Antonia Robinson and Anapela Polataivao in Tinā (Image: Supplied)
Alex Casey talks to Tinā writer and director Miki Magasiva about setting the film in Ōtautahi, and what he learned from the community.
The first of many palpable moments in the room at the Christchurch premiere of Tinā came during a phone conversation between the main character Mareta (Anapela Polataivao) and her daughter. She’s seeking reassurance from her mum before an audition which she mentions, in passing, is at the CTV building in the city. A sharp intake of breath was heard across the entire James Hay Theatre, as people shifted around in their seats and braced for the worst.
Following Mareta’s experience of losing her daughter in the 2011 earthquake and attempting to reconnect with the community, Miki Magasiva’s debut film is firmly rooted in Christchurch’s very recent history. In the buzzing crowd at the town hall, that meant that while there were shudders and tears for the quake scenes, there were also whoops and cheers for the graffiti’d dairy in Aranui, and excited hums of recognition for the Arts Centre and its communal piano.
A week or so prior, Magasiva told The Spinoff he was feeling the weight of representing both Christchurch and the Pacific community in an authentic way. “There is a strong sense of responsibility,” he said. “Hopefully it resonates with audiences, and hopefully it’s a story that people will enjoy watching. But then also, because it’s a Pacific story, there is an extra sense that people really need to enjoy it, because we don’t get many opportunities at this thing.”
The initial spark for the story came when Magasiva saw a 2013 clip from The Big Sing choir competition. “I had also always wanted to do a story that paid respects to our mothers and our leaders,” he said. “So I set off building a story around a choir teacher, and who she might be.” After writing his first draft about a Samoan teacher placed in a posh, predominantly white high school, Christchurch quickly entered the equation as a useful setting for the story.
“It was actually originally based in Auckland, but our lead producer Dan Higgins – he went to Shirley Boys’ – read my first treatment and immediately said ‘you should really think about setting this in Christchurch’.” Wellington-born Magasiva didn’t initially know why, but after some research and chatting with Christchurch people, it became clear that a movie centred around school snobbery would be “very well suited” to the Garden City indeed.
Anapela Polataivao as Mareta Percival in Tinā. (Image: Supplied)
Later, on one of their many pre-production trips down south, Magasiva would experience the Christchurch school obsession first hand. “We encountered a lot of it,” he laughed. “Everywhere in Christchurch everyone wants to talk to you and they are super friendly. We were having a steak one night and some people came over to have a chat. The first thing they asked was ‘what are you doing here?’ and then quickly ‘what school did you go to?’”
Setting the story in Christchurch also unlocked another essential element to the film and Mareta’s journey through grief – the real-life tragedy of the February 2011 earthquake. “Even though it was a tragic event, I read so many really inspirational stories about how it brought the community together, and how it was a galvanising event for everybody,” said Magasiva. “And I just thought, ‘wow, this place is actually something really special’.
Researching the quakes didn’t just mean watching every video and reading every interview, but speaking extensively with those affected. “It was super important just to be in the place, to feel the environment, to talk to the people there,” he said. “We talked to students, teachers and counsellors who were really crucial in helping us understand what it was like for young people going through it, and all the challenges in going back to your normal life.”
Miki Magasiva and Anapela Polataivao on location in Christchurch. (Image: Supplied)
It was in a room of Māori and Pacific teachers that Magasiva also unearthed a deeper understanding of main character Mareta. “I was telling them about the story, and the first thing that they said is, ‘oh, we know this lady – she’s basically the godmother of Pacific education here’.” That lady was Maria Lemalie, principal of Te Aratai College, who quickly became an “incredible source in sharing what it is like to be a Pacific female teacher down there.”
While those conversations with locals were an essential part of shaping the story and the characters, Magasiva said he also spent a lot of time immersing himself in key locations for the film. “I spent a lot of time in New Brighton, I spent a lot of time in Aranui, I spent a lot of time in town, and that all really helped,” he said. “Obviously the Arts Centre was perfectly suited to being the made-up school – as soon as I saw it I knew we had to use it.”
Eagle-eyed audiences will notice that the fictional school, Saint Francis of Assisi, is actually comprised of five different locations including interiors from Auckland Girls’ Grammar School and the University of Auckland. “If somebody had given me another $2 million, I would have shot the whole film down there,” said Magasiva. “I’m such a big fan of the place now, it’s been amazing seeing it rebuild over the last few years, and how transformed the city is.”
