Michael Lemaire - Friend, Musician, Racing Driver, IT Specialist

Q: When you look back at your life and where you are today, has it turned out as you expected?
A: Depends on what period of time you look from. From childhood and teenage years, it’s much better than I could have envisaged from that miserable time. I just hoped one day things would be okay, but had no idea how. Later on, I had delusions of building something equivalent to Atlassian—a significant achievement in the world. I had the technical chops but not the business side. I’ve since found a middle path, and I’m happy with where I’ve ended up.

Q: Looking back, is there anything you would do differently?
A: Perhaps I would have invested money differently. With motor racing, I might have pulled the pin earlier when I was running out of money and talent, and directed that money elsewhere. I also wish I’d been better able to connect with people. I’ve always been good with things—race cars, computers, music—but not as good at friendships or connecting. But in terms of decisions, I can’t put my finger on anything specific I’d change.

Q: Let’s talk about motor racing. Why did you get into it, what happened, and why didn’t you continue?
A: Getting my licence and my own car gave me a sense of freedom, and I loved driving. I did an advanced driving course at Sandown, and that fired me up. I joined a car club, bought a Ford Escort, and started racing. I had some ups and downs—like blowing the diff the day we were meant to go rallying—but circuit racing was great fun. I could out-handle V8s in the corners, though they’d leave me on the straights. That led me into Formula V, which was more even competition, and I worked my way towards the top ten. Then I went further—into Formula Holden—with a replica Formula 3000 car. It was an amazing experience, racing at the Adelaide Grand Prix supports, but I wasn’t really up to running a full team. Money and talent eventually ran out, and I realised it was time to stop. Still, it was magic, and I don’t regret it.

Q: Tell me about your music.
A: Music goes back to primary school—recorder, then clarinet in high school, which I took through to Year 12, even performing Weber’s Concertino. But I grew tired of practising other people’s music and put it away for years. In the ’80s I dabbled with synths and drum machines, then shifted focus to motor racing. In 2009, Westgarth Primary ran “Westgarth Idol,” and I pulled the clarinet out again after decades. Performing Comfortably Numb to 400 people who gave a standing ovation was incredible. That connected me to the Westgarth community, and I played there for years. Later I joined a band through Weekend Warriors, playing blues rock regularly for two years. More recently, I’ve been part of the Pinko Collective—a loose group of musicians from Northcote who jam every six weeks. I still play there and write originals. Covers are fun, but I feel the need to create as well.

Q: You’ve also had a long career in computing. What has that been like?
A: I’ve been in computing for 35–40 years and it really fit my abilities and personality. I loved creating software. Some projects were especially rewarding—like saving a steel company $10 million a year with logistics programming, or reducing online superannuation balance wait times from a minute to five seconds, impacting a million people. But over time, the corporate world became less satisfying. The money was good, but it wasn’t putting rockets on Mars. If I returned, it would need to be for something meaningful.

Q: How’s your family?
A: My brother Mark is in Texas. We chat occasionally. He’s a mountaineer—he lost toes on Everest years ago after almost summiting without oxygen. He went back more recently, which may have settled some demons. My sister lives in Blackburn with her two kids. I see them from time to time.

Q: What’s next for you? Do you have plans, or are you just cruising?
A: It depends on the day. Some days I’m content, other days I feel driven to focus on music and creating. I sometimes feel time ticking away, wondering what I’m “meant” to be doing. My father died when I was 16, and I discovered he had sides of himself that never got fully realised. That’s stayed with me—this sense of mortality and needing to achieve something. At the same time, I know the joy is often in the small things: family, music, making software, gardening, designing forest paths in suburbia, nature, reading, cats. Sometimes it’s less about big achievements and more about the “little wonders,” as Rob Thomas sings.