What’s Your Favourite Song Ever Released On Flying Nun? Pt. 2

To mark the 30th anniversary of Flying Nun, the Corner decided we’d ask around our writers and people we respect to get some recommendations for the best tracks released by the label. For our second selection (read the first here) we’ve included tracks from 1987 through until 2010. We want to hear from you too so don’t forget to hop in the comments section and let us know what you would have picked yourself.

By Kim Gruschow

Even sans video the unnerving ebbs of noise and clanging tones in ‘AFFCO’ deliver industry to the ears. It’s a bogan anthem hailing straight outta Palmy and a direct rundown of a kiwi pursuit. Subversion hardly comes into play here, an upfront declaration delivered knife-sharp and full throttle was all that was necessary. New Zealand is sheep. We had whole towns populated by people who packed meat. AFFCO packed meat and exported it, yet there was such a commotion in response to the freezing works footage. The Skeptics executed it perfectly (no pun intended). It brings to mind a line by Sharpie Crows, a band on Flying Nun’s current roster – “Abortion stops a beating heart, so does a gun, so does a bomb, and so does your Sunday roast”.

Headless Chickens
By Gareth Shute

Before I was old enough to go out to gigs, I’d occasionally catch music vids by Flying Nun bands playing on the late night music shows. Their videos always seemed low budget and creepy compared to the one on the top twenty hit parade – even innocuous shots like the one of Shayne Carter in the bathtub on the video for ‘She Speeds’. My sense of unease increased when I finally came across the Skeptics (‘AFFCO’, ‘Agitator’) and this gem by the Headless Chickens. It was a song without a chorus, which twisted through three equally morose sections, before abruptly ending. The portrayal of New Zealand was as gothic as any R.H. Morrieson novel, with short descriptions of local drunks and suicides (fitting since the youth suicide rate was about to hit an all-time high). I eventually bought the cassette and followed it with albums by Chris Knox, JPSE and Straitjacket Fits. It’s hard for me to say how well this song/video holds up to the test of time, but it still gives me a beautiful sense of queasiness and melancholy every time I watch it.

The 3D’s
Outer Space
By Karl Steven

I grew up hating all things Flying Nun. I liked rock’n’roll, blues, punk, and rap…’action packed’, raunchy, and to my mind glamorous music. The bands that Flying Nun signed and released wore jumpers, millions of jumpers, had flat meetings, and probably drunk Earl Grey tea. At least that’s how it seemed to me.

Then I saw/heard The 3D’s ‘Outer Space’. It had a sense of humour; it rocked; there were science fiction themes. These people would make a mockery of any flat meeting. Plus it’s romantic and has a cool video. In the latter ways it’s like Ultravox Vienna. In the former ways it’s like Parliament Mothership Connection…which makes it pretty much the ultimate.

Once The 3D’s allowed me to concede that Flying Nun was capable of putting out some ace music it lead me to re-listen to some of the other bands they had signed and admit that, yes, they had been involved with loads of cool artists. As record companies went, I guess Flying Nun seemed okay.

The Chills
House With A Hundred Rooms (Mayo Thompson version)
By Kiran Dass

Jeepers, I surprised myself here. For my favourite Flying Nun song, I initially thought I’d pick something by The Pin Group (well, Roy Montgomery is my favourite recording artist, after all), Victor Dimisich Band, or something from that family. And most of the Flying Nun-related material I like the best was on the peripheral of the label, anyway. You know, the gutsier Xpressway stuff.

But no. Actually, ‘House with a Hundred Rooms’ is my favourite song, Flying Nun or otherwise. There are three versions of this song knocking about that I know of. But the Mayo Thompson produced 12” version is perfection. The b-side ‘Party in My Heart’ is terrific, too.

A gauzy, whirling dervish of melancholy-drenched yearning, I love how ‘House with a Hundred Rooms’ really does sound like it’s being played in a different room. I first had it on cassette years ago. And I admit that over and over, I used to frantically rewind that bit where Martin Phillipps sings, “Then melting down and talk with you…” I’ve never heard anything more exquisitely swoony. And then at the end the most sublimely uplifting organ drifts in from out of nowhere, jolting the song into something else.