As the credits rolled at the Christchurch Tinā premiere, all that love for the city seemed to be wholly reciprocated when the lights went up, and Magasiva and Higgins took the stage to a standing ovation from the crowd. “We created this story to have heart and emotion and we got all of that from you,” Magasiva told the audience. “We hope we made you proud.”
Max Johns embarks on a comprehensive tour of the current NZ music landscape.
On Monday Independent Music NZ will announce the ten albums shortlisted for this year’s Taite Music Prize, which is traditionally called “the prestigious Taite Music Prize” on first mention. Albums are judged on originality, artistic merit, creativity and excellence, with $12,500 and a trophy a bit like a metal hammer awarded to the winner.
The UK has the Mercury Prize, even though Mercury (the telecommunications company) doesn’t sponsor it or even exist anymore. Aussie shortens the Australian Music Prize to AMP so it sounds cooler. Our version is named after a music journalist who filmed bonkers stories, often inside the TV3 elevator. Dylan Taite (1937-2003) had impeccable taste and the clout to get almost any interview, including the last one Bob Marley gave on TV, which was thankfully not in a lift. His style was something else. Marilyn Manson – the sadistic torture junkie who in 1998 took the form of a gender-ambiguous alien god – once described Taite as “weird”.
Typical Dylan Taite piece to camera (Image: YouTube)
It all starts when IMNZ calls for nominations. There are rules on localness, albumness (no EPs) and newness. There’s an entry fee (less than a Laneway ticket). That’s it. Every nominated album becomes a candidate in a vote among IMNZ’s 1000+ members. So, what do you get when you ask every musician in the country to share their latest album in exchange for the chance to win a big cash prize?
Last year we got 68 hopefuls. I learned this after promising a cool but unknown website called Hamilton Underground Press that I’d review “all the nominations”, then quickly learning that this was not the same thing as “the 10-album shortlist”. It was a tour of NZ music’s current landscape, complete with major landmarks, obscure points of interest, barren stretches and hidden gems. Over here is lush and stunning native beauty; over there it’s all been mined to shit. To get a real sense of it you need to walk end to end, Te Araroa-style.
This year there are 81 and I’m once again going through them all, listening to every album, in full, in (mostly) alphabetical order. In the true spirit of “so you don’t have to”, I’ll boil each one down to its most representative song, compiled on the playlist below. If you like that song you’ll probably like the album. Easy. Let’s go.
We begin with an hour of R&B and soul that could only come from Aotearoa. It’s a debut but AJA sounds like she’s already put in her 10,000 hours. The backing group is in an absolute groove too. She sings mostly in te reo Māori which left me Googling for translations, knowing I was missing something good. Too early to predict finalists, but damn.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Te Reo ki Whakarongotai’
Quality. Opens with APRA Silver Scroll winner ‘Kātuarehe’ and keeps to that high standard. Poppy, bilingual funk that I’ll happily bounce uncomprehendingly along to. Only ‘GAINZ’, with unconvincing semi-rap over a predictable bassline, misses the target. Everything else sounds like a true pro doing what she loves. Troy Kingi (see #43) features on ‘Honey Back’.
Monolingualism sucks – it’s album number three and I’ve missed most of the lyrics so far. Aro are a married couple who “share a passion for the power of language and music to tell stories celebrating our cultural identity”. Two strong voices unite jazz, more traditional waiata, harmony-driven ballads, haka, and even a throbbing bass-filled number that all fit together nicely. Wholesome as.
Wait, Anna Coddington didn’t belong under A. Sigh. In a rush to realphabetise the list I land (wrongly, see #5) on Arrowsmith. Country blues that works well but will be punished by my “listen only once” rule. Feels like this album’s quiet personality would shine through on repeat.
On a cattle ranch near the Mexican border the 60s never ended. Welcome to Arthur Ahbez country, where spaghetti western soundtrack meets proto-psychedelic folk. Ahbez’s advice is to “rack a cold one or roll a number” but I was sober and mowing the lawns. When he slipped into Elvis impersonation or put on a Johnny Cash drawl for an entire song, homage became parody.
Only five songs and 18 minutes long. By the official rules (six songs or 25 minutes) not a contender. Someone’s just lost their entry fee. So much soul, so little time.
