Hayley Westenra (14 page)

The local people were just as welcoming as they had been in the city. Here, they put on a song-and-dance performance for me. They were infectiously enthusiastic and I joined in the dancing, although I didn't have a clue what I was doing. The dance mainly consisted of bumping hips with the woman standing next to you and they loved the fact that I joined in. When it was time to leave, they gave us such a fantastic send-off, with the whole community out singing us goodbye.

We travelled on and I sang at our next stop for a little girl aged around twelve and her father, who was blind. He was so appreciative and moved. I then gave an impromptu performance for the chief of the area where we were. In return, he offered me my own piece of land and two chickens. I didn't know quite how to react to that, but I felt quite honoured. It was very humbling because they have so little, but even what they do have they offer to give away. Sophie gave a girl of around her age a pen and the girl gave her a little bracelet in return. Through UNICEF, they have kept in touch ever since and have become pen pals.

The highlight of the trip for me was when we went to a school, where we met a group of girls who had been given
bicycles by UNICEF. In fact, there was a whole fleet of them. Mum had been keenly documenting the trip with her camera and she decided that it would be useful to have a photograph of me with the girls and a bike, so that we could use it to publicise the appeal back home. It was decided that it would be a good idea if I was photographed holding on to a bicycle, so we asked if we could borrow one from one of the girls. She was extremely reluctant to let it go and our translator had to explain why we needed it and to reassure her that she would get it back. At that moment, I realised just how important these bicycles were to the girls.

Next, we decided to stage a bicycle race for the television crew. The idea was that I wouldn't do the whole race, but they thought that it would be a great opportunity to shoot some footage of me with the other girls and their bicycles. I was instructed to join in at the end of the race, so that I could appear in the centre of the shots. We were a bit worried that I would be left far behind if I tried to take part in the whole race. It turned out that the last part of the race included a patch of dirt track that turned around a corner on to a gravel path.

I waited patiently on the dirt track, feeling a little ashamed that I was not competing in the whole race and utterly convinced that the other girls were probably thinking, Hey! She's cheating! I hoped that the translator had explained properly that they just wanted some film and some photographs. As the girls came hurtling towards me, I began pedalling. I was not used to the bicycles and I was not used to the terrain either. Had I not been clinging on for dear life, I would have been crossing my fingers in the hope that the crew got the shots they needed and I wouldn't have to do it again.

We made a right turn from the dirt track on to the gravel path at quite some speed. I skidded and went flying off the
bike. I landed in a heap on the ground with a huge red graze on my leg and a large red stain from the earth all down the front of my UNICEF T-shirt. It was all on camera and one day I fully expect to see the footage on one of those television outtake programmes. Remembering my song-and-dance training from Canterbury Youth Opera days, I picked myself up and climbed back on the bike with a fixed grin on my face, even though I was crying inside. It was not until the crew had the shots that they needed that I dismounted and admitted just how painful my leg felt. My pride was also a little dented because it was quite apparent that they were all much better cyclists than I was.

After I had dusted myself down, I was asked to present prizes to the students who had been performing well at school. In another humbling moment, it was touching to see how delighted the girls were to be given fresh exercise books as prizes. They then presented me with a turban-like headdress and a dress that wrapped around the body. They were thrilled when I asked them to help me to put them on. We gave them some skipping ropes and a big bag of lollipops, which they loved.

The time I spend with UNICEF feels very worthwhile, but I always have this sense that there's more to be done. I feel incredibly passionate about the work that they do. There are some amazing people who work in countries like Ghana for UNICEF. When you meet them, you immediately realise that this is so much more than just a job for them and they are doing a lot more than they are paid to do.

I came away from Ghana wanting to do all that I could to help them. When I saw how people live there, it was not a surprise, but it was still a shock. I found it very hard to prepare myself for some of the scenes. I knew it would be tough, but in the end I was there for only five days. It sounds terrible to admit, but by the end of the trip I was relieved to be going home because I found it so draining. On the flight
home, I felt guilty for feeling that way. I should have wanted to stay there longer.