Years later, well after the tape was rendered unplayable from overuse, a flatmate and I had a tiff. The next day he came up to me in our kitchen and gifted me the 12” single as a peace offering, accompanied with a stiff hug and awkward pat on the back. And I still listen to it at least once a day.


By Gavin Bertram

Unfortunately I never had the opportunity to be excoriated by Skeptics live. And it’s not like the Palmerston North via Wellington act is about to reform and play Skeptics III album beginning to end. The death of singer David D’Ath in 1990 precludes that possibility, though it’s extremely doubtful Skeptics would ever take part in such a charade anyway. But their recorded works, while obviously not being able to harness the legendary force of nature the band was live, still manage to capture something frighteningly elemental. Recorded in their own Writhe Studios in Wellington, 1987’s Skeptics III is a harshly bleak album, though also shot through with glimpses of beauty. ‘Agitator’ is perhaps the best realised of Skeptics’ introspective tracks, uncoiling over three movements and almost seven minutes. It’s an ambitious and deeply moving piece, opening with a simple piano coda and D’Ath’s cryptic proclamations before descending into a section that exhibits the band’s early mastery of industrial noise and rhythm. But the third section, which resolves into the singer’s repeated chant of “June, June, June, June, June, June, June, July, August…” is the real kicker. As an evocation of winter’s depths, of the eternal ebb and flow of human existence, and of transcendence through pain and artistic endeavour, it’s unutterably perfect.

‘Summer Pt. One’
By Maryann Savage

This brief fragment is perfectly intense. It opens with a long melody on a distorted guitar, played straight into a four track, piercing, high pitched and incredibly melancholy, that travels all over the scale. Matt’s choice of notes here isn’t exotic, or psychedelic; it’s classically beautiful and strange, almost like Kate Bush singing, for example. This isn’t a case of exotica imported from another country or genre, to provide ersatz frisson; Matt simply possesses a total emotional mastery of the Western scale.

Behind the guitar, the drums are recorded astonishingly well, foregrounded, almost like a lead instrument. This has nothing to do with lo-fi; the concept is simply irrelevant. (Crude is just Matt, there are no other performers on this song.) There are a lot fills and variations in the drumming, but it remains firmly within the rock style. There’s no self-indulgence. Everything is in the service of the song, and it all exists to produce a singular emotional effect, despite the fact that there’s so much detail. Just to be able to harness all this and have it function so well together is amazing. You don’t notice what’s happening, as the listener, you just feel the effect — and isn’t that the great gift of the true artist? To do all this work for you, so that you don’t even have to think?

You can hear the influence of Chris Heazlewood in this, who similarly didn’t adhere to the ‘Dunedin sound’, but produced a sui generis version of intellectual working class rock. Heazlewood’s solo work of this period is so magnificent, and quite different to King Loser, but was unfortunately not released on Flying Nun.

The 3D’s
Hey Seuss
By Sam Valentine

In hindsight, I feel lucky. The explosion of passionate guitar fury that marked my first exposure to Flying Nun Records was also one of its highest peaks. The two minutes and twenty seconds of absolute fizzing pop perfection that made up that introduction? The 3D’s ‘Hey Suess’. While perhaps not the most original or influential of tracks, ‘Hey Suess’ still remains a bubbling high in the New Zealand pop cannon. Bursting open the door to the bands second album, silliness mixes perfectly with the hypnotic groove drums and scorching Mitchell, Saunders guitar interplay. Their wonky versus straight aesthetic utilized till its full effect, the main riff itself incessantly catchy yet demented in true 3D’s style. Vibrant, insane and a joy every time I’ve heard it since.

