This Week's Line Up
Wellington's alternative scene is deeply ingrained in the city's culture, with its roots extending far beyond the mainstream. Whether it's a busker playing an acoustic set on the corner, an art gallery hosting an music night, or a pop-up venue tucked behind a corner, there's always something new waiting to be uncovered. The scene and community offer a platform for acts and genres that may not currently appeal to the mainstream, but have garnered a devoted, niche following.
Whether or not you are involved in the music scene here in Wellington, you’ve definitely interacted with it. You can discover at least three new artists or songs just by walking up Cuba Street, without even having to step into a club
It’s Wellington’s alternative scene that really shines though, and this issue has a strong focus on the underground community. The DIY ethos is what creates much of what defines the artists within the scene. Where artists are fueled by pure passion, self-producing their music, running their own gigs, and organising events through word-of-mouth or their own social media.
In this issue, we try to capture the nature of this scene. Grace talks about what actually makes good music, and can that even be defined? Will investigates Wellington’s underground bunker rave scene and has created a guide for throwing the perfect house gig. Josh interviews Midwest-Emo band, Park Flyers. Josh highlights RadioActive's rich history and its ongoing impact on Wellington's alternative music scene. I cover the DJ behind San Fran’s Atomic and 24 Hour Party People club nights, DJ BILL-E.
Wellington’s alternative scene feels like a living organism, constantly evolving and fostering new talent, ideas, and collaborations. It's this underground community that gives the city its edge and keeps it fresh, making it an exciting place for anyone involved in the music scene, whether as a creator or
Moon Jam Nite Them Sundries Out On The Wolf
Newtown’s electric Tuesday open micturned-jam. Share your art, borrow a band, and maybe make a few mates.
7:30PM - Moon Bar - Free!
Richter City Rebels
Richter City Rebels return to Rogue & Vagabond with bold brass, funked-up grooves, and fullthrottle New Orleans party energy.
9:30PM - Rogue and Vagabond - $15
Them Sundries serve up quirky, danceable jams with double keyboards and cricket puns— funky grooves for a proper dance floor innings.
9:30PM - Rogue and Vagabond - Free!
The Raskolnikovs
Formed in 2003 and still raising hell, The Raskolnikovs return for one night only at Barrel Brothers, Newtown. It’s been over two decades of chaos, heartbreak, and dancefloor redemption. Catch them while you can.
8:00PM - Barrel Brothers, Newtown - $10
Mister Unit brings a night of heavy riffs and darker vibes to Underworld Tavern— joined by So Keen and Spookytones.
7:00pm - Underworld Tavern - $15
Sunday Jazz
Sunday arvo jazz at the Rogue: beer in hand, soul in the air. This week, Michael Costeloe’s quintet brings the funk.
5:00PM - Rogue and Vagabond - Free!
Kia ora,
I'm just writing to express my concerns about something in this week's Sex Week issue of Salient, namely Robert Ennor's opinion piece, which has several references where Luxon's politics are derogatively connected to homosexual practices. Luxon is described as "getting on your knees and gluck-glucking", partaking in a "ball-cradling fest", and encouraged to get "those knees dirty, those ugly lips slippery, and cradle those balls". This is painting blowjobs in a derogative light that I argue has an undertone of homophobia.
Similarly the editors note in response to Arie Joe's Letter to the Editor in this same issue is particularly distasteful, insinuating that the student who has written a response to a piece is sucking Christopher Luxon's cock for adding their perspective, and a little more nuance, to a piece on Halls catering. While I can't speak to Arie Joe's orientation, this comes across as grossly inappropriate at best, and feels similarly homophobic.
While I hope these remarks are only included for shock value, I believe them to be inherently homophobic and potentially alienating to a community most at risk from the current political climate they are being used to condemn. For an issue that has historically always been sex positive, this one left a bad taste in my mouth.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is fair criticism. Robert is not a member of our staff, but we did approve his opinion piece in order to get a wider range of perspectives in the magazine. Although fellatio can be a rewarding and fun act for people of all genders and sexual orientations, the overwhelming emphasis on it in the last issue definitely may have read as homophobic. We’re very sorry for any offense caused.
Kia ora,
I would like to tautoko the letter about sex work and workers that was written in response to the Women issue of Salient and the writer's response that followed. However, I have an issue with the editor’s note in response to this.
Firstly, the note was not necessary, the writer apologised and confirmed that she was supportive of sex workers - everybody learns something and we move on, right? No. The editor decides it’s necessary to double down and override both the original person who responded and the sub editor’s apology.
Secondly, the argument as to why the original writing was acceptable is flawed and careless. The idea that sex workers must be accountable for the ramifications that their job has on society majorly lacks nuance. As a woman who is not a sex worker I would never claim that sex work affects me and the way I live my life. The sex work industry affects me insofar as it exists. The ‘ramifications’ of the sex work industry that are alluded to here are actually the ramifications of the patriarchy. The patriarchy affects me and the way I live my life but these are not the same.
I am disappointed that the editor felt the need to chime in on this matter. Not every discussion needs the final say to be that of a man - even if it is the editor.
EDITOR’S RESPONSE:
Thank you for getting in touch. You're right, I probably missed the mark with my response. My intention was to defend my writer and her right to have criticise an industry, but I think the note I published was unnecessary and demeaning to both individuals.
Looking for a Flat? Brooklyn’s Most Mysterious Castle Has Your Name on It
High above the city in the Brooklyn hills sits a castle with a murky past. Originally built as a radar bunker, the strange yellow fortress was last home to an infamous doggy hotel called Woofington’s. And now, if you’ve got around $4 million to spare, it can all be yours.
Developer and financier Brian Willman, owner of a number of companies in Wellington, purchased the property in 1998 and transformed it from a decommissioned radar bunker into a castle complete with suits of armour and a giant wooden door.
Three times a year, locals would see swathes of partygoers arriving at the castle by motorbike. Guard dogs keeping watch along the perimeter of the property were also a regular sight, up until the castle suddenly became host to a different sort of dog.
In 2015, 15 years after Willman purchased the castle, he announced the opening of Wellington’s most luxurious doggy day care yet. The sort of place where dogs are shuttled around in a Porche and can watch Harry Potter from the comfort of their fire-side couch, while their owners are out of town.
That year, in a Stuff video promoting the business, former Woofington’s manager Nicholas Hearfield called the castle a mystery: “a lot of people have been questioning, what is this place?”
A pretty fitting quote for what was to come.
The same manager would go missing 3 years after, with his body later found in a search around Porirua. Details of his death were never announced.
One year later, in 2019, armed police carried out a search of the castle. Stuff reported that former Woofington’s employee Robert Shane Bromley had told police that there was something “disturbing” inside the castle’s safe. Police found a homemade firework within the safe, which Bromley faced charges for. However, another employee said that police were really after an “underground bunker”.
The search by armed police wouldn’t be the last time guns were brandished at the castle. In 2020’s COVID lockdown, Woofington’s was burgled by three people with a gun, an incident that culminated in a motorway police chase.
Now, nearly 4 years after Woofington’s abruptly closed its doors to any new canine residents, the building is up for sale. Sotheby’s listing for the property says it offers a “lifestyle like no other”.
Plenty of rumours have swirled on social media over the years, trying to tie together Woofington’s muddled past. While no secret underground bunker is mentioned in the Sotheby’s listing, it might take the castle’s new owner doing some (literal) digging to find out the truth.
By
Darcy Lawrey (He/Him)
Cartoon by Walter Zamalis
Interview: Guyon Espiner on a Life in
Journalistic titan Guyon Espiner has been in the media industry for over thirty years. He’s worked in print, radio, and television, helming some of Aotearoa’s most influential programmes. Guyon has reported on the upper echelons of power as TVNZ political editor, presented RNZ’s Morning Report, and broke crucial high-stake stories as an investigative reporter. He sat down with me to discuss his career, his journey with te reo, and the everchanging ways in which we cover and consume news and politics.
Kia ora Guyon, I wanted to start by asking, when was the first time you thought ‘I want to be a journalist’?
Kia ora Ferg. All of it comes back to writing. When I was in high school one of my assignments was to write a short story, the teacher came up to me and plonked my story down on the desk. ‘You could be a writer’ she said. It’s funny isn’t it, the influence teachers can have. That made it real for me and that’s all I’ve ever done since.
Did you write for your student magazine?
Yes I did, I wrote some pieces for Canter (UC Student Mag), nothing too crazy. I wrote some reviews and some little articles, I wonder if you could still find them.
How did you transition from print to TV?
I spent about a decade in print
journalism, we don’t really have proper ‘newspapers’ today. I ended up working in the press gallery, and in 2003 Mark Sainsbury, the TVNZ Political Editor at the time, asked if I could come work for him. I rebuffed him at first because I loved print, but I had had a pretty severe life change at the time. I’d had a big break up, my mum has just died, so I thought, fuck it, I’ll give this a go. Shit it was a hell of a transition. The work was so intense, but I look back at those years fondly. You can find my first piece to camera on YouTube. I don’t recommend you watch it.
How do you think covering politics has changed since you were political editor?
Resourcing, just the amount of resourcing is so much thinner than it was. I’m sure they do a great job in the gallery now, but I remember when I was there, there were experts on economics and experts of trade. Some people had been there since the 50’s, and they had so much experience and knowledge. We just don’t have that anymore, and it won’t come back.
What do you make of this new wave of ‘social media journos’ replacing traditional media?
You can’t turn back the clock, so I’ve got no problem with this new culture. You’re doing it wrong when you start cutting corners for a quick like. If you’re doing good quality journalism though, you’ve
got to hit them where they are, and if that’s on social media, that’s where you do your journalism.
You’ve said that Clark and Key would give you pretty candid answers, but that Ardern was quite evasive, where does Luxon fit in as an interviewee?
I would put Luxon in the Ardern camp honestly; people might get mad at me for that. It’s because politicians these days seem to think that they can chalk up a win on the scoreboard if they don’t say anything. “What I’ll say to is dot dot dot”, it’s just fluff. Your average punter in the supermarket isn’t going to know what the hell you’re saying when it’s just a bunch of catchphrases and throwaway lines. You can see how people connect with someone like Trump because of that. I’ve got no torch to carry for him, but he says whatever he wants and people resonate with it.
How’s your reo journey going, and where do you think the country is going with te reo?
Yeah good. I first got into it because my wife at the time is Māori, and my daughter is Māori, and I did it for her, but I also thought to myself ‘why aren’t we using reo more on the radio?’. I had some pretty big critics, such as Don Brash, but I also had some big enablers. As for the country, it’s hard to put the toothpaste back in the tube aye. I don’t think this government will make a difference, people are already speaking it and we’re not going back.
Fergus Goodall Smith
Journalism Trans Hīkoi a Success
Any thoughts on Election 2026?
There’s never been a one term National government, there’s only been two one-term governments, and they were both Labour, but I think we’re in a different era now. I don’t think history holds, I think voters are more impatient, whether that’s social media, our shortened attention spans, or just the speed of the world. Labour’s polling is incredibly good for what it should be right now. I think it’s game on.
Final question, what’s your favourite TV show?
I love watching TV with my daughter. We watch Friends, we just watched Stranger Things and the new season of Squid Game, but I also love shows like BBC HardTalk and Q + A with Jack Tame, he does such a great job.
This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
Last Sunday, hundreds of trans people and allies marched on Parliament in support of continued access to puberty blockers and hormone treatments for transgender youth. The protest movement, led by Queer Endurance in Defiance (QED), comes in response to the Government’s signals that it will be moving to restrict access even further. For trans youth, according to QED, hormone blockers are “one of the few aspects of bodily autonomy afforded”.
The Coalition Government’s move, which is currently open for consultation, is part of a broader reactionary backlash against access to puberty blockers. In the UK, Keir Starmer’s Labour Party has banned puberty blockers outright, and the USA under Donald Trump looks to be moving in a similar direction.
In Aotearoa, the policy is the brainchild of Winston Peters, who utilised transphobic rhetoric to catapult himself back into power in the last election.
Despite the general consensus among endocrinologists that puberty blockers are generally a safe and reversible alternative to immediate intervention, conservative figures like Peters tend to brand the medicines as “unsafe” and “untested”.
A hīkoi participant who spoke to Salient told us that puberty blockers are essential to prevent the high suicide rates in trans
youth. “Every month that someone’s not on puberty blockers, something irreversible changes in them… during those really crucial moments, that’s when trans people have the most barriers towards accessing medical transition.”
VUWSA Welfare Vice-President Josh Robinson, who helped coordinate VUWSA’s walking bus to the hīkoi, said that fighting for trans justice was deeply important to VUWSA. “We represent all students… if one section of our community is oppressed, we’re all oppressed.” Robinson was pleased by the turnout of the event. Will Irvine (he/him)
The Torch of Vic Deals is Being Passed
Vic Deals, Wellington’s beloved, quirky, and prestigious Facebook community page is up for sale. A new banner now adorns the home page, emblazoned with the words ‘vic deals 4 sale - asking price: $1,000,000,000 *one billion dollars*’, a reference to Austin Powers supervillain Dr Evil.
