by Chris Rau

If you tell people you’ re researching an article about Western Sydney’ s live music scene, the response is immediate and unanimous:“ What music scene?”

Unfair? Perhaps a little. But mostly true especially when contrasted with the days when pubs were loosely regulated, drinkdriving laws didn’ t exist, and countless smoky venues spawned the likes of Cold Chisel, Midnight Oil and The Cockroaches. Perhaps it’ s fitting that The Cockroaches eventually became The Wiggles.

“ I think it’ s a geographical thing,” says Hills-based drummer Lachie Pollard, 24.

“ Especially in the Hills, the North-West and Blacktown, there are pubs, but they’ re quite spread out. There are RSLs and sports clubs that always have something going on, but generally there aren’ t many venues that actually cater for live music.

“ The pubs and clubs are there to serve people food.”

Add the proliferation of pokies, the stampede to free online music, and the lingering aftermath of COVID, and the live music scene is ailing disproportionately so in Western Sydney.

Venues that do offer live music rarely take risks on original local acts. Instead, they stick to safer options: tribute bands, cover bands, themed music nights( Irish being a perennial favourite), or gigs by established, better-known artists.

There may be the occasional solo performer or duo playing quietly in a corner, but they’ re there as an adjunct rather than the main event, according to musicians and venue operators interviewed for this piece.

It’ s a pity, because Western Sydney is brimming with musical talent, young and old. In the mid-2000s, when Blacktown’ s now-defunct BamBam music store still ran its annual January instrument sale, queues of eager young musicians would snake half a kilometre down Main Street. Some camped overnight, hoping to snap up a

Lachie Pollard playing in“ No Bull” last year.

half-price guitar, keyboard or drum kit. Today, a loose network of rap, hiphop, electronic and rock musicians spans the region, drawing from Pacific Islander, African, Indian, Arabic, Chinese and European communities explains. They jam together and apart, rehearsing wherever they can- often in dusty, unused spaces.

For the talented, music like sport is often a crucial pathway to social connection, creative expression and escape from poverty or family dysfunction.

There is no official statistic on the number of musicians in Western Sydney. But interest is strong enough for the Conservatorium of Music to plan a $ 30 million recording studio and auditorium in Parramatta, due to open in August. While details remain sketchy, the target student audience includes DJs, soundtrack composers, garage bands and songwriters. Few musicians earn a living wage. Although music is their driving force, all of Lachie’ s muso friends have day jobs, he says. Lachie works at Parramatta’ s Drum Factory, where he regularly hears stories of fellow musicians navigating long financial dry spells.

The NSW Government, concerned about a stagnant night-time economy, has also recognised the need to invest more heavily in Western Sydney. It has committed $ 5 million to initiatives ranging from individual grants for artists, including musicians, to possible incentives for venues to host live music. Ideas have even included a proposed“ lazy space tax” to encourage owners of unused commercial buildings to open them up as potential venues.

A NSW Government inquiry into arts funding is underway this year, chaired by Greens MP Cate Faehrmann.

“ A healthy live music scene doesn’ t happen by accident,” Ms Faehrmann said.“ It relies on deliberate public policy that invests in young and emerging artists.”

While Western Sydney vastly outnumbers the rest of Sydney in population, she said there remains a“ huge disparity” between the west and other parts of the city when it comes to support and resources for young and emerging musicians.

One option, she suggested, would be giving local councils“ a greater share of, and say in, live music funding”.

Blacktown City Council currently has limited scope to fund individual musicians beyond small grants of between $ 2,000 and $ 5,000, available to a handful of applicants through its Creative Arts Fund.

Last year, the fund allocated just over $ 45,000 to ten projects, some of them music-related. New applications open in March. The grants are designed for one-off projects, not ongoing gigs.

Blacktown Council’ s Curator of Performance, Veronica Barac-Gomez, acknowledges that music is often a secondary element at council-run events. The most recent example was the“ Blacktown Garage Party”, held last month as a farewell event for the Leo Kelly Arts Centre. The two-day program included design and arts workshops, photography, face painting and four music sets on the second day. This month, Council will host“ Summer Music at Elara Food Market” on February 14.

Ms Barac-Gomez said Council would welcome greater support from the State Government.

“ There is a real appetite for music,” she said.“ We’ re finding that whenever we can hold music events, the community turns up.”

The Leo Kelly Arts Centre, located up the hill from the Kmart car park, has now closed as part of the Walker Group’ s redevelopment of the Blacktown CBD- a project similar in scale to Parramatta Square. A new arts centre is planned for 2028. In the meantime, Council’ s arts and music programs will continue across various alternative locations.

Lachie Pollard has loved drumming since the age of three. He received his first official drum kit at 11, ditched organised sport in favour of music, and was influenced early on by a drumming uncle. After work, he tours with the three-piece rock band No Bull, playing gigs in Sydney’ s inner west and regional centres.

Local venues in Western Sydney, he says, are unable to cater to the band’ s heavy rock genre.

While regional gigs- such as those in Dubbo, Woy Woy, Bomaderry or Coonabarabran- can pay quite well, often with accommodation included, a typical gig in Leichhardt or Newtown might pay $ 400 for the three musicians covering bass, lead guitar, drums and vocals.

“ By the time we’ ve paid for petrol and tolls, and paid the house sound engineer $ 100, I’ ll end up with about $ 15 in my pocket,” Lachie said.“ You can’ t survive on city gigs.”

Applying for council or State Government grants, he says, is often too bureaucratic to be useful.

“ As part of a social media generation, a lot of people my age and younger have

A. Girl Hinenuterangi Tairua performing her distinctive R & B / Hip Hop sound at The Blacktown Garage Party

very short attention spans,” he said.“ As soon as you have to jump through too many hoops, they’ ll just say,‘ I can’ t be bothered’.”

“ That’ s not to say we want things handed to us. But if the Government wants live music to be a big part of the culture, they’ ll have to help us out.”

Lachie believes there is a real risk that without support, original live music could die out within the next five years.

“ Because streaming is so popular and creating music on a computer is so easy now- without even learning an instrument- live musos might almost stop seeing the point,” he said.

As for his own future, Lachie remains hopeful.

“ If my life ended up where I could play music in really good venues, with good musicians, and actually make a living, I would do it,” he said.“ That would be the best life.”

At the time of writing, Lachie has stepped away from No Bull, following a recent marriage and a lack of spare hours. But the drum kit still gets a regular workout, in anticipation of more gigs in a less precarious future.

Part two in March: Dilemmas for music venues. The pitfalls facing young musicians in the Spotify and AI eras, rising costs, and the decline of radio and printed gig guides.