There is no excuse for only streaming Lorde and Six60
Okay, before I do my usual yap - we’re throwing a wee gig down in Vesbar later this month! The famed venue/student bar has hosted the likes of Shihad and The Mint Chicks on the same bloody night back in 2006, so we figure it’s about time for us to start getting the amps pumping and dance floor grooving again - this time, on Debate’s terms.
If you, like me, were too busy being a gross and stupid baby to attend the Shihad/Mint Chicks Vesbar gig, don’t fret - this year, Debate’s own staff are sharing their waiata, with our social media coordinator Cameron McCurdy sharing tunes from her upcoming album and her first released under the name LEIGH. Te Ao Māori Editor Hirimaia Eketone will be testing out new material from their project HIRI, and Issue 4 interviewees Thinking Foxes will display their dynamic and technically advanced altrock. This is Local Listens, Live! Come along from 7PM on the 23rd of May to support our team and their mahi - it’s free entry, and if enough people show up, it might not be the last shindig we throw this year.
While Cam’s and Hiri’s projects will be at full force, my band will absolutely not be playing at the gig (despite my boss asking me to because he thinks it’d be funny). I try to draw a line at Debate when it comes to how much I promote and discuss my active personal projects - all of which are Aotearoa music related. I think I’ve only put one of my bands shows on the gig guide once (first time privileges), and I avoid promoting any events that I organise independently to circumvent any accusations of narcissism or using this platform for personal gain. Nobody wants me, their student magazine editor, to plug their fifth-wave emo/electronica-infused indie punk project constantly. I’m insufferable enough as is.
I still frequently get anxious about crossing that barrier, though, given how much the rest of my life beyond Debate circles around Aotearoa music. My wardrobe turns me into a walking billboard for local bands, I try to show my face at venues like Whammy Bar weekly, and if I can’t be there, I’ll try to amplify and support the work of local musicians via any means necessary - usually to the dismay of my bank account.
However, since last year's music issue, I’ve been attending venues as a performer/promoter almost as often as I’ve been a punter - hence the difficulty of avoiding self-promotion, when the majority of my editorials are based on anecdotes that inform each issue/theme. Being on the other end of the microphone and anxiously watching ticket sales very slowly rise on Under The Radar has been amazing and terrifying, but also grown my perspective of Aotearoa music as I’ve now examined the scene as a music journalist, radio producer, programme administrator, band member, event coordinator, and Aotearoa
Emo archivist. While the scene on the surface might seem small, I’ve been lucky enough to see first-hand the real scope of what Aotearoa music has to offer. This community contains magnitudes of talent, tales, trials, and tribulations that often go underappreciated to people outside the community. It’s been a mission of mine this year to use Debate as a way to platform and praise these new artists and bands, whilst also reporting on the state of the scene, past, present, and future. So, let’s draw a line once again.
This issue is entirely dedicated to Aotearoa Music / Puoro o Aotearoa, in celebration of the 25th anniversary of NZ Music Month / Te Marama Puoro o Aotearoa. Hidden inside, you’ll find profiles of the people behind your favourite gigs, the bands you have on repeat, and the artists you haven’t heard of yet. Ricky Lai shines a spotlight on the films that document the best of NZ Music, and we have the usual wonderful art and photography you’ve come to expect from Debate.
Please, get out and support local music this month (and every month after that!). May will never cease to hold its position as the most stacked month of the year gig-wise, and with multitudes of free gigs, basement shows, concerts, and club nights to head along to, you have no excuse for only listening to Lorde and Six60.
Editorial by Liam Hansen
Standards Not Met, Lease Not Renewed: AUT’s Exit from WSA
With the building now run by UniLodge, questions remain over student wellbeing, social support, and whether AUT has enough housing to meet growing demand.
The lease on one of AUT’s largest student halls, Wellesley Student Apartments (WSA), was ended last year after it failed to meet the university’s accommodation standards.
“The decision to end the lease of the Mount Street` hall came after the owners of Wellesley Student Apartments declined to comply with improvements the facility required to meet AUT's quality standards for student accommodation” an AUT spokesperson told Debate.
“WSA residents were informed on 17th July 2024 the lease was coming to an end and all residents would need to vacate at the conclusion of their residential agreement.”
In 2025, the hall looks similar and operates much the same, but is no longer leased by AUT, instead by UniLodge.
The real mystery however, is who are the owners who refused to comply?
According to UniLodge, the building is strata titled and managed by a body corporate, with individual apartments owned by various private investors.
The body corporate manages the shared spaces, like hallways and common rooms.
While UniLodge declined to comment on why the facility no longer met AUT’s standards, it said it is confident the accommodation is safe and compliant.
“We can confirm that UniLodge is ensuring all apartments meet the Healthy Homes standards required under the Residential Tenancies Act.”
“We are happy to report that the apartment owners have supported any work required to achieve these standards.”
The closure of WSA leaves AUT with just two halls of residence: Te Āhuru Mayoral Drive in the city and Akoranga Student Village on the North Shore. The 502-room loss brings total capacity down to 1,199 students.
The shortfall now means only around 13% of students from outside Tāmaki Makaurau—and just under a quarter of first-year students—can be housed in AUT-run accommodation. The decision to let go of WSA has tightened an already limited housing pipeline at a time when students are grappling with a national cost-of-living crisis and rising rent.
According to AUT, the decision to not replace WSA with
an equivalent offering was based on historic low uptake of on-campus accommodation. AUT says it “monitored demand” since August 2024 and had plans to advise students on alternate options “if required.” In semester one of 2025, there were still 61 rooms available across the remaining halls.
But for students, the loss of WSA goes beyond just numbers—it represents a drop in social connection and campus community. Former Mayoral Drive resident Grace Symanns says her experience felt isolating compared to friends in more traditional-style halls like Uni Hall or O’Rorke.
“I actually didn’t choose to be in Mayoral Drive,” she says. “As a more social person, not from the city, I would’ve preferred to be in WSA but my scholarship was only applicable for Mayoral Drive.”
She described the experience as lacking community, and says most of her friendships formed outside of the hall.
“I had multiple RAs that year and I couldn’t tell you a single one’s name,”
“There were no specific floor events, no bonding. I spent most of my time in other people’s halls.”Lucy Horsnell, another past Mayoral Drive resident, echoed the sentiment.
“There was only one common room, so I never got to know the people on my floor, which felt like a missed opportunity,” she said.
While she appreciated the independence that came with halls, she added she made most of her friendships outside of accommodation.
AUT says students who want a stronger sense of community can still opt for Te Āhuru Mayoral Drive or Akoranga Student Village.
“A residential care and residential life programme is operated [by AUT] at both these facilities.”
However, both options have limitations, Mayoral Drive lacking a sense of traditional halls community, and Akoranga being a 40 minute commute to the city campus on public transport. While AUT maintains that student housing demand has not exceeded supply, critics say this fails to consider the quality of the experience offered.