Boiled down to one song: Track 6, which doesn’t exist
The slow and spacious work of a thoughtful songwriter. Rhythmic flourishes, floating piano and sad slide guitar call to mind a downbeat Wilco. The tempo and temperature drop over 8 tracks, until ‘Uncertain’ throws in a big, loud finish. Acoustic demo ‘Myself, Vindicated’, is a nice final twist.
Sim Bastick feels free. She’s in touch with nature, getting into new age spirituality and making upbeat music about it. She’s in a good place, to which her incredibly happy-sounding songs fail to transport the listener. Find Me is all about pleasure that someone else is feeling.
Pop-punk with a bit of jangle that could have come from any time since the mid-90s. Four chords, verse-chorus-verse, you know the formula. Fun enough on a first, probably only, listen.
This is exactly why I’ve taken on this project – to discover that space funk is alive and well in New Zealand! Maybe not as spacey as George Clinton and his actual mothership but still, this is cool. Deep bass, sax, vocoders, cosmic guitar solos, synthesisers, handclaps and tambourines are all here and they’re going to make you move.
Boiled down to one song: ‘R.C.’
‘Help keep The Spinoff funny, smart, tall and handsome – become a member today.’
Reggae that leans mostly Polynesian, but Caribbean in the title track. Like Best Bets (#9), Under-ratedsits inside its genre and doesn’t push boundaries. That will count against you when a prize’s criteria include originality and innovation, but Lomez Brown sounds too kicked back to mind.
Ambitious: “An electronic, instrumental, ambient soundscape comprised of five musical pieces that traverse the anatomy & physiology of the kōwhai tree”. As they say, one listener’s meditative is another’s repetitive and hey, did you know that the roots (‘Aka’) of the kōwhai are mostly made of two notes?
Boasts of fresh new kicks over a strong R&B beat set the tone, but there’s depth and some grimy moments to come. Absolute standout/Silver Scroll finalist ‘Running Amuck’ makes you nod your head while filling it with thoughts about colonialism. Closer ‘E Moko’ slows down and switches to te reo Māori. Short and really bloody good.
A second album in two years; roots-reggae band Corrella are working hard while they’re hot. Skeletons has range, with slower numbers alongside the summery backbeat we know them for. ‘Right Side’ deserves a spin at every BBQ, while ballad ‘For The Night’ gets remarkably heartfelt on the line, “A nice cold Lion Red and a backseat for a bed”.
Our first metal, but this trio is let down by a disappointing sonic flatness. The louds aren’t loud enough and the quiet parts ought to back off more. I’d turn up to a Dark Water gig in my blackest T-shirt ready for them to blow this recording out of the water. ‘Seas of Fallen Concern’ has all sorts of potential.
So, so good. You’re yelling along to a punk song about ripping summertime bongs (‘Paradise’), then find yourself covering the housing crisis and historical Treaty breaches. Smart dressed up as stupid. Like Taites legend Tom Scott, DARTZ celebrate our weird little country while pointing out all the broken bits, and it’s an absolute party.
Enjoyable guitar-driven indie pop livened by sweet harmonies and the odd loud chorus. There’s a clear line though the Beths and Fur Patrol all the way back to Look Blue Go Purple. Snippets of studio banter don’t add much.
Boiled down to one song: Feels like I have to choose ‘Choose Me’
It’s hard not to be influenced by Davidson’s impressive back catalogue and many awards. Out Of My Head has a spacious, unshowy atmosphere. Its light country base draws broadly on blues and rock, with some near-cosmic touches. Tap your toes, hum along, and expect to hear new things on your 50th and 100th listens. A lot of talent has gone into downplaying this album’s artistic complexity. Or I’ve been hoodwinked by that damn CV.
This unsettling and utterly engaging album is their best yet – a machine-made sound with a distinctly human uneasiness. ‘Not Like’ gets groovy; ‘Leanest Cut’ brings in guitars. Whatever’s backing Lucinda King I could listen all day, if there weren’t still 62 albums to go.
Good, with flashes of fantastic. The uptempo stuff is best but there’s a convincing slower side too, all shown off through funk, reggae, soul and more. Mid-verse switches between te reo Māori and English are made seamless by clever rhyme schemes. D&B dancefloor anthem ‘Kei Whati te Marama’ is massive. This Northern Brave fan just learned that TVNZ’s catchy cricket theme song is ‘Ko Tātou te Ahi’.
