The Chills
Submarine Bells

THE REVIEW

In the geographic-sentimental atlas of quality pop enthusiasts, New Zealand, especially the one straddling the '80s and '90s, is a well-marked place, another one of those "paradises" often viewed with a certain nostalgia, not infrequently letting out a slight sigh.

Just utter the word "kiwi rock", and many of them, myself included, are overwhelmed by melodies, imagining that utopian island at the antipodes where, for a certain period, yet another epiphany of the "lennonmccartneysound" occurred, this time grafted onto an oblique and lush guitar rock, like the enchanted nature of its land of origin (who doesn't remember the images from Jane Campion's film "The Piano"?). Bands like 'The Verlains', 'The Bats', 'Crowded House', 'The Chills', all originating from the Maori islands, added another piece to the ever-evolving shiny edifice of the perfect pop song.

'The Chills', in particular, in 1990 with "Submarine Bells" created, if not the best work of that genre rich in important and unrecognized albums, certainly the most representative one that condenses, as best as possible, all the main characteristics of "kiwi": sustainable lightness, sunny openings alternating with more shadowy atmospheres, sudden new wave electric bursts, sometimes impressionist writing rich in chiaroscuro.
To all this, they add a marked environmentalist sensitivity testified by some lyrics from the group's songwriter Martin Phillipps, the appeals in the booklet against the notorious French nuclear tests in Polynesia, and the splendid photos on the cover of gigantic oceanic jellyfish, a species threatened by destructive fishing methods, the "submarine bells" of the title, which still "resound" in the depths, sounding the alarm for the Planet.

The album opens with one of the freshest and most airy singles not only of New Zealand pop but of the entire '90s production, "Heavenly Pop Hit", a small marvel, with an organ and truly "heavenly" choirs. The track, cleverly placed at the beginning, acts as a lure. Anyone venturing into the album expecting a series of simple enjoyment songs will be disappointed or surprised. Other strings are touched; other inner landscapes, other delectable musical references will unfold before them. Already with "Tied Up In Chain", Hitchcockian influences and references to early 'REM' are perceivable. "I SOAR" has a vaguely bucolic flavor, an Australasian folk of notable suggestion, a slow implosion.
In "Familiarity Breeds Contempt", Phillipps' guitar work guides the group atop the "new wave" crest. "Effloresce & Deliquesce", on the other hand, sharpens a psychedelic attitude that, nevertheless, is widely perceived throughout the album and links them to their more famous Australian "cousins", 'The Church'.

The title track that closes the work is a kind of aquatic lullaby, a whispered hymn to the marine depths, with sounds and tones that seem to come from another dimension.

"Deep and dark my submarine / bells groan in green and gray / Mine would chine a thousand times / to make you feel okay..."

Follow the chimes of these liquid bells: new, fascinating, and mysterious musical lands might be drawn on your map as explorers of emotions.