As Symanns puts it, “WSA just had better systems and a layout that made making connections much easier.”
Written By Evie Richardson (she/her) @evi3m4y NEWS EDITOR
Nui te aroha mo te puoro
Written By Hirimaia Eketone
EDITOR
Kia ora e hoa ma! Haere mai ki te Kotahitanga column. Great to be back once again.
Puoro, or music, is such an integral part of Te Ao Māori. Our waiata is a strong reminder of not only what is happening in the present, but all of our tupuna (ancestors) who watch over us and have given so much to build the life we have now. Māori or not, spiritual or otherwise, you can’t deny the power of storytelling through music. Taking that lesson into our hinengaro (brain), I’d like to introduce another puzzle piece to the world of Māori history that is a practical conversational tool for more formal settings.
The Māori word ‘whakatauki’ translates closely to the word ‘proverb.’ Whakatauki are used as an introduction to a speech or formal address. If you are chosen to speak on the Marae, whether at a tangi or celebration, knowledge of at least one whakatauki is crucial. My personal favourite is ‘Tuhia ki te rangi,’ which is a proverb that highlights the power of love. With trying times in the world lately, I think this is a proverb we all should be reinforcing in our collective wairua. Try learning this off by heart and use it next time you have to give a speech or introduce yourself!
Tuhia ki te rangi
(Write it in the sky)
Tuhia ki te whenua
(Write it in the land)
Tuhia ki te ngakau o nga tangata
(Write it in our hearts)
Ko te mea nui
Ko te aroha
(The biggest thing, is love)
Tihea mauri ora!
(Agree)
There are many more whakatauki accessible to youhave a look online and take your pick! Make sure whichever whakatauki you choose to learn is something you can live by and invest your time into. Words are powerful, remember that!
Until next time, nga mihi nui e hoa ma!
Junk Fest: Not At All Rubbish In Conversation with Lara Marie from Junk Mail
These days, rangatahi are confronted with so much junk - political instability, job insecurity, a flailing economy and - shock horror - David Seymour. A whole lot of rubbish confronts our community. However, one event in 2024 broke me out of my existential funk: Junk Fest. And it's back for vol. 2, thank god! The brainchild of Junk Mail's Lara Marie, the gig brings together thirteen acts from across Aotearoa and Australia, proving the abundance of alternative music in our corner of the Pacific.
I had the pleasure of speaking to Lara in St. Kevin's Arcade on a gloomy day brought to us by Cyclone Tam. My structured interview questions quickly dissolved into an easy conversation between two people passionate about the local music scene. The belief Lara has in the industry comes through in the unflinching way she articulates herself; it's magnetic.
While Junk had its sell-out debut last year, the festival has roots in Lara's teenage years spent throwing all-ages gigs throughout Tāmaki Makaurau in places like UFO, Grey Lynn Library hall, and once a parking garage. Admittedly, it was not a great place for youth safety, but it was instrumental in developing young musicians. The impact of this community on her sense of self is clear as she states: 'I don't know how different my life would have been without access to DIY bands which were insane, or freaky or even I thought were terrible - but it's almost like learning a language. When you go to enough live music, you really start to learn about yourself.'
Junk is more than just another night spent gallivanting around our beloved Karangahape Road. The lineup dabbles in a range of fringe acts at various stages of their careers, meaning gig-goers can see their old favourites while discovering something new. Exposure to this is instrumental in crafting one's taste and perspective. It is clear that Lara sees Junk as having a central place in the culture; it is for the community more than anything. Local music can be an intimidating space to enter into, but she wants Junk to be open. A welcoming space that is really a celebration of everything imaginative and experimental.
Lara explains that if she can get people to spend $45 to see thirteen bands and end up finding a new band to top their Spotify Wrapped, they might not be so put off when those musicians have their headline gig. Suddenly, the $30 ticket to an album release show seems less of a barrier to entry, reinforcing the tangible value of live music. Junk has positioned itself as the gateway drug to the alternative music space, and it's not just me that's hooked.
I, in fact, experienced this last year after hearing Awning's 'Gold Star' for the first time live - a moment I'll never forget. The awe of stumbling into a room, not quite sure what you're in for and being astounded by something extraordinary. An experience that could
never be replicated by finding something on a streaming service lost within the noise of everyday life. I expect this year's Junk to be much the same.
But what kind of eclectic sounds might you be hearing from on June 7th? You are spoilt for choice. A range of raucous, noisy, shoegaze delights await you in the well-trodden corridors of the Whammy complex.
From Tāmaki Makaurau, the cathartic vocals and distorted guitar world of Cabinet, whose DIY recording style is sure to translate to a rowdy live show. Fresh-ish from the release of gbr2, I'm buzzing to hear the juxtaposing emo-electronic sounds of George Barney Roberts live. His narrative-heavy and vulnerable lyrics will make you want to dance till you cry.
If you've been missing Pōneke emos Bleeding Star, I present you Dropper, which includes former member Jude Savage. Their fuzzy rock-noise sound is electric live, so says the YouTube video, which I found lurking in their Instagram bio. It can be difficult to find formal releases from up-and-coming bands, which is all the more incentive to dive head-first into their live universe.
Speaking of rock noise, I'm so excited to see Pearly* back up there after a year. Even listening to their self-titled EP will make you want to throw your body around, clashing with unwitting bystanders, and I yearn to do this in person. We also get the pleasure of duo Hōhā, which may translate to annoying, but their music is anything but. Their live sets meander between a more mellow, droning fusion of guitar and drums to heavier spontaneous moments.
If you were missing Fessh from last year's line up, never fear. You can see Eveline Breaker in two distinct projects, Girls Factory and Scrambline. The former is an EDM project, which I think Addison Rae would bump to. Check out their Bandcamp for kitschy 2000s graphics and the best music to listen to whilst getting ready for the festival. The latter a collaboration between Breaker and scramble204 is a distorted shoegaze dream that glides seamlessly between light, husky vocals through to darker, hectic guitar that you're sure to jump around to.
Office Dog are an indie rock trio originally from Ōtepoti and my personal favourite addition to the canine references in New Zealand music, amidst the likes of This Dog, Blunt Dog, and Dogbox. The trio, led by Kane Strang, is a collaboration between the three members, each pushing and pulling each other to create a cohesive sound.
Returning to junk this year, we have Ringlets and Salt Water Criminals, who have both blessed us recently with new work, both with entries into the 'dog music of New Zealand' hall of
Fame. Back in March, Ringlets shared 'Heavenly Wheel' ahead of their second album, The Lord Is My Shepherd (Time For Walkies). Perhaps we will hear some sneak peeks of the upcoming album, or maybe I'm just hopeful. Salt Water Criminals is the project of Rueben Scott, whose live presence will permanently alter your listening experience with them. Put on your dancing shoes because you will be bashing into friends and strangers alike. Personal space is not a thing at an SWC show. I distinctly remember the girl next to me pulling me off the floor at last year's Junk, the mosh no longer a set of individuals but a joyous, rowdy hive mind.
