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The Shambles played at the
The Shambles played at the

Pop CultureApril 1, 2018

The new Dunedin Sound

The Shambles played at the
The Shambles played at the

Over the past two years a movement of Dunedin bands have played sold out gigs in all the major centres, riding a wave of hype unseen since the glory days of Flying Nun. Don Rowe kicks off his shoes and gets into the thick of it.

On a peerless afternoon in late January, 250 people danced in the backyard of an opulent manor in Auckland’s Freeman’s Bay. A four-piece band played from the deck – synths, keys, bass, drums – with a horn section on the balcony above. Apples hung on wire from the trees and in the pool a whirlpool was forming. Framed by a hedgerow the Sky Tower almost winked at the city. Coined the second annual Winn Road Festival, the scene dripped joy. Change was in the air. Or was it weed?

Like a bucket of spilled tie-dye, a musical movement has been seeping north, covering the country in a funky, surf-rock, grom-pop, psychedelic groove. Gromz, The Shamblés, the Soaked Oats, Marlin’s Dreaming, the Jack Berry Band – over the past two years a travelling circus of former scarfies have sold out shows from Queenstown to Queen Street, filling out venues in Auckland and Wellington in a way not seen since the era of the Dunedin Sound. And this time it’s coming straight from the source.  

“My early experience in Dunedin was in dark, grungy, strobe-lit flats listening to drum’n’bass where everyone was hugely uncomfortable, probably trying drugs for their first time, just intensely freaked out – as any animal would be in that situation,” says Max Gunn, lead singer and keyboardist for The Shamblés. “I mean, chuck a cat on a huge quantity of MDMA into a strobed room with dubstep, they’d get fucked up too. That was my introduction to the music scene in Dunedin.”

Gunn, a talented multi instrumentalist from a family of musicians, moved into the Curry Hut, a hilltop student flat overlooking North Dunedin. They began hosting parties, changing the script with funk and house music, groovy tunes and live performances. On the tail end of the boozy metamorphosis that is university life in Dunedin, a certain energy pervaded the air.

“There was a vibe that this was a chance to be ridiculous, to be outrageous,” says Gunn. “It was such a fun, free, loving kind of environment that you could get away with basically anything without getting looked at too weird.”

THE SHAMBLES AT KINGS ARMS. PHOTO: SUPPLIED.

Like sand in a drunken oyster, projects like Gromz emerged; psychedelic indie rock with surfy sensibilities. In late 2016, the last year of university, they released their album Two and a Half Days, recorded quite literally in two-and-a-half days at the iconic Chicks Hotel in Port Chalmers. With partially improvised lyrics and grooves, the album, self-categorised as ‘romantic surf rock’, was massive overnight, racking up more than two million streams as it hit 8th on the Spotify global viral chart, 5th on the New Zealand viral chart and 10th in the US viral chart within a week.

“It helps with the vibrant student population in Dunedin,” Gunn told a Stuff journalist at the time, unaware of how true that would prove to be.

Following exams Gromz set off on a nationwide summer tour, managed by former New Zealand ski representative Harry Pettit, who had met the band through a friend at the Curry Hut.

Skivvy Jon from Shakti Mats had hit me up with an idea for a comedy project they wanted to do in Dunedin, a bunch of flat gigs,” he says. “Then Max Gunn approached me. He knew I had a little bit of experience in management and dealing with sponsors and so on and he wanted some help. He basically just asked ‘where do we start?’”

MAX GUNN PERFORMS WITH THE SHAMBLES AT TUKI FESTIVAL. PHOTO: SUPPLIED.

The tour saw Gromz and The Shamblés riding a wave of positivity and possibility, crowding venues like Neck of the Woods with a potpourri of groovy, albeit decidedly middle class, kids.

“I think there was such a high energy at the end of university, everyone felt like they could do anything and get away with anything,” says Gunn. “Everyone was like ‘fuck it, we can do whatever we want, and put that into a sound, and people will get behind it’, and that’s what’s happened.”

The scene was supported by people who were on the same wavelength, people who had been waiting on a new wave of music and culture and creativity.

“It’s a weird thing to say but that’s what it feels like is happening. People are all for it. The amount of people that come up to me and say ‘Oh fuck I feel what you guys are doing, it’s epic. We haven’t had this happen since the Dunedin Sound era.’”

There’s a massive move in terms of what people value in their job and in their lifestyle and as their way of being. They see people doing this creative work and infecting the area with good times and good energy and they’re just like ‘fuck yes. This is something I can support.’”

THE SOAKED OATS. IMAGE: SCREENGRAB.

Loosely grouped, the bands of the new Dunedin sound are a sort of psychedelic surf rock infused with a general frothiness; their music is not ludicrously technical but all of it is listenable. They navigate post-adolescent clumsiness, more brutal than puberty, with songs that acknowledge the intensity of the last days of real abandon, yet retain a certain fuck-it mentality, bathing in the ludicrousness of it all.