The sale of the community group has made many Wellingtonians come to the realisation that the page could even be sold. Vic Deals is in fact a business that makes profit, describing itself as an ‘online trading forum’. The owners of the group, brothers Charlie and Michael Ward, have operated the
page since 2022, and make their money through advertisements, whether it be for a local business or someone trying to sub-let their flat.
The page originally started in 2012 as a place for students at Victoria University to find flats and flatmates, and occasionally spill some tea, but it’s ballooned out to epic proportions since then.
Vic Deals currently has a whopping 247,800 members, with around 100 posts a day, making it a hubbub of activity. Vic Deals has a place in many people’s hearts. Time and time again has the page reunited folk with their ID’s
following a big night on the rark, or given someone just the right drill piece to finish off their DIY deck. It’s a place of gossip, politics, narking, and trade, and we love it.
No one actually knows exactly how much the page is selling for, but the current owners told RNZ that the former owner, Grant Burley, purchased the platform for a slab of Tuis and some Homegrown tickets. Sounds about right.
Charlie Ward, the departing owner, was only 19 when he purchased the page as a way to gain some experience in business and administration. If Charlie did it, so could you (yes you, the reader, buy it!).
The NZUSA is dead! Long live ATSA!
Last week, the embers of the dead New Zealand Union of Students’ Associations formed into the Aotearoa Tertiary Students Association, signalling a new age for student organization in New Zealand.
Why the change? According to VUWSA president Liban Ali, when membership in student unions became voluntary, NZUSA’s funding fell off a cliff. This resulted in all discussions in NZUSA only being about money instead of advocacy. As such, no one was getting any bang for any amount of buck.
And NZUSA cost a lot of buck. The various student associations would put in money proportionate to their number of students, meaning VUWSA was contributing around $45k a year. The largest student association, Auckland, was contributing $75k. But it wasn’t enough, and nothing was coming from the cash which was put in. When no results were coming out of high sums from the already skint student unions, associations left. Which only accelerated the problem.
“Not only was NZUSA not sustainable, but it also wasn't the national body that it used to be,” said Ali.
“As the years went on, you could see the financial structure falling
apart, which resulted in the integral structure of people getting elected falling apart. So there was a lot of instability, and egos started getting in the way of good work.”
So what will the newly ordained ATSA look like? Each student association president sits on a committee with their peers, with a rotating chair, where they will decide what to advocate for.
Alongside six of the seven university student unions, the nationwide international students, disabled students, and Māori student unions will also be represented. Such collective student activism has forced past governments to pay attention, according to Ali. He says there are already discussions around nationally coordinated campaigns on ensuring paid placements for nurses, midwifery, and other students, alongside potentially ending voluntary student union membership. In addition, a national body provides the benefit of ensuring consistent dialogue between the various associations.
However, one group is missing; Canterbury’s student association, UCSA. They were the student union first to ditch NZUSA, all the way back in 1999. While they’ll review their decision to not join later in 2025, UCSA president Luc McKay cites this history as part of
why they’re not in.
“Key factors in our decision included the absence of a student mandate to join a national body, given our long-standing independence, as well as concerns about potential financial and reputational risks,” said MacKay. And there may be a valid critique here. If NZUSA was disbanded for being ineffectual, costly, and corrupt, what’s to prevent ATSA from suffering the same fate?
“What happened with NZUSA was that conversation about funding plagued the space every year,” said Ali. “But we [the presidents] already get paid from our respective student associations. We can just contribute four to five hours each week to national body work.
“As much as we will have to have to discuss it later down the line, for now we need to keep the conversation away from money.”
But as Ali states, how ATSA is to be funded is yet to be decided. Meaning the key issue which sank ATSA’s predecessor is yet to be properly solved.
Because of this, there’s probably some sense in taking the time to get the financials right. NZUSA has already been replaced once. Should ATSA crumble too, it’s unlikely any union will be up for a third rodeo.
Fergus Goodall Smith
Namulau‘ulu Nu‘uali‘i Eteroa Lafaele named Young NZer of the Year
Dean Wickliffe Released
Namulau‘ulu Nu‘uali‘i Eteroa Lafaele (Fogapoa, Leulumoega Tuai, Lefaga) is 2025’s winner of the University of Canterbury Young New Zealander of the Year Award. She is a globally recognised Samoan leader and software engineer from Cannons Creek, Porirua and is dedicated to bridging the digital divide for Pacific communities in Aotearoa. She is pioneering new pathways into technology for Pacific people through her work as the founder of DigiTautua, she provided refurbished laptops and other tech devices to families in need during the COVID-19 pandemic. In addition to this, she is also the co-founder of Fibre Fale, a platform for Pacific people in tech. Fibre Fale has achieved remarkable success in under two years, and according to their website have engaged with over 10,000 people across more than 70 events and programmes and reached over 3 million people online. She has spearheaded groundbreaking initiatives, including the first Pacific Tech Careers Expo, tech-focused community events, mentorship programs, and leadership camps for Pacific youth.
Eteroa has earned prestigious honours such as Forbes 30 Under 30 in Social Impact, the Young IT Professional of the Year award, and the NZ Hi-Tech Young Achiever Award. Not only using culture and innovation, but using her culture to innovate, she has amplified Pasifika representation in tech and has paved a path for future generations.
He Maunga Ka Taea
Kua hua mai te maunga tapu a Ngāti Kahungunu, arā, ko Kahurānaki kia hokona. Kua whakatū ai he kaupapa ko “He Maunga Ka Taea” e KellyAroha Huata kia kohi pūtea kia hokona e te mana whenua tō rātou maunga whakahī. I puare te hoko i te maunga nei i te 11 o Poutūterangi, ā, e mahi tahi ana te rūnanga o Ngāti Kahungunu rātou ko Tamatea Pōkai Whenua Settlement Trust kia hoki whenua mai, kia hoki maunga mai a Kahurānaki. 1156 heketea te rahi o te wāhi whenua o “Kahurānaki Station” me te maunga, kua mau e te whānau Greenwood mai rāno i te tau 1924. I mea mai a Huata, “Ehara i te mea i toko ake kia hoko noa e māua ko taku hoa, e mātou ko taku kāhui rānei. Engari, i kite au i te pitomata i roto i tēnei kaupapa ki te whakaaweawe i te iwi, i ngā whānaui, i te motu, mehemea e pīrangitia ana, e hiahiatia ana i ō whenua, hoko mai.”
Kahurānaki station, including the ancestral maunga, is up for sale, and mana whenua Ngāti Kahungunu are planning to buy back their sacred maunga. An initiative, “He Maunga Ka Taea,” has been set up by KellyAroha Huata (Ngāti Kahungunu) to raise money to get #LANDBACK. The historic sale was announced earlier in March and is currently undergoing an open market tender process. An open market tender process means that a property or asset is up for sale, and anyone who is interested can submit an offer (or "tender") to buy it. Instead of setting a fixed price, the seller invites potential buyers to make their best offers by a certain deadline. After reviewing all the offers, the seller chooses the best one. Ngāti Kahungunu Iwi Inc is collaborating with Tamatea Pōkai Whenua Settlement Trust, the governing body for the Heretaunga and Tamatea districts of Ngāti Kahungunu, to facilitate the iwi’s purchase of the maunga.
Kahurānaki Station, a 1156-hectare property, has been owned by the Greenwood family since 1924 and includes the sacred Kahurānaki maunga. The He Maunga Ka Taea initiative seeks to return the maunga to its descendants. Huata emphasises that this purchase is not just about ownership but about encouraging Māori to see the potential in this initiative to reclaim their identity and whenua.
Kua whakawātea a Dean Wickliffe (Te Arawa) mai i te whare herehere o Spring Hill, ā, kua mutu tōna whakapuango hoki. I mauheretia a ia i te tuarima o Poutūterangi. I tōna tomo i te whare nei, i whakahē marika ia ki te noho tahi rāua ko tētahi atu ki te rūma kotahi. I reira tonu i patua a Wickliffe e ngā kaimahi o te whare herehere. Nā ōna mamae nā te patunga, i noho hohipera ia kia ora ake ai. I tīmata tōna whakapuango i te 10 o Poutūterangi. I a ia e whakapuango ana, i hoki hohipera atu ia nā ētahi raru ate. Ko tāna hiahia kia whakamana tika ai te whare herehere i a ia me ōna mōtika tangata. I mutu tōna whapuango, ā, i wehe ia i te whare herehere i te 26 o Poutūterangi.
Kaumātua Dean Wickliffe (Te Arawa) has ended his hunger strike after his release from Spring Hill Corrections Facility. He was taken into custody on March 5th for not residing at his approved address. When taken into custody, he refused to be double bunked which resulted in him being beaten by prison guards. This abuse led to multiple injuries and him being hospitalised. He started his hunger strike on the 10th of March and demanded that he be treated with dignity, and a fair hearing when he has his liberty determined by the parole board on 3rd April. As of the 26th of March he has been released from prison, although he was hospitalised during his hunger strike due to liver issues.
MPI Song of the Week - Whakatō te Kākano - Mauri
Banger after banger after banger on this album.
Māori and Pasifika News is written by Taipari Taua
Ko te reo te mauri o te mana Māori? Tikanga, Reo, and the Māori Identity
By Taipari Taua (Muriwhenua, Ngāpuhi)
It is constantly said that te reo Māori is the life force, the pillar, or the most treasured taonga of te ao Māori. Safe to say, I think it’s widely believed that te reo Māori is essential to the Māori identity. While I do agree that it is a significant pillar, I don’t necessarily agree that it is the be all and end all of being Māori. I believe that it is tikanga instead, that is the life force of te ao Māori.
Te Reo Māori is often seen as the centre of the Māori identity, and those who aren’t able to kōrero fluently are often left behind or made to feel inadequate in their Māoritanga because of this.
Ki ahau nei, he mea nui ake te tikanga ki te reo Māori. He koretake te reo Māori mēnā kāore he tikanga tōna kia tautoko i te reo. Hoi, he hua nui tonu tā te tangata reo kore e whai ana i te tikanga.
I believe that reo Māori without tikanga is useless. However, there is great value in those who don’t kōrero but follow tikanga. This is perfectly embodied in some of the key figures in our communities.
Those that don’t have the reo but have the ability to manaaki by hunting, fishing, diving, and gathering kaimoana for kaupapa. The aunties in the kautā who keep our bellies full. Your cousin that makes the cuppas for our kaumātua. Your nieces and nephews who clear your plates and wash them. Your aunties and uncles who coach the kura sports teams. Your mates’ mum who cooks the kai for the kapa haka noho. The cleaner at kura who makes cheeky comments and gives you the meanest life advice.
I’d much rather spend time with these pou than with someone who stops and starts the conversation at every wetereo mistake.
“Mā wai rā e taurima te marae i waho nei? Mā te tika, mā te pono, me te aroha e. Ehara mā te reo nahe.”
Where is the whakaaro nui in judging and tearing down learners for making mistakes? Where is the manaakitanga in gatekeeping our reo from those that haven’t yet the opportunity to reap the benefits of those that fought before us? Fluency in te reo Māori is a privilege not everyone is afforded, and the fact that some of us who were spoon fed our reo since the day we were born are tearing down our whanaunga who didn’t even have that chance is appalling. We must do better! The only people who benefit from us tearing each other down are our colonisers. We must also remember that many of those who fought for the privilege of fluency were not in fact fluent themselves.
To my Māori who aren’t able to kōrero yet, I see you. You are enough. As Rawiri Waititi powerfully stated,
“You may not know your maunga but your maunga knows you.
You may not know your awa but your awa knows you.
You may not know your whakapapa but your whakapapa knows you.
You may not know your reo but your reo knows you.
You are good enough because our tīpuna made it so.”
Let whatever reo you have fly and flourish. Don’t be afraid of making mistakes, it’s part of the journey. Remember the sacrifices made in order for you to learn your reo, and that it is better to make mistakes when speaking than to never speak at all.
Proud of you! <3,
Mōteateatia!
By Taipari Taua (Muriwhenua, Ngāpuhi)
He moumou! He moumou! Māori mā! Kei ngaro wā mātou tikanga, wā mātou kōrero tāwhito, wā mātou kōrero tuku iho. Hēnā, mōteateatia e tāmara mā.
Kua kaha rangona ngā amuamu mā ngā mōteatea i ēnei rā tonu. I a mātou e mātaki Kapa Haka ana, ka whiti tōtika atu i te whaikōrero me te mōteatea, koia raini te wā haere ki te wharepaku. Ka rongo i te hongeā, i te takeo. Kua kaha rangona nōki te ngongoro o te haukainga me ngā manuhiri ia te wā ka mōteateatia te waiata tautoko. Me pono au, te ngēngē hoki o te whakarongo ki te 5 mōteatea i te 9 karaka i te ata. Hākoa tēnei, ki tōku nei whakaaro kua mahue katoa te ia matua o te mōteatea e tōku reanga. Tēnā, whakamihatia, whakautea te mana o te mōteatea.