It was by no means all doom and gloom. I really gained a sense of how UNICEF make a difference. I met girls whose lives had been changed. They had gained an education; they had been given free meals; they had learned the skills to help them to set up their own businesses; and then they had travelled back to their villages able to share what they had learned with other girls facing similar hardships to themselves.

I wish everyone living in a developed country could go to see life in a developing one. I wish they could meet the people in places like Ghana and have their eyes opened. I've done it and now it's something that I can tell people about first-hand. That is why the trip meant so much to me.

I left Ghana far more motivated to make a difference. I hope that we will achieve real change in girls' lives there through the bicycle project and I'm looking forward to going back to Ghana soon to see how the money that we raise is being spent.

Each time I sit down and start to think about recording a new album, I always want to ensure that it's better than everything that has gone before, both in the sense of the repertoire that I choose to include and in terms of my own vocal performance. As I mentioned earlier, I had intended to write more of my second Decca album,
Odyssey,
myself. But it was not to be. I was determined that I really would make my mark as a songwriter on my new album,
Treasure.

By this stage I had done a lot of touring and I had developed an acute understanding of which songs worked
the best for my audiences. It's funny, but the songs that I perform the best are often the ones that I'm most comfortable with. In turn, these seem to be the songs that resonate most strongly with the audiences. A good example of this is 'Prayer', which is one of the main tracks I perform from
Odyssey.
It always creates a beautiful atmosphere at a concert and I can tell that the audience are enjoying listening to it as much as I delight in singing it. It's one of those songs that connect audience and singer; together we can revel in the music.

Initially, for
Treasure,
I wanted to create more of this type of song and home in on the sound that works best with my audiences. So, I started to write more tracks of my own that could possibly be included on the album. Then, some way down this process, I hit upon a slightly different central core to my new disc.

My inspiration was Nanna. She means an awful lot to me and was an incredibly significant part of my musical life while I was growing up. So, I made a list of songs that she used to perform in her singing days.
Treasure
then became an album with a dual role. As well as a set of new songs to keep my repertoire moving forward, I would also record some of the hits that were big in Nanna's repertoire and that I felt deserved to be kept alive in the public's conscience.

It's great to be recording songs that have been around for years, but I felt that I had reached a point as an artist when I wanted to be representing the music of the present time. So the tracks on
Treasure
showcase how I feel now. I also wanted to sing some songs that nobody else could claim to have sung first. They are mine and mine alone, and, if other people record them later down the track, then that will be fantastic, but they will always be 'Hayley's songs'.

With a song such as
'Danny Boy', which has been sung many times by many different people, I wanted to try to
come at the words and the music from a fresh place. Whenever I perform it live, I try to draw the audience into the story. The music is still relatively new to me because of my age, and, in the new arrangements I used on the album, I've attempted to put a fresh spin on it.

The same can be said for '
One Fine Day', which comes from Giacomo Puccini's opera
Madame Butterfly.
I'm always very conscious of the fact that, while I'm young, my voice is still not fully developed. This means that there are some operatic arias that I should not tackle yet. 'One Fine Day', which is another of Nanna's favourites, is a challenge for me in some respects, but it's certainly within my range. I don't want to be in the situation where I play it too safe, so that I fail to set new vocal challenges for myself along the way.

I wrote the first track on
Treasure,
called
'Let Me Lie', while I was staying at
Daniel Bedingfield's house in London. He and the rest of his family have become great friends of mine over the past few years, but I would like to take this opportunity to lay to rest once and for all the rumours that we enjoyed a romantic relationship. We met at the Royal Variety Performance in Edinburgh. I was in awe of his performance. He's such a fantastic singer and songwriter. I didn't realise that he was born in New Zealand, but after the show we got talking and he told me that he was also a Kiwi by birth.