The 3D’s
Hey Seuss
By Chris Cudby

As a young feller tuned in to the student radio airwaves of the early/mid nineties, the 3Ds’ ‘Hey Seuss’ hit like an atom bomb to my earholes and hasn’t stopped bouncing about my brain since. A massive student radio hit at the time (dominating the top of the bFM charts for much of ‘93), this thing was totally unavoidable, which would have sucked if not for that fact that it was completely fucking great. Its mega-catchy guitar line grabs you right away, then the band floors you with their heavy, undulating distorto-riffage and insane, indecipherable vocal yowls. ‘Hey Seuss’ is hyperactive, aggressive energy focused into a pure laser beam of effervescent pop power. Its a perfect song structure that I’ve been more than happy to, uh, ‘pay tribute to’ (ie. rip off) over the years.

‘Hey Seuss’ stood out from and complemented the US grunge rock of the time while maintaining a distinct vibe that made me excited to think had to do with a ‘New Zealand’ regional identity. This was aided by David Mitchell’s beautifully feral album artwork, comics and posters – hinting at a strange, nightmarish NZ that lurked frustratingly just out of view of my boring, North Shore suburban environment. The New Zealand the 3Ds depicted was one of ancient villas, secret rites and E.C. Seger-like seaside grotesquery. Working backwards, it tickled me pink to discover that Mitchell’s previous band the Goblin Mix hailed from Northcote (near my home of Beach Haven/Birkenhead) and that they actually thanked our local burger joint on the back of one of their albums – ‘Hamburger Heaven‘!

As a gateway drug ‘Hey Seuss’ is as good as a ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’, but trickier to put your finger on and twice as fun. It hit me much later that the 3Ds are more a mutant heavy psych/folk band than a traditional punk/grunge band (lyrical content-wise they‘re very different) – similar to how other Flying Nun groups would twist elements of overseas pre/post-punk styles into something that worked for them. It was the perfect teaser for one of the best albums ever – The Venus Trail – which stood up to the challenge of its killer single and opened up a universe of NZ sound that I’m still exploring. ‘Hey Seuss’ probably isn’t my favourite Flying Nun song (maybe something by Bill Direen?) or even favourite 3Ds song – radio saturation saw to that – but it’s the one that impacted on me the most and continues to do so. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few people felt the same way.

The Abel Tasmans
What Was That Thing
By Chelsea Nikkel

This song was first released on The Able Tasmans debut album A Cuppa Tea and a Lie Down in 1987 but I first heard it as the opening track on the compilation Songs From The Departure Lounge when I bought it on CD at Real Groovy as a 17-year-old indie.

The Able Tasmans were from Auckland and sat on the poppier (pop music not poppies) end of the Flying Nun Spectrum, closer to the Bats than the Gordons, and with a richer more keyboard heavy sound than a lot of Flying Nun bands at the time. I like to think this could be inspired by Eddie Rayner’s work in Split Enz.

Sometimes using horns, woodwinds and strings in their arrangements, coupled with a sharp lyrical wit – they were almost a proto-Belle and Sebastian but just not annoying wussy Scottish bus driving crybabies.

My take on this song is that Peter Keen is replaying a moment with someone in his head – and over analyzing every detail like a psycho. He is perhaps wishing he had said something more cool / funny to appear more like a witty interesting and dangerous bad boy. He gets more emotive as the song progresses surprising us all with a scream of frustration at around 1:20 (“I should have said… I should have saaiiiiiid arggggggggghhhh!!!! arrrrrrrgh aaaaaaarggh!”).

Everything turns a bit VU at that point before chilling back out and getting into that “late eighties Grey Lynn villa sound”.

As someone who occasionally lets themselves down socially, I find this all very honest and relatable.

If you’re not sure what I’m on about when I say “late eighties Grey Lynn villa sound” check out their song ‘Grey Lynn’!