Grungy, melodic rock. Especially when she’s in unvarnished speak-singing mode, Wiri Donna injects the right amount of anger into this EP, balancing out the poppier touches.
Fuzzed-up doom metal with an old school psychedelic aura and plenty of gothic influence. Gussie Larkin’s low tuning and heavy guitar tones mitigate the need for bass. Ezra Simmons drums and takes on a lot of backing vocals. It’s a big sound for two people; possibly a bit niche to expect heaps of votes.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Bodies Dissolve Tonight!’
Taite Music Prize form guide: Gussie Larkin’s been a finalist (2018 & 2020) with Mermaidens
The winner of 2024’s Taite Music Prize isn’t resting on her laurels, or trying to remake Ideal Home Noise – this is an acoustic, 18-minute (but six-song, so it’s eligible) EP centred on a break-up. Sparse guitar, with a little piano and cello, back personal and raw lyrics (“Don’t ask me if I’m going to hate you…Don’t comfort me”). heartbreak for jetlag is an unpolished bedroom recording, and all the better for it.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Enough’
Taite Music Prize form guide: Winner, 2024; finalist, 2022
This entry is a YouTube playlist. Creative, but videos of floating clouds don’t add much. Why repeat “phases of the moon, phases of the moon” against a daytime sky? Beautiful acoustic stuff, very well written and arranged, with perfectly dreamy vocals. It just seems little, um, disqualifying that Phases adds only 3 new songs to two EPs from 2023. Em’s won a new fan and, yes, he’s a nark.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Reach Out’ (2024)
Taite Music Prize form guide: Recording engineer for finalists Tiny Ruins (Ceremony, 2024) Fazerdaze (Break!, 2023) and Te Kaahu (Te Kaahu o Rangi, 2023)
Opens with a lost Tiny Ruins song, I swear, then expands fast. Latin rhythms drive folk songs, country ballads get spacey themes, and darkly comic jazz shows up too. Double bass anchors everything; the variation and Everingham’s voice are strengths. I’m left behind by language once again, but the issue is – twist! – my lack of Spanish.
Fazerdaze’s smart bedroom pop returns, just a little quieter and more introspective. ‘Cherry Pie’ and ‘So Easy’ are as catchy as anything in the back catalogue. The last two tracks favour acoustic guitar over electronics. Bring your high expectations, just remember that everyone grows up.
Boiled down to one song: ‘In Blue’
Taite Music Prize form guide: Finalist, 2018 and 2023
Sixteen dreamy minutes – not that dreams are always rainbows and sunshine – that follow Fazerdaze nicely. This “genrefluid Chinese/Pākehā/Māori duo” would be perfect playing a divey cocktail bar where the gravity isn’t quite right. They set moods, shift sands, make you wonder who’s watching you.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Procrastination Inspiration’
Bluesy rock that, as the name suggests, would probably sound better at nighttime. In the blazing Waitangi Day sun I was struck mostly by a Classic Hits kind of vibe, 80s-style arrangements that sound like they were written on guitar then played on keyboards for some reason. There’s a bit of soul in the slower numbers and the closing guitar solo is the album’s peak.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Sitting On Top of the World’
Parody? Maybe. Art? Probably. Head-scratcher? Definitely. The sound of a chilled out folk-rock band microdosing in their Sunday best, including faithful recitations of ‘Psalm 119’ and ‘The Lord’s Prayer’. Not so much giggling in church as staring at the stained glass, seeing shiny shapes that won’t be there tomorrow. Worth repeated listens for sure.
Accomplished contemporary jazz from a talented saxophonist. There are African rhythms (Gapara is Zimbabwean) and the occasional string quartet, but not enough of either to label it fusion. Regardless of musicianship, not a genre with much chance of making the final.
Singer-songwriter Will McGillivrey sings low and plays slow acoustic guitar. These are songs not for a campfire, but for the ashes. There are snatches of Evan Dando’s saddest solo work; Bon Iver at his most straightforward; Paul McLaney halfway changed into his Gramsci clothes. After guilt, regret and even hospital scenes, things turn slightly more optimistic towards the end.
Jazz of a rocky, funky variety. Mostly instrumental. Taylor Griffin’s a percussionist with some serious skills and a handy contacts list. Nathan Haines (see #34) and Geoff Ong are among the contributors he takes through some quite complex, often pacey pieces.
