Farewell to the greatMartin Phillipps, the New Zealand indie-rock pioneer ofthe Chills.
His tunes were full of alienation and misery, yet with his own distinct touch of human warmth.
Alas, it was the wrongest possible moment for his kind of songwriting to reach any broad audience.
Phillipps in 1992Paul Jones/Fairfax Media/Getty Images
Its the only concrete link with an absent friend, Phillipps sang, with no irony at all.
Who the hell sings this way about a leather jacket?
Who the hell sings this way about death?
Who wouldnt want their friends to remember them this way?
Who wouldnt want to have a friend worth mourning like this?
And all this in a three-minute post-punk guitar rave that hops like Roadrunner or Dirty Water?
This guy was in a league of his own.
The real story is in Phillipps ghostly guitar, the slow-burn terror in his voice, the urgent drums.
Pink Frost really does feel like a nightmare, which is why it remains their most famous moment.
bands of the day, the Chills sounded shockingly earnest and irony-free.
Rolling Moon sums up their playful spirit of young adventure, gazing up at the night sky.
The rolling moon rocks on by, Phillipps sings.
Brave Words, their proper debut, has melancholic gems like Wet Blanket and Night of Chill Blue.
The Great Escape is the hushed B-side confession of a loner yearning to break free from his nothing life.
Im growing in stages and have been for ages/Just singing and floating andfreeeee!
A poignant moment, after all his tribulations over the years.
Yet he sang every line with his boyish smile.
I never once saw him sing Heavenly Pop Hit without that smile on his face.
Thanks, Martin Phillipps your songs are leather jackets that will be worn for years to come.