By Matthew Crawley

As a 17-year-old in the 1997 version of Auckland, I was riding the wave of musical discovery with the awkward eagerness of a kid with a polystyrene boogie board; trawling Real Groovy’s bins indiscriminately for “Grunge Unplugged” bootlegs, cd-singles that might be harbouring the great unheard Cure b-side, or the next Tori Amos/Heather Nova/Mazzy Star-alike. Record stores, imported Rolling Stone mags, and an autonomous 95bFM were all in charge of informing our tastes, and the internet was still just a dial-up glint in our papa’s eye.

Around that time I either won or borrowed or “earned” a copy of the Topless Women Talk About Their Lives soundtrack when volunteering at bFM (a welcome respite from full-time work at the Finance Plaza Georgie Pie, aka what I did instead of finishing high school). Suffice to say it was a revelation. In one fell swoop I was a fan of The Clean, Straitjacket Fits, The Bats, Chris Knox, Look Blue Go Purple, Snapper, The 3Ds, and The Chills.

It was the Superette track ‘Waves’ that really knocked me flat, though. The opposite cousin to the sneering and scary ‘Saskatchewan’, ‘Waves’ was, and still is, a total heartbreaker of a murder ballad. I wish I could remember the word for the aural equivalent of ‘hypnotic’, because this track drags me down into a fucking sad little trance every time I hear it. From the first little guitar lickity it was all soothing melancholic ointment as far as I was concerned, and the breathy vocal of Dave Mulcahy still sounds special after all these years.

Right, it’s a beautiful day outside, so I’m off to put this track on repeat and go back to bed with the curtains drawn. Perfect.

Sheen Of Gold
By Stevie Kaye

David D’Ath’s flamboyant bellow and willingness to go with a daft accent for the purposes of realising a song put him closer to Kate Bush circa The Dreaming than any New Zealand (let alone Palmerston North!) vocalist, and despite stiff competition from other Skeptics tracks like ‘Pack Ice’ (a frigid evocation of the doomed Scott expedition) and ‘Heathery Men’ (conjuring up the Battle of Culloden), it’s ‘Sheen Of Gold’, a bug-eyed ode to the gold standard, that gets stuck in my head the most these days – maybe it’s the recession.

After a minute or so of a slowly building drone atop itchy percussion, the track slams into a lurching, looping riff that sounds, well, off, tilted into some Lovecraftian/Borgesian geometry beyond our ken. D’ath croons “Sheen, sheen, sheen, sheen of gold, attracted by the sheen of gold” like a lullaby, and the slow-motion fireworks of John Halvorsen (the Gordons/Bailter Space)’s scraping guitar build subliminally through the song, a sample-based psychedelia that manages to be swampy without being leaden, rhythmically bludgeoning without being boorish – dizzying production from Nick Roughan, Don White and Brent McLachlan.

There’s no other New Zealand singer that could deliver lines like “Notes and coins, filthy lucre / Stocks and bonds will falter / The house on the hill is prone to fire / But gold, gold, GOLD never loses its lustre”, and David D’Ath’s death from leukaemia two months before Amalgam (an amazing album cursed with a terrible sub-Lynchian album cover) was released in 1990 is still gutting when you think of what might have been – I’ll leave with a sentence from Matthew Hyland, who bore witness to their career:

“I remember a whole audience being left speechless by the joyous alacrity with which they smashed every rule then (and now) in force about what New Zealand music should be (to whit, grey, guitar-based, reasonable); suddenly it seemed not only possible and necessary but entirely to be expected that the music of the future would be composed of sparkling, multicoloured surfaces that collided with bone-crushing force, of heart-stoppingly elusive rhythms and melodies, sound and language fragments and the constant, never realised threat of pure hysteria, total sonic and emotional breakdown.”

The Headless Chickens
By Simon Grigg

Tribal no-wave meets urban despair in a suburban New Zealand wasteland. Chris Matthews’ sublime noire anthem drew a line in the Flying Nun sand. Nothing on the label sounded like this before and it defined the sound of alternative Auckland City that year.

And when it couldn’t get any better, Greg Churchill offered up a killer acid re-invention for the Greatest Hits.