With all the Kiwis heading over to Australia, we finally have some coming to us with Twine and The Empty Threats. Lara expressed that she didn't see enough crossover between Australia and Aotearoa, spotting a missed opportunity for collaboration. Noting it would be really amazing to see bands flitting between the two countries, building relationships and expanding their reach in the process.
If you think a violin doesn't belong in a noise rock band, Twine will prove you wrong. Returning quickly after touring NZ in February, they're back, with their innovative and shocking genre-bend ing sound. The Empty Threats have a frenetic live presence that informed their latest work and upcoming album 'Happy Birthday,' releasing in July later this year. Junk will be the perfect taste of what's to come from the post-punk band.
Finally, Junk Mail's own Vera Ellen will be taking the stage, always polished with a pinch of whimsy in their live presence to break up their gut-wrenching lyrics. Every time I've seen them live, I have seen someone shed a tear, and they aren't just mine. Vera moves seamlessly from heavy and more punk moments to ballads, always informed by sharp, unwavering, raw lyrics. The emotional release from a Vera Ellen show will forego the need for therapy on Monday, all for the small share of $45.
Finally, I give Lara the small feat of describing her hope for the New Zealand Music industry. In a sentence - 'One day I want to walk down Queen Street and ask people who is your favourite New Zealand artist, and I want to hear someone who isn't six60 or Stan Walker.' The thirteen acts on display at Junk Fest are definitely in the running to be your next top artist.
Tickets for JUNKFEST Vol.2 are available on untertheradar.co.nz,
Written By Elle Daji (she/her) @elleelleelleelle_ CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Illustration By Tashi Donnelly @tashi_rd FEATURES EDITOR
Tokyo in Tāmaki: Fusing Subcultures in the local gig scene
Shaking up Tāmaki Makaurau’s gig scene, Kandi Cor3 is bringing global alt subcultures to local nightlife, no longer confined to niche internet forums. Kiwis can now experience international music and pop culture with a local twist. Starting up in 2024, with their debut gig ‘Kitty Rave’ last August, Kandi Cor3 (@kandicor3) has continued to both independently produce and collaborate on several alternative music and fashion centered events. In conversation with Kandi Cor3 founder Ruby (@kumyadoll), she sheds light on the beginnings and future plans for this budding community.
Introduced to anime as a kid by her “weeb dad”, Ruby was exposed to Japanese pop culture and media at a young age – “It was always on my radar.” Assigned to study Japan as part of a primary school research project, she was quickly swept up by the colourful Harajuku street fashion, never looking back since. With access to the wide web, she consumed content from J-fashion YouTubers such as Pixielocks, Lovelylor, and Mikan Mandarin - her obsession was only fuelled further. As she continues to explore the ever-expanding world of music and fashion subculture genres in Japan (there are many), Ruby’s tastes can’t help but evolve. As with most scenes, fashion is central. Beyond the loudly branded band-tees, variations of unique styling have become symbols of association for many music-based subcultures, distinguishing one fan from another. With both utilised as mediums of self-expression (particularly in alternative spaces), music and fashion historically go hand in hand.
When asked about the current state of the Japanese alternative subculture community in Tāmaki Makaurau, Ruby explains it’s a mixed bag, stating, “There’s not really a solid community here.” She explains that living in Aotearoa doesn’t prevent exposure to these subcultures due to many online resources and communities, however, in-person involvement is limited. With conventions such as Armageddon and Overload providing for the most part a judgment-free zone, the core focus on anime provides little connection for alternative Japanese music or fashion lovers in NZ. Having spent years consistently following overseas subculture-focused events like Subculture Party (USA), HEAV3N (USA) and Nitecawr (UK), her FOMO eventually became too much to bear. With a desire to create a space for the scene within her neighborhood, Ruby went on to found Kandi Cor3 (@kandicor3).
Focused on building a safe space for “niche styles, hobbies, nerds and “dead” scenes from the past”, Ruby sees Kandi Cor3 as a nighttime convention for people to come together and share their love of subcultures. When planning Kandi Cor3 events, she explains how it’s often aligned with seasonal holidays, using them as a thematic anchor. ‘Cupid’, their most recent event, was timed alongside Valentine’s Day, with everything from the music to the fashion show curated around the theme of love. “One of the first brands we secured was Vina Of The Valley,” she says. “I felt this Japanese-based girly fashion label captured the Valentine’s aesthetic perfectly.”
Each event follows a similar process: theme first, then attuning collaborators and soundscapes to match. For instance, February’s ‘Gothic Masquerade’ leaned into darker influences, spotlighting Goth, Visual Kei, and J-rock genres.
In recent years, Ruby has noticed a shift in how people engage with Japanese subcultures. “I think it started during Covid lockdowns,”
she reflects. “Everyone was stuck online, free to express themselves without fear of judgment. That’s when people really started exploring interests that used to be seen as ‘cringe.’” Her belief is that this moment sparked a new wave of interest in alternative fashion and music. “It’s had a lasting impact. The number of people wearing J-fashion or experimenting with alternative styles post-Covid has definitely grown. I think that’s a really good thing.”
Past events incorporated modelled runways, artist vendor stalls and entertainment from local musicians and performance artists – all with complete creative freedom. “Letting people be as creative as they want and having a space for that is so important to me. I would love to expand this in other avenues as well, but I’m sure we will get there eventually.” To get another perspective, I spoke with Tāmaki-based band Backshotz, seasoned regulars in the local gig scene and returning performers at several Kandi Cor3 events. When asked how their experience within this emerging community compares to more typical gigs, they offered a glowing review, highlighting the difference in atmosphere, audience, and creative freedom.
One of Backshotz’s vocalists, Ding, summed up the experience: “Real shit, they provide an experience and vibe that feels bigger than just a gig.” He recalled a standout moment from their Valentine’s set: “The runway platform they set up for ‘Cupid’ made that night,” explaining how it encouraged them to undertake a more theatrical performance, allowing for more involved crowd dynamics.
Guitarist and vocalist Varit reflected on the broader challenges of performing in Aotearoa as a band that doesn’t fit easily into the mainstream. “The focus here is on a lot of pop and hip-hop music, which doesn’t leave as much room for alternative musicians like us.”
Ariki, guitarist, background vocalist, and self-described “kinda manager” of the band, noted how “wholesome” both the organisers and attendees of Kandi Cor3 events have been. Reflecting on the pre-Covid scene, he shared: “I didn’t personally know of any spaces safe enough for this kind of personal expression.” He warmly added: “Out of all the events Backshotz have been part of, Kandi Cor3 are setting the bar for how to produce good shows and treat creatives. I’m really, really happy it exists.”
To wrap up our conversation, I asked Ruby what else 2025 has in store for Kandi Cor3. “Alongside the upcoming event we’ve just released, we’ve got a few more events in the works,” she teased. “I can’t say too much just yet, but let’s just say there’s some international involvement on the horizon - something that’s never been seen in New Zealand before!”