Ko te reo o te mōteatea te reo o wā mātou mātua tūpuna. Te tangi, te oro, te tū, he matapihi ki te ao o nehe. He nui kē ngā momo orokohanga o tēnei mea te mōteatea. Е ai ki te mātanga rā, a Tamati Waaka, he reo rerekē te reo o ngā atua ki tā te reo kupu o te iwi Māori. He reo whakahua, he reo tākina, koirā pea ka hua mai ngā momo haka, manawa wera, pātere, ngeri nōki. He reo pakanga, he reo tīwaha ka puta mai i Tūmatauenga, ā, he reo tīwaha, he reo tangi hoki i ahu mai i tā Hinetītama huri atu ki te pō. Hei tā Tenga Rangitauira, ko te reo mōteatea he reo i ahu mai i ngā tūpuna, i te taiao nōki.
He reo i ahu mai i ngā manu kōrihi, i ngā rau, i ngā rākau a Tānemahuta me āna uri. He reo i ahu mai i ngā wai tai, i ngā wai hīrere, i ngā wai Māori o Tangaroa rāua ko Hinemoana. He reo nōki i ngā hau pupuhi o Tāwhirimatea, ā, i ngā tamariki maha o Ranginui rāua ko Papatūānuku. Heke iho mai ki te ao o ngā tūpuna, ko tō rātou mahi he pānui taiao, he pānui maunga, he pānui whenua. Kia whai rangi mō te waiata, he pānui rārangi maunga te mahi mā ētahi. Ko te rangi tēnā e whai ana i ngā piki, i ngā heke o ngā maunga, o ngā pā, o ngā pukepuke o tēnā rohe, o tēnā rohe kia kawe i te mōteatea.
Ko te kura huna o te mōteatea ko tōna reo. Ko te reo o te mōteatea he reo tawhito, he reo tūturu, he reo nō te ao kāhore anō i raweketia e te Pākeha. He rangi whai whenua, he rangi whai moana, he rangi i takea mai i ngā Rangi Tūhāhā. He rerekē te reo mōteatea ki ngā reo reretau, ki ngā reo waiata ā-ringa, waiata tira moroki noa nei. Kotahi te rangi kia whai te katoa, ko te rerekētanga nahe ko te waruoro ki waenga i te rangi o te wahine me te rangi o te tane.
E ai ki a Rangitauira, “Ko te mōteatea he matapihi ki te ao o wō tātou tūpuna.” Ko te mōteatea he tirohanga, he whai wahi ki ngā hau ora, ki nga momo reo nōki o tērā ao i mua tonu i te tāmi o te Pākeha. I mea ai ia he momo whare pukapuka te mōteatea mo tātou te iwi Māori hei mau i ngā whakapapa, i ngā hītori, i ngā kōrero o nehe. I konei nā piri ai ngā kōrero tuku iho o te kauae runga ki te kauae raro - he reo hono ki nga atua, he reo hono ki ngā āhuahanga o te ao kikokiko noki. Ko te tino ia o ngā mōteatea ko te kapo i nga kaupapa o te wā kia mau pū ēnei tāhūhū kōrero mō ake tonu atu. Mai rānō tēnei tikanga o te tuku reo tene kia puaki mai ngā kare-ā-roto o te kaitito i te wā o te titonga.
Nō reira, i ā koe e mātakitaki mōteatea ana, kapia ō karu, whakatūwhera ō taringa. Whakarongo pīkari atu ai ki te reo o ō mātua tūpuna. Whakarongo ki te tangi o ō maunga, o ō moana, o ō ngāhere. Kei reira ngā whakapapa, ngā hītori, otirā, te tino ia o te ao Māori.
Coolness at my primary school in 2011 was defined by one thing –watching The X Factor. If you were one of those unlucky people, like myself, who had parents that put you to bed before 8.30pm, you were done for. While the performances in the show were enticing, it was the cute British boy bands that sustained our interest.
The first time I heard about One Direction was on a class trip in year three. We were waiting for the bus to take us back to school. I sat lined up between India and Rosie. They were talking about someone called Zayn, who was dating a girl from Little Mix, and Harry, who had three nipples. Rosie turned to me, ‘Grace, who’s your favourite from 1D?’ I’d once heard someone mention ‘Niall, because he’s blond,’ so that was my response.
One Direction’s songs were exciting. It felt like every line was directed to me. Every word was about me. It gave me a warm feeling inside, I felt connected to the band. I was finally beginning to understand why everyone liked them so much. My Dad took notice of my new interest in music, and as a music lover himself began introducing me to his music. To good music.
Most of our Saturdays were spent going between netball and football games. With the trips across town came hours in the car listening to music. Dad created a rule No Repeats Saturday to try and phase out the bubble gum pop my brother and I liked. In the place of that fourth repeat of Ariana Grande, we listened to rock, hip-hop, reggae, jazz, and punk. Dad said that good music should ‘make you feel something.’ I felt something when listening to One Direction, but No Repeats Saturday promised me that The Cure and The Stone Roses would give me fulfilment in ways that boy bands could not.
In her essay “In Praise of Navel Gazing”, Melissa Febos writes ‘sometimes I felt embarrassed when I consumed media that featured mostly women, because media like this is often labelled in derogatory ways and dismissed as unserious.’ As my music taste started to align with Dad’s, I began to understand this good music feeling he was talking about. At the time I thought it was the drum beats, basslines, chord progressions and lyrics that were responsible for my feelings. Yet in retrospect, it’s clear the fulfilment came from the male approval of my new favourite genres. His smile when I asked to play Gorillaz meant more than whether or not I actually liked the song.
Although I had more in common with Taylor Swift’s high school break up than Alex Turner’s stoned hook-ups, Alex gave me conversation starters with my uncles at Christmas lunch, while Taylor got cousins exiled from those same conversations in point-five seconds. We could bond over the lyrical depth of Alex Turner, and look down upon the unsophisticated listeners of Taylor Swift.
Matisse DuPont, a Boston-based educator and gender consultant who explores the gender politics of musical fandoms explains that ‘cultural tropes like the “cool girl”—who isn’t like other girls because she loves sports—often exist to disparage feminine interests in favour of masculinely coded ones.’ From those early years, I’d let men dictate the way I perceived music, and this thread has continued into recent events too.
My first job was working at a local burger store. From the start, I was thrown into five hour shifts with complete strangers who I had no common ground with, except the fact that we were a similar age. Music was always playing during the shifts, and therefore became the go-to conversation topic. With my female co-workers, there was never judgement. We would happily listen to Dua Lipa or Harry Styles for five hours straight. Upbeat pop was there to support us through the labourious work of scrambling burgers together while angry customers heckled us. My male co-workers were the opposite. They were vocal about the lameness of people who enjoyed listening to mainstream pop music, ‘they just don’t get what it means to have taste.’ The shifts with them felt ten times longer, not only were we under the pump from stressed out Uber Eats drivers, Kanye West was cussing at us too. Being a possible victim to such judgement made me overthink my own choice in music. Did my playlist have cool music? Underground bands? Were the songs added a long time ago (aka before they became popular)? Was my embarrassing Disney throwbacks playlist private, just in case someone from work wanted to stalk my Spotify? Was there a quirky mix of music? Did I have enough unknown songs? I had to prove that I wasn’t a fake fan and that I actually liked this music because I’m listening to a song that you’ve never heard of. And all of this for what? To be accepted by some guys I saw 10 hours a week.
In Mina Le’s video essay “In Defense of The Boy Band,” she explains the history of the boy band, stating that the typical target market for a boy band has always been young girls whose taste is considered superficial and unintelligent. Therefore, artists who create music for this audience are not taken seriously. After all, if men cannot form a meaningful connection to this music, how could young girls’ feelings be anything other than surface level? Le argues that boy bands have always been considered low culture, even one of the very first boy bands - The Beatles. I was surprised to hear Le categorise The Beatles as a boy band, because they’re a rock band. A rock band that Rolling Stone classifies the greatest band of all time.
In her book Boy Bands and The Performance of Pop Masculinity, Georgina Gregory explores the phenomenon of The Beatles in relation to soft masculinity. ‘Vulnerable pop masculinity continued into the 1960s, influencing groups like The Beatles, one of the first pop groups to gain international recognition for rejecting the aggressive, individualistic masculine mode of performance typically seen in rock and roll at the time.’ It wasn’t until the end of the 1960s, when The Beatles traded in their boy-next-door image for one suited to rock, that critics started to take them seriously.
As a woman, feeling seen and respected by the music we listen to is part of the appeal of boy bands. When One Direction or The Beatles create music that interacts with women in a non-sexualising or objectifying way, it resonates. It treats us as participants rather than objects. Knowing that the boy’s break up has been gnawing away at him, or that he wishes he could have a do-over, shows an alternative approach to masculinity, which is a rarity, even today.
In 2021, when Olivia Rodrigo’s album SOUR went viral, I already knew I was going to hate it. My co-workers reminded me it was pop, girly, mainstream. I didn’t need to listen to it to know that it was going to suck. It wasn’t until Ferne, the little girl I nannied, demanded we listen to Olivia Rodrigo that I gave her a chance. I decided I’d rather listen to this trash for the ten minute car ride, than a three-year-old having a tantrum. Creative lyrics, rock sounds, punchy beats – what! At every traffic light I was drumming my fingers
on the steering wheel. I practically threw Ferne out at the preschool drop off and dashed back to the car, eager to hear what else SOUR had in store for me.
The one thing I’ve always looked for in music is a connection between the artist and myself. When my Dad showed me what he loved, my young malleable mind assumed that the connection and feeling he got was something that could only be found through the same songs, genres and artists. When he saw I was connecting to his music, he got excited. While I’ve gained independence in the genres I listen to, it’s been interesting to see our common interest in music morph and grow. Both of us have opened up to new sounds and styles; for instance Arlo Parks, a Black, female, queer, indie pop artist. I expect we have different reasons for enjoying her music. As a young woman, I find lyrics thought provoking yet relatable. I’m sure that’s not why Dad connects with her music, but isn’t that the whole point? I enjoyed One Direction for a reason that Dad couldn’t see, and now that same goes for his love of Arlo. There are no set criteria for good music. It’s not something that can be measured or defined: not by a single genre, band, song, playlist, or person.
Photos by Raph_PH and Justin Higuchi - Modified under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.
Page 10 - header photo by Fiona McKinlay, modified under the Creative Commons AttributionShare Alike 2.0 Generic
In 1976, Salient ran an advertisement for a small radio-station club on campus. The following year, the student radio station RadioActive was born, and with a 2 week licence, it began broadcasting on 126khz. Now, 48 years later, RadioActive is a thriving alternative radio station headed out of Taranaki Street. What began in the old VUWSA building is now supporting 45,000 average listeners weekly. Early last year, at the encouragement of VUW’s very own media and communications lecturer Geoff Stahl, I began to intern and volunteer my hours there. Just this month, I sat down with the current Station Manager Nick Medder (Known as Club Medder on air) to speak about the station's operations, its history, and how us students can get involved.
I arrived on a typical Tuesday afternoon after slogging through my SWEN221 lecture. As I turned into RadioActive, I was met by Medder. He wore a relaxed tie-dye shirt and a pair of jeans. I was greeted with the typical “Hey Man!” – very befitting of the relaxed and whanau-oriented vibe they give off. Medder has been at Radioactive as Station Manager since late 2023 but, as he tells me, his history with the stations began in 2016 where – as a young student at the now-defunct radio training school – he flicked a message to the thenstation manager asking to get involved. Next thing he knew, he went in, was told “say hello to the listeners, you are on air” and DJ’d his first Radio Active show. Nowadays, Medder still hosts a show (Check out The Wednesday Drive from 4-7), however, he is a large part of the behind-the-scenes as well. RadioActive is still a student radio and, along with 95Bfm in Auckland, Radio One in Otago, RDU in Christchurch, and Radio Control in Palmerston North, they make up the Student Radio Network, or SRN. The SRN is the governing body of all student radio in New Zealand. Medder tells me each Tuesday, he and the other station manager across the network get together for a weekly meeting. Here, they discuss future plans as well as the award show that they put on; last year, it was The Mighty Aotearoa Alternative Awards which celebrated both local acts and volunteers from across the network. RadioActive has always been a very busy place and that still hasn’t changed with over 100 volunteer DJ’s and announcers and over 50 shows a week, there are always things happening.
You may have noticed RadioActive at the recent Newtown Festival or Park(ing) Day. RadioActive has always been very involved in the community of Pōneke. As Medder tells me, they've had an action-packed past few months, with several Roots and Culture (one of the many radio segments at RadioActive) being performed live from Moon Bar in Newtown. Then they were also seen at Massey’s O-Week events and clubs expo. They even had a little rave at acclaimed Mini-golf spot Carlucci Land! Speaking of Newtown Festival, unfortunately RadioActive’s usual stage was combined with another, due to a smaller budget given by the Wellington City Council (Medder tells me around $10,000 was missed out on compared to last year). With around 80,000 visitors through the festival, it's further proof of just how vital community-driven events like these are to Wellington’s cultural scene. Despite the budget cuts, RadioActive continued to bring their signature energy, keeping the festival alive with diverse sounds and a strong presence. Medder notes that while it was a challenge to adjust to the reduced funding, the team made the most of it, and much fun was had, proving
that grassroots radio and live music remain essential to the city's creative heartbeat.