Shortly after we met, he had a terrible car accident in New Zealand and was quite badly hurt. I sent him flowers on behalf of the Westenra family, wishing him well. Suddenly, there was an article in one of the British tabloid newspapers, saying that I was hanging around by his hospital bedside and that we were going out, but had yet to kiss because of his head brace. Very quickly, the news also made the papers in New Zealand. Friends started to come up to me at school saying, 'Why didn't you tell us?' Daniel had friends texting
him saying, 'You didn't tell us about Hayley.' But there was absolutely no truth in the story, and it was a PR stunt by somebody.

If you were hoping to read pages of lurid details about my
love life in this book, then by now you have probably worked out that you're going to be disappointed. It has never been easy dating people. It started when I was at school, when I was always the short-arse. Because I was a little squirt, the guys were never really that interested in me, anyway. Mum was always short as a child too, so she could relate to it. She would often say, 'Hayley, one day your prince will come' – but that didn't make it any less frustrating at the time.

Putting that stumbling block to one side, I've basically been on the road ever since I started making albums. I've had the opportunity to meet lots of amazing people and I can absolutely assure you that I've been out on my fair share of dates. I usually spend very little time in one place and my work tends to take up all of my spare time.

It's hard enough for any girl to find Mr Right, but I'm definitely not the sort of person who goes out with guys just for the sake of going out with them. I'm not going to hang out with someone just to pass the time of day either, so, if I go out with someone and it's not working, I'll call it a day because there's no point in carrying on under false pretences. I've never really had a serious relationship, but I do think that if I arrive at the point when I think that my work has completely taken over, and that I'll never find anyone, then I'll sort myself out. And I don't intend to wait until I'm 72 years old for that to happen!

It used to make me feel a bit disheartened that I didn't have a guy, but I do believe that I've rationalised it now. I've no idea whom I'll end up with and I've no ideal man in my head. I have a feeling that I'm going to come across someone through a completely chance encounter, maybe randomly on
a train or in the supermarket. It takes years for some people to find their soulmate. I have friends in their thirties who are still looking for someone. So, at the age of just twenty, I'm not too worried yet. Time is still on my side. It's not as if I were living the life of a hermit, either. I'm going out, meeting people and having a good time. As a good friend said to me, 'You have to kiss a lot of toads before you find your prince!'

When you're in the public eye, it does occur to you that someone might be interested only because of the attractions of fame, and I suppose that might be why I tend to be drawn to singers. I used to be completely convinced that I would end up with a musician, but I now wonder whether a relationship made up from two performers might be doomed from the outset unless they really are comfortable with the fact that one or other of them might be more or less successful at different times in their lives.

So, just to reiterate: Daniel
Bedingfield, with whom I had a completely platonic friendship, came to one of my concerts in Auckland and took me under his wing when I came to the UK. I spent some time staying at his home in London. It was great because they had a piano and it was a very inspirational environment for writing songs. His sister Nikola was there writing her own material and there was always music being played, with a stream of Daniel's musician friends dropping by.

I was sitting inside writing some lyrics when I looked out of the window and saw how beautiful a day it was outside. The sun was shining brightly and the skies were blue. I walked into the garden and lay down on the grass. I felt completely at peace with the world. Suddenly this lyric popped into my head, so I raced back inside and scribbled it down:

Let me lie on grasses green;
On my mother earth I lean.

My rest in the sunshine was over and I worked on the lyric some more, before jumping on to the piano stool and picking out a tune. The melody came very easily and then the rest of the lyric flowed. I wrote the words to the first verse, then the melody and then the words to the chorus, in that order. It was a fantastic moment of creativity and I was very proud of what I had written. Some people may say it's a bit of a 'hippie chick' song, but that doesn't bother me at all and I'm proud to admit that I'm very interested in green issues and conservation. In fact, I'm now a 'matron' for WEN – the
Women's Environmental Network.

I took the lyric and melody to 'Let Me Lie' to Sarah Class, who had worked on many of the arrangements on
Pure.
She's also a hippie chick, which is one of the reasons I bonded so well with her. We clicked because she's also a big fan of organic food, alternative therapies and healthy eating in general. Sarah helped me to take 'Let Me Lie' to the next level. We worked on it together, changing the pace of the song and the arrangement of the music. I found her guidance invaluable because, when you are just starting out, it takes a lot to complete a song and sometimes it's useful to have the input of somebody else.