If you’re wondering where you can get your Kandi Cor3 fix, the newest event, ‘Weeaboo Weekend’ was announced for June 1st at Big Fan. The event will feature debuting DJ Alex Mizer and three local bands: Backshotz, Grapehouse and Hitokiri, their sets including originals and covers of J-rock, visual kei and anime covers.
Written By Stella Roper (they/she)
EDITOR
Hip-hop in Aotearoa has been a genre that has produced some heavyweights in the homegrown music scene over the past few decades. Originating in New York City during the early 1970s, hip-hop quickly spread around the globe and embedded itself in youth and counterculture scenes in locations as diverse as the UK, South Africa, Brazil, and Oceania - producing local sounds and artists that took up the mantle of hip-hop while infusing it with various elements of their own languages, slang, and culture.
As a music fan who came of age during the late 2000s and early 2010s, I am not going to pretend to have encyclopedic knowledge of Aotearoa hip-hop from its earliest beginnings in this land up to its current state. Rather, this piece is to highlight my own personal ‘who’s who’ of NZ hip-hop alumni who I believe are worth having some recognition and light shone on them and their music. Some of these artists will likely be known to the reader - others perhaps not. Let’s dive in.
Any history of hip-hop in Aotearoa would be incomplete without mentioning the OG godfather of NZ rap music: Scribe. Born Malo Ioane Luafutu in Christchurch in 1979, Scribe rose to fame at a time when the hip-hop genre and rapping as an art form were beginning to take centre stage in popular music. His debut album, The Crusader (2003), went quadruple-platinum in NZ and produced two solo number one singles - ‘Stand Up’ and ‘Dreaming’. Another track from the album to feature prominently on the radio at the time was the iconic ‘Not Many - The Remix!’ featuring two other artists hugely significant to Aotearoa hip-hop, Savage and Con Psy - the latter of whom would later pursue a solo career under his birth name, David Dallas.
David Dallas is an unsung hero of Aotearoa hip-hop. His career began as Con Psy, the rapper half of the duo Frontline, and he later embarked on a successful solo career with a string of critically well-received albums - Something Awesome, The Rose Tint, Falling Into Place, and Hood Country Club. He received a co-sign from Kanye West early in his career (which, before the man now known as ‘Ye’ devolved into such an awful and fascist piece of shit, actually meant something), and collaborated on songs with rap greats such as Freddie Gibbs (who would later be nominated for a Grammy for Best Rap Album in 2021) and Buckshot (founder of Duck Down Records), who would sign David Dallas to their label roster. In recent years, David Dallas has been a champion of pushing up-and-coming NZ artists into the limelight — with his Red Bull 64 Bars project, which highlighted the skills of local Auckland rappers such as DIRTY, Lukan Rai$ey, and Raiza Biza.
Raiza Biza is undoubtedly one of the most talented hip-hop artists that has emerged from Aotearoa in recent years. The Rwandan-New Zealand rapper was one of the first hip-hop artists of the African-New Zealand diaspora to gain prominence with their music in Aotearoa, with albums such as the Dream Something LP and the Day & Night EP being two of my own personal favourites from the rapper. His 2020 album Grand Opening, Grand Closing was nominated for Hip-Hop Album of the Year at the Aotearoa Music Awards in 2020, and over his
decade-plus career, Raiza Biza has collaborated with many international hip-hop heavyweights including Oddisee, Black Milk, and Sampa the Great.
Of course, we cannot talk about Aotearoa hip-hop in 2025 without talking about Tom Scott. Considered by many to be the greatest rapper that NZ has produced, Tom Scott is a creative wordsmith and music-obsessed artist hailing from Avondale, Auckland, who has been making critically acclaimed and lyrically rich hip-hop for decades. Tom Scott has been the central figure of various rap groups such as Homebrew, @peace, Average Rap Band, and Avantdale Bowling Club. In 2019, Tom Scott’s jazz-infused Avantdale Bowling Club album by the same name won the Taite Music Prize, joining other successful NZ artists who have won the award, such as Lorde and Ladi6.
As a resident and long-time lurker of Tāmaki Makaurau, I have become aware of many talented local hip-hop artists who call the region home. Artists like Rizvan Tu’itahi and Silas Futura have come from deeply personal and hugely creative albums and artistic outputs that make me greatly proud of the local hip-hop music being produced by my own generation. Furthermore — the amount of creativity and talent in the women’s space of Aotearoa hip-hop is only growing exponentially - with artists such as JessB, CHAII, and Tei creating music that is not only pushing the boundaries of the hip-hop sound itself, but making space for artists in a genre that has historically had issues with misogyny and sexism.
As we look forward toward the end of 2025 and beyond, the future of the world looks pretty dire and scary, to be honest. But at the very least, the hip-hop scene in Aotearoa is healthy and thriving — upholding a strong creative tradition that is only being appreciated more and more by the country as time goes by. We can be sure that the hip-hop artists of Aotearoa will continue to produce music that brings peace and joy to us, the humble listeners. Thank you for listening to my ramble about music.
Artists mentioned and my favourite tracks:
Scribe (with P Money) - Scribe 2001
David Dallas - Probably
Raiza Biza - Wassup
Tom Scott (Avantdale Bowling Club) - Years Gone By
Rizvan Tu’itahi - Bill$
Silas Futura - Day 61 Forever
JessB - Mood
CHAII - Digebasse
Tei (with Swami) - Python (Swami single ft. Tei)
Written By Stu Paul (He/Him) CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Why You Should Care
On February 25, 2011, a music video titled “Forever Dolphin Love” was uploaded to YouTube. The video is a surreal watch – people smothered in face paint, an uncanny dolphin/human hybrid, and a man with the most unhinged haircut walking the streets of London. It’s wacky, unsettling, and the perfect introduction to the world of Connan Mockasin.
Connan Mockasin (real name Connan Tant Hosford) is a New Zealand musician and songwriter known for his off-kilter blend of psychedelia, R&B, and indie music. Born in Napier and raised in Te Awanga, Connan has spent the last two decades forging and refining his subdued and idiosyncratic songwriting and guitar playing. Since breaking out in 2011 with the single “Forever Dolphin Love” and its accompanying album, Connan has released a total of six studio albums, signed with indie label Mexican Summer, and collaborated with a diverse range of influential and boundary-pushing musicians. Introducing Connan Mockasin to someone unfamiliar with his work can be a difficult task. He's been labelled as elusive, an oddball, and even a contrarian. Whilst these descriptions of Connan are accurate, there also lies a sincerity behind all the smoke and mirrors - one that reveals itself the more you sink into his body of work.