Disclosure: trappy hip hop isn’t my thing. Anyway, behind a web3/metaverse wrapper – album ownership tokens, 3D avatars – is a mixed bag. Unconvincing boast tracks and vocoder-heavy R&B could be from anywhere in the world. The best, like ‘Pepeha’ and ‘Whakamā Hōhā’, comes from closer to home. ‘Hīkoi’ is 8 minutes of spoken work autobiography, a true marker of self-belief.
A third hit of jazz in short order. If 81 albums are a festival this is an hour-plus in the chillout zone. Since the 1990s saxophonist/flautist Haines has been working his ambient, acidic groove so hard that it’s become a trench. Among the few tracks with vocals, ‘Just Holdin’ On’ and ‘Don’t Think’ have revealing names and bland lyrics. ‘Journey to the Peak’ and ‘Get Up to Get Down’ lift the mood.
Polished mid-tempo rock that deserves a larger audience than Spotify’s numbers suggest. There’s something about the vocal range, the harmonies and the spacious sound that evokes Neil Finn, which is a very hard thing to do. As you’d expect from Pluto’s bassist, Hall’s a strong songwriter who subtly avoids obvious patterns.
Hattaway’s sixth album in five years is laid back, sometimes slow, more rocking chair than rockin’. Countrified with violin and slide guitars, the band’s steady line is occasionally broken by surprising moments like his falsetto, which we first hear on ‘Room to Breathe’. Neither a standout nor a misstep.
A young muso fuses punky guitar riffs, indie rock, and jazzier songs in an eclectic debut. Seven tracks that prove what HIRI is capable of. Mature moments like ‘A Māori Love Song’, in 3/4 time and with verses in te reo Māori, sit alongside teenage poetry. Surely the start of an interesting discography.
Mostly instrumental psychedelic rock with deep guitar solos that echo the hippie era. These grooves could enhance a long road trip, or trips of other sorts. If you’re stationary and sober the slower freakouts can get tiring. A few tracks turn slightly country, which is a definite trend this year. When vocals appear they have heavy reverb. Audio snippets about UFOs and Jesus pan in and out.
Hyde’s second, and second-best, album in two years. His easy FM-friendly rock channels John Mayer, Goo Goo Dolls, The Calling, and many others. Every track could appear at the serious bit of some American coming-of-age movie while the main couple look at each meaningfully. Generic love songs for any setting.
Reviewed out of order because everyone else in the room vetoed my first attempt. Instrumental, experimental, repetitive things mostly played on keyboards (the small amount of guitar-led stuff is better). ‘Russian Ice Disco’ lasts 10 indefensible minutes. Maybe this album could soundtrack quirky YouTube animations? More likely it will remain a Spotify curio.
A well-executed and angular mix of industrial trip hop and dark pop. In a very modern sense this is atmospheric music – airy but with space for radiation, pollutants, and surveillance drones. At times Mia Kelly’s vocals have a Lorde-like timbre. The deep, sad pop of ‘Process’ recalls the xx and Billie Eilish, while percussive snips and clicks on ‘Lighter Thief’ could be from Björk’s Vespertine. I liked this one.
Soft pop of a bedroomy sort. Be careful or it might drift right past you, and then if you had to sum it up after one listen you’d be wondering what just happened. Probably you were set too much at ease by the dreamy vocals and too fixated on the drumming, which is mostly subtle but somehow just right.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Chaos Worked Its Way In’
Part eight of Kingi’s monumental 10-10-10 project took him to the Californian wilderness and the home of desert rock – literally in the footsteps of Kyuss, Queens of the Stone Age, etc – where he fit right in. This hits hard, taps into America’s indigenous history and spirituality, and sounds like a party. Surely the only album ever to open with a line about “charging through the rectal area” and also be a very good listen.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Ride the Rhino’
Taite Music Prize form guide: Winner, 2020; finalist, 2021 and 2022
A treat for the dogged reviewer of alphabetised artists: consecutive heavy hitters. After yearly albums from 2017-2021, L.A.B VItook time to roll out more of their high-quality kiwi summer sound. Rootsy reggae and more contemporary backbeats sit side-by-side. ‘Take It Away’ rocks a little harder; the out-of-place ‘I Believe’ is a syrupy ballad with an appearance from AJA (see #1).
