words by Mia Rankin

Mia Rankin is a writer, journalist and 2SER volunteer.

This article was republished from her excellent substack “Dead Letter Offices” , where you can read more of her excellent writing on music and much more. 

When I was seventeen and my mind was set on becoming a music journalist, there were many people I daydreamed about interviewing. One such person was Martin Phillipps, the only constant member of New Zealand indie rock outfit The Chills. This was partially because I loved The Chills (indeed, his band spearheaded my obsession with the Dunedin sound/Flying Nun scene in Year 11) and partially because I had a very specific question I wanted to ask him.

As with any musical artist I obsessed over in high school, if they seemed to recommend or endorse some form of media, I would check it out. I can probably attribute a huge portion of my music library to R.E.M. and the bands they’d mentioned loving – The Velvet Underground, The Replacements, Let’s Active, The dBs, The Producers. Martin Phillipps was no different. I listened to more ‘60s music because of him, and when I saw photos of him on tour in the late ‘80s wearing a Watchmen shirt, I went out and devoured the entire comic book series.

This devotion naturally spread to reading interviews and watching countless documentaries, too. For better or for worse, I watched The Chills: The Triumph & Tragedy of Martin Phillipps five times in one week. To be fair though, I was an unemployed high school student with no social life. Those were the sorts of activities I did then.

The Chills have a song called ‘Dan Destiny and the Silver Dawn’, which you can find on their debut album Brave Words or in demo form on the compilation LP Kaleidoscope World. Amidst my Chills-fuelled obsession I’d read somewhere that Martin Phillipps had written the song after being inspired by a Ray Bradbury short story, and being the fan that I was, I wanted to know which story it was so I could go and read it.

Hence my very specific, very nerdy question I wanted to ask Martin Phillipps one day. I imagined sitting across from him, audio recorder in hand, and saying, “look, Martin, I know this might be a strange question. But I’ve been a huge fan of the Chills since I was in high school, and I just have to know – what Ray Bradbury short story was ‘Dan Destiny and the Silver Dawn’ based on?”

For a long time, I entertained that fantasy as I did so many others. But then I saw The Chills in February 2023, and everything changed. Because I met Martin Phillipps, and I asked him the question that had been brewing in the back of my mind for years.

It was a bit of an anticlimactic answer – no specific story really, but rather it was the general feel to Bradbury’s writing that Martin was trying to emulate on that song. Nevertheless, I was happy. I’d gotten my answer, and more importantly, I’d met the man whose music meant so much to me in high school. He’d written my all time favourite song, ‘Pink Frost’, and that night he signed my records.

The story of how I met Martin Phillipps is quite an amusing one, but I’ve recounted it in detail here if you’d like to read it. As with many people I’ve met and chatted to about music, Martin was quite bewildered to meet someone so young who knew so much about such a niche part of the ‘80s indie scene. My main memory, however, was how kind and friendly he was. I’ll never forget going up to the merch stall, records tucked under my arm, and seeing his blue eyes light up in recognition.

“You knew all the words to my songs!” he said.

I’ll never forget the feeling I had that night as I went home on the bus. It could only be best described as sheer elation.

I guess it’s funny, but I always thought I would see him again. If not at a merch stall, at least in concert. The Chills reissued a freshly remastered and expanded version of Brave Words last year, and it was only a couple of weeks ago that Martin was being interviewed about a new Chills project featuring old songs he’d written when he was around my age.

But last night I found out Martin Phillipps had passed away unexpectedly in his Dunedin home, and I realised I never would see him again. Not on stage, not in person. Not in an interview sitting across from him, audio recorder in hand. Born in the same year my parents were, he died at the age they are now: 61. It was less than two years ago that Clean drummer and Dunedin sound stalwart Hamish Kilgour passed away aged 65. Both men were crucial in shaping one of the most important music scenes of the 1980s. Both men were fans at the core, people who were One Of Us – they understood our passion and devotion. Both men went far too soon.

I could sit here and tell you all the boring facts that a real music journalist would be obligated to tell you about in a musical obituary. I could tell you about ‘Pink Frost’, how Submarine Bells almost gave the Chills their big break and how the band has seen some 30 or so members come and go through its doors. I could tell you about Martin Phillipps’ long standing struggles with drug addiction and mental health, or how one ill-fated unclean needle gave him hepatitis-C and liver problems for the rest of his life. I could tell you about their triumphant return in 2015, or Martin’s enormous collection of rare records, toys, posters, comic books and trinkets that are inevitably going to be auctioned off. Things that make up a Wikipedia page.

But I don’t want to.

I’ve noticed a lot of tributes to Martin using the title track from Submarine Bells. In many ways it’s fitting – it’s a song about saying goodbye, a song about promising to love someone despite what little time they have left together, even if they know the time they have together is destined to end unhappily. But I also think ‘Submarine Bells’ is beautiful in its own context. The track, like most of the album it comes from, is about the pains and desperate hoping within a long distance relationship. While all music is subjective, I personally never really associate that song or that album with death.

Looking back upon the Chills discography, death actually does underpin a lot of their songs. ‘Pink Frost’, the eerie tale of a man who wakes up to find he’s accidentally killed his lover in his sleep. ‘I Love My Leather Jacket’, the tribute to former Chills drummer Martyn Bull, who bequeathed his leather jacket to Martin Phillipps after succumbing to leukaemia. But there’s also songs about trying to live life every day whilst staring death in the face: ‘The Oncoming Day’ and ‘Brave Words’, where Martin sings on the latter:

“‘Cause I’d much rather go down fighting
Then at least I could go with pride
I’d rather go trying to battle
Battle the doubts inside
Instead of watching the wrinkles grow deeper
And noticing varicose veins.”

And that’s what I’d like to remember Martin Phillipps by. Not just fighting health problems and inner demons, but the constant setbacks that the Chills faced every step of the way: losing members, gruelling tours, coming so close to fame and fortune but having it slip through your fingers at the last second. The music business is undeniably a harsh and unforgiving place, but it was better off with his records. Despite all the losses and all the heartache, we’ve been left with a beautiful bounty of music that makes it clear to me that his battles were not in vain.

Vale Martin Phillipps. Thank you for everything, but most importantly, thank you for answering my question. I’m going to go read some Ray Bradbury now.