Ka Mua Ka Muri Brings Local Music into the Library

There is something quietly brilliant about putting live music inside a library. Not because it is unexpected, although it is. Not because it makes people look twice, although it does. But because a library already knows how to hold stories. It archives voices, preserves histories, and makes space for those not always in the spotlight.

That is exactly the spirit behind Ka Mua Ka Muri. Auckland Council’s showcase began in the strange stillness after COVID. At that time, bringing live audiences back into rooms was hard, and artists needed new ways to be seen, heard, and remembered.

Loosely inspired by the intimacy of NPR’s Tiny Desk format, Ka Mua Ka Muri first took shape as an online programme filmed in the basement of Central City Library. From the beginning, it had its own kaupapa. This was never just about putting musicians in front of microphones. It was about showcasing the depth of Tāmaki Makaurau’s artistry, especially artists outside mainstream visibility.

Now, the project continues with a live showcase at Central City Library on 30 May. Full bands and local performers fill a space more often known for quiet reading than roaring sound. And that is part of the magic. The library was not chosen by accident. Early on, Auckland Council arts facilities explored the concept, including building something around a grand piano at Nathan Homestead. But when the Central City Library basement archive came into view, the fit was obvious. Two stories beneath Queen Street, surrounded by the city above's energy, the space offered something deeper than a standard performance setting. It spoke to storytelling, archiving, and the “beyond grassroots” feeling of Tāmaki music. There was a charm in it. A sense that local music could be placed somewhere that treated it not as background noise, but as something worth keeping. That setting shaped how the series grew. Ka Mua Ka Muri could have focused just on performance, but being in a library demanded more. It gave artists space not only to play, but also to speak. To talk about Auckland, New Zealand music, and the histories that shaped them. In that way, the series becomes less about copying an existing format and more about letting Tāmaki Makaurau tell itself.

This year’s artists come from different sounds, ages, genres, and creative stages. What connects them is not genre but geography. Their ties to the city, central Auckland, North Shore, West Auckland, or in between unite them. That local thread is what makes the showcase feel so aligned with New Zealand Music Month. May already brings a nationwide focus to homegrown music, but for Auckland, it also arrives after a hectic summer period for many artists. There is a sense of timing in it, a moment where the city is already looking toward its musicians, and Ka Mua Ka Muri can become another piece in that wider tapestry.

Accessibility is another core part of the event’s purpose. Live music can be hidden behind ticket prices, age limits, venue culture, or a sense that a space is not "for you." A library changes that. Libraries are communal. They are familiar. They are places families can enter without wondering if they belong there. By placing live music in that kind of space, Ka Mua Ka Muri lowers the barrier before a note is even played. The fact that the event is free further lowers it.

For young artists, that accessibility extends to them as well. Ka Mua Ka Muri connects with Stand Up, Stand Out, another Auckland Council programme for secondary students. Through that, young songwriters can move from school-level opportunities into real performance spaces, gaining experience alongside their peers. That care matters. Auckland is a UNESCO City of Music, so it has a responsibility to support its creative ecosystem from the grassroots up. Programmes like this help young local artists move visibly and realistically toward becoming industry-ready performers.

For audiences, the hope is simple yet layered: see a great show, discover a new artist, and realise the depth of Tāmaki’s talent. Most importantly, imagine live music outside the usual spaces. Because sometimes the best place to hear the future of a city is where its stories are already being kept.