The announcement on The Chills’ social media last night that Martin Phillipps had died hit me in the chest: shock, sadness, my stomach in flutters. Martin was a friend, and his death has deeply saddened me. I know I’m not the only one.
Martin had many friends, and he was well-loved in Dunedin. Today there is a whole community – Martin’s family, friends, acquaintances and loved ones – navigating and processing his loss.
As founding member of The Chills, he was not only a pivotal musician who leaves an important legacy, but also a friend entwined in the life of the city, and the wider music community.
I first met Martin over 20 years ago. He’d made a mix tape for a mutual friend, Roi Colbert, with songs all about rain.
In Roi’s record shop – Records Records, housed in the iconic pale apricot terrace houses of Dunedin’s upper Stuart Street – we chatted about rain-themed songs and agreed on some favourites. We also agreed you could listen to the whole tape on a rainy day.
The Chills themselves had recorded a song about rain on their 1987 debut studio album Brave Words. When Martin sang “Rain taps the window pane”, it became a lasting image for me, recalling those wet Dunedin days. But, of course, being inside at home while the rain pours down outside is a universal experience.
The sound of Dunedin
A sense of place, land and human experience was present throughout Martin’s songwriting. In this way, he crafted the songs that would become part of many people’s personal soundtracks – though resonating ever more deeply if you lived in Dunedin.
Martin was from here, and his music was from here too. It evoked people, places and memories through imagery of landscapes, the sea, friends, home.
Linking a style of music to a particular place can quickly become cliché. But to many of us in Dunedin, Martin’s music, his melodies and imagery, are bound up with our lives in this southernmost city. The songs are part of its landscape and architecture, imprinted in minds and hearts.
Martin was a pivotal and influential figure in the development of what became known as the “Dunedin Sound” and the bands that defined it: The Chills, The Clean, The Verlaines, Straitjacket Fits, Sneaky Feelings, Look Blue Go Purple, the 3Ds and many more.
Martin had also played keyboards with The Clean, notably on the still delightfully chaotic Tally Ho! single (1981). Characterised in the music press as indie rock with jangly guitars, pop melodies and reverb, the Dunedin Sound became synonymous with the Flying Nun record label.
As Flying Nun expanded, The Chills reached an international audience, getting crucial airplay on American college radio. They influenced other bands and musicians everywhere – Mike Mills of R.E.M. reportedly called them “the second best band in the world”.
Homecoming gigs in Dunedin were high energy celebrations. Heavenly Pop Hit and I Love My Leather Jacket would switch an audience into a higher gear of elation, affiliation, memory and sense of community.
In some ways, this is what really defines the Dunedin Sound. More than just a musical style, as embodied by The Chills it evokes a time and a place – and a feeling. Decades after the Dunedin Sound’s peak, that feeling remains.
Submarine bells
Martin was a familiar figure in Dunedin. You’d see him uptown and around the city. He was open and friendly, kind, caring, intelligent and funny. He was immersed in pop culture, with an impressive collection of music, films, magazines, and comic books, all meticulously catalogued.
He shared some of his personal archive of Chills memorabilia with the public in 2018, in the Otago Museum’s exhibition Things Change: Martin Phillipps and The Chills, and in the Hocken Collections’ Kaleidoscope World: 40 Years of Flying Nun.
Most of all, though, Martin was committed to music as an art form. He had a deep knowledge of music history, and the gift of crafting memorable, buoyant melodies. His voice was unique, singing in his own distinctively New Zealand accent.
The glorious hooks of Heavenly Pop Hit sit alongside the haunting unease of Pink Frost, the high energy of I Love My Leather Jacket, and the emotional nuance of Submarine Bells. The lyrics to that last song showcase Martin’s gift for crafting imagery, character and voice:
I know deep down hidden in you submarine bells chime
Gold and groaning, sunlit toning, submerged sound sublime […]
Deep and dark my submarine bells groan in greens and grey
Mine would chime a thousand times
To make you feel okay
Right in the heart. In all of this and more, Martin leaves a legacy that is imprinted on New Zealand music, Dunedin music culture and, most importantly, on Dunedin’s music community.
Today in Dunedin it’s raining. Rain taps the window pane.
Alison Blair does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
