I recently caught up with indie pop musician Princess Chelsea for a late night drink. A writer, composer and singer, Princess Chelsea is a rising young talent whose music has been described by Rolling Stone magazine as ‘absolutely sublime.’ Her quirky lyrics and ethereal voice seamlessly join in an eerie Burton-esque crescendo and reminds me a little of going to a creepy fun fair late at night.

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The Cigarette Duet is from an album I released earlier this year called Lil’ Golden Book. I recorded Lil’ Golden Book in various bedrooms I occupied from 2008-2011. I wrote The Cigarette Duet in about half an hour on a busted up Roland E-20 keyboard, sitting cross-legged on the floor of probably the most grim house I lived in during that time: an old villa next to a carpark occupied by homeless drug addicts who would often knock on the front door asking for water. Jonathan Bree of The Brunettes sing and plays guitar on it, and he made the music video which was recorded on a budget of $0 at my parents house. Things are looking up a bit now: Lil’ Golden Book has just been released on gold vinyl.

The Eversons are a new band from Wellington, New Zealand, who released a free EP on Lil’ Chief Records earlier this year. They give nods to smart, 60s-inspired pop like the Modern Lovers (heavy use of call and response back up vox), but are also clearly inspired by 90s ‘indie guitar’ bands like Pavement and Weezer. Their lyrics are clever and often dripping with self-deprecating wit. This is best displayed on their single, I’m a Conservative.

From outside of Wellington comes a very young bedroom producer who makes his own magical brand of sexy Italo disco while also creating his own album art and animating his own music videos. He will often sing female-style backup vocals in falsetto and shred hair metal guitar solos over his beats. The majority of New Zealanders were still unaware when he took off to Paris while still a teenager and began making waves in Europe.

My favourite record label, the New Zealand-based Flying Nun — home to seminal acts such as The Chills, The Bats, The Clean, and The Verlaines — has been reinvigorated recently with the return of the label’s founder, Roger Shepherd, to steer the reigns and return this wonderful low-fi cottage industry back to its rightful glory. To mark the occasion, NZ On Screen has launched a collection of classic Flying Nun music videos, curated by Shepherd, including this frightfully progressive effort (it was made in 1981) from that doyen of Kiwi indie-pop, Chris Knox.

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At first listen, The Chills were like nothing else when they burst out of the relatively cloistered confines of the Dunedin student set way back in the early 1980s. Only, in retrospect, they were kinda like so much of the rest of the Flying Nun roster: lo-fi, wearily melodic, understated, and joyously brash in their use of lush vocal harmonies and ringing guitar licks. It was simply divine. And the first time I heard this song, Heavenly Pop Hit, I thought it was exactly that: the most decadent single imaginable. Some twenty years later, it still sounds fresh. [Click here to listen to Heavenly Pop Hit]

Tragically, Chris Knox, the grandfather of low-fi New Zealand pop, had a stroke a few months back, which has left him considerably restricted and probably out of the Kiwi music scene that he worked so hard to foster. This 1980s track, Slide, was a classic Knox production: melodic, slightly unnerving, gloriously challenging – never an easy listen, but always worth fighting past the sticking points.

Back in the day, when I was a skinny teenager on the great pedestal of life, I had a real obsession for the understated, low-fi, deliciously melodic and somewhat blurry sounds of the New Zealand Flying Nun bands. I would pool my meagre savings and canvas the local record shops, scouring the racks for the latest cassettes from The Bats, The Chills, The Clean, and, later, The Straitjacket Fits. There was just something very romantic about the music that emanated from those permanently green hills of Dunedin. It seemed to resonate with a depth and a sense of integrity that only four chords and a Chris Knox four-track can provide. Despite the kitschness of some of the trends (Cabbage Patch Dolls, anyone?), the 1980s were wonderfully optimistic times. And, despite its minor key refrain, the Flying Nun ‘sound’ (which founder Roger Shepherd denies ever existed), was always exciting to me. It was unpretentious yet ambitious, as this track — Heavenly Pop Hit by The Chills — suggests.