Boiled down to one song: ‘Ocean Demon’
Taite Music Prize form guide: Finalists, 2020 & 2021
Piano and swelling strings accompany the first two songs, underlining Lines’ serious vocal talent. Then the album goes pop, getting catchier and making less of her strong and expressive voice. You’ll hear performances that few people could match and you’ll hear reasons for this album’s chart success, mostly separately. In a big finish, ‘Grand Illusions’ hits both marks.
Thoughtful, slow electronica with darkness that swings from a foreboding presence to a comfortable hiding place – a duality found in lines like, “I should probably face my demons and start getting my faith back”. MacLeod’s voice is the main instrument in clever, quiet symbiosis with the machines. Fascinating.
Quiet, single-paced indie pop from a four-piece band. The introspective template from debut Lizard’s Tears (2017) remains with even fewer edges. Spots of slide guitar and harmonica differentiate songs a little and Erny Belle lends a useful hand on ‘Earnestly’.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Every Single Time’
48. Shine On, by Nigel Marshall
Bluesy, jazzy rock made for lazy afternoons in country pubs. Marshall’s old-timer storytelling includes childhood memories, character sketches and environmental warnings.
We’re not 50 albums in and this is the eighth to feature te reo Māori. The language would be much further from the musical mainstream without Moana Maniapoto’s decades of dedication. ONO travels the indigenous world in collaborations with wāhine from Norway, Australia, Taiwan, Canada, Hawai’i and Scotland. Musically spacious, it really works. The art has obvious depth; I’m out of mine.
Boiled down to one song (which feels really reductive this time): ‘Tōku Reo’
Taite Music Prize form guide:Tahi (1993) received the 2019 Independent Music NZ Classic Record award
Feeling very old thanks to consecutive artists who I remember from my primary school days, which began in the 80s. I really wanted to like this one, but it’s too middle of the road, too predictable. Easy listening that doubles down on easy – as we will see, the exact opposite of #51.
Brace yourself. New Zealand’s least wholesome family band put actual mother murderers on the album cover. Song titles include ‘Brick in a Stocking’ and ‘El Cadaver Incompleto’. Bass guitar rattles and thumps terribly low; drums are smashed. Hannah Harte wails sorely and offensively over the racket. A dull blanket of lo-fi production makes everything less confronting than it should be.
I’m a middle aged, middle class, monolingual, Pākehā father of two and, boy, do I feel every single one of those things when Mokotron’s on. The deep bass gets me dad-dancing and the sound of the koauau raises goosebumps. But I’m an outsider looking in, missing out, not comprehending half of what’s happening amid the breaks (vocals are all chanted in te reo Māori). There’s a lot to take in if you can: Tiopira McDowell has both brought audiences to tears and downplayed himself as a “novelty act”.
Ouch, genre change whiplash. Stylewise, Mousey is out on her own with cinematic songs that have quiet home recording aesthetics. Her thoughts and fears (“I’m not quite sure why I’m singing about this one”) unfold alongside slow acoustic guitar, driving drumbeats, modern folk music, fuzzy samples. It’s deceptive, unique and beautiful.
Quality rock with fewer surprises or gimmicks than you might get from other Flying Nun bands. Instead Mystery Waitress rely on smart lyrics, lead guitar that drives songs without hogging the spotlight and, in Tessa Dillon, a fine vocalist. Paired tracks ‘Pt 1. Hospital’ and ‘Pt 2. Tiger’ exemplify their smarts.
Scandal! Newzerror entered the same album last year. To plagiarise my old Hamilton Underground Press review: Metal riffs straight from the days when Metallica and Anvil shared festival stages and wind machines. If (and only if) you’re a Devilskin fan, give it a whirl.
Serious talent. Smart songwriting and arrangements give you space to think about what you hear, which includes captivating singing with impressive range. Nicklin’s songs don’t take the beaten path. Some crack the off-kilter code of Amnesiac-era Radiohead‘s urgent drumming and cycling bass. Elsewhere things bend under slow harmonics and harmonies. ‘Can’t See’ meditates on the spot. It’s all very, very good.
Ambient electronica of middling quality. Some reasonably effective moments like ‘Company of god LLC’ sit next to repetitive laptop demos. As the Bandcamp notes say, “I was mucking around and this came out”.