Medder tells me that RadioActive is always looking for people to help out around the place, in fact that's how I got my start. As a young fresher in MDIA103, our lecturer, the fantastic Geoff Stahl, offhandedly mentioned that he DJed at RadioActive weekly (check out Music Without Subtitles every Saturday 9-11pm for a fantastic variety of music from across the Globe) and that they were always looking for volunteers. After dropping into his office hours and a quick email to the station, I quickly found my new home. However, Medder says that it's not always as complicated as asking your Media Professor to put in a good word for you. He tells me the easiest way to get involved is to go to the website and just fill in a volunteer form on their website! Usually RadioActive gets a lot more volunteer forms than they know what to do with; Medder tells me that the best way to become known is to just write as much as you can! Specifically, to write a lot about the musical things you like to do, whether you DJ, play, put on events, or take photos of gigs. Sell yourself! RadioActive has always maintained an important distinction as a station where young people can gather the skills to grow. They can gain real hands-on experience to build up a resume in the radio industry. They provide a fantastic outlet for young students to practise DJing, video editing, review writing and much much more. In fact, it was so important in cultivating radio students that in 1984, when RadioActive was pushing to extend broadcasting hours, Doug Gold (then-manager of the private radio station Radio Windy) advocated for the extension, even though many other stations were against the student radio stealing time and listeners from more full-time stations. He labelled RadioActive “an important training ground for radio talent.”
RadioActive is not only a hub for radio talent, but it is also a place where a lot of young Kiwi bands get their start. Every Friday, an up-and-coming New Zealand band, often from Wellington, performs a halfhour set – usually 3-4 songs – and in between are interviewed live-on-air. A lot of the time, it's emerging artists that you might not have seen live before, which is a great opportunity, as one of the requirements for NZ On Air to secure funding for a music video or studio time is having done a live session with a studio from SRN. It's always a great opportunity to hear some music you probably haven’t heard before
RadioActive has had a storied history at our university. From its early beginnings as the “Victoria Radio Club,” it was a part of VUWSA, until 1992. Due to strained relationships between itself and VUWSA, as well as a mounting $30K debt, VUWSA made the decision to evict the station. Given just minutes to leave, the staff set the song ‘Fight the Power’ on the station on repeat before staff were forced to leave and a security guard was stationed at the door. An uproar proceeded – TV3 brought a news crew to the altercation – but eventually, after negotiations between Michael Walls (then-station manager) and VUWSA President Cushla Aston, staff were allowed in once more and music began to be played again. Soon after RadioActive Ltd. was formed between a collective of 19 shareholders who each invested $2000, in order to settle all debt and give the station
some money to find its feet once more. RadioActive would stay in our student union building until 1998 where they would finally move downtown to what became known as the “Active Towers” on Victoria Street. Nowadays, RadioActive is very much apart from the university. While RadioActive was seen at Massey Uni’s O-week and clubs day expo, they were nowhere to be seen on our campus. Asking Medder on this, it appears that there was a very clear attempt by RadioActive to come visit our Kelburn campus but after several emails back and forth, they were told they “would be a distraction,” and that was that. This is especially strange of the university, considering The Edge radio station was present at our club's expo. This lack of support for a Station that was born and raised at VUW is disappointing to see. Hopefully change will come as more and more students become interested in RadioActive.
RadioActive is now run by the RadioActive Charitable Trust and is now fully a charity. All the money made by RadioActive is for the betterment of the station and for the SRN. However in the current times, it is tough to be a business in Wellington. RadioActive relies heavily on show sponsors for the continued support of its show. Medder shared “it can be hard for them to support us if they have to support themselves.” Last year, RadioActive had to run a Givealittle campaign in order to continue broadcasting, and unfortunately, they may have to do it once more again. However, all is not glum, RadioActive still has many ways you can help. For example, a perfect little hack for students is the Active card, which is a perfect gift for others or yourself and a great way to give back to the community. At $5 a month, or $60 a year, you get access to exclusive deals across Pōneke including cheap mini golf, free yoga classes and even 20% off drinks at San Fran! The Active card is the perfect way to support local student radio as well as saving big time at that San Fran gig you’ve been eyeing up.
I closed up my meeting with Medder by asking him more about himself. Besides being station manager, he also hosts The Wednesday Drive under the moniker ClubMedder. When he does his show, he likes to have a wide variety. His mantra is that “if I’m listening to it, it'll be something I enjoy”. On his mix, you’ll always hear anything electronic, house, techno, trap, UK Garage – the list goes on. He also chucks some jazz,indie, or even reggae. If you are after a wide range of music, I reckon you should check out the Drive on Wednesdays at 4-7.
Medder tells me that right now, he’s really taken with Kiwi musicians Caru & Brandn Shiraz. They released their new EP “Back 2 Back” in January of this year and is a perfect throwback to all things UK Garage. If that seems like your thing, check ‘em out.
I left RadioActive that day assured that the pulse of Wellington's alternative scene is very much alive and beating, thanks to the dedication of its volunteers and passionate staff. Once again: check ‘em out at 88.6 FM anytime, and if you're ever interested in helping out, feel free to flick ‘em a message. It’s what I did.
In the vast spaces of Wellington’s music scene, few club nights have stood the test of time like Atomic and 24 Hour Party People. Behind them is a man who’s passion for music has shaped decades of nightlife in Wellington, although he’s quick to downplay his prominent role in the scene. “I never really think of myself as a big player,” he says. “I just pack up, go home, and come back a month later to do it all again.” However, that monthly ritual only gets more and more important each month, bringing together people who want to dance to the likes of The Smiths, The Stone Roses, and Blondie, music that is seldom played in the overwhelming DnB scene. These club nights have cultivated a lasting community, from new faces to regulars who have been showing up for twenty years.
Walking into an Atomic feels like walking into a reality where post-punk and new wave music never faded into obscurity with the changing times. From Bowie to Eurythmics to Iggy Pop, it is completely unlike mainstream club nights. The setlist isn’t about the latest chart toppers, it’s about timeless and beloved tracks that still hold strong decades later. The dance floor is filled with a diverse range of listeners, some who know every word to every song and may have even witnessed its release, to people experiencing their first exposure to these artists.
DJ BILL-E is more than just the man behind the decks on these monthly nights, he’s a cornerstone of Wellington’s alternative club scene. Over many years he has built Atomic and 24 Hour Party People into a community and institution. Without him, it’s likely that these beloved sounds and tracks would be secluded to private playlists and underground circles, rather than on one of the city’s most popular dance floors. BILL-E plays what he loves, and has created a space for others to fall in love with it too. This consistency is rare. In an industry where venues and artists come and go, trends change and fizzle out, he’s kept things going for many generations of club goers.
DJ BILL-E’s journey began in Christchurch in the early 1990’s, after a three year stint in London. It was sharing a flat with the New Zealand DJ legend, Greg Churchill, that finally pushed him to create music himself. His music passions contrasted the prominent hip hop, house, and techno scene, and while he enjoyed those sounds, his true calling was indie music.
The first Manchester themed night was a hit, featuring The Stone Roses and other staples of the genre. When BILL-E moved to Wellington in 1993 to study at Victoria University, he kept DJing, experimenting with different sounds until settling into one that truly resonated with him.
That sound took shape with Atomic, which started at the now closed Bodega on Willis Street. The night quickly gained popularity and success, bouncing around different Wellington venues before settling at Indigo, the club that is now San Fran. “I always wanted to play the songs I knew and loved but never heard out,” he says. “Back then, if you went out, it was either house music or cover bands playing the Gypsy Kings.”
Atomic stuck to its niche, highlighting songs from 1975 to 1985. Then, 24 Hour Party People came along in 2003, expanding the playlist to more modern artists like Nirvana. These two nights alternate monthly, and on New Year’s Eve he mashes them together in Hang the DJ, an annual tradition running for nearly two decades.
One of the defining features of Atomic and 24 Hour Party People is the dedication to physical media. However, this choice is not fueled by pretension or snobbery. “It just fits with the music,” he says. “All the post-punk records were coming out on vinyl back in the day, so it makes sense to play them that way.” Using a mix of vinyl and CDs, DJ BILL-E stays true to the roots of the music he plays. However, he described this commitment being mostly a product of stubbornness. “I could rock up with a laptop, but I like physical media. I like books, too. I grew up with it, so I just kept going.”
BILL-E is also not opposed to requests. Due to the high number he gets, he may not get around to it, but is always happy to take what the crowd wants into account. He described how he used to get passed little notes with songs scribbled down on them, “A lot of people never had pen and paper, so I’ve had a bunch of things scribbled with crayon and all sorts of lipstick and on till receipts….all sorts of stuff in the old days.” Now, people just hold up their phones with their requests displayed and that works just as good. He’s also more than happy to have a chat about it and have people just come up to talk to him.
Those who frequent Atomic and 24 Hour Party People know that these nights are not just about nostalgia. It’s about discovering and celebrating music that isn’t easy to find and accessible anywhere else in nightlife. While the venue is always frequented by longtime regulars, DJ BILL-E has excitedly noticed the presence of younger crowds who appreciate the music and sing along just as much. “There’s no gatekeeping,” he says. “If you’re into the music, you’re welcome. And seeing 18, 19, 20-year-olds getting into it is amazing.”
Despite his modesty, these nights mean a lot to the people who attend them, who maybe don’t feel as at home anywhere else in the scene. There’s a strong community that has been built. Whenever I turn up, I always see the same familiar faces. He’s even heard stories of couples who met at Atomic, got married, and now have kids.
“I love it,” he says. “It’s why I’m still doing it. The day I stop enjoying it is the day I stop. But for now, I still get a kick out of it.” While he always gets requests for other parties and opportunities outside of San Fran, DJ BILL-E can only be seen at these two nights, and doesn’t do DJ work outside of this. He keeps a separation between his work as a DJ on weekends and weekdays working in the public service. If you have not yet attended one of these nights, all I can do is urge you to go. Even if you aren’t familiar with the music played, I can guarantee that you will leave San Fran with at least a couple new songs you can add to your playlist. There is an upcoming Atomic on the 12th of April and a 24 Hour Party People on the 17th of May. If anything, it will be a warm refresh from hearing Low by Flo Rida at every single club you walk into on a Saturday night.
How the Music of
Can Change your Life
Succession, one of the greatest shows to ever grace the pixels of our screens, is about a family. A very fucked up, uber-rich family that runs a multibillion-dollar media conglomerate. It touches on themes of abuse, corruption, greed, and how the human spirit deals with being in a place of immense power and wealth. Kendall Roy is the eldest son of Logan Roy, the head of the family. Logan is loosely based on real life media mogul Rupert Murdoch. Kendall is a drug addict, a music lover, a corporate machine, and his mission in life is to succeed his father as CEO of Waystar Royco.
What makes this show so great though is the music. The score by Nicholas Brittell, implements strings, horns, punchy snares, and piano to form a Shakespearean melody to accompany the story. Here I will lay out four different tracks from the Succession soundtrack, at different places around our city, to make you feel like Kendall Roy.
Song: Rondo in F Minor for Solo Piano – “Kendall’s Summit” Where: On the Bus
Put your noise cancelling headphones on, max volume, sit back in your comfy bus chair (hopefully not next to someone), gaze out the window and disassociate. You’re the eldest boy now, coming back from a long shift at the top floor of the office, in your own private limousine (bus). As the blissful piano notes caress your ears, let this be a moment to reflect on the work you’ve put in so far, and what the next steps are in the journey towards success. Let all the different folk on the streets pass you by, and feel the glass windowpane you lean against separate you. You’re on a different path.
Song: A Piacere di Nuovo Where: While walking down the street, preferably Willis or Lambton, in a rush.
Off you go, briefcase in hand, you’ve got meetings to be at, deals to make, and reports that need filing. The board is about to call a vote of no confidence in your psychotic father (you need to meet your attendance requirement for that tutorial) and you need to be there to cast your vote. With every crisp pluck of the harp, and stroke of string, there’s a skip in your step. You’re under a lot of stress right now, but you’ve got your hands on all the buttons, the companies safe in your hands. Pull out a pack of Marlboro Golds (cos you’re rich) and light one up before you enter the office doors. You only need one puff before you chuck it on the ground and stamp it out (once again, cos you’re rich).
Song: Milan – Promenade Where: Sitting on a plane just as you take off.
Your boss snuffed out your vote of no confidence in him (you got a C+), and your siblings hate your guts (your flatmates have been telling you to do your fucking dishes for a week and you haven’t done them). You’ve decided to hop on the private jet and head down to the Bahamas for a quick detox (you’re going to dunners). You just need to take it easy, you deserve it, there’ll be another opportunity to take over the company, you’re like a calculative panther waiting for the primo moment to strike. Time to get on the piss and let all your worries float away.
Song: Succession (Main Title Theme) – Extended Intro Version Season 2 Where: Descending the library stairs at Kelburn, last assignment done.
