records left off, in the barroom, then blasts off further and further into space. " I've always visualised this album as a spaceship—with the whole point being to see if I can get it to lift off and hit warp speed." From hot-wired boogie to rhinestone pop, honky-tonk electronic disco to country space-ballads, Shania to Yoakam, George Jones to Orville Peck – the new album serves as a kaleidoscopic ode to the possibilities of country music. Filtered through both heartache and the dance floor, it's a truly mind-expanding and irresistible collection of songs, from an artist firing on all creative cylinders.