S’been a long wait for some upbeat indie rock, but worth it. This is wonderful. Every track adds something. Bike-like ‘Easter at the RSC’ mixes sweet pop with distorted guitars. ‘Can’t Find It Now’ lasts just 66 cute seconds. ‘Raleigh Arena’ rocks straight ahead. ‘The Pass’ has a hippyish jangle fit for the Elephant 6 collective.
Typical. You spend all day waiting for one indie rock release, then two turn up at once. Office Dog take on some serious subject matter in a relatively positive way, though not as brightly as 2023’s Spiel. They do a good job of finding a more measured sound but can’t resist stamping on the pedals near the end. An interesting signpost.
Ignore that last thing I said. You spend all day waiting and then three indie rock releases turn up at once. Parallel Park are youthful and serious, impressively complete for a band that played Rockquest a couple of years ago. There are groovier moments, grungier bits, radio-ready pop songs. A well-compiled album with range and chops.
A fourth consecutive rock band and, ironically, the least novel. They signal potential with the tender, half-whispered opener ‘June’, then tumble into undifferentiated pop-punk. In heavier songs with the perfect formula for massive choruses, the band turns it all the way up to, oh, about 7. Moments are described but not created (indeed: “I romanticise until I feel nothing”). PARK RD will improve.
Mel Parsons softly walks the line between country and alt-country. On Sabotage she blends in a wisp of folk, replacing the rockier edge we’ve heard from her previously, and it’s a successful evolution. This is a high-grade album, serious, understated and perfectly pitched. The harmonies are a highlight.
This spontaneous and fun collaboration between Jazmine Mary, whose solo work twists jazz into strange arty shapes, and Arahi, best known for Silver Scroll-nominated ballad ‘My Baby’s Like a Hurricane’, evolves from a surreal little waltz about dreams to banjo-rich songs about horses, guns and whiskey. Friends co-writing and harmonising for the shared enjoyment of it.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Known’
Taite Music Prize form guide: Best Independent Debut Award – Jazmine Mary, 2022
Good, noisy post-punk in the aggressive and full-on vein of Die! Die! Die! Among mostly dialled-back nominations this dark and frenetic niche stands out. Guitars drone and squeal, anxious lungs are emptied at full volume. Disappointing Sequelis more industrial and more fully realised than Repeat, Repeat (2020). Right album, wrong name.
An unforgettable name that didn’t make me expect funky jazz. It’s fitting that I misjudged this album by its cover, because Phoebe Johnson loves a cliche (“I’m rubber, you’re glue…”, “This town ain’t big enough…”). The brass section sounds effortlessly cool – a sure sign that they’re working hard. Some tracks get orgasmic; ‘Landlord’ is very schmoove for a track that suggests we should eat the rich.
Formerly stupid rich kid, Lucian Rice now goes by his own name and even uses capital letters sometimes. His music has gotten less anonymous, too. This EP sits between bedroom emo rock and fuzzy shoegaze. The effects on ‘spineback’ and ‘ninezero’ are particularly, well, effective. right now, forever is young, personal, and good. The kid ain’t stupid anymore.
Fraser Ross takes us over the ocean, across the Ganges and into the mythical wilderness, mostly America’s untamed west with hints of the Celtic highlands. We hear totemic influences like Leonard Cohen, in Ross’s low and unvarnished voice, and pre-electric Bob Dylan in the phrasing of the (very good) title track. A folky, expansive ramble with an educated guide.
A highly adaptable five-piece band. Chilled bass-led crooning, mood-setting rock with bluesy notes, grunge, heavier blasts with a metallic tinge, even rap-rock. They play it all with precision and cleverly dropped beats. But with so much in the mix Lonely Playground is unfocused. Guy Yarrall’s vocal range suffers in comparison as Freya Pinkerton skillfully rides from choirgirl to aggressive rock chick.
Wordy, smart neo-soul with a twist of jazz. Closely harmonised vocals slide over uptempo, skittering drums and walking bass. Rap interjects every now and then, and guitar lines hold it all together without grabbing attention. Song structures keep you guessing. There are NSFW moments, one of which includes a shoutout to 95bFM.
A soft and pleasant collision of classical guitar, cello, country-shuffling folk, lilting ballads and crystal voices. Evergreen poetic themes like nature and murder add to the overall renaissance vibe. Looks like this trio is one-third New Zealander, two-thirds American—by the Taite rules, insufficiently local.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Something in the Stars’
71. Queen Of The Rain, by The Spines
Mostly harmless. The umpteenth version of Jon McLeary’s band of outsiders plays folky rock that doesn’t stand out, especially with 70 albums to compete against and 10 more to come. His singing is a bit forced and eclectic instrumentation (strings, vibraphone, maracas, harmonica…) adds less than you’d hope.