As a longtime fan, I’ve always felt a curious distance between myself and Connan, but that’s part of the appeal. Connan's album covers are equal parts confounding and unsettling, and his song titles are similarly unpleasant (“Please Turn Me Into a Snat” and “It’s Choade My Dear” comes to mind). He creates lyrics and visuals that inhabit his own unique and unearthly universe, and for some, it can feel too weird to see past. I’d understand someone being put off by the unsettling seductiveness of “I'm the Man That Will Find You”, or his nasally, high-pitched vocals on “It’s Choade My Dear”. Yes, Connan's a bit of a tough pill to swallow at times; he certainly doesn't appeal to everyone. However, it must be stated that a large chunk of his discography holds a lot of beauty. Take “Jassbusters” (2018), a concept album accompanied by a five-part video series about a music teacher who becomes infatuated with a failing student (who, he mistakenly believes, is a girl). It’s a bizarre and problematic narrative, and “Jassbusters” is an uncomfortable listen because of it. Yet despite that, the closing track “Les Be Honest” is achingly tender, full of dreamy guitar and falsetto vocals. You shouldn’t be moved by it, given the context, but it’s simply too beautiful not to be. I mention all of this to say that underneath the sleaziness and weird shit, Connan Mockasin has appeal.
That tension between the surreal and the tender is exactly what makes Connan so compelling, and why so many influential musicians gravitate toward his work. Artists like MGMT, Devonté Hynes (Blood Orange), Radiohead, Steve Lacy, Mac DeMarco, King Krule, Beach House, Tyler, The Creator, James Blake,
Justice, and many others have either worked with or been influenced by Connan's musicianship. These are artists who continue to shape the zeitgeist of popular music, and they all cite Connan Mockasin's music as an influence. His impact can be heard clearly in Mac DeMarco’s later work, especially with “Here Comes the Cowboy” and the bubbling up of lo-fi neo-soul in the indie scene. Here in Aotearoa, local artists such as Merk are inspired by the way Connan’s “broken away from what we can traditionally think of as ‘Kiwi music’.” Meanwhile, Connan’s tracks - particularly from “Jassbusters” and “Caramel” (2013) - have racked up tens of millions of streams on Spotify. Despite not releasing any new music in over four years, he consistently pulls in over 600,000 monthly listeners. Connan’s been working hard in the music industry for over two decades and has amassed a sizeable following in the UK and Europe. But here's the thing: Connan Mockasin is also a Kiwi.
Whenever a New Zealand artist breaks through internationally, we tend to hold them close, proud that someone from our small corner of the world is making global waves. Think Lorde. Crowded House. BENEE. We celebrate them because they give Aotearoa a platform. But with Connan, there’s a peculiar disconnect. Despite his success and longevity, Connan’s name is rarely mentioned in conversations about New Zealand music. An article in 2014 from NZ Musician stated that Connan would play shows with a capacity of 2,000 across the UK and Europe. Then, once back in his home country, he would perform in small local bars. Gareth Shute, the article's author, chalked it up to the fact that Aotearoa’s music industry is too insular, writing: "Part of the disconnect is the peculiar workings of our small music industry. To achieve local airplay, it's far easier if you sound like an established band from overseas. However, if you take this redundant sound over to the UK or the US, then nobody is very interested because there are already a million similar bands."
Here’s another example. In 2019, Connan was the special guest performing at James Blake’s gig at Shed 10. After the show - the one that had concertgoers talking over Connan’s set - James Blake went on to complain to RNZ, explaining:
“I don’t really know what people thought was happening, but I don’t think he was treated as the special guest that he was (...) It’s very often the case that at home, somebody who's truly innovative doesn’t necessarily get the respect they deserve immediately; it often comes later. It certainly felt like that at the gig.”
But surely Aotearoa’s finally caught up to Connan Mockasin in 2025, right? Well, Connan has certainly gained a more substantial Kiwi fanbase since 2019. But even now, I still can't help but feel that he's flying under the radar for many people, particularly among Gen Zers. His social media presence is practically
about Connan Mockasin
non-existent, and it's not as if he's ever making headlines about what's going on in his personal life. He's the reclusive type, only popping out when he has art to share with the world. That mystique is part of what makes him special, but it also keeps him hidden from people who might otherwise fall in love with his music. Maybe if he hopped on a TikTok trend, I wouldn’t be writing this article about him – or perhaps the music is just too weird for a larger audience here in Aotearoa. Either way, it feels like Connan has been left out of the conversation when it comes to amazing Kiwi music.
And that’s what really gets me. Connan Mockasin is one of Aotearoa’s most unique, creative, and singular voices. I doubt he cares much about recognition - he’s always made art on his own terms - but as a fan, it’s hard not to want more people to experience what he has to offer. It pains me to think he'll fade into the background, particularly with the newer generations. If you're one of the people who’s yet to discover Connan Mockasin’s peculiar and brilliant work, now is the time. His catalogue is filled with unique songs ranging from the bizarre to the oddly seductive. He's truly one of a kind – someone that can never be replaced or replicated. I implore you to throw on “Forever Dolphin Love”, “Caramel”, or “Jassbusters” and see what you've been missing.
Written By Jed Scott (he/him) CONTRIBUTING WRITER
3 Films on NZ Music
Column By
Ricky Lai (he/him) @rickylaitheokperson CONTRIBUTING COLUMNIST
King Loser (Cushla Dillon & Andrew Moore, 2023)
New Zealand’s patchy recollection of its own musical history is often through documentary. I’m not referring to the feel-good story of Six60 or whatever, though – the method is kinda essential for the way we’ve sustained wide-spread interest in capturing the underground scene besides word-of-mouth. Lots of them are free to watch online – Simon Ogston did wonders for recounting Chants R&B (‘Rumble & Bang’), Skeptics (‘Sheen of Gold’) and Philip Dadson (‘Sonics from Scratch’). In recent years, though, Ogston-esque style has been reprised through Dillon and Moore’s memoir of ‘90s psych-n’-noise rock band King Loser during their farewell tour. It’s not a hagiography – that’s one gratitude of mine. No received wisdom about a certified great artist, no hacky sentiments on national identity, no emotionally manipulative narrative to oblige your invested time. Just a celebration of a weird band from a weird scene. Chris Heazlewood and Celia Mancini are impossible subjects to not watch yap and smoke – they would prop up a 10-episode television serial, let alone a 90-minute feature.
Sweet As (Shirley Horrocks, 1999)
Somewhere on the NZ On Screen website lays this strangely liminal, 45-minute television doc about the slippery chaos unfolding at the 1999 Sweetwaters Festival in Pukekawa. Research tells that this year’s revival of the multi-day festival was managementally a disaster – Chris Knox and Elvis Costello are shown disclaiming to the audience that everybody has been underpaid – and this trouble only emerges slightly on the frayed edges of this film, which instead follows two groups of attendees. One is a posse of ruckus-seeking teenagers, and the other is an older 30-something group of nostalgics for the Sweetwaters’ heyday. While everybody seems to be having a fine enough time, there is an air of disappointment that it’s not quite what it’s scratched up to be – and I find that mood fascinating; refreshingly unromantic; even kinda Kiwi of us, no? You do have to sit through a short clip from a UB40 set, so approach with caution.