By Robyn Gallagher

This song starts with the sound of a lawnmover, placing it firmly in the depths of suburbia – because ‘Struck’ is the blues for suburban kids who are feeling a little overwhelmed just by trying to go out at night and be a cool dude. Nestled amongst the bright guitar pop of Garageland’s 1995 EP Come Back Special,'”Struck’ jumped out and sucked me into its moody universe. The lyrics are extravagantly simple – “I have regrets! I have no cigarettes! Please play me ‘Benny and the Jets’!”, but it was the killer emo chorus that got me every time – “I’m kinda struck by the way I fucked up”. Sing it, white boy. It was the perfect soundtrack for a 20-year-old to wallow in misery, but yet I still keep coming back to it. At Garageland’s 2007 reunion gig (and I didn’t even know they’d broken up), despite all the requests from my miserable brethren, ‘Struck’ was the one track from the EP that the band didn’t play. There’s some music that stays in the past, but there’s other music that grows up with you.

The Chills
Heavenly Pop Hit
By Anthonie Tonnon

I was a teenager in Dunedin in that grey alley of the 1990s and the 2000s when Flying Nun was completely uncool. I was vaguely aware of Flying Nun in high school, and this was one of the first songs I heard – a hangover of that era still playing on the local 4XO station. I love this song now for the same reasons it could never have caught me as a 16 year old. It’s not a cool song. It’s desperately earnest and optimistic – there are no swear words, no angst or rebellion, just wordy, flowery descriptions of love. To make it worse, the sonic world is all organs and clean guitars with chorus. To a teenager whose palette was developed on male singers with gravelly voices and distorted drop D guitars, this was at best alienating, and at worst a confusing assault on my sexuality. Appreciating the Chills would first take listening to Straightjacket Fits.

My band learned this song for the Flying Nun Tribute night last week. It was awful to to pick up. So many chords, and never in a predictable order. The verses change length, and where you’re expecting a chorus, you get a fake chorus or a half chorus. The first chord the in real chorus is a major chord when it should be a minor chord – it’s dumbfounding that it works. And it doesn’t work – not until the whole band can play it seamlessly with confidence, and all the backing vocals. But when you can, magic happens. The alchemy of something complicated filtering through your mind and becoming simple and beautiful, because it’s exactly how it should be.

Bressa Creeting Cake
Palm Singing
By Martyn Pepperell

In an alternative reality, my favourite Flying Nun song is ‘Tally Yo’, a Das Racist remake of ‘Tally Ho’ by The Clean, with Araabmuzik on production. Sadly, that reality is not where I live.

Picking a favourite Flying Nun song is actually really difficult for me. I was never an obsessive Flying Nun disciple, and I’m still not. If I was going beat my chest and fly the flag, I’d probably say that my favourite Flying Nun song was something by The Clean, mostly because of how deep their influence runs in international indie rock circles. Alternatively, I’d say that my favourite Flying Nun song was by The Verlaines, mostly because Graeme Downes has driven through Dunedin blasting Immortal Technique at full volume.

However, neither of those are good reasons to define a favourite Flying Nun song by, they’re just pieces of trivia. No, my favourite Flying Nun song would have to be ‘Palm Singing’ by Bressa Creeting Cake. Why? Because it sounds like a fucking tropical beach party. And right now, and in fact pretty much any time in general, a tropical beach party is exactly what I need.

The Shocking Pinks
End Of The World
By Dan Trevarthen

The Shocking Pinks were one of the high points of Flying Nun’s lean years, and a pretty fitting link between its past and future. The first thing you hear on ‘End of The World’ is those extremely shitty, extremely awesome sounding drums playing that machine gun fill. I’m sure he could have recorded them in higher fidelity, but they sound mean, right? An acoustic guitar isn’t exactly the jangle of early Flying Nun, but the way it’s played is very similar, along with that two chord I-IV progression. It’s very economical guitar pop – the lyrics aren’t great on paper (neither is the singing), but their simplicity, along with that of the music, make this a total mantra. Just after 1.15 a synth enters, first as a pad, then climbing down notes. When he sings the punchline, it’s with the exact same drowsy monotone the rest of the song is delivered in, but the drama surrounding him is tenfold – the synth is slightly uncomfortably high in the mix, changing register at the crucial moment, and that drum fill shows up again, like explosions all around. “I wanna take you out/like it’s the end of the world”/DRUM FILL/“end of the world”/wrap it up by 2.29 because three minute pop songs waste thirty seconds and still don’t hammer home the point this effectively

