BELLS OF THORNDON
15 St. Mary Street, Thorndon, Wellington.
A guy I knew through the advertising business was the original connection at St. Mary, we took over his lease, but for some reason I recall Andrew doing all the wheeling-and-dealing. He, Simon and I moved in and things just got progressively worse from that point.
It is deserving of a line all of it’s own. It’s not even cliche to refer to it as a rock star pad, because conceivability or otherwise is unnecessary when referring to this abode. Upon first glance from the street, it looked like the quaint little cottage that it was, typical of those found in Thorndon, the oldest suburb in Wellington. In reality, it was in need of a little attention to return it to anywhere near that status.
St. Mary Street is on a relatively steep gradient and #15 was close to the top of the hill. It was probably the best part of 100 metres down to the corner of Tinakori Road, almost at the top of the Bowen Street intersection. On the corner was the Patel Dairy. A frequent visitor to the dairy was New Zealand Prime Minister, David Lange, and Prabha Patel would often make lamb curries for him (picked up by his staff on a Sunday evening) as curry houses in Wellington were few and far between.
Her husband, the late KK, introduced Greg and I to Samosa's. He was so concerned about the amount of Pork pies we consumed that he implored us to try his vegetable samosa's.
"I don't mind taking your money," he told us, "but I am a little concerned about your boys diet."
Thorndon was the absolute hub of our existence. A lot of our friends or acquaintances lived in one of several flats in Thorndon, that were all equally notorious. The Pagans were now the Saturday night resident band at the local pub, where when even ‘off-duty’ so to speak, we spent a large percentage of our time drinking and socialising.
We could make the front entrance from our own front door in 90 seconds, all downhill. I don’t recall doing a lot of cooking at our new abode, as there really was little need. With a ‘pie and a pint’ (as referred to in “Bells of Thorndon”) only a minute and a half away, dinner was more often than not had in the public bar with friends, who included of course the pub manager and bar staff.
Life became Thorndon and Thorndon became life.
Not so far from St. Mary Street was another equally depraved flat full of our friends, located at 1/87 Hill Street. It seemed as though Hill Street was in perpetual party mode. AK, Little Cindy, Alfie Turner, Denis Brown, Paul Stirling, Mark Clapham and Natalie Porter, were some of the longer term interns, with many others passing through on shorter tenures.
Little Cindy (aka: Cindy Yeates) was as big as AK, when talking of Hill Street legends. She was called ‘little’ because she was the shorter of the two C/Sindy’s, although she made more noise than a pile of C/Sindy’s in a row. She came from Te Puke in the Bay of Plenty and to my mind, one day just appeared at Hill Street and that was that.
Often, as a party was raging on, she’d appear with a plastic rubbish bag, yelling; “put your fuckin’ empties in here mate, or I’ll rip your fuckin’ nuts off!” She was somewhat of a speed roller and could whip up a joint almost faster than she could open her mouth and give you a serve.
Yet, much maligned for this sort of activity, we were all better off for having Little Cindy around, as she made one feel that at least someone was looking out for us in a motherly kind of way. She also features prominently in the “A Flag in My Hand” video at Civic Chambers.
Residents of the notorious 87 Hill Street, Thorndon. (Left) Andrew 'AK' Kovacevich. (Middle) with Natalie Porter at 72 Salamanca Road. (Right) Cindy Yeates dressed up for the annual Hill Street Bad Taste Party.
“Give Me Love” stemmed from a jam session post-practice. I used to record our practice sessions on an old cassette tape, so that we could listen to them later that night and note changes and improvements to be made. It originally had two parts to it, so I structured them into a song with verses and chorus. It was our piece of ‘Rattle & Hum’.
I remember sitting in the sun out front by the roadside at Hill Street one beautiful, late spring morning, writing the words to “Give Me Love” over a pint of beer. Lyrically, it’s about dis-connected love, or more, love that just wouldn’t come together. Ships that pass by in the night. I wanted to use a pile of opposites; up/down, right/wrong, North/South, to emphasise the hopelessness of my predicament and the fact that I just couldn’t get it right.
The subject of my attentions and would-be-affections was a Hill Street inhabitant, whom obviously I was unable to or too scared to accurately articulate my true feelings to. Ultimately my loss.
Back at St. Mary Street, the rift that had developed between Andrew and Simon and I, was exacerbated by flatting together and at a point where eventually he left and was replaced by Greg Pugh of the by now called, Accelerants.