Woodenhead (Florian Habicht, 2003)
I haven’t had this much fun with a movie from our country, in like, ever. Florian Habicht is currently the most lauded film surrealist from Aotearoa, and ‘Woodenhead’ is a Brothers Grimm-styled fairytale through liminal Northland forestry, drawing from not only the creepiness of Lynch but his sense of mischief, too. I highlight this film here because it’s a musical film in a very different sense. The sound in ‘Woodenhead’ appears to be dubbed and horridly out-of-sync, but in actuality the central experiment here is that the soundtrack – not just music, but every single sound effect and voice that you hear – was recorded first, with the accompanying scenes shot afterwards. As a result, all the dialogue feels internal, like garbled, muted re-interpretations of our countrypeoples’ strange ways of living and talking. The present tense moment is imbued with a pre-recorded sense of the past; true to fairytale form. And it’s funny, too – the theme of trickling water on the soundtrack may typically bring to mind a river or a waterfall, but Habicht also chooses to pair it with the image of somebody pissing in the woods. Sure, that’ll sound freakish to a lot of people, but if you’re not at least a little curious about the strange, then are you truly a reader of Debate Magazine?
An Ode to Artists
a poem by Hirimaia Eketone
Breaking the glass of intrepid explorers
Walking on paths set in concrete puddles
Whenua dying with insider arson
Placing pieces atop our shaky roundtable
Streets full of anarchy
Whispers of succession
Bias of a woman,
Purer man,
Rich musician
Sound of silence is no longer kept, Songs revived as war-chant pop hits
Amidst genocide (who gives a shit?)
No genuine tune will hand you rights
As we move collectively back in time
Question reality children,
Find fault in our stars and our people.
Kick those who can’t walk, Praise those who can
Stay silent in places of korero.
(If you read the subtext, find your niche
Strive to free us from this world so bleak
Carve colour back into the sky so grey
Perhaps we’ll live another day?)
Maybe.
imposter syndrome that I didn’t deserve to be in those spaces or that I needed to be more “ahead” to be there. Just know that you can and you are allowed to be there. Time is your biggest asset. Keep doing what is important to you, art or not, and it’s the true key to happiness. I sound like a freak , but I really believe in that.”
Erin G’s point of recognising the value of artists may be the wishful crux to our musical horizon. Though the consumption and technology of music have changed, the value of work should remain unchanged. Perhaps there is already a resurgence in the growth of physical music sales as displayed in 2024 stats that show album sale units increased by a delightful 59% from Q3. If we can return, even exceed, in valuing the art form that gives so much to us, making music may even be a feasible, sustaining future for your bank and soul. Maybe.
Written By Sofia Kent (she/her)
CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Q: Anonymous, 22, She/Her
So I’ve been seeing a guy on and off who is in a band that plays pretty regularly. I was never that into live music until this year, but he sort of introduced me to the scene. Maybe part of the appeal was how good he looked on stage anyway, I’m starting to realise I’m much more into the live music scene than I am into him. I’ve been going to shows he’s been playing at and meeting really cool people, and finding new music. The annoying thing is, he’s getting weirdly territorial. He’s acting like I only “belong” there if I’m with him. He gets upset when he sees me dancing with other guys, even when I tell him I don’t know the person and wasn’t really dancing with them on purpose. He even made a joke one night after a gig that I was just a “groupie”. Do you think it’s bad to stick around the music scene when your ex is a huge part of it? I don’t make music myself. I seriously do not want drama, but I don’t want to give up going to certain events just because he’ll be there.
A: I want to get the obvious out of the way: THIS MAN DOES NOT OWN GIGS. You should feel excited about discovering live music and finding a new community, and I’ll be damned if it’s ruined for you by one guy who thinks he’s trademarked having a good time in public.
I don’t want to play into stereotypes too much, but they exist for a reason. Band-bros getting petty about a girl is a tale as old as time. It’s practically a genre at this point. Let’s be honest, outgrowing an on-and-off-again relationship is a healthy way of removing yourself from this plotline. Sometimes you meet a guy, and his sole purpose in your life is to show you something about yourself. In this case, a new scene to dive into, a new community, a new love for music and live performance. What you’ve done within this relationship is grow, and what he’s done is stick to the shallows of his ego. Try to hold onto the good experiences he gave you, and chuck the rest out, I say.
That said, it sounds like he’s still trying to gatekeep this scene from you while belittling you in the process. I’m not sure if he’s already an ex or if you’re still working your way up to dumping him, but I strongly suggest you leave him ASAP. Gigs are supposed to be community events. He’s not a bouncer, he’s a guy who plays an instrument. Next time you’re off to a gig, take
some friends with you. I promise that you and the evening will survive his moody side-eyes.
Furthermore, I want to address the “groupie” comment. From your description, this guy is a walking red flag. Although I’m sure he’d rather see it as a red stage curtain, and you’ve been cast in the drama. Calling you a groupie is dismissive, unfounded, and frankly misogynistic. By calling you this, he reduces your presence and autonomy to being centred around him. He’s not getting jealous of you dancing with others or going out without him because he cares about you. These territorial behaviours are signs of abusive control that will likely escalate with time. And let me reiterate, you’re not a groupie! You’re part of the age-old tradition of a musician’s ego not fitting on stage.
You might need to establish some boundaries with your ex. Limit your emotional engagement with him when you’re out and about at gigs. Take friends with you for support. If he’s having dramatic reactions to your presence, try to detach yourself from feeling responsible. Then, have a big laugh about it with your mates later. There is nothing more fun than a gossip session after seeing an ex in public. If he’s getting too annoying, I’d suggest you find gigs and events where he’s less present. Not because you owe him distance, but because it’ll give you some breathing room to enjoy yourself more. And hopefully, give him some time to get that thorn out of his side.
Remember, people grow into music scenes with time - eventually your presence will be as expected as his. You have every right to be part of community spaces that you enjoy. Bands need fans and supporters, you don't have to make music to be a part of the scene. Take me for instance; I grew up in the music scene because my dad is a musician. My partner and most of my close friends are musicians. Half of my co-workers are musicians! I’ve dated people in bands before, broken up, and felt unable to re-enter those spaces. But it doesn’t last forever. Personal relationships shouldn’t dictate who gets access to shared spaces.
Your love of music, community, and experiences is admirable and should be cherished. Frankly, he should have cherished it more if he wanted to stay with you. Don’t give up on going to events. Don’t let some guy ruin live music for you. And if he can’t handle seeing you dancing in the crowd, maybe he shouldn’t be on stage.
Q: Anonymous, 23, she/they I found out recently that a close friend of mine has started dating someone I used to hook up with. Neither of them told me either, I found out through someone else entirely. I don’t know if I’m more upset by the secrecy or the fact that they’re dating. Part of me wants to warn my friend, because although me and this guy ended our situationship on good-ish terms, I still think he’s got some issues my friend is going to find out about. Should I bring it up to her, or just let it go?