It remains very much my song with the lyric and melody all my own. Once I started writing, I needed to have a publishing company, so, if you look at
Treasure
closely, you'll notice that many of the songs are published by
Aroha Music,
aroha
being one of my favourite words – it means 'love' in Maori.

Another of the songs that I co-wrote on
Treasure
has a slightly more accidental origin to its name.
'Le Notte del Silenzio' is Italian for 'The Night of Silence'. However, the song was always intended to be called 'Le Note del Silenzio', which translates as 'The Note of Silence'. But somewhere along the way there was a spelling mistake and the new name stuck.

Once it had appeared everywhere, we decided not to change it, to save even more confusion all round. I wrote it in London with a guy called
Antonio Galbiati. We sat around a piano and worked together on it in a very organic way. I loved the creative process, which was a real fusion of Italy and New Zealand. Each time we worked out how a section of the song would sound, we recorded it into a Dictaphone. It remains one of my favourite tracks on the album, even though the name went wrong.

It just goes to show how disorganised this industry is. It's totally dependent on people not making mistakes. Before I made my first record, I had always assumed that every CD that was produced was highly crafted and well thought out; now I think that some of the ones that do well succeed more through fluke than anything else. Quite often it's down to the efforts or decisions of one individual in the team. Albums that bomb can come down to one person making a few stupid mistakes.

Just one wrong decision over release dates; the amount of money available to spend on marketing; the priorities within a record company; even whether the person who originally signed an artist has left the record company in the meantime – all of these can be reasons why otherwise strong albums fail completely. I've seen this happen to other artists so often that I do like to have a say in every part of the record-making process. On the odd occasion when I've handed over an element of control, I've always come to regret it later.

I co-wrote the track
'Summer Rain' with Jeff Franzel, who had worked on the Il Divo tour. As we travelled around America, we would snatch opportunities to write together on our days off. Jeff would often ask, 'Shall we write tomorrow?' and I would agree, while thinking to myself, Bother, there go my shopping plans! or, I just want to sleep and rest my voice. It was a real battle to find time to do some writing
and Jeff instilled some strong discipline into me. Otherwise, I might well have kept on procrastinating.

The day that we wrote 'Summer Rain' was an especially good one, because not only did I write a song but I also had time to squeeze in some shopping for a pair of black boots, which was a bonus! I'm not usually that much of a shopper, but, while I was touring with Il Divo, I did enjoy getting out and about in each new city that we visited. I wrote the lyric for the song and then worked on the music with Jeff. Once we were happy with everything, Jeff took the track back home to New York and put it down as a demo, with computer-based instrumentation, so that we could play it to everyone. I particularly liked the pizzicato strings that we eventually worked into the introduction and the way that the strings acted in a percussive way all the way through.

For 'Summer Rain', I wrote the entire lyric on my own and then Jeff and I worked jointly on the music. Creating a song with a co-writer like this is by far my preferred way of operating. I've found that, when I work with a co-writer on the words, it's a less satisfying process. There's no right or wrong way of writing lyrics and it's true to say that another writer can often come up with a great line, but I found that there was always a danger that the song wouldn't end up being what I had initially envisaged it as being. One new line can take the whole story of a song in a different direction.

I suppose it's my controlling nature kicking in, but I find that at this point my interest in the song begins to lessen, I suppose because it's then less personal to me. This was not the case with 'Summer Rain' – it was a great partnership with Jeff that flowed really well, just as it had been when I worked with Antonio on 'Le Notte del Silenzio'.

'Melancholy Interlude' is one of the more unusual tracks on the album. For a start, it lasts for just over a minute and a half. Secondly, it's based on a tune written by the English
composer
John Dowland, who was born almost five hundred years ago. I came across his piece
'Melancholy Galliard' on an album that I was listening to on my laptop late one night after a concert in Japan. It arrested my attention as soon as I heard it. The melody was very simple but very haunting, and its potential as the basis for a song just grabbed me instantly and I started to sketch out some words.