The Soaked Oats, a four-piece, started almost as a joke. Their EP, Stone Fruit Melodies, is filled with tracks like ‘I’m a Peach’ (“I was born with the recessive genome/of a nectarine”), ‘Avocado Aficionado’ and rockabilly number ‘Cherry Brother’. 

“Their first show was at the end of the Gramblez tour we did last year, Gromz and The Shambles, and they’d been mixing their Stone Fruit EP,” says Pettit. “There were a couple songs on there we were listening to on the road and thinking ‘Fuck this is loose, we need the boys to perform.’”

“We had a flat in Clarence Street in Ponsonby and so we set up all the sound gear in our little courtyard. They were just practising and jamming throughout the day and ended up getting us kicked out because there was too much noise for the rich old neighbours, so we effectively ended up going on this sold out tour while all being homeless at the same time.”

THE SOAKED OATS PLAY AT RHYTHM AND VINES. PHOTO: SUPPLIED.

The Soaked Oats went up that weekend at a sold-out show at Neck of the Woods, then played a pre-Laneway gig at the inaugural Winn Road festival. Over the next 12 months they played in excess of 60 paid shows, culminating in a sunset session on the Rhythm and Vines Garden Stage.  

“It totally freaked them out,” says Pettit. “They were like ‘Shit, we did this as a pisstake, look at what’s happened’. Since then they’ve had to just run with it. They’re not planning on slowing down.”

Rebekah Brixtow, artist liaison at Auckland music venue Neck of the Woods, says it’s the positivity of the scene that is driving such enthusiasm and devotion.

“People are sick of cynicism, and that’s partly why these bands are able to draw such big crowds to somewhere like Neck of the Woods which is normally associated with DnB, hiphop and big soundsystem sort of events. They have an edge of course but they’re so talented and hard working and approachable that they’re able to make it feel like home, even if they’re playing to an away crowd. Even our security have commented on the lack of trouble at these gigs.”

The tour took its toll on them all however. Such an explosion of cultural energy meant people were rabid for merch, for tickets, for a taste of the action. Money poured in. The good times rolled.

“We didn’t know what to do with all this cash,” says Pettit. “We just thought ‘Buy some beers, buy this, buy that, let’s go hard’, and at the end of it everyone was just broken.

SOAKED OATS’ FRONT MAN OSCAR MEIN AT RNV. IMAGE: SUPPLIED.

“Some people started out thinking ‘Fuck this is the best shit ever’, and then when it simmers down and you have to go back to work, some people have been able to hack it and some have hit the wall and gone ‘Fuck, this is too brutal.’”

There was a seasonal atrophy of a sort, with bands reshuffling and integral members like Gunn reevaluating their commitment to a scene and movement that could yet prove a mirage. Because this is a movement birthed in university culture, the fans that packed shows across the country with such apparent apathy for the consequences inevitably settled back into their white collar routine come the winter – these are lawyers, architects, surveyors; in short, New Zealand’s most educated.

Gromz disbanded as priorities shifted and people came to terms with what they were potentially giving up and the demands of life on the road made themselves known.

“When we’re on tour we’re literally just pulling out the friend card and sleeping on couches and floors and so on. It can get really tiring. It’s not that sustainable,” says Pettit. 

But the movement was far from done.

MARLIN’S DREAMING. IMAGE: SCREENGRAB.

Positioned almost exactly between north and south Dunedin, Hope Street is a depressingly industrial stretch of halfway homes, garages and and a grim Anglican church. But despite it’s exterior it’s home to one of the more promising indie bands in the country, a project born in the aftermath of the Gromz tour, and a burgeoning groove factory.

“Our band house is on No Hope street,” says Marlin’s Dreaming guitarist Tim McNaughton. “It’s called that because of all the dero houses and super cooked people. But it’s actually pretty sick. I don’t even know if people live in the places next door.”

McNaughton, a former arts student, met Gromz frontman Semisi Maiai working in St Clair’s Hydro Surf shop just outside central Dunedin.

“He was just a grommet when we met, but he was always into music, and once I’d been living back in Auckland for six months I just wanted to do something loose,” McNaughton says. “So when Semisi hit me up to get involved with a project he was starting I just moved straight back to Dunnaz.”

After the band recorded a number of songs Maiai had demoed on his laptop, the pair flew to Los Angeles to master the album with Grammy winning producer Jeff Ellis. “He’s super professional, he worked a lot with Frank Ocean, and it came out really sick.” 

Released in September, 2017, Lizard Tears quickly racked up north of 1.1 million Spotify streams. That summer, the band hit the road on the Not That Bad tour, driving a trailer from Dunedin to Auckland and back, dragging along friends to man the doors and maintain the vibes.  