A: A good mate getting together with one of your old flings understandably provokes some uncomfortable feelings. I’m not surprised you feel hurt or even a bit betrayed by this news, especially since it didn’t come from the horse's mouth. But are your hurt feelings entirely about this friend and this guy, or is this situation tapping into some deeper fears you may have
around abandonment, competition, or feeling overlooked? Could it be that you feel replaced and excluded, both as a friend and as a lover? These kinds of triangular situations are likely a combination of many things, but figuring out where the feeling of unease is coming from will be useful if you want to move on. No one likes to feel they’ve been lied to, but there could be an honest and nuanced answer for why you weren’t told.
You mention this guy has “issues”, but it’s difficult for me to gauge how serious those issues are. I assume that if you ended on “good-ish” terms, he isn’t a horrible or manipulative person. If the issue is that he doesn’t change his bedsheets often enough or has an annoying laugh, it’s not all that serious. And if you do stick your nose in to tell your friend, it's just going to come across as an attempt to undermine her relationship. Might your urge to warn her actually be an attempt to reassert some control in a situation where you felt excluded and sidelined? Even if you know your friend well enough to know what minor issues may bother her, it won’t reflect well on you if you hand her a list of her new boyfriend's faults, especially since you know about them through the lens of being a past lover. Ask yourself what emotional need is being met by telling your friend. Is it to protect her, is it soothing your ego, or are you trying to punish the guy? You’re not the relationship police, and even if you were, this sounds more like a noise complaint than a crime scene.
If, however, the issues you mention are serious, then that’s another story entirely. Unfortunately, when someone is in the throes of a new relationship, the rose-tinted glasses make red flags just look like flags. Even if your concern is genuine and well-founded, bringing it up might have the opposite effect to what you intended; pushing your friend closer to him out of defensiveness. So, unless he is an actual evil monster, I don’t think you should attempt to play with that flame. It’s infinitely better if she learns about him through the natural progression of their relationship. You said yourself your friend is going to find out about these issues eventually, so why be the catalyst for that?
From your letter, it doesn't seem like you’re so uncomfortable with this relationship that you couldn’t bear to be around it. But could this budding romance feel like a repetition of your past relationship? Are you unconsciously trying to rewrite the ending? To be clear, an unconscious feeling like this is normal and doesn’t make you petty. But it’s important you recognise that the uneasy feeling might be coming from inside the house. Maybe it’s time for a bit of emotional spring cleaning.
I bring these things up because if you act with unprocessed emotions, it will likely lead to the opposite outcome that you desire. Unless you desire to escalate rivalry where there needn't be any, I don’t think you should insert yourself at all. It’s clear from your message that you crave some kind of dialogue with your friend about this. I’d suggest talking about it with other friends first. Just complaining about this situation to a neutral party might relieve some of your stress. Instead of trying to control the external dynamic of your friend’s new relationship, turn that focus inwards, ask yourself, "What do I need in order to feel secure and respected, regardless of who dates whom?". It might be that you need your friend to keep you in the loop more. Maybe you don’t want to stay close to
someone who withholds information that affects you directly. It could be recognising that you do have emotional residue from this past relationship, and you need a bit of distance to process that properly.
Identifying your boundaries will help you step out of the triangle. You don’t need to rescue, warn or compete in this situation. Just ask yourself, “Under what conditions can I continue to be friends with either of these people without compromising my emotional integrity?”. If they do break up in the future because of the “issues” you mentioned, you can both laugh about it together. And if they stay together, you can be happy knowing that those issues didn’t bother her as much as they bothered you. Whether he’s learnt how to change his sheets regularly or not, it’s no longer your mess to clean up. Focus on your own emotional linen cupboard.
Smashing Pumpkins, graveyard radio, & indie club nights: the gig scene in Tāmaki Makaurau & how Matthew Crawley got into music promotion
It’s easy to slip into feeling like Auckland sucks. As with any place, the longer you’ve lived here, the smaller it feels, the more repetitive it can be, and the easier it is to feel unsatisfied. I’ve had my fair share of friends move to the big cities overseas that I romanticise despite never visiting, so I understand wishing for something more here. That being said, I’m an Auckland defender until I die. With our expansive arts scene and talent, an impressive range of top-quality restaurants and eateries, hidden gems, and a damn good gig scene, we’re spoiled for choice, really. For me though, what makes my experience of Tāmaki Makaurau never get old, is the music. Little did I know that the person behind so many of the gigs I’ve found myself at over the years has been Matthew Crawley.
As a promoter, DJ, musician, and all-around music connoisseur, Crawley is a champion of Aotearoa’s music scene. From his early days volunteering at 95bFM, working in record stores, and hosting indie club nights, to running the entertainment programme at six different venues, including the preeminent Golden Dawn, and bringing major international acts to our shores through his touring company Strange News, Crawley is one of Tāmaki’s best music promoters. If anyone knows music, it’s Crawley.
Ahead of Te Marama Puoro o Aotearoa NZ Music Month, I sat down with Matthew in the 95bFM studios to get insight into how he got to where he is, his perspective on our music scene, and the importance of having a month dedicated to celebrating Aotearoa music.
Has music always been a big part of your life? Do you remember where your love for music came from?
Kind of. I grew up in a Christian household that didn't have popular music at all in the house really. I came to music through The Muppet Show. I think I probably heard the Beatles songs sung by The Muppets before I heard The Beatles sing them. And then ‘The Simpsons Sing the Blues’ when The Simpsons first album came out. And then “Weird Al” Yankovic. I heard his parody songs before I heard most popular songs.
But then, when I became a teenager, we moved to Melbourne and I ended up going to a really alternative school and it was the first time my ears were really opened to music. I was at a
school with people who were listening to Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins and things like that, and my friends back in New Zealand were sending me little mixtapes and stuff. That's when I really learned to latch on to music. Latching onto music was also a way of dealing with the angst of moving country as a teenager. It wasn't the coolest music that I was angsting with - Crash Test Dummies and Counting Crows were my first two musical obsessions that I was listening to again and again.
Whatever gets you through.
That's right. And then Smashing Pumpkins were kind of the ones that rose to the top and became my proper, proper obsession. I wanted to be Billy Corgan. I even went bald. Every inch of my bedroom was covered in Smashing Pumpkins, writing, and posters and everything. I then had a covers band at school. We were trying to play these songs, but my best friend was a Nirvana guy, so we did both. And then bFM came to my high school 1996 which was when I was like, “Oh, maybe I'll do this.” Something like two or three weeks later, I dropped out to come and start volunteering up here at bFM. That was 29 years ago. And that’s terrifying.
And here we are.
Still here.
Do you have a record or song that particularly hooked you into loving Aotearoa music?