You fucking did it, Dad’s out, you’re in. You’re pretty happy with your efforts, the board likes your new idea to diversify into big tech (you carried the team for the group project and surprised yourself with your last-minute Zoom presentation). You did the mahi and you got the treats. Strut down those stairs like you own the place (cos you do). As the glass doors slide open and you exit the hub, with a flick of the wrist, you check your watch. Fuck yeah, you’ll make it to the World Economic Forum Gala (pres) bang on time. Let those smooth beats guide you home.
You’re now Kendall Roy, go out there and take on the world.
Fergus
Words by Will Irvine
I’m the only person left on the bus when the driver drops me off at Mt. Crawford Prison. The area’s been abandoned for so long that I get funny looks from passing drivers as I hop the fence into private farmland. I’m beginning the long trek downhill to meet Katia (aka Smuda) and Will (aka Will O’ Wisp), two DJs who I’ve only ever seen on stage whilst I was under the influence of a number of substances. The two are the cofounders of Poneke Underground Rave, a network of techno enthusiasts who are the latest in a long legacy of underground raves in the hills around Wellington.
The ring of bunkers surrounding Wellington are part of a long history dating back to the 19th Century. They were initially designed as early-warning air and sea defense systems, similar to those in Christchurch and Wellington. A lot of them, including the Fort Ballance ones I would be visiting soon, were built on stolen Maori land, requisitioned under the Public Works Act and other pieces of wartime infrastructure legislation. Today, the bunkers stand empty and littered with graffiti, looking like some kind of dilapidated art project.
As the sun sets, I meet Katia and Will as they haul a set of powerful speakers into a pit that might’ve once held an anti-aircraft gun. They’re accompanied by the owner of the speakers, and a guest performer that very night - Peter, a lifelong music fan who only started DJing for his partner’s 50th birthday. He’s now a commercial DJ, producer, and event promoter, but says that he’s very excited and grateful to be putting together this event. Peter has an upcoming EP on UKR records, which fans of his bunker set will appreciate.
My arrangement with the organisers is simple - I help them set their event up, and I get my interview in the process. As we begin putting up a tarpaulin, I strike up a conversation with Will, who tells me that Wellington’s town scene isn’t accommodating to queer people. “My friends and I were called faggots right outside of Lulu, probably one of the safer clubs in town”. Techno, they said, offered an alternative. “I was drawn to the history… I went to a club in Prague, and it was the first time I’d seen absolutely everybody completely attuned to the music. The true meaning of a rave is to feel free enough to dance and express yourself however you want.
Katia, the more senior of the two, is from Berlin - right in the heart of global techno. Despite their foreign background, they’re quick to mention that they got consent from a local Maori protest site beneath the fortress. While Katia’s fallen in love with Wellington, they were disappointed by the lack of queer-run dance collectives. “While other collectives might brand as queer-friendly, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re queerrun”. That extended to major nightclubs, Katia told me. “[it’s not] truly diverse, which definitely has to change. We have enough queer and female DJs in Pōneke that just don’t get the same chance and platform to show their talent. In a cis white male dominated scene, feelings of being not good enough are common amongst
The night was a massive success, with word-of-mouth prevailing and a large turnout ensuing. The benefit of Katia and Will’s collective isn’t just to put on a great event and get people interested in techno - it’s also to show people that anyone can do it. Katia tells me that they operate on a simple, trust-based system. “We rely on koha, and we put the bank transfer link all around the location so people know where to send money… the location is secret until the day before the event.” They also publish the kaupapa associated with the event, ensuring that everyone is on board with the same principles of respect and consent.
Katia and Will are also passionate about increasing representation within the DJing scene. They run with their friends Lucy and Chazz, FLINTA* to The Front (FTTF.collective), a DJ Workshop and open decks event run by and for queer people. FLINTA* is a German acronym which includes womxn, lesbians, intersex, non-binary, transgender, and agender people. The workshops were being hosted at local fave b.Space. Katia (Smuda) also hosts monthly their own Radio show FLINTA* Tunes at the community Radio Mouthfull and showcases local
As I headed back home, I was introduced to Felipe, another DJ who’s playing a rave across the other side of the hill. Both teams exchange good wishes to each other, and it’s clear that there’s no enmity or competition. Everyone’s just excited to be here, in a wet bunker overlooking a beautiful city. Here, where despite a dying university and a broke student population, music is being made and shared. Here, where life is happening.
TW: Homophobic Slur
About the Centrefold Artist:
Kia Ora and Shalom, I’m Ela (pronounced eh-LAH) a nearlyyy graduated Communication Design student at Te Herenga Waka. I made this print at the university’s letterpress (Did you know that below the Kelburn library lies a little den with ancient printing devices?) as a part of a project I
called High Viz: Unfold in Case of Emergency. The project, inspired by the incredibly gay song VIZ by Le Tigre (track 9 on This Island, you better check it out), explores what it means to be visibly queer today. If you’d like a thorough explanation, check out High Viz at @elakalman.art on Instagram. Long live Le Tigre!
Leo
Rough, you’re caught in the middle. It’s a stalemate, an impasse. You’re probably just going to pretend it’s not happening though, aren’t you? Listen to Girl, So Confusing, featuring LordeCharli XCX
Libra
Someone’s got a date! This could actually be a good time! Things are aligning, and maybe, this is meant to be. Listen to All Night - Beyonce
Gemini
You’ve got a restless spontaneity this week. Just embrace it: no regrets. What could go wrong? You’re fucking crazy, but you’re free. Listen to Ride - Lana Del Rey
Cancer
We get it, you meditate. You’re so attuned to the universe, blah blah. Actually, I’m kind of jealous of you this week. You sound pretty cool, currently. Listen to Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac
Capricorn
You’re veryyyy in touch with your feelings. Perhaps you’re dabbling in poetry or painting? You may be a True Artist, but you’re also wallowing a bit. Listen to Cemetry Gates - The Smiths
Taurus
Maybe you’re being a teensy bit delusional. I hate to say it, but maybe it’s too good to be true. Listen to Wishful Thinking - Benee
Scorpio
You’re really taking charge of that group project. I’m sure it’ll go well, academically. Socially? I know you want to succeed, but don’t be a bossy boots. Listen to Are You Satisfied? - MARINA
Virgo
Life’s kind of crazy right now. You should probably talk to someone (and no, that drunk girl in the bathroom doesn’t count). Listen to Wide Open Spaces - The Dixie Chicks
Aquarius
You’ve done something downright sneaky. You might be getting away with it. But that moral conscience is going to come a’knockin, one day. Listen to These Boots are Made for Walking - Nancy Sinatra
Sagittarius
Shouting drinks, sharing notes, are you Mother Teresa? Please continue this kindness, but don’t chew through your savings, and don’t be a pushover. Listen to Be Sweet - Japanese Breakfast
Aries
Feeling lost? Maybe you should try following the rules, and find out where being normal takes you. Listen to Reelin’ in the Years - Steely Dan
Pisces
Wait, are you saving, for once? You’re actually investing, and putting money aside? Aren’t you a fucking star? I’m not insanely jealous at all. Listen to Hustle that Cat - RuPaul
Content warning: Discussion of violent misogyny, racism, and suicide.
Incelcore is a musical microgenre made by and for incels. Defined by its lyrics, incelcore almost exclusively describes the incel worldview and the musician’s desire to kill (women, themselves, or others). Scott Pilgrim vs. the World Ruined a Whole Generation of Women, a classic example, has 9.2 million YouTube views. White power music, which emerged in the early 1980s as a bastardised offshoot of punk music, is similarly defined by its lyrical content which pushes white supremacy, racist and anti-simetic conspiracy theories, and fantasises about a white ethnostate.
The music produced by the uniquely 21st-century incel movement may seem unprecedented and off-the-wall in its unique breed of hateful insanity. It is not. The political strategies employed by incelcore mirrors almost entirely the political strategies employed by the white power music of the 80s and 90s. Importantly, these two genres share ideological frames, and each act as praxis in the same ways for their associated social movements.
Incelcore and white power music each share a unique and sinister ideological frame: the ‘planned attack’ frame. This ideological frame sees the woes of the musician and his community not as unfortunate circumstances or personal failings, but as meticulously planned sieges in a global project to oppress him. In Scott Pilgrim Vs The World Ruined a Whole Generation of Women, Negative XP mocks women who, “like lambs to the slaughter” (i.e. systematically), feel empowered by Hollywood movies. In a repetition of the chorus he scolds women for feeling empowered by movies made in “pedowood”- an obvious reference to the Qanon conspiracy theory, which claims a paedophilic, satanic childeating cabal of Democratic and Hollywood elites controls the world.
In another popular incelcore song, Chainsaw Suicide, the musician sings about a desire to be free from systematic government spying by way of suicide. White power music, too, describes the systematic oppression of white people by various entities- the government, a Jewish cabal, you name it. Songs by white power band RAHOWA often accuse the government of systematically uplifting Black people at the expence of white people, while other popular bands more explicitly claim Jewish people control the media in an attempt to ‘silence’ the white supremacists.
The planned attack frame positions social phenomena- like women feeling empowered by female movie characters, Black people receiving government welfare, or media companies not platforming white supremacists- as injustices committed against innocent and besieged victims. As a result, listeners are enlisted as “soldiers fighting a just and defensive war againsorces seeking to destroy them”.1
Engaging with a social movement’s music acts as praxis in two major ways. First, it boosts solidarity among group members and reifies the group. Second, it prescribes action. In the music itself, group solidarity is achieved by employing slang and calling upon collective memories that makes the sympathetic listener feel like part of the ‘in’ group. While white power music makes liberal use of obscure slurs incelcore uses jargon like “foids”, “normies”, and “going ER”, as well as incel cultural images like depictions of incel mass shooters. Collective memories- for the incels, memories of rejection and loneliness, for the white supremacists, nostalgic memories of an exalted pastconnects individuals who may never have met through a (perceived) shared history.
Prescribing action is perhaps the most egregious way these two genres constitute praxis. Playing music constitutes praxis for a given social movement when the song tells you what actions to take. Many incelcore songs, either through their lyrics calling for mass shootings and suicides, or imagery glorifying incel mass shooters, tell their listener how they ought to react to all this socalled oppression. White power music, too, often explicitly and gleefully describes race-motivated hate crimes and calls for the start of race wars.
Each of these genres’ prototypical songs simultaneously emphasise how others are out to oppress you, how you are but one member of an oppressed group who shares your memories and culture, and finally, tells you who you ought to kill to find a solution. Incelcore as a new music genre is not unprecedented- its ideological content and political strategy has arisen wholesale from the white supremacists before them. This speaks not merely to incelcore and white power music, but to the violent incel political project and white supremacist project as a whole. The two are intimately connected- even in their music.
Endnote: This piece was significantly shortened from a research paper produced for a course on politics and music by Dr Mona Krewel. Chur Mona for an interesting and inspiring course.
1 Corte, Ugo, and Bob Edwards. 2008. “White Power Music and the Mobilization of Racist Social Movements.” Music and Arts in Action 1, no. 1 (June): 12.
There’s a particular kind of film that leaves a lasting impact on the brains of those who watch it. The Breakfast Club and other John Hughes films were pure teenage fantasy, a condensed-milk version of 80’s bored swag. Likewise, the Matrix films changed the course of history by convincing millions of gamers and programmers that they were an oppressed minority. For our generation, I think it’d be hard to dispute that Project X was that movie. It was a direct pathway by which anyone could become a rockstar. More importantly, though, it imprinted the idea of the house party in an entire generation.
For a while, it seemed like the house party was a dying art. In the 2010s, club culture and LMFAOlevel swag rock took the world by storm, and to a certain extent, we’re still experiencing the cultural aftershocks of that - think Shady Lady’s neon lighting and Lulu’s playful (and slightly problematic) Tiki aesthetic. No longer, though! Post-2020, recession pop is back in. It costs too much to buy drinks in town now, the music that they play in Dakotas is shit, and that leaves a nice big gap for the humble house party to step back in.
So, how do you throw a house party? Salient spoke to some resident hooligans.
PART 1: THE MUSIC
The Strats are a four-man band who make guitar-heavy rock. They’ve been playing house shows for two years now, and we were lucky enough to have them grace our flatwarming after a chance encounter in a bar’s smoking area.
If you’re one of the few people left in Wellington who’s not an amateur DJ, you’re going to need a band. The Strats reckon you’ve gotta put yourself out there to get some good bandmates - “go to gigs. Most people in the scene here are musicians themselves, so that’s probably the easiest option”. They also recommend getting an Instagram sorted, and paying close attention to the upcoming bands in the area.
Salient also spoke to Oliver Bailey, lead singer of the band Lipstick, who told us that having a band was “way cooler” than DJs. The main difference with a house show, according to Bailey, was the quality of PA. At their first house show, alongside Bleeding Star, he remembers the PA cutting out throughout the set. The Strats, meanwhile, were lucky enough to have an extensive speaker system dating back to their DJing days.
