When I was teenager, I was obsessed with the bands that seeped out of sleepy Dunedin, in New Zealand’s ruggedly beautiful South Island. There was an absolute contrast back then between those acts on the Flying Nun label, presided over with paternal wariness by the godfather of low-fi pop, Chris Knox, and the slicker bands that emanated out of the upper reaches of the North Island. I liked the immediacy and the accessibility of the South Island acts, particularly The Chills, The Clean and The Bats. This grainy, weather-beaten footage captures The Bats at their melodic best; bass clunkers, pasty faces and all.

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The Chills were the first band I ever saw. Well, actually, they were the first band I never saw, despite my best intentions. I was fifteen at the time, and my friend got word that the seminal Flying Nun act, who hailed from the deepest, darkest trenches of Dunedin, New Zealand, were to play a show that night at the now long gone Max’s in Petersham, Sydney. We had to go. It was The Chills, the very symbol of low-fi sullen rebellion, with their ruddy cheeks and out of tune guitars. So we whacked handfulls of gel in our hair and resolved to sneak our way past the doorman. Only my friend arrived at the venue a little earlier than me (his Dad was clearly a better driver than mine) and promptly sauntered into the venue, while I was turned away for ‘obviously being a minor’. Dammit! They were probably better on record anyway.

Oh man! Take me back. Yup, drag me kicking and screaming into those halcyon days of the mid to the late 80s when all I cared about was Archie Comics, extra full cream milk, and getting my hands the latest release off New Zealand’s Flying Nun label. This track — Pink Frost — from Dunedin band, The Chills, is a window back to a time when melody ruled, guitars were always slightly out of tune, and haircuts were just five dollars down at your local barber shop.