That's a good question. Again, I was in the Christian world for quite a long time, until I was probably about 19 or 20. There was this band called Drinkwater. They were very wacky, almost like Red Hot Chili Peppers but Christian, singing about things like Bad Jelly the Witch. So it appealed to lots of different parts of me, none of which really appeal to me anymore, except for Bad Jelly the Witch. I hadn't really thought about that before, but I'd say that was the band that hooked me. I mean, I went and saw them when I was a teenager. In West Auckland, where I grew up, there was an all ages nightclub run by a church called The Fridge. It was not really ‘Christian-y’ as such. I keep talking about my Christian upbringing, but none of it was strict or anything – it was just how it was. But The Fridge had two bands. It was $5 once a month on a Thursday night. You
could go and just watch punk bands, grunge bands, and it was so cool. So I got into going to shows quite early, because all ages shows weren't really a thing otherwise, especially not in Henderson. So I was really lucky.
But also at high school I stopped thinking about academia. I found a blank stack of music room passes, where I could just fill in any day and time and just give it to the teacher and go to the music room. And so school work became less and less of a thing and we just ended up going to the band room all the time. In hindsight, I would love to have a better brain, but it's pretty much too late now. It's just all full of music junk.
You've been involved with bFM on and off since you were 16. How did starting to volunteer there change your trajectory?
100% it did. With my band, Thee Golden Geese, we sang a silly song called Georgie Pie, where I sing about quitting school and ending up working at Georgie Pie, but also volunteering at bFM. Those two things were kind of happening at the same time. And thankfully, Georgie Pie only lasted a few months but bFM - I'm still going. Thankfully bFM won.
I distinctly remember a guy saying, “Don't do the graveyard shift for too long, because it'll ruin your life.”
Well said.
Yeah. Because it used to be midnight till 7am without a computer.
Oh my God, and here's me complaining about the 5 to 7am that I had!
Yeah that was kind of crazy. That was a real crash course. And actually, it was a great thing to do, because you just catch the bus in from Henderson and do this show all night long. Just grabbing stacks and stacks of CDs or carts and records from the library, and learning about stuff, especially in New Zealand, and just randomly picking things that had cool names or whatever. So 100% bFM was what really got me going.
When did you first get involved with the music industry after that?
I'm kind of a brat in the sense that I would still claim that I'm not part of the music industry. I think that's a real eye-roll thing for me to say. But, in my mind, I'm still just a periphery kind of weirdo who's just doing whatever. But I understand your question. I didn't start doing events or anything like that until I got back from London. In London, I just went to show after show after show after show, worked in a second hand record store, and went to club nights. I was just obsessed. All my tiny amount of money and heaps of time was spent just going to shows and soaking up music stuff.
I had to come back to New Zealand in 2002 and my friend and I, who’d just moved back too, decided that we'd try and make something kind of akin to what we used to go to in London. So we started a club night called Kiss and Make Up Club in a karaoke bar above St Kevin's Arcade. That was how I got into it. That moved down to another venue called Edens Bar on Karangahape Road. They needed somebody to be booking
their shows. It was this total, total dive bar. If you imagine what a dirty bar with a bad sound system is like, it would probably be about 10 times worse than that. Famous for never, ever, ever having the toilets cleaned. But we just convinced them to do beers for $4 and it was so fun. That was me coming back and basically thinking, you know, I could contribute to making this place a bit more interesting.
Literally, when I came back from London, I was like, “Where can I go dancing to music I like?” It was either you went and saw the music you liked played live, or you went and danced to house music or drum and bass played on record or CD. And I'd just been over there, dancing to Pulp and The Strokes and all this other stuff, and 60s stuff. That was the idea. I had also started working at Real Groovy. So when I was there, I started collecting people who bought stuff I liked, and saying, “Oh, you're going to come DJ at this thing too.” And that was how it started - just trapping people who came into Real Groovy and putting these club nights on. That's also when I started putting bands on.
From there, in 2004, I ended up tour managing The Brunettes. It was a really cool band, and they needed a tour manager. So I drove them around Australia and New Zealand. That was my first experience with tour managing and being in another country with music. So when I got back, a guy who I had sort of made contact with in Sydney asked me if I knew anyone who could put on this show for Canadian singer songwriter Hayden. And I happened to be a huge fan of Hayden. And I was like, “Well, I don't know how to do that, but I'll give it a go.” But it was cool - I got to put these shows on and hang out with this guy, who’s music I loved, and drive him around. Not much has changed. I wasn't very good at it. I was very amateur - not amazing with the money side of things, and certainly not great with the organizing side of things. That's still kind of a feature of my style when putting shows on, but I've been lucky enough that they just kind of keep happening. I love putting on the shows and meeting these people and getting to do stuff that makes Auckland more interesting.
You started international music promotion and touring with Strange News in 2005. Since, you’ve brought some huge international acts to Aotearoa - Sharon Van Etten, MJ Lenderman, Ichiko Aoba, Jessica Pratt, and so many more. What do you look for when booking international artists to come to Aotearoa?
Literally, if I like it, I want to do it.
It’s very reflective of your own taste then?
Yeah, generally. That’s why I hope if I’m putting on a show, I hope that someone will say if they haven’t heard of it that they’re still interested. Every time I do agree, for whatever reason, to do something that I don't really care about that much, it shows. It's so obvious and it's always a bad idea. Don't do anything you don’t want to do is my advice.
You’ve been behind six different venues now - Paradise Bar, Edens Bar, Schooner Tavern, Whammy Bar, Cassette, and, of course, Golden Dawn. Tell me about those experiences.
Whammy was for just a year or so. Rowan opened Whammy
I discovered, and I think they're incredible. RNZŌ was amazing at that as well. But yeah, I also always love Half Hexagon... There's so much. I do get a little obsessed. I also can't wait for the new Na Noise stuff to come out. I know they’re recording.
What do you think of the music scene currently in Tāmaki? Is there anything you would want to see more or less of to improve it and better support local musicians?
I always want more people to be going out and going to the shows. People always say there needs to be more venues. There's some great venues, we just need to support them. And the people who are running these venues are doing a really good job. I just love seeing where Whammy has gotten to. The amazing storyline there and the celebration of Rowan and how I never, ever thought that losing the Wine Cellar could result in something that changed Auckland for the better as well. Double Whammy, we’re so lucky.
There’s positive things happening all around the country, actually. It's been fun to go on tours recently and see our new venues like Meow Nui popping up. There’s some cool stuff happening everywhere. It could always be better. But I think there’s people popping up who want to be doing what I used to do, which is to put on shows. Not for the first time ever, but it seems to be that people are understanding that if you want something to happen you just have to do it yourself. That is 100% my message to the kids - make some mistakes, put on some stupid stuff at a karaoke bar, and make enough mistakes until you learn to do it better. Do what you want and make what you want to see happen, happen.
Written By Sofia Roger Williams (she/her) @sofiarogerwilliams CONTRIBUTING WRITER
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