The Mint Chicks
Opium Of The People
By Adam Burns

Effortless and intoxicating; ‘Opium Of The People’ cemented the notion that something special was afoot. Turning noise and pop inside out, it was an astonishing early achievement that foreshadowed the storied achievements where the Orewa quartet’s deft ability in blurring pop and punk’s opposing forces became their modus operandi. Drawing a line in the sand early with a twenty second intro of lateral electromechanics and turbulent guitar drawl, those willing to come out the other side unscathed were treated to the most deliciously contorted melody as Kody Nielson seeked headroom amongst the dizzying white noise. It was so deliciously spacey yet you were nabbed by wonderful pop smarts. The Nielson bros were wise enough to pull things back so the listener could come afloat for another breath; “We awoke from the morning after / This disaster”. More than warranted their place on the Flying Nun roster. We all know what happened next.

Die! Die! Die!
By Nicky Andrews

Listen. The droning resonance that rises up to haunt your eardrums. The desperation of quietly fading hopes, illustrated by sparse moments of longing for resolution. A tension that builds but does not give way to anger, populated instead by a heavy incantation. Shifting tones rise to the surface, but the hum of isolation does not leave. An atmospheric track from an affecting album. Happy 30th, Flying Nun.


  1. Andrew Gladstone says:

    Sorry Robyn, I still can’t explain why we didn’t play that song at our reunion. A terrible over-sight. If it’s any consolation I have been playing it with Andrew McKenzie and new band “Golden Curtain”. It’s the only cover we do.

  2. I love the way that these posts capture the way that indie kids in NZ grew up surrounded by Flying Nun. Either there were legendary bands that you were too young to be able to see live or the musicians were locals that you’d see on the street. Or even Flying Nun could be something to rebel against – I am sure Karl isn’t alone in being a musician from that era who wanted to make a different form of music that alienated him from this scene.

    Leaving aside the great picks above, I probably would’ve chosen “Meat” by Chris Knox:

    Or “Flex” by JPSE (or was that early enough to be under last week’s post?):

    • Gareth Shute says:

      This comment reminds of when I finally got to see some Headless Chickens songs played live. I heard Chris Matthews was playing a solo set with some pick-up musicians at a bar with a pretty lenient ID policy. I dressed up in my gothy Virus clothes with black stovepipe trousers and boots, etc. But when I got there, one of the first songs he played was “Cruisin'” by Michael Nesmith (ex-Monkees). Not quite the dark, moody set I was expecting…

    • Michael McClelland says:

      and we don’t want to waste our time
      in case we’re past our peak and prime
      and now must fall into decaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

      so close you eyes and close your mind
      pretend with me that we have climbed
      out of the shadows of the graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave

  3. This has been a really interesting read. I love how this section as opposed to the last section has really been based on personal experiences. My three favourite flying nun acts in this time haven’t been included, Loves Ugly Children, Bailter Space and King Loser I don’t think I could pick a favourite song from any of those though.

  4. Really great post. So good to read Stevie again for the first time in ages. But everyone here brought it. More posts like this OK Hussein?

    • Stevie Kaye says:

      Aww, cheers Duncan – wish I could have had more of a Nun-related teen flashback, but we didn’t have bFM in Rotovegas, though I eventually picked up the Topless Women Talk About Their Lives and Scarfies soundtracks from the Warehouse before I went off to Otago.

      As a counterpoint to this series, anyone want to liveblog listening through to Fiona McDonald’s /A Different Hunger/?

