My Kiwi Mixtape!

Across the city and into the bush, I've been engaging with music — new and old — to enhance my focus and provide a bit of company in my solitary practice of studying. With exams quickly approaching, I've taken to the quiet floors of The University of Auckland's towering library. I outline essays while overlooking on Symonds Street; Albert Park's population lays on the green while I review my lecture outlines. Music has always scored chunks of my life — and my time abroad is no different. Here, I highlight the albums and songs that are permanently affixed to Aotearoa New Zealand!

Albums

'Hejira' (1976) & 'Don Juan's Reckless Daughter' (1977) — Joni Mitchell

Any travelogue of music is incomplete without the classic 'Hejira;' however, I also want to highlight on its often-forgotten complement, 'Don Juan's Reckless Daughter.' Mitchell composed both albums on a series of road trips across the States, including the infamous Rolling Thunder Revue with Joan Baez, Allen Ginsberg, and Bob Dylan. Here, she expands her folk-pop tendencies into the realm of jazz — employing fretless bass, sparse percussion, and haphazard guitar tunings. This fails to mention her songwriting, detailing with brutal concision her flings and blues from strangers' backseats to dive bars. 

Given my extensive membership with the Auckland University Tramping Club (AUTC), my weekends are stuffed with car drives and long hikes. The images Mitchell offers here — hexagrams of chemtrails, sparsely populated towns with postcard charm, dreamy plains drenched in sunset reds — all ring true, even across the globe. 

Highlights: Coyote, Hejira, Black Crow; Overture: Cotton Avenue, Paprika Plains, Dreamland

'Suntub' (2023) — ML Buch

While I only discovered this album earlier this year, it's become a favourite of mine. Buch utilises a seven-string Stratocaster and other scuzzy guitar and synth tones to create 15 unique vignettes that jitter between ambient, pop, and shoegaze. The additional drum machine gives several tracks a groovy flair, while others wander in sheer reverb and noise. Just as interesting as the music at hand, the recording process of 'Suntub' warrants discussion. Buch parked her car alongside spots on the Danish coastline to record synth and guitar, infusing an intimate ethos that parallels the songwriting at play here: words like 'fleshy,' 'hold,' and 'skeleton' are recycled on numerous tracks. 

Auckland undoubtedly is a city of water, across its rainclouds and extensive ferry networks. While cruising along the coast, I find myself humming a melody from this record. It glimmers across my brainwaves like the aqueous horizon, sprouting into what Buch calls 'the film of sky.' It's a one-of-a-kind album to score an equally singular place.

Highlights: High speed calm air tonight, Flames shards goo, Fleshless hand, Working it out

'Ask Me No Questions' (1969) — Bridget St John

In the realm of a Nick Drake or early Joni Mitchell, Bridget St John's brief yet powerful discography offers sharp yet poetic folk tunes that are borderline spiritual in their simplicity. Most songs on 'Ask Me No Questions' run only two to three minutes, accompanied by home-spun layers of plucked guitar and field recordings. She muses on tenderness, characters, and the glory in the mundane: the bustle of the city, the touch of hot pavement on bare feet, the passing of autumn. Her contralto voice is conversational and rings like a cello or viola above her already intricate string-work. It's a textbook example of musically doing the most with only a handful of elements. 

Occasionally, when the sun's out, I'll venture to the aforementioned Albert Park for a photosynthesis study-break and bask in this album. Not only is the image of solar heat repeated throughout the record, but the very bird calls and chimes you can hear on the margins of these tracks mirror the park itself; it's music to passively ponder to.

Highlights:  Like Never Before, I Like To Be With You In The Sun, Ask Me No Questions, Suzanne

'Wall of Eyes' (2024) — The Smile

An offshoot of the infamous Radiohead, The Smile — as a younger musical project — experiments delightfully across a range of genres, pitting otherwise opposite palettes to mould distinct soundscapes. Bossa nova and math rock; prog-metal and indie pop; ambient and jazz. Every track here features twists and turns that will leave you guessing on which way the band will take you. What commonly undergirds the record, however, is the fantastical musicality of Thom Yorke's voice, Tom Skinner's groovy percussion, and Johnny Greenwood's ethereal sonic contributions.

This constantly swerving sound mimics Auckland's constant flickering between sun and storm; undoubtedly, it's a temperamental place to live. The deeper and darker production here, as opposed to The Smile's brighter debut, practically ask to be pondered upon while on these precipices.

Highlights: Wall Of Eyes, Read The Room, Bending Hectic

'Exile In Guyville' (1993) & 'Whip-Smart' (1994) — Liz Phair

To describe Liz Phair anachronistically, I'd place her somewhere between 'Brat' by Charli xcx and 'Fetch the Boltcutters' by Fiona Apple, with a touch of Sheryl Crow for good measure. Her girlish indie rock on her first two albums evokes a coming-of-age of an alienated girl, disillusioned with masculinity while still being figured as 'one of the guys.' She tows these gendered lines with tomboyish vocals and awkwardly real choruses detailing hook-ups, draft-dodging, and basement parties going absolutely nowhere. Her anger and passion ride along the same guitar riffs on most of her tracks: it's quintessential dancing-in-your-bedroom, waiting-for-him-to-respond-to-your-text music. 

Phair scores my frustration. Whether it be personal or academic, nothing beats screaming along to her steady, almost anti-musical voice: 'You've gotta have fear in your heart.' It also elicits hilarious reactions from whoever is in your car en route to a day tramp: mostly, from men.

Highlights: 6'1", F— and Run; Chopsticks, Shane

'Like Splitting the Head from the Body' (2018) — Womb

I'd be remiss if I didn't include at least one act from Aotearoa New Zealand on my list other than Lorde (I love her, don't get me wrong!). Womb, based out of Wellington, is a family trio that dabbles in psychedelic, jazz, and indie rock. Their debut encapsulates what makes the act special, employing nocturnal synth textures alongside gently prodding percussion; through repetition and hushed vocals, they paint a gently glimmering and intimate sound that's equally expansive and soul-touching. 

Their sound is cerebral and meditative, perfect for walks across alongside the Viaduct. Since I arrived here in the throes of winter, their music provided great company during the longer nights. I even have the privilege of seeing them live pretty soon, which I'm sure will as unforgettable as time here. 

Highlights:  Like Splitting the Head / From the Body, Protea, When the Night Breaks Up