“It was a real mean buzz, we were frothing the whole time. I think a lot of bands in Auckland struggle to get some of the crowds, because they don’t always have such a tight knit community.”

Now they’re living a flat on No Hope, with eyes on the past and future. For his part, McNaughton doesn’t care much for categorising the experience, or committing to a sound or look. 

“That whole Dunedin Sound thing, that was just a marketing tool I guess,” says. “At the end of the day it’s just people making tunes. I don’t even want to say what genre we are. I don’t really know, and I don’t want us to be boxed in. People can decide for themselves when they listen.”

“This is a different era, we’ve got different social anxieties. The Dunedin Sound was a lot more angry, more punk influenced, well post-punk anyway, but who knows? Maybe we’ll put out some gnarly albums after we go through a winter on No Hope street. That might do it.”

“I don’t even have any ski equipment, might have to just get out there in some speed dealers, a trenchy and a surfboard. Take the fins off and just slide around. That’d make a good little music video eh?”

Gunn, who endured a physical and spiritual winter of his own as chronicled in the Shamblés single ‘Living Today’is ambivalent, saying that irrespective of Flying Nun and the Dunedin Sound, there was a niche waiting to be filled.

“People were waiting, holding their breath for something to kick off. There was a vacuum. I’ve been amazed over both summer tours over the enthusiasm of so many people. It’s so rare to be able to sell out 500 person shows all over the country with original music and no record backing and barely any money to speak of.”

THE SHAMBLES GUITARIST CJ MOWER AT TUKI FESTIVAL. IMAGE: SUPPLIED.

“The reason it’s worked is because the people who are into this feel like they’re not only supporting a band like a fan, but they’re actually part of the extended family.

“We’ve got this entourage of barefooted frothers in vans following us around now and it’s fucken nuts. It’s nuts. There’s such a range of people entering this mixing pot where everyone is figuring out who they are and they’re finally through their awkward teens and now they’re expressing themselves, but still in a vulnerable way. These bands are just representatives for everyone on that buzz. 

“The most epic and moving comments we get after shows or after people listen to our music is when they say it showed them that it’s an OK thing to actually just be yourself and get weird. That’s why there’s this scene. And it’s just starting out – it wasn’t called the 1961 and 62s, was it?”


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Marlon Williams tour 2018 supported by Tiny Ruins in North America and Delaney Davidson in the UK and Europe (supplied)
Marlon Williams tour 2018 supported by Tiny Ruins in North America and Delaney Davidson in the UK and Europe (supplied)

Pop CultureApril 1, 2018

How folk became New Zealand’s top musical export

Marlon Williams tour 2018 supported by Tiny Ruins in North America and Delaney Davidson in the UK and Europe (supplied)
Marlon Williams tour 2018 supported by Tiny Ruins in North America and Delaney Davidson in the UK and Europe (supplied)

Aldous Harding and Nadia Reid are at the forefront of a folk scene that is revolutionising how NZ music is seen overseas. Recently both also made the shortlist for this year’s Taite Awards, but Gareth Shute argues they’re just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to local folk success stories.

At the end of 2017, Aldous Harding was named as one of NPR’s top ten albums of the year, while Nadia Reid was listed at No.2 in Mojo magazine’s list (Harding was at No.10). But they’re not the only artists from the New Zealand folk scene to gain a worldwide fanbase. Marlon Williams, Tiny Ruins, French For Rabbits, and Flip Grater have also toured widely overseas, signed to international labels, and had their most popular tracks surpass a million Spotify streams. Even lesser known folk musician Graeme James has achieved similar feats.These artists mark an abrupt change of pace for a country more known for the brash pop of Lorde, the upfront rhymes of Savage or the heavy guitars of Shihad and The Datsuns.

If we’re looking to explain the roots of this new wave of acts, the best place to start is the quiet port town of Lyttelton. Local band The Eastern were fundamental in bringing life to the South Island folk scene with their hectic playing schedule, managing 230 show in a single year, 2009, and holding a residency at the Wunderbar that drew in other local acts like Delaney Davidson and Marlon Williams when he was still in his high school band, The Unfaithful Ways.

The Eastern recorded with producer Ben Edwards whose Christchurch central studio, The Sitting Room, was destroyed twice by earthquakes, leading him to move his operations to Lyttelton. It was here that the debut albums of Nadia Reid, Aldous Harding and Marlon Williams were recorded. Edwards co-produced with Williams for his and Harding’s albums, which were both released through Lyttelton Records. The growing sense of community was shown by the Harbour Union album that was recorded by acts from the Lyttelton scene to fundraise for those affected by the earthquakes.