Maybe, though, you don’t have time to learn how to play guitar, rehearse a set, and organise equipment. In this case, it might be worth getting on the decks. The density of DJs per capita in Wellington is ridiculous, so it’s going to be easy to find someone to play a set. As for equipment, it’s worth checking out Facebook Marketplace for speakers, decks, and all the bits and pieces needed. A decent DDJ controller will probably only set you back around $200 second-hand, and can be shared among any number of peoplejust ask for people to bring their own USBs.
Worst case scenario, you have to go off a playlist. In this case, it’s all about having someone on AUX who’s wise enough to read the room - lowerenergy 2010s pop hits when people are starting to arrive, transitioning to your choice of dance music when you have the opportunity (UKG and house are usually good pics).
PART 2: THE VENUE
The classic flat party is probably in a Kelburn or Aro Valley two-story joint, tucked away among the hills. There are obvious reasons for this - it’s a student neighbourhood, so there’s no fear of noise complaints, and it’s cost-accessible whilst not being too fancy to worry about damage. However, this doesn’t mean that you can’t sort something out if you’re closer in -- or further out. The Strats, for example, had some of their first and best parties at a Manners Street flat. “It’s a bit harder when you’re further out - we have a hard time getting people to come out to Churton Park, even though it’s really only the same distance as Hataitai.”
I personally live in an inner-city apartment, just off Courtenay Place. At our first few parties, we got noise complaints from neighbours, and eventually had an unfriendly visit from building security. We don’t anymore, despite having significantly rowdier and noisier parties than ever before. Why? We decided to employ the revolutionary strategy of being nice to our neighbours. We spent an afternoon taking advice from our mid-40s ex-punk neighbours, and made them feel included as much as possible in the planning process. They even offered to pet sit for the night!
Obviously, you can’t change where you live, but if your flat has downstairs neighbours, it’s always worth sweetening up to them, especially if you live in a dense area. When it comes to police and noise complaints - play it cool. If you promise to turn it down and have people out in 1-2 hours, most people will consider it a job well done and head off to their next shift. Words by
PART 3: MARKETING
So you’ve got everything sorted. Now, it’s time to get people to actually show up. As a selfproclaimed master of the craft, I recommend busting out Google Drawings and using a collection of stock images. Try to make it look like a real gig poster, but if you’re going to be posting it publicly, make sure not to include your address! Instead, ask participants to DM you for entry.
Once you’ve got a graphic made up, you need to get some traction. The Strats say this is where having scene connections helps. “If you know enough people, you’ll get there by word of mouth”. Otherwise, though, it’s time to rely on the trusty Instagram story. Get all your flatmates on board, and make sure that you’re circulating it in group chats. Don’t be afraid that you’ll be seen as rude for DMing someone an imagemost people are just excited to get a well-made invitation. It makes your party seem professional, and that’s half the game.
Lipstick essentially had the same advice. “Set up a poster… you only need to announce the week of.” Of course, it’s all dependent on the reach of your band, so if you can get a big name, you’re more likely to be sorted. Having a social media account for the band is also useful.
PART 4: MAINTAINING THE VIBE
Once you have a crowd, it’s crucial to ensure everyone’s safety and comfort. While Project X is the fantasy, nobody actually wants trampling, flamethrowers, and a psychedelic gnome. A lot of this comes down to space management. It might be worth reserving a bedroom to be a chill space where people can hang out with less music. Some hosts choose to have a “powder room”, where people who want to knock back a couple lines of their favourite substance can do so without making others feel uncomfortable (and without the fear of having your drugs spilled, lost, or poached). Make sure to remind guests where your outdoor areas are for smokers, and, if at all possible, set up a couple of empty cardboard boxes for disposing of bottles. This is going to make the cleanup far, far easier when you’re desperately hungover the next morning.
WHY HOST A HOUSE PARTY?
It might’ve been Oliver from Lipstick who summed it up best - “it’s free… you’re really close to the crowd, and you can get as drunk as you want”. The house show is the ultimate way to show off your musical expertise to a group of friends.
Find the Strats on Instagram @thestratsnz
Find Lipstick on IG @lipstick.mp3
Meet Park Flyers, Wellington’s Midwest Emo Oddities
INTERVIEW
Josh Smith
I first saw Park Flyers at the Jam Factory in Tauranga around a year ago. Before this I never really got the appeal of Midwest emo, but it has since become of my favourite genres. Park Flyers embody both the twinkly math rock riffs and the gritty hardcore elements of second wave emo, as well as an array of influences from outside the genre, from Alex G to Dean Blunt. I sat down with guitarist/vocalist Felix Bird and drummer Ezra Beckett to discuss influences, writing processes, and more.
Let’s start off with this duo’s history. How long have you two known each other?
Felix: Year three was when I met Ezra. He was on the playground and he was wearing a grey T-shirt with a barcode on it— but then it, like, turned into noodles and there were chopsticks at the noodle end. And I literally just walked up and said ‘I like your shirt, can I be your friend’ and he said, ‘Yes.’ And twelve years later we’re still here.
So when did Park Flyers start?
Felix: 2021.
Ezra: It started because another band we were in, we were the only ones turning up, so we just started jamming other stuff.
What kind of music were you making in the beginning and how did it evolve?
Ezra: Pretty barren instrumental Midwest emo.
Felix: Semi-math rock influenced. It was around the time I first discovered emo, and I was just listening to the basics— so I made the basics.
Ezra: And I was still exclusively listening to Radiohead.
How would you describe your current sound?
Felix: I feel like we’ve gotten through the whole Midwest emo genre. We’ve gone to adjacent genres and subgenres, with a lot more screamo influence. At first that was the one part of Midwest emo that we didn’t like, was the vocals and the screaming. But once you get used to it, it’s actually the best part.
Where are you planning to take your sound in the future? more in the screamo direction?
Felix: It’s hard to describe. Still melodic in terms of riffs and stuff, but with heavier influences, rather than just like— some dude in a flannel shirt and glasses talking about why his life sucks, kind of scenario.
Which artists in particular have influenced your sound as a group?
Ezra: Initially Macseal. Absolutely. Who else?
Felix: Tiny Moving Parts.
Ezra: Algernon Cadwallader. Recently more Title Fight.
Felix: Now it’s a lot of random screamo bands as well. A lot of Train Breaks Down influence in my playing.
Ezra: Train Breaks Down is fantastic. Japanese math rock is probably my biggest influence when it comes to drumming.
What do you guys do in your spare time other than music?
Felix: Playing Fortnite recently. That’s a bit embarrassing isn’t it, to put in an interview.
Ezra: I love radio control planes.
Felix: Ezra likes doing grandpa roleplay.
Are you creative in more than one way? Does it feed back into your music?
Ezra: I do lots of photos and painting and sculpting. It’s all a lot more story driven, which our music isn’t really. The main thing that it feeds into are, I guess, lyrics. Less in terms of having a story but more just the feel that I’m trying to get out of the stuff I’m making.
How does the average Park Flyers song come to be? As in what is the creative process?
Felix: I would’ve written something and I’ll say ‘Let’s make something out of this’ and it just doesn’t work. And then I’ll just play a random thing and we’ll go ‘Holy shit this is way cooler.’
Ezra: Eighty percent of the time, Felix comes up with an idea and then we try it. I go to get a drink of water— and then when I come back into the room, Felix is playing something else, and that’ll be the song.
Where and when can people see you play next?
Ezra: We’re playing at CubaDupa on the 30th of March and we’re playing in Tauranga on the 12th of April.
Felix: And we’re playing Eyegum on the 16th of April.
Finally, what is the goal for Park Flyers in the next few years?
Felix: Releasing more songs and doing a couple tours. And hopefully… being able to be in contact with smaller bands that are in a similar scene to us in the US, and just going over there and doing basement shows.
Ezra: Just playing cool shows, and getting videos of us playing cool shows is the ultimate goal, but to do that there’s a bunch of other things that you need to do.
Yeah you guys need to get onto releasing your stuff. I feel like you guys have changed a lot since releasing ‘Charades.’
Ezra: I’d like to have that in the interview, ‘Charades’ does not represent the type of music that we like to play.
Felix: Park Flyers 2025 is way more raw, way more awesome and just fucking better.
Butterflies
SHORT FICTION
I don’t want to be happy. At least that’s what I tell myself. My heart beats behind the cotton wool of my jumper at the bus stop. Five or six times. Wait. I’ll just get home to my butterflies and then everything will be okay.
I’ve watched someone have a heart attack before. It was on a reality show where people starve and don’t catch fish. It ends with people starving and not catching fish and tapping out. As they exit the stadium that is filled with grizzly bears and no fish all I can think about is butterflies.
Butterflies are beautiful but they have no nutritional value. Each monarch butterfly is two calories which means you would have to eat fifty monarch butterflies to consume one-hundred calories which is one twenty-second of the number of calories a nineteen-year-old girl should eat a day. This means that if I consumed the jar of butterflies on my dressing table it would be a chaotically useless act.
I keep butterflies even though they are useless. No; because they are useless, and beautiful. Butterflies last a heartbeat inside the Earth’s finite body. And I like being reminded of that. As I wait for the bus to exit the city where there are no butterflies to the suburbs where there are butterflies, I think about the heartbeat. About my heart beating.
Nothing worth having is easy is what someone once said but I’m too tired to Google it. I’m not Googling anything for the next hour actually. Not after Unfortunately we have filled the position and Kind regards, not after Good afternoon and Ngā mihi nui, not after calling my Dad to say I’ve done it, I’ve found a job, I’ve filled a position, I’m useful! Not after the shallow pain of uselessness. Not after all that muck.
I’ll be eating beans this week, and rice. I’ll probably go out and buy a bag of gummy candy from the dairy and eat it all in one sitting. I used to feed my butterflies sugar water because I knew they had a sweet tooth and also because I knew they couldn’t eat anything else. I would feed them and their wings would crinkle up and then I’d feed them a little more and then they couldn’t fly and then I’d feed them a little more and then they would die. I couldn’t decide what I’d done; if I was poisoning them slowly or drowning them from the inside out. I couldn’t decide if I cared for them.
Maybe I only cared for myself. My mother always said I was selfish. But then again she was no better. She always filled herself up with people because she ‘cared’. But I knew the truth. Her parties were thinly-disguised puff pieces, her friends were commercial breaks, and she was some soiled producer. She needed people to fill out the slow life that my father built for her. So she had her ‘work’ at the waterfront with all the drama freaks. Angela, Te Kapua, Devon, Phoenix. They would show up on our doorstep drunk on narcissism while she consoled their poor weeping bodies. Joker eyes and jester feet, all tied up in themselves while my mother caressed their broken souls. And she did this all for herself. Helped people so she didn’t have to look at the mirror and see the sad life she’d chosen written all over her face. White suburbia with only the dog and bitch daughter for company. A view of the Waitematā with the salt drying out her anaemic blue eyes. No housewife is content; they aren’t pets or butterflies. My mother had a brain, she was smarter than that, she collected actor’s souls for fun, she wasn’t a goddamn pet. The only useful animal is one that’s dead. That’s when you can stick it in a jar or stuff it with sawdust and hang it above the mantelpiece next to the family photos. And that’s all I have to say on that.
Bus creeps up to the bus stop like a parent’s phone call and I get in. Bitch bus driver looks like a fishwife and smells like blue cheese. She’s wearing a cap so I can’t see her eyes. I prefer it this way.
The city retreats into the suburbs and the kindle wood villas. I’ve missed the suburbs like I missed the city in the morning; restlessly and for no reason except for want of something new to stare at. Preschools and dairies and council housing. Children and mothers are everywhere and I know I missed them. I missed the babies’ Play-Doh faces and the mothers’ tight jaws. And swollen breasts and bath time and grass stains and too much soap.
I’d still like to own a big house. One with mirrors and glass windows and wooden staircases. Somewhere swans would feel at home; with mouse holes in the walls, and a big ginger cat to chase the mice. Flowers around the windows, hydrangeas that turn purple because the pH of the soil is between 5.5 and 6.5 so it’s acidic but skin-acidic
not chemical-burn-acidic. Not Joker-acidic. I’d want beautiful weeds like blackberry, agapanthus, periwinkle. Lots of space for live butterflies. Like the house my grandmother grew up in, in Remuera, with a tennis court and swimming pool.
I live in a big house now, in the basement, with people I don’t know. It’s a historical house and the windows are quite large with thick curtains. I thought about living on the top floor with all the sun-chipped walls before I moved in. I went to the viewing and realised I’d been relegated to the basement. But the house was cheap which was the most important thing because this was after my parents cut me off. I relented. I lived under the house among the brick foundations. The Wicked Witch of the East — except I kept on kicking. I kept warmer too, warmer than the others who shook their bones above me in the dawn wind. They’re funny and boring, the ones above. One of them has a pair of beige khakis which he wears with assorted movie merch from the seventies. He also has a combover. The rest of them have jobs where you wear suits. I don’t talk to them much, don’t need to: I know we have nothing in common.
It’s all like shit today and this bus is not helping. It’s because I didn’t eat breakfast. The people here smell like the city and the city smells of congealed shit. Anthropomorphic shit and animalistic shit and especially rat shit. Not butterfly shit, though. Because even butterfly shit is precious.