AK was hanging on as an Account Manager for 'Adventure Advertising' at the time, but the pull of poetry and stand up comedy was becoming more than just a gravitational one for him. The Pagans would often have AK perform some of his satirical wit before our gigs and he was starting to perform them when and wherever he could.
The Sunday afternoon ‘Blues Club’, also at the Western Park Tavern, was one by which he found a favourable audience.
At a special party at Hill Street, AK un-officially launched a book of poetry entitled “Drive It Till It Dies”, which contained “Psychedelic Airways”.
“Psychedelic Airways” went down quite well with most punters I must confess, I guess because it was surreally twisted. AK had some seriously good poetry, including the book title, “For Lindy” (written about the Chamberlains and the dingo), “Blood Sport”, “Snob” (a personal favourite) and “The Shan”. That is amongst a whole pile of other exceptional poems.
We loved them. We loved him. He would debut them to us as he penned them at Orangi Kaupapa Street (home of Brett and Liz Fasbenter) in Northland.
AK's home book launch of "Drive it Till it Dies". Frederick, myself, Colin and Sindy in attendance.
It wasn’t so much in that we had organised parties and the like, more because the Western was so close - and we were the band - that stragglers (who were all friends anyway usually) would drift back to St. Mary after the pub shut, if we weren’t already heading directly to a party somewhere else.
On one of these occasions, a friend who was a film student and I were playing around with this newish thing you could hire - a video camera. We were actually reading the manual and playing with settings, while a party had developed around us, without us really paying much attention.
I casually glanced around the room to see who was there and was very surprised to find a Maori friend of ours standing by the door, attired and in role as a North American Indian, and a woman dancing topless.
AK and a few more folk arrived, all completely trashed. AK proceeded to break our entire crockery collection, that is, he - like some deranged Greek - smashed every single small plate that we had in the cupboard. Remnants of the broken pieces of crockery remained by the kitchen door for the rest of our tenancy.
At around 2am there was a bang on the front door. Had to be serious, most people just came straight on in. It was our neighbour, Margaret. I presume that she was in her late 60’s or very early 70’s. She lived alone in the small cottage beside ours and was well versed in the theatre and in literature. She was very dignified. Very proper…until three rock stars moved in next door!
Although her own leanings were more toward the cor anglais and the Thorndon Society String Quartet performing in the Botanical Gardens, the pinch of naughtiness that was in her character allowed her to accept three rebel rousers moving into the neighbourhood. It was all in the name of art.
Previously, Margaret and I had held a discussion concerning the noise that came from our house, late at night, and she joked that if it happened again, she’d bring herself and gin bottle over, as she couldn’t sleep anyway because of it and may as well join in the fun. I told her that was a great thing to contemplate and that she was most welcome.
“I have to warn you though Margaret,” I said, this particular night, “there’s a topless woman dancing around drunk and an Indian chief standing by the door.”
She brushed me aside in her haste to get past and into the lounge. Poor Margaret, her life changed that night. She said that a lot of her old friends in the theatre had smoked marijuana, but she’d never personally tried it. But this night, try it she did. She was the last to leave, in the light of 5am.
The Pagans, photographed on the Wellington waterfront by David Lleon Mitchell of Gnome Productions.
At the time, compositions were becoming far more collaborative and as words often had to be made up on the spot, I had given Simon a book of poetry I released in 1985, entitled "At the Rivers' Edge". I also gave him stacks of lyrical ideas on a million pieces of paper and he would grab a line from here and there and throw in some of his own. I wrote the verses to the new “At the Rivers Edge” at the Crieff Street flat of Chris Hocquard (yet another Mixed Vege) and the chorus lyrics were lifted and arranged by Simon, from the title of the book.
Brendan Herring, an old acquaintance of Simon’s from secondary school at Otumoetai College in Tauranga, was in his second year as a design student at Wellington Polytech, in Newtown. As part of his end of year thesis, he chose The Pagans as a brand to market, whereby he designed us gig posters, a business card and storyboarded/directed a video to accompany a song.
He chose "TTFN" as the song and Simon, not happy with the recording made six months prior, convinced the band that it needed to be re-done for the purpose. Then we thought that we may as well stick with tradition and record three, so after due consideration was given, "A Flag in My Hand" and “Give Me Love” were chosen to accompany "TTFN" for the recording session set for November 14th. The venue was again Word Of Mouth Studio (now in Martin Square) Wellington, engineered once again by Marcus Wilson.