Andrew Fagan, lead singer of The Mockers, the poppiest New Zealand band of the 80s, came around to my place once when I was an impressionable 10-year old with stars in my eyes and a head full of shiny, shiny melodies. My mother was friends with Fagan’s brother, so she organised for the charismatic frontman to come over to our Wellington terrace (where we lived at the time) and chat to me about the band. I vividly remember the sight of him loping up our driveway, dressed like a modern day Oscar Wilde, continuing past our front door and into the back garden, where he helped himself to a t-shirt full of juicy apples off our tree. Ah, such is the life of a Kiwi pop star. We talked for an hour, or at least, he talked for an hour, and I listened, invigorated by his stories and increasingly resolute in my own dreams to one day strut upon the same well-worn stage. Of course, that wasn’t to happen. But at least I have the memory, and this song, Forever Tuesday Morning — an irrepressible burst of sunny day splendor.

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There’s not just an urgency about the Die! Die! Die! band name. Their music too is an insurgent mix of riffs and melodies. We spoke with the New Zealand group to get the lowdown: While your music is deliberately loose and abrasive, there’s something incredibly appealing about it. How do you maintain this sheer energy without striding too far into the obscure? ‘We always try and make sure we are not being too indulgent when we write songs. We come from a very “noise” background of just jamming and whatever sounds best turns into the song. So we try and make sure there is at least something which sort of resembles a hook of some sort. We also try and make sure that when we write songs there be a vibe and something exciting happening in the room. We like having fun’. Comparisons will no doubt be drawn with At the Drive-In, The Misfits, perhaps even Nirvana. But it’s a sound that rarely hits the mainstream these days. What are you doing that’s different to all those who have failed to breakthrough? ‘I don’t think we are in the mainstream at all or “broken”. We are very far from that. I think because we are all best friends and the fact we spend all our time together and we party together, we are a little bit different because we are always on the same page as each other. It is pretty sick if you think about it’. Despite its quality, New Zealand’s music scene is only slowly coming to the world’s attention. What can bands like yours do to shed light on this unsung hero? ‘I LOVE: The Coolies, Haunted Love, Operation Rolling Thunder, and Tapeman. There are some amazing bands in New Zealand. I hate how the greatest bands in New Zealand are usually the laziest’. Finally, what kind of Promises Promises are you making, and to who? ‘We aren’t making any promises. People make promises to us’.

The sound New Zealand band The Brunettes make is Hallmark card pop — naïve sincerity mixed with low-fi, casual kitsch. Says chief songwriter, Jonathan Bree: ‘You’ll find us somewhere between US punk and just before classic 60s romps’. And so we will.

I haven’t bought a CD in a while but I was strolling down Wellington’s Cuba Street looking for a bit of inspiration the other day when Liam Finn’s music tapped me politely on the shoulder and dragged me into the music store. Liam is New Zealand music royalty, of Neil Finn descent, although — with his wild hair and beard — he’s looking a bit more like a young Jesus these days. The record is made with the help of an analogue loop machine, and you’ll find the kind of stunning instrumental crescendos that I haven’t heard since The Beatles Hey Jude. He engages emotionally and spontaneously, with both skill and showmanship.

There was a time, many moons ago, when I would only listen to bands off New Zealand’s Flying Nun label. Yup, I would strap myself into a comfy chair, put my headphones on and, armed with a chunk of chocolate coated Peanut Slab and a can of L&P, soak up album after album of wonderfully self-indulgent low-fi melancholy. There was real coarseness about the sound that characterised many of the acts on their roster; a guarded mix of wide-eyed escapism and world-weariness that permeated the melodic changes and added a depth to the music that was lacking in many of their big budgeted major label contemporaries. At the head of the queue was Martin Phillips and his motley (revolving) band, The Chills. Their songs were pure Dunedin — lush but subdued, expansive in parts yet tightly leashed in others. It was dark yet joyous, sober yet unhinged, a wash of contradictions yet an earful of something disarmingly, frighteningly pure.

Listen to The Chills song, Satin Doll.

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