It’s called frass and it looks like butter crystals. It gels into calm little spheres that float above leaves or thick heavy curtains. It used to be all over my room back home, all up in the curtains and spotting the walls. I’d draw the drapes so only slivers of light could reach my toes where the floors went cold in June. I didn’t like to put on the heat pump as I thought it would be bad for the butterflies, make their wings crinkle up like lolly wrappers until they became Christmas tree ornaments.
There’s a boy on the bus and he’s all jingled up. He’s got earrings and a silver chain and he’s not nineteen years old. These are the kind of ones I like. All pallid, sucking and puffing like blue caterpillars. Washed out eyes, gaping mouths and forgotten freckles. Smelling like honeydew, watermelon ice or crushed papaya. And they’re too depressed to fuck. I like how they grind up pills into powders on the weekends and sit watching grown-up cartoons while smoking weed with the windows closed. This one has bleached his hair, so it’s thin like the legs of insects. It’s blue and coloured like iPhone ribs. I can already tell he’s too soft. He may cry when I blow him. I prefer the ones who sit back on their haunches like Roman emperors or substitute teachers. Absent floury eyes and slack dog jaws that just can’t stop dribbling in a bored sort of way. They finish like they’ve stepped on something rather disgusting; perhaps a sidewalk snail or a small mouse.
I walk past the boy as I get off the bus and he’s looking right through me with sitcom eyes. Music video style I bite my lip, to shock him. He’s not shocked; he looks disgusted. He grunts under his breath.
“Thot.”
I grab his hand and take him off the bus and down the street into a shut down shop’s doorway. I kiss him like he’s never been kissed before and grab at his erection. He’s just like I expected: hungry because all skinny men are. I think about blowing him again, right here in the doorway. I reach down to fiddle with his zipper when an old lady begins shouting at us from across the road. She’s a human thesaurus for all the different ways you can say whore. I giggle and run him down the street back to the bus stop. His face doesn’t matter anymore but his mouth is moving.
“Who are you?”
I tell him I’m a butterfly and he’s a caterpillar and that’s why we can never be together. I tell him that it’s all very romantic and all very sad. I leave him right there and hop on the next bus.
On the bus I think about his hand on my tit, nails bitten down to the bone, polish over the top. I think about how I’ll never see him again and about how it’s better this way.
Today is bleak and grey and it’s been like this for a while. The sky sucking all the marrow out of the sky’s bones. Storm water brewing like television static. A day best spent horizontal, checked out and overstimulated; a death day. I miss my Thursday evenings. Like one of those evenings when the clouds are ultraviolet blue as if they can’t quite weep but they’d like to. Moving like the lines of a novel at 3 a.m. when you’re swimming in exhaustion and fear of the light in the dark. When the clouds come low and don’t touch you but you can see them breathing in the smoke from the city and spitting it out. Like the old lady who smokes a pack a day and only spits straight facts; the lines on her face sink into the floor, and you know she’s more human than you’ll ever be. I liked those skies. I liked watching them with the faceless men I’d bring up to Mount Victoria. Fucking them quickly and quietly behind the pine trees while the planes watched from above. I’d tell them about the sky and how I missed it every day that it turned out different and wrong.
There was a secret up there, looking over Wellington High’s tennis courts and the vacant war memorial, and the secret was: I felt happy being alone. Dozing beside a stranger who may or may not forget me while knowing that I would forget them. Some of them would fall in love with me, call me beautiful, delicate and strange. It’s a weird kind of feeling when a man calls you crazy. They look at your head and imagine cottage cheese and persimmons, butterflies. They would all remember me but the only thing I remembered was the sky, the smell of pine and the beating of the ground and the wind tunnel. Writhing because there was where I belonged. I yearned to be forgotten, and there.
My room no longer has high exquisite curtains covered by canary bubbles. It has an opening above my bed, speckled with lichen, mildew, and other microorganisms living off the wood. Instead of acrobatic butterflies dancing on the ceiling, I have mice who scuttle in and nibble at the walls. I don’t mind them; I realise that the reason they nibble is ‘cause their teeth can’t stop growing. They’re just wearing them down. Laptop open on my dresser, Netflix open on my laptop, nature documentary open on Netflix. The most gruesome scene where the lion separates the baby elephant from its mother. My name shines back at me, crowning my childhood dresser, ornamented by aggressive cartoon flowers: Lillian. The individual letters like roman numerals or prison numbers scratched into the egg-shell paint. Below that are my butterflies. They’re dead in the jar on the dresser.
I’ve never liked being on my own but I’ve never liked being around people. Television feels safer. I didn’t like hating my mother, but she made it so easy. I didn’t want a job, I wanted purpose. I didn’t want any of this. All I wanted were live butterflies and good sex and for life to be easier. But it’s not going to be — I know this in my liver and in my soul. If God’s real he would agree with me. I pray with swear words and big fuck offs and tell him about my sexual encounters and my trips to the gynaecologist. I tell him about the boss at the Italian restaurant who interviewed me for an hour and did not once look at my face. I tell him about the bitch bus driver on the way home who smelled like fish and mouse urine. And I tell him I don’t care about butterflies anymore or heartbeats or any of it.
I’ll eat another’s heartbeat.
I unscrew the jar and I pick up their cellophane bodies one by one. They lay flat in my hands, useless and perfect. Beautiful, and I hate them for it. Wildfire Orange. Monarchs, like the pictures I coloured in primary. I shove them all into my black mouth and they taste like nothing.
Noho Tahi | Peaceful Co-Existence
Lilly Kelleher (she/her; Te Ātiawa)
Noho Tahi, the inaugural project for the new Dan and Una Chan & Laywood and Joyce Chan Residency at Wai-te-ata Press, invited contributors to think on the concept of “peaceful co-existence” between Tangata Tiriti nō Haina (people of Te Tiriti o Waitangi from China) and Tangata Whenua, as well as Hainamanatanga, Chinese ways of being in Aotearoa. Published by 5Ever Books and edited by Etienne Wain, Jess Ye, Ballerina Chong and Lincoln Dam, the publication is a collection of stories presented in various mediums, including interviews, written reflections, poems, photographs, and illustrations that reflect the theme of “Noho Tahi”, and the legacy of the New Zealand Chinese Growers Journal (1949-1972).
Inspired by the Growers Journal, Noho Tahi introduces the concept of the publication as a garden, with the contributors as gardeners; planting new seeds for peaceful relations in future, as well as “composting” anachronous colonial ideals. The publication is separated into eight themed sections; Herenga, Reo, Kai, Marama, Reanga, Tuakiri, Haerenga, and Manaaki, displayed alongside original prints of the Chinese Heritage Types collection, formerly used in the Grower’s Journal. The concept of co-existence is reflected in every aspect of Cal Ma, Jack Young, Juhyeon and Ya-Wen Ho’s brilliant design; from the stunning cover with O-Yoon inspired art by Juhyeon, to the unified formatting of the Te Reo Māori and Chinese text and heritage character types in the glossary, headings, and within the pieces themselves.
At a time of heightened political hostility about Te Tiriti o Waitangi, Noho Tahi provides urgent perspective on what it means to be Tangata Tiriti nō Haina, and further outside of the publication, what peaceful co-existence could look like for all Tangata Tiriti, regardless of ethnicity, culture, and creed. Noho Tahi proposes that, by examining traditional values and history, pathways towards peaceful co-existence emerge, inclusive of both Tangata Tiriti and Tangata Whenua. The publication highlights the shared similarities between our cultures as opposed to what separates us; both Chinese and Māori cultural values prioritise community; caring for those we love and those we are responsible for. By relating to one another, we can forge a pathway to come together not only under Te Tiriti o Waitangi as Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti, but as a unified people who truly love, respect and care for one another and the whenua we live on and love, together. With a government very much focused on a monocultural idea of the “New Zealander”, Noho Tahi recognises that by treasuring our cultural differences and reflecting on occasions throughout our history where the Chinese and Māori peoples have aided and protected one another, we can continue to do so in our current-day fight for Te Tiriti o Waitangi and Tino Rangatiratanga. The publication urges us to realise that the colonially realised benefits many Tangata Tiriti take for granted are not a given, and can shift and dissolve in this tumultuous political landscape, evidenced by what is happening globally. What we do have the power to reinforce as Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti are our relationships with one another. What we can take from history, is that in the face of colonial devastation, Tangata Whenua have persevered and triumphed, as have past generations of Tangata Tiriti nō Haina in the face of racism, discrimination and erasure. Our collective ability to endure and uplift one another can be channelled into our intercultural relationships; we will not only simply co-exist, but aid one another using our ancestral knowledge and cultural values.
Ultimately, Noho Tahi proposes not just a peaceful co-existence, but a fruitful, reciprocal relationship; founded upon mutual respect, understanding, and the sharing of traditions and culture, the nurturing of which will ultimately build a better and stronger bond that will withstand any political or social interference in the future. The ties that bind us are stronger than those who seek to break them; “together we shall face / the changing seasons.” (Growers’, 34).
Elliot Melville
Every song has become yours. Every melody, every lyric, every brushstroke of every painting, every street sign; the things that once were a distraction now lure me like a moth, and catch me like this toothy maw. And yours are pearly white, and I never minded that they wouldn’t let me go. Now I cannot love — I cannot brood — I cannot mind my own jaw, and my own lure, and my own melodies, when I know that you are loving and brooding and singing and breathing further away than I on later nights might walk. I can only dream — but not ever dreamily. The dreams, it seems, are very sure of you as my twisted muse: a broken flower which my mind sees to water but never to remove from the shade.
Moonkissed
… Flip it & Reverse it
by Nil
ACROSS
1 Leading position (3, 4)
5 Formula 1 vehicle (4, 3)
8 Observe (3)
9 Even (5)
11 Tool for a meteorologist or traffic cop (5)
12 Toddler (3)
14 Lennon's widow (3)
16 Upper-body exercise on a bar (4-2)
18 Jeremy of the Avengers (6)
21 Nolan thriller (5)
24 Horn sound (4)
26 Simpsons' bus driver (4)
27 All the across entries (except this one, ironically) (11)
28 Tandoori flatbread (4)
29 Witnesses (4)
30 Makes hotter, with "up" (5)
32 More embarrassed or sunburnt (6)
35 Playhouse on Cambridge Terrace (6)
38 Completed (3)
40 Energy (3)
41 Lady's title (5)
43 Allude (to) (5)
45 Abbr. before an alias (3)
46 Put on a pedestal; worshipped as a god (7)
47 Micronesian in Yaren (7)
QUIZ
DOWN
2 Sand, in te reo (5)
3 Litigate (3)
4 Camp shelter (4)
5 Try again (4)
6 Swift length of time? (3)
7 In the know (5)
10 Lithuania ISO-Code (3)
11 Fish eggs (3)
13 Choose (3)
15 Treatment for an ex-smoker (abbr.) (3)
17 Cat spotted in the wild? (7)
19 Hidden; unwatched (3, 4)
20 Runs amok (5)
22 Bert's room-mate (5)
23 Spooky (5) 24 Choir voice (5)
25 Sunbathe (3)
26 Extended holidays abroad, for short (3)
30 ___ Lanka (3)
31 Part of a pronoun set (3)
33 Sidestep (5)
34 Club music genre, for short (3)
36 Mar. follower (3)
37 Echo voice (5)
39 Expired (4)
40 Think ahead (4)
42 "___ Wiedersehen" (3)
44 Wax producer (3)
By Ossian Lynch
1. What was the nickname of former All Black Alex Wyllie who died recently? a. Pinetree, b. Grizz, c. Buck.
2. Which New Zealand bird has blue wattles in its adult years, differentiating it from its extinct orange-wattled South Island counterpart?
3. What kind of animal was controversially burned in a couch fire in Dunedin during Saint Patrick’s day?
4. Kayleigh Rose Amstutz is the birth name of which American singer?
5. The Wilberforces are the alien antagonists of which 1979 New Zealand Children’s book adapted into a 1981 TV show and a 2009 film?
What is gay pop?
Words by Ash Buick (they/them)
When you think of gay pop you might think of Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, or Chappel Roan. But what really makes gay pop, gay?
Depending on who you ask, there are several different definitions of gay pop. Some people think that gay pop is any sort of pop music where the lyrics can be interpreted as to be talking about queer experiences. Others argue that gay pop must be explicitly queer and can only be made by openly queer artists.
Each of these definitions has flaws. Our community is so broad that there is no single ‘Queer Experience’. Even within the myriad of queer identities, we all come from different cultures and have different degrees of openness about our queerness. Besides, most people who try to define the ‘Queer Experience’ typically come at it from a young, white, western perspective. And on the other hand, people shouldn’t be pressured into coming out so that they can be ‘allowed’ to make art that reflects their experiences.
There’s also the problem with conflating gay pop and queer music. Since queer people aren’t a monolith, why would we all have the same music taste? While I love Lady Gaga as much as the next guy, I also like listening to kpop, vocaloid music, and this year’s Swedish Eurovision entry (trust me, I listened to it ten times in one day). And there are so many queer artists that make music that are not pop artists.