Brendan had Jenny Morris’ little brother, Rhys, anchor his thesis-purpose built MTV show, Jukebox, and after compiling an opening (which contained references to Thomas Edison inventing the recording process, to a song by Yello), we went around filming in various locations; a playground in Mt. Victoria near the old tram tunnel, Moa Point beside Wellington Airport, Lyall Bay and Wellington Railway Station. The studio shots were done at Wellington Polytech. The video eventually rolled around on a big screen at the design students end-of-year exhibition at the old BNZ Arcade on Lambton Quay.
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Brendon Herring's Pagans business card, part of his end of year thesis project at Wellington Polytech Design School in Mt. Cook, Wellington.
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Virtually on the eve of the recording session, which predated the filming of the video, I bumped into a couple of old inmates from boarding school in Wellington, at a party at the Webb Street abode of John Brien. Andrew Jenkin had doodled some art on one of our old gig posters a few months prior and Neil Austin, I hadn't seen for a few years.
"How's the band going?" Neil enquired.
"Pretty good," I replied, "but we are in need of a drummer. Martin, our current guy, is heading to Europe soon and we are recording next week and have a residency and a few other gigs lined up."
Neil suggested I contact a guy he worked with at Wilkinson Insurance Brokers. He was a great drummer and known by the dubious handle of Party Animal. Michael John Alexander Paterson was recruited after one practice session at Hill Street to go over the three songs we were going to record, two days before we went in to record them.
Word of Mouth Studios in Martin Square, recording with our new drummer, Michael 'PA' Paterson. Brendan Herring's video for Simon's "TTFN", part of his end of design school thesis.
Pete Bartell caught us at the Western Park one evening and decided that we’d paid our dues as arrogant and largely unappreciative rockers and gave us the use of the top floor of the then Pipitea Computer Centre at 61 Thorndon Quay as new practice facilities. It was a magnanimous gesture on his behalf and much appreciated.
The historical building was built beside the railway station for the Dairy Association in the 1920's and rumour has it that it also housed the Defence Force Computer system, probably while we occupied it. In 2013, it came under scrutiny as an earthquake risk, having fallen below government building standards. Currently, it is fully managed studio apartments, 'Quest on Thorndon', developed by the Safari Group.
What a residency at the Western Park Tavern did for The Pagans was offer us some leverage when touting for other gigs. From the night of our first gig, until our ultimate demise by May of 1990, we were able to rack up thirty plus gigs at most of Wellington’s premier venues and/or summer city events through January, February and March.
At one Western gig, late in 1989, a chap (whose name escapes me) came to check us out as candidates for a spot at the prestigious Sesqui Carnival, set for March the following year. Billed by promoters as 'New Zealand's biggest event ever', the festival was to be staged in order to mark the country’s sesquicentenary celebrations, the 150th anniversary of the 1840 signing of the Treaty of Waitangi.
To our absolute joy, we pretty quickly got a result in the affirmative. We were well stoked. We had been informed prior that any band who was anyone from around the country were being appraised in advance and that only the best of the best would be offered gigs at the Sesqui Carnival.
Western Park gigs were only broken by appearances elsewhere. 1989 was closed out with gigs at the Union Hall (Victoria University) on September 24th and a gig at the Southern Cross Tavern on November 25th, which led to us being hired at the same venue on New Years Eve, opening for a band called Harmony Sold Her Dragon (power rockers with a hot and edgy guitarist), ex-pat Wellingtonians who had recently returned from a stint in London.
"The Only Game In Town" - Warratahs (Pagan/1987), "Chicago Smoke Shop" (Pagan/1989), "The Hills Are Alive" - Six Volts (Braille/1989) and "Favours" - Let's Planet (Pagan/1990) - Wellington bands with albums in the bag.
The November issue of the Radio Active Digest carried (under the title of ‘Windswept Winstrels’ - the RAD guide to Wellington music) a quick synopsis of all bands that were currently gigging around the city and by now there were quite a few. Like life itself, bands - in general terms - have a shelf life. At any given time there are bands starting out in garages and living rooms, established bands doing the circuits, and bands about to break up.
Leading the way in the established department were acts such as Darren Watson’s Chicago Smoke Shop, The Warratahs, Holidaymakers, and Jackie Clarke's ensemble When the Cats Been Spayed.