Tour posters for The Eastern and Nadia Reid (supplied)

Most New Zealand acts don’t have much chance to get road-ready before heading overseas since a regular national tour only takes on the four main centres. However, The Eastern helped enliven a folk circuit that ran through the small towns of the country, as did fellow Cantabrian Flip Grater and Auckland-based artists like Luckless, Reb Fountain, Tim Guy, and Bond Street Bridge. Subsequent acts followed their example: Nadia Reid’s 2013 national tour took in 15 dates; Aldous Harding was in The Lonesome Pine Specials who did a 19-date tour in 2015; and Williams and Delaney Davidson promoted their album (Sad But True, 2014) with a 13 date tour of the country.

Being a folk musician gives the option of travelling in a more stripped back fashion than a full rock band; one or two musicians only require a car to get from town to town. This means a big saving when it comes to touring overseas (not to mention not having to hire and transport a full drumkit). Nadia Reid has done her biggest tours overseas with just Sam Taylor on electric guitar, French For Rabbits started out touring as a duo, while Tiny Ruins is currently touring North America accompanied only by bass player, Cass Basil (many of the shows are support slots for Marlon Williams). Aldous Harding takes a different approach, saving on airfares by employing backing musicians in each region that she tours.

Nadia Reid with Sam Taylor at the APRA Silver Scroll Awards 2016 (Photo: Gareth Shute)

Other local success stories come from acts who started out as buskers before moving into music industry proper. Graeme James started out playing to tourists on the streets of Queenstown, then went on to record two albums of covers (his folky version of ‘Young Blood’ has now passed 4 million streams on Spotify). His subsequent album of originals produced a pair of similarly well-streamed tracks – ‘Alive’ has 3.2 million streams and ‘One + One’ has 2.4 million. It’s also worth mentioning Mitch James – his music is more pop than folk, but he started out busking with just an acoustic guitar on the streets of Europe and now he has one track, ‘No Fixed Abode’, at 13.8 million Spotify streams.

A more fundamental question is why these acts found such a large audience overseas. Part of it seems to be that folk retains an image of musical authenticity that rock has long since forgone. There used to be nothing more ‘pure’ than four musicians bashing it out on guitars and drums, but with all the cross-genre experimentation and digital manipulation of the last two decades, it’s hard to make the case that rock is really any more raw or unfiltered than pop music. This makes a musician wielding only their voice and an acoustic guitar (or keyboard) seem like they’re carrying the true flame for the classic music of the ’50s and ’60s. This may also explain why, in 2010, sales of acoustic guitars surpassed those of electric guitars.

Aldous Harding at WOMAD 2018 (Photo: Gareth Shute)

Harking back to a traditional style means you immediately tap into a worldwide niche audience. You can appear at folk festivals where being exotic rather than famous is less of a hurdle (as well as slotting into folk playlists on Spotify). Starting out with the bare bones sound of just a voice and guitar/piano also means that you can gradually expand your sound over time. French For Rabbits have moved more toward dream-pop (expanding their line-up to a five-piece), Nadia Reid edges toward rock on some recent tracks, and Marlon Williams has always had one foot in alt-country.

Having a traditional core to your music also means it appeals to an older generation of musicians who may give you a leg up. Neil Finn was such a fan of Tiny Ruins that he created her first music video, while Jools Holland gave slots on his TV show to Nadia Reid, Aldous Harding and Marlon Williams. This might also explain why the classic UK rock mags have heralded these same artists. Uncut magazine gave a score of 8/10 to both of Aldous Harding’s albums and both of Nadia Reid’s albums too; Mojo gave a 4/5 to Marlon Williams’ debut, Nadia Reid’s debut, and Tiny Ruins’ second album, then named Nadia Reid’s recent album as the second best of 2017. It helps that the older readership of these magazines might actually buy an album, rather than just streaming it.

Marlon Williams when he was nominated for a Silver Scroll (Photo by Gareth Shute)

Despite this, it’s true that revenue from album sales or streams is never going to compare to the money artists would’ve made even a decade ago. In some ways, the record industry is reverting back to a situation similar to the pre-1950s, when most musicians make their money from live shows rather than album sales (folk music was popular back then too!). While it’s true that technology means that pop artists can work at home to create a viral hit that will provide them an income, only appearing live once they’ve already developed a fanbase online (if at all), this will only ever provide a sustainable career for a small fragment of our music acts. The others will most likely need to survive like troubadours by cutting down on costs and doing long tours until they find an audience large enough to support them.

The flood of overseas success stories from our folk scene may not be at an end either, with hard-touring veterans like Great North – two-time winners of the Tui for Best Folk Album – and Luckless relocating to the UK and Berlin respectively. Equally encouraging is what has happened back home: huge headlining shows for folk acts, like Tiny Ruins at Crystal Palace, Marlon Williams at the Auckland Town Hall, or Aldous Harding at the Civic. Right now New Zealand is making some of the best folk music in the world – and music lovers at home know just how lucky we are.


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