In my opinion, gay pop has started to become more of a marketing term than a genre. Most of the ‘classic’ gay pop playlists that I’ve found on popular music streaming sites tend to mirror Gen Z and Millennial music tastes. And considering how social media has made popular music tastes change faster than ever, gay pop has become an amorphous blob. Although, gay pop has existed for so much longer. I could argue that the original gay pop was disco, which became popular in the queer community through the lack of gender roles in the accompanying dance style. All genres of music have their own rich histories which are often referenced in the creation of new works. But many consumers of gay pop find it hard to engage with these histories because if you can’t define gay pop, how can you properly define its history? Furthermore, there’s the problem that a lot of queer history has been lost to time because of the ever constant dangers of being openly queer.
Overall, I think there’s a connection between a lot of the discourse around gay pop and the way that our elders are viewed within the queer community. Most queer spaces cater to a specific subset of the community who tend to be younger, so the cultural trends that are formed within these spaces tend to cater to those same demographics. Thus, people who aren’t in those demographics are more likely to feel like they are disconnected from the community because they don’t feel ‘queer enough,’ and the cycle continues.
So maybe we should broaden our horizons as to what gay pop is, and take it back from ‘the algorithm’ and the record labels.
Aff:Aff-ByR4diohead_lvr_92 ONTHAT! VictoriaUniversityDebating SocietyistheoldestclubatVUW, foundedin1899.Theyareone ofthemostsuccessfuldebating societiesinAotearoa,andthey meetregularlyforclubnightsin KK303onWednesdaysat6:30PM.
Thenightgrowsdim.PaintIt,BlackbytheRollingStones hasfadedoffthespeakerandHotelCaliforniabringsin anewspirittotheroom.Themoodisrightforgettingto knowthatspecialsomeoneortheWhiteClawsittingon thekitchencounter.TomorrowyouwillwatchTwilight with some mates which
Neg:ByJack
Paramore has created the soundtrackfor.Regardlessofwhereyougo,themusic isalwayshittingtherightnotes.
You’vehearditallbefore, the‘soul’ofrock.The‘passion’ and‘meaning’thatisapparently intrinsictorockandrockalone. Ithinktheharshtruthweneedto grapplewithiswedon’tmissthelifeof rockmusic.Hell,98%ofpeoplereading thisweren'talivefortheso-called“golden age”.No,whatwereallymissisthemusic playingoveratinnyradio,inaneconomythat waslivable,andaclimateafewdegreescooler. Theothersideofthiscolumnisprobablybusy waxingpoeticaboutHotelCaliforniaorParamore, andIthinktherearetwothingsthatneedtobesaid. Firstly,thosesongsstillexist,andyoucan(anddo)listen tothemregularly.Ahardtoswallowfactthatweneedto acceptisthatnotallRockmusicisgreat.Thereisamassive survivorshipbiashere.ForeveryBruceSpringsteen“Bornin theUSA”thereareonethousandmore“BackintheUSA” byMC5.Oldschoolrockplaylistsplaythesame16songs overandoveragainnotbecausetheyaresimplythatgood, butbecausethat'skindofallthereis.Ourabilitytoall reminisceoverthesamerocksongsisn'tsomeinsaneflukeof collectiveconsciousness.Weallheardthesameshitbecause theselectionpoolwasthatlow.Frankly,Ithinkweshould begladRockMusicdiedwhenitdid,thatwaywegetto lookbackfondlyonthehandfulofactuallygoodsongsthe genrelovinglybirthedbeforehatefullyservingupAerosmiths “Idon’twanttomissathing”.
NowthatI'veledwiththestuffthatissuretopissofftheleather jacketsandaveryspecificgenreofDocMartinswearer,I’m goingtotryandbeasidealisticastheothersideofthecolumn. Simplyput,anentiregenredoesn'tgettheprivilegesthata singleartistisafforded.It'sperfectlysustainable,maybenot idealbutstillsustainable,forJKRowlingtospitoutamid children'sbookseriesandcoastoffofthatfortherestofher life.Rockisn'tandshouldn'tbeaffordedthesameluxury. Whenagenre'shitrateisoneinathousand,maybeitisfor thebestthatitendedupcarkingit.Imean,ifItoldyouthat yournextplaneridewillprobablycrash,butthere'sasmall chancethatitisthebestflightofyourlifeandwillbefondly rememberedforyearstocome…youprobablywouldn't takethatflight.ChangeoutaplaneforPaulMcCartney's solocareerandyoucanseemypoint.Itmaynotfeellikeit rightnow,butPopshitrateissignificantlyhigherthanthatof Rocks.Itjustdoesn'tfeellikeitbecausepeopleonlytalkabout BohemianRhapsody,andnotthethousandsofotherrock recordsthatwouldmakearoomratherlistento‘Despactio’ inaheartbeat.
Butinthesamewaymostgoodstoriesend,itwasalljust adream.Asyouwakeupfromyoursojuinducedcoma, Don’tStartNowbyDuaLipaplaysforthethirdtime tonight.AnyAriannaGrandesong,theJustinBieber versionofDespacito,Havana.Thetop100playlistsare infested.Theonlysongsyouwillbelisteningtotonight feellikethemusicversionofshortbreadandjam. Rockhasbeendyingsincetheearly2000s. Thetop100billboardsarebeingguttedof rockmusicandthe“it’soldpeoplemusic”mindset growsstrongerinstead.Fromayoungagewe areservedeasytomake,catchypopmusicbyTV becauseitiswhatstaysinourInstagramrottedbrains theeasiest.Aswegetolder,Hollywoodservesusthe sameslopandBebeRexharemakesit20%differently alittlewhilelater.Thedeathofrockhascreatedavoid whichwasfilledbythegenericpopmusicwehave now.Peoplegrowaversetochangeandvarietyvery easily.Asmostpeoplehear1,2,100popsongsthat arealldecentenoughandcatchy,theyslowlylosetheir willtobranchouttoothermusicbecausetheyseeno reasonto.Eachcatchycookiecuttersongprovides themjustenoughdopamine.Withrockhowever,one ofitslargestsellingpointswasthevarietywithinthe genre.Withbluesrock,folkrock,hardrock,alternative rock,allartistsfromdifferentbackgroundsandartistic styleswereabletocomeunderawellknowngenreand sharetheirmusic.Whenrockmusicwasviewedasthe popularmusictolistento,peoplewereconstantlybeing fedvariety.Nothingwasoffthetable.Mostartistsnow howeverarelimitedtolyricalexpressiononlybecause theymustfollowthepopmusicformulaiftheywishto succeed.Thedeathofrockmusichas assassinatedacorepartofmusicalexpressionandcreativity.
...thatweregretthe deathofrockmusic.
Frank
I'm a pilot based in Wanaka but I'm all over the place. I play the piano and the accordion, paint, crochet, and nude model for drawing classes. All I dream of doing in life is travelling the world and flying planes.
My date with Laura was very nice. Over coffee we introduced ourselves and talked about what we got up to. I was nervous it would be really awkward but Laura was really easy to talk to, and I think we got on well. She did open with how she'd never been on many dates, let alone a blind one, and proceeded to hit me with "How many people have you dated?" within minutes of meeting. She laughed straight after realising it's not the easiest first date question to ask, and I found humour in it. Biggest red flag I got from the date was that she does some work on Tik Tok which I disagree with on a fundamental level, but it's a free world and hell, my side hustle is getting paid to take my clothes off, so I can look past it. Biggest green flags were simply having good banter, and it sounded like she had good friends and hobbies in her life. After coffee we went for a brief walk around town before parting ways. I was just in Wellington for the day, and would be in Christchurch over the weekend, and we found it funny that she had the same schedule planned out. I saw her in Christchurch when she arrived at the airport, but didn't manage to see her around Christchurch.
Sybil
Overall, I'd say it was a solid date, but I'm not sure where things can go. I'm just some random guy who flew into Wellington for a blind date, and to be honest I was there for the experience of a blind date. Maybe I'll see her around again? Who knows.
20, Female, Straight. In my spare time you can find me dancing, reading, at a quiz night with my brothers or jamming out to Noah Kahan. I'm a hopeless romantic at heart and so keen to meet a potential articulate partner.
If you had told me leading up to this blind date that my date would be FLYING himself there in a plane I would have called you crazy. Imagine my surprise when I arrive and he tells me just that! Talk about commitment…
Granted this was my first date so I had nothing to compare it too I thought it went well! He was super lovely and I felt the conversation flowed pretty easily. It was interesting hearing about all his hobbies (fencing, playing the accordion, modelling for art classes… (I don’t think you could pay me to confess this on a first date but hey respect the confidence!)) but I fear we had truly nothing in common.
We left Evil Twins about an hour or so in to go on a walk along the waterfront but mother nature had her thoughts clearly, and sent some rain to cause a natural end to the date. We hugged, exchanged numbers and parted ways as he flew back home to Wanaka and quite honestly I thought that would be the last time I’d see him. I got the vibe he wasn’t super interested in me (which hey, fair enough) so was really surprised when he met me during his break in Christchurch Airport just a few days after the date to say Hi. I guess we’ll see when this column gets posted!
The highlight was having my friends spying on us in Evil Twins so when he took his bathroom break I could quickly exchange eye glances and get their nod of approval (still haven’t confessed the fact they were there too whoops).
I genuinely do think he was a lovely guy, just not the one for me. If I’m ever caught down south maybe I’ll have to catch up for coffee again but until that day comes I’ll wish him the best and keep searching for that perfect Articulate partner!
Every week, we send two anonymous strangers on a blind date at Wellington’s hottest coffee shop. Evil Twins was founded by Natalie and Stephanie Chin, and is open on Willis St from Monday to Saturday every week. Think you could be next?
photo
SOC 101
I want te ao Māori in my revolution, and this is how I’ll do it.
Music helps minds find peace, express anger, inspire hope, and ignite passion. Today we can hear protest songs for Palestine, for climate change, songs that celebrate queer joy, and waiata that call to uphold Te Tiriti and Māori Tino Rangatiratanga. Music unites people, as seen with The Internationale - a song by and for socialists, communists, anarchists and workers. Our waiata unites struggles and too calls for a world without oppression.
The Internationale, written after the fall of the Paris Commune 1871, has resonated with workers worldwide, becoming an anthem for various struggles throughout the 20th century. Its powerful message has transcended borders, with the song sung in dozens (if not over a hundred) languages. It has been a rallying cry for US citizens fighting fascists in Spain (1936-39), by exploited Filipino farmers, and by students massacred in Tiananmen Square (1989). Because of its heavy history, the enduring spirit and hope it holds, we continue to sing this waiata.
Recently, ISO members Kaakatarau Te Pou Kohere (Ngāti Porou, Ngāi Tuhoe, Ngāti te ata Waiohua, Kai Tahu) and Tima Thurlow (Ngāi Tuhoe) developed a new Māori translation of the workers’ anthem: Ngā Taurahere - The Internationale.
They found that a literal translation of the English translation doesn’t contain the mana of the waiata, its kaupapa, or concepts going back in history and its representations across time. Because Tima knew the French version, they decided to translate it from its original. “The Internationale is a waiata, and there’s a variety of Māori song styles that we drew on. In attempting to capture ideas in the French about righting historical wrongs and injustices, I drew on moteatea – an old style of music but incredibly poetic.” (Kaakatarau).
The waiata uses evocative language such as “the wretched of the earth” reflecting how people felt at the time and how society framed toil and work. Even though work is how society functions and survives, there is an equal amount of disgust for it. Therefore, the first phrase speaks to this: “Maranga mai te ngakau pouri, Maranga mai te mate kai”. “Ngakau pouri” are the sad hearts, “mate kai” refers to the starving, the hungry, and those who need sustenance. Kaakatarau thinks this kōrero still exists today, “There are still those who are poor, and hungry, and equally, the disgust that is put on these people who are in these positions.”
Hence, we sing and fight for change, for solidarity, and for every worker to rise up and challenge this oppressive system.
Ngā Taurahere - The Internationale
Maranga mai te ngākau pōuri - Arise the broken hearted
Maranga mai te mate kai - Arise the starving
Puia mai a kare a roto - Let your emotions erupt forth
Anei te puha o te mutunga - It is the final conflagration
Utua te hara tuku iho - Pay back the suffering passed down
E te hunga, maranga mai - Oh the masses, rise up
Ko te ao ka whakawhanoke - The world we shall make unique
Hei tama tu, hei tama ora - So that we may rise, so we may live
Korihi: Kati ra te wewehi noa - Chorus: So no longer be frightened
He atatu ka rea - A new dawn shall rise
Ma te ringa raupa - For, by the worker
Ka ao, ka awatea - The world shall be bright
More lyrics can be found on iso.org.nz
image photo by Joachim F. Thurn. Used and modified under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Germany license. Shot Jaochim!
Mauatua Fa’araContributing Writer
Saad Aamir Contributing Writer Guy van Egmond Contributing Writer
Walter Zamalis Contributing Writer
ABOUT US
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