Born in Wanganui, Darren had been playing in bars and clubs since the early '80s, when still a student at Hutt Valley High School. He formed Chicago Smoke Shop with Terry Casey in 1985 (later shortened to just Smoke Shop), and by 1990 had earned support slots for big touring names such as Robert Cray, George Thorogood and the Fabulous Thunderbirds.
An eponymously titled LP, recorded at Marmalade Studios and released in 1989, was followed up by a tour of the country with a big show, full blues band and horn section. Backing vocals on the album were provided by legendary Wellington musicians, Nick Bollinger and Caroline Easther.
Caroline herself, had recently returned to the capital, after a stint touring Europe and recording with my old mate Justin Harwood in The Chills. Formerly a member of Beat Rhythm Fashion, Circus Block Four and The Spines, she had teamed up again with Alan Galloway to re-form Let's Planet, hard working, seasoned musicians who had built a strong following through live performance, with supports for international artists including Paul Kelly, R.E.M., The Proclaimers, and Throwing Muses.
When talking seasoned musicians though, The Warratahs, could not be out-experienced on any level. They included NZ Rock Royalty; New Plymouth born Wayne Ashley Mason, MNZM, founding member of The Fourmyula, Rockinghorse and The Warratahs and co-composer with the enigmatic Barry Saunders of "Hands of My Heart" (plus of course, the official writer of "Nature", voted New Zealand's #1 song in APRA's Top 100 of All Time in 2001).
The Warratahs had a couple of hit albums already released on Trevor Reekie's Pagan Records, "The Only Game in Town" in particular, a huge hit with its urbane bluesy, country appeal. They had been a popular act for a few years, especially at the old Cricketers Arms, on the corner of Tory and Vivian Streets.
The Holidaymakers were probably the biggest name of all in the music biz in New Zealand at the time, owing to the huge success of their only hit the preceding year, a little known Bill Withers song called "Sweet Lovers". Born from the city's rich soul/funk tradition, more directly drawing inspiration from Rick Bryant's '70's band, Rough Justice (which also included Nick Bollinger), The Holidaymakers were made up of members of similar bands from earlier in the decade, The Rodents, The Hulamen, The Pelicans and The Tombolos. Their biggest coup in 1989 however, was scoring the support gig for U2 at Athletic Park on November 8th.
When the Cats Been Spayed were a Jackie Clarke creation (a spoof of an Auckland based all-female act), a bizarre and eclectic accapella triumvirate, whose functions were mainly private affairs. Member, Charlotte Yates had released a 12" EP with the band Putty in Her Hands in 1987.
Perennial Wellington musicians and part of that heritage, tapestry and culture were Bill Lake and Rick Bryant, who were collaborating on a project The Living Daylights. They could often be found at the Oaks Brasserie, with Caroline Easther on drums as I recall on a few occasions.
Originally from Palmerston North, the Electronic/Avant Garde experimental band, The Skeptics had been with ‘Flying Nun’ for several years and although the punk scene was well over, the late Gerald Dwyer’s Flesh D-Vice remained a popular live act. Janet Roddick’s Six Volts had recently returned from the Edinburgh Festival and London. Their debut LP/CD "The Hills Are Alive", had just been released on Braille Records.
From left; Emulsifier (with Mal McDonald at right, who recorded Foot High Garden in 1988 at Radio Active), Trasch (top), Vas Deferens (below) and our old mate Rob Stewart from T.A.B (above)
The rest was made up of the plethora of new bands (including us) who were trying to escape from suburban garages and establish ourselves as best we could; Skapa, Bumpin’ Ugly, Spirals, Sam Manzanza, Wazzo Ghoti (pronounced Wazzo Fish), Emulsifier, Amazing Broccoli, Earth Telephone, Trasch, T.A.B, Vas Deferens, This Will Kill That and Gregs band, The Accelerants.
There was also a young, fast, tight, loud and heavy young band called Shihad.
Of The Pagans, it was said; “Four-piece band who’ve been playing together since ’87 and recently debuted at the Western Park. They won’t be pinned down to any one description of their music, stating their aim as being toward a distinct, energetic Australasian sound. The Pagans favour originals; with three songwriters in the band that’s no problem.”
Colin had progressed his video making to the point where he had set up his own production company, Garage Video. In order for him to put a showreel together, Simon and I mimed to “That’s Entertainment” by The Jam (co-incidentally one of our favourite bands) on one of Colin’s whirlwind afternoons, at some well thought out locations around the city.