      Have dug out and thrashed Crude’s Inner City Guitar Perspectives and Bressa Creeting Cake’s self-titled album today – Gareth/anyone, what’s the word on those pre-LP Bressa Creeting Cake tracks (“The Kids Are Cracked”/”All The Cars” etc) getting released?

  5. the verlaines – death and the maiden seems like a classic to me that got missed on the previous post 69

    • I thought that too. That song is really everything in one.

      ‘Affco’ is a great choice, too; the best songs are sort of their own genre.

  6. Gareth Shute says:

    Interesting to compare the songs listed in these two posts to the songs featured on the latest Flying Nun comp. Only four songs overlap…

    The Clean – Tally Ho! / The Verlaines – Death and The Maiden
    The Chills – Heavenly Pop Hit / Sneaky Feelings – Husband House
    Look Blue Go Purple – Cactus Cat / Bird Nest Roys – Alien
    The Bats – North by North / The Great Unwashed – Can’t Find Water
    Straitjacket Fits – She Speeds / Able Tasmans – Fault in the Frog
    Fetus Productions – What’s Going On? / JPSE – Breathe
    Garageland- Pop Cigar
    Bressa Creeting Cake – A Chip That Sells Millions
    Chris Knox – Not Given Lightly / Headless Chickens – George
    The Mint Chicks – Crazy? Yes! Dumb? No!
    The Phoenix Foundation – 40 Years / Robert Scott – Too Early
    Grayson Gilmour – I Am A Light! / Pin Group – Ambivalence
    Gordons – Machine Song / The Stones – Down and Around
    Children’s Hour – Looking For The Sun
    Doublehappys – Needles & Plastic / The 3Ds – Outer Space
    Tall Dwarfs – The Brain That Wouldn’t Die / Snapper – Buddy
    Shayne Carter and Peter Jefferies – Randolph’s Going Home
    Bailter Space – Fish Eye / Dead C – I Was Here
    Skeptics – And We Bake / Solid Gold Hell -Bitter Nest
    Dimmer – Pacer / Loves Ugly Children – Space Suit
    HDU – Schallblüte / Ghost Club – Ghost Club Theme Song
    The Subliminals – United State
    Shocking Pinks – This Aching Deal / F in Math – Don’t Look Down

    • That comp’s supposed to be like a primer, though, right? F.Nun 101. Whereas this is (for the most part) true believers nerding out over the one that hit them in the chest.
      That being said, would love this as a digital comp. Roger? Matt?

  7. Terrific idea for a post, so much good writing in there. Also have a lot of new things to listen to. And a little bit to happily revisit. Cheers for uploading that Garageland track to Youtube, Robyn! Someone else uploaded Not Empty a while back, I’ve got it taped off the radio somewhere on a dusty cassette but wasn’t necessarily expecting to be able to hear it again any time soon.

  8. The Gordons – FUTURE SHOCK.
    Originally self-released but came out on FN in the end.

    I remember hearing this when I was 9 years old on Radio U, and taping it on the cassette recorder my auntie had brought back from Oz.

  9. Just updated the post with Kiran’s choice of ‘House with a Hundred Rooms (Mayo Thompson version)’. Anyone know if this is floating around somewhere so I can link up to it?

  10. Kiran Dass says:

    Correct version, Stevie – ta! A beauty.

  11. Kiran Dass says:

    Stevie, ‘Sheen of Gold’ is one of my favourites, too. And it always soothes the rough edges off a flaming hangover.

  12. fad world by the stones! amazing.

  13. Cray cray si! dumb no by the mint checks

  14. Michael McClelland says:

    anyone else got a boner for the verlaines – angela?

  15. Progger says:

    Well there you go, I never even knew there was a special Mayo Thompson 12″ version of that Chills song.

    Any S.P.U.D. fans in the haus?


  16. Evil or Outer Space by the 3Ds. Both perfect. I am so glad to have to seen them at ATP in sunny England.

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