A theatre professional makes a pop-ish album about motherhood. It requires attention but I found it tricky to keep focus as it swayed between an actor giving a performance and a writer singing her own poems. Sometimes (‘Pin It Down’) it all comes together. Other times the concept weighs on the delivery.
Radio-friendly rock without a single rough edge. It opens with the best bit (the anthemic ‘Some Say So’) racks a few formulaic songs side-by-side, and includes a cover of Australian Crawl’s 1983 classic ‘Reckless (Don’t Be So…)’ which, according to Spotify’s recklessly curated data, was written by Tablefox?
Recorded before Las Tetas disappeared from Auckland’s rock scene over a decade ago, and finally released when they reunited last year. Does it count as 2024 music? This self-appointed judge will allow it. Energy and immediacy bleeds through loose, loud punk and garage-y indie pop. Their Kings Arms gigs must’ve been something: you can almost hear the sweat.
Instrumental post-metal of a doomy, melodic sort. It takes skill and variation to carry an entire album without a vocalist, and these guys do well. There’s texture to appreciate as tracks thoughtfully develop over some quite long runtimes. Spots of piano break through the darkness too.
Boiled down to one song: ‘The Aurochs – Aligned’
76. Songs of Rangiaowhia, by Mara TK, Ria Hall, Rakai Whauwhau, Hawkins (Oceans Before Me)
Sorted under “TK” before I saw the album credited to Oceans Before Me, a not-for-profit that brings musicians together to tell indigenous history. These songs remember Rangiaowhia, a wartime refuge for Māori women and children, which British troops attacked in 1864. In English they directly describe that day’s deadly violence and the long aftermath of brutal colonialism (‘Alienated’). The main language is te reo Māori, leaving me mired in cultural incompetence once again (see #1-3). In styles spanning dub, reggae, haka, ballad and R&B I heard reflective sorrow, not anger. But what did I miss?
Boiled down to one song: For my fellow monolinguists it’s ‘Alienated’
Taite Music Prize form guide: Ria Hall, finalist (2021)
From 1864 to the future! Once humanity evolves sufficiently, space stations will have smoky cocktail bars and this will be our soundtrack. Late night alien soul music with sonic experimentation and some impressive instrumental flourishes. Come for the delightful bonkersness, stay for the perfect three- (maybe four-?) part vocal harmonies.
A big Friday night at the Whanganui Musicians’ Club and a cool project. Eleven songs, each from a different singer-songwriter, recorded live with the same backing band (with studio embellishment added later). The Taite rule against “multiple artist compilations” might be an issue, as might a horny song about being too old to date a 29-year-old, but that’s just big-city nitpicking.
A collaborative recording project led by James Stuteley (Carb On Carb) that aims directly at fans of 1990s indie rock (hi!) and hits the target. It’s dialled back, a little angsty and alienated, with emo energy that can reach into pop-punkish, post-grungish areas. As vocalists swap in and out, Victoria Chellew shines brightest.
Deep electronica and D&B that, at this late stage, feels a little like the end credits. One to revisit on a long day of working from home, or towards the end of a long night. Zuke works the synths hard and builds a range of moods, most of which I’m too tired to feel.
Boiled down to one song: ‘Hyperion’
More Reading
New Zealand, we’re a bit quiet and country-tinged this year. Down on party anthems and up on thoughtfulness. It’s good to hear more te reo Māori and fewer fake American accents. There’s some interesting new talent coming through, and some familiar names that are ready for much bigger things.
As for the Taite Music Prize itself, I learned last year how bad I am at predictions. So, to curse a few artists’ chances with praise: DARTZ seem well-placed with not a lot of other socially aware punk bands to split their vote. Louisa Nicklin and Mousey are closer to the year’s dominant mood and both wonderfully inventive. Mokotron is doing stuff like nobody else and earning a lot of love. L.A.B have been close before and haven’t exactly gotten worse since then. AJA has stuck in my mind right from the start. Mike Hall, much better at making music than self-promotion, is my dark horse. Should none of them become $12,500 richer in April, I take full responsibility.