An enormous, red Coca-Cola sign painted on to the side of a building (somewhere off Taranaki Street I believe) was one, a carpark with the BNZ building as a backdrop another. A mural on the side of a Church building, also near or on Taranaki Street was used. Some shots were filmed in a building in Martin Square with the contemporary dance group, Dancescape. Jonathan Venz was the editor.
In issue number 149 of ‘Rip It Up’ magazine in December, John Pilley, when reviewing the Wellington scene, said; “The Pagans are resident at the Western Park and have some good, original, commercial material.” Before NYE though, there were a few festive gigs to take care of. We played our usual evening spot at the Western on Saturday, December 9th, followed by a private party in Hobson Street, Thorndon. The next morning we were up at the crack of dawn for a gig at Mt. Crawford prison.
At around 4am, Andy King came into the lounge at St.Mary with a copy of The Dominion, the city’s morning newspaper, which he had pinched off the neighbour’s doorstep. There on the Arts page, was an article by Jane Bowron about the prison gig, with a photo of The Pagans.
In the article (titled ‘Rhythm ’n’ blues artists offer free jailhouse rock’), organiser, Brett Bailey, had said; “All bands are playing for no money at the prison. It’s great to see bands get up at 9am on a Sunday morning after playing the night before and donate their time and effort to make sure those guys have a good Christmas.”
The article also stated that The Pagans were ‘relative newcomers to the rhythm and blues scene’, which of course was utter codswallop! We were strictly pop/rock, but were more than happy to be included in such a momentous occasion. It was a great experience and such a worthy cause.
AK, The Pagans, Darren Watson, Dave Murphy and a couple of street buskers named Stan & Dragon, performed the Christmas gig for the inmates.
Being that pop/rock band, the Pagans weren’t exactly what the convicts wanted to hear, especially juxtaposed with Dave and Darren’s gritty blues, but they were polite and applauded in their own casual, emotionless kind of way.
During our set, a cage was wheeled out, around eight feet high with three inch iron bars. This was serious shit. It was dark and mysterious inside, we couldn’t tell if anyone or anything was in there.
It was a disconcerting eye catcher as one was trying to perform and Simon and I, independently having the same thoughts, had the question answered when a single hand appeared, gripping the thick bars of the cage. I don’t know what that motherfucker had done.
There was a bit of segregation. One inmate told me that all prisoners had been allowed to attend the gig except for child molesters and rapists, who being regarded as the lowest of the low, they were never allowed near for fear of reprisal and death. The White collar section are not overly popular either and we didn’t see them, although our understanding is that they were there but in an adjacent complex.
The inmates also put on lunch for us, which amongst other things included some outstanding cheese scones.
I complimented the chef, who, gracious at receiving my praise, proceeded to tell me that the secret was in the not over mixing the dough. I still recall the genuine tone in his voice when explaining the procedure and thinking what a nice guy he was and that he must have done something relatively minor. I was whisked away by Brett, who leant in my ear and said; “for fuck’s sake Carl, what are you doing man? He’s in here for multiple murder!”
Dominion newspaper article from December 9th, the day before the Mt. Crawford gig.
Photo credit: David Mitchell
On Sunday, December 17th, we played at the annual ‘Young One’s Party’ at the Kelburn Cricket Club, with AK, Sam Manzanza and Dave Murphy.
The Southern Cross Tavern was an iconic venue on Abel Smith Street, a Wellington institution that dates back to the 1850’s. The garden bar had been (and still is) one of Te Aro’s most popular venues.
The Evening Post, on January 2nd, ran an article titled ‘Quiet welcome for New Year’, as would never happen in this day and age, there were only three pubs that opened. The article went on to state;
“Police met cheers and very little trouble in the three pubs that opened in Wellington to celebrate New Years Eve. Much the same was true throughout New Zealand.
The three hotels - the Bond Street Inn, the Southern Cross Tavern and Flanagans Hotel - had capacity crowds with people queuing outside."
Police had opposed granting licences for Sunday, but on the night everything went smoothly.
Southern Cross manager, Gary Clarke, said the police made a few visits and received a big cheer when they came in. It was very much a party atmosphere.
"The Pagans and Harmony Sold Her Dragon kept the 500-600 patrons entertained as the final hours of the 1980’s ticked away.”
What was brilliant for us was that a kilometre away at the Wellington Town Hall, with Phil O’Brien as master of ceremonies, Jenny Morris, The Warratahs and Netherworld Dancing Toys could only muster roughly the same sized crowd, despite being bigger named acts and abetted by a laser light show.
