Sheila Tequila

The jangle pop music of the 1980s known as the ‘Dunedin Sound’ has been haunting the southern city.  

Following the success of Gromz’s 2016 EP “Two and a Half Days’, whispers sprouted that a new ‘Dunedin Sound’ had emerged - whispers that became shouts as bands such as Albion Place, Hot Donnas and The Shambles all began to gain popularity, each releasing their own interpretations of the beach-rock genre. It was intoxicating music, songs that you could play in a scummy flat before going out on a Saturday night, and also in the car with your parents on a  cross-country road trip; and it only appeared to be getting bigger. 

Then, there was Jack Berry. 

Another local musician, he rejected the modernised sound of the city out of sheer exhaustion for the genre - every new song he heard had begun to sound the same. Creating music that could be most a-likened to alternative pop, he drew like-minded individuals towards him, regardless of their creative specialty, to create Garbage Records. As of 2022, the label has prominent New Zealand artists nic and reuben, and Wax Mustang signed to it. This is an indicator not only of their success in the industry but also in their stopping power; as Garbage Records continues to go from strength to strength, the concept of the ‘Dunedin Sound’ in the 21st century seems to be dying. 

However, despite Berry and his collaborators promoting diversity in Dunedinites’ artistic ventures,  whether it’s music, painting, or videography (the latter two being epitomised by Hamish Borland,  a.k.a hamishballin, who painted the cover art for BENEE’s single ‘Night Garden’ in 2020, and Riley Coughlin, a creative director who has shot, edited, and animated, a variety of videos for New Zealand musicians in recent years), there is still an unwillingness for Dunedin creatives to promote their own work. I talked to two Dunedin creators, Robbie Baxter and Nick Guilford, about the struggle to speak for their art, when they hope their art will speak for itself. 

Nick Guilford (left) and Robbie Baxter.

Robbie is a producer/singer-songwriter/DJ who has previously released music under Garbage Records, as well as producing and mixing XuzzDoc’s ‘I Suppose’ which, at the time of writing, has 712,000 streams on Spotify. Nick is a painter, guitarist, and DJ. His art can be seen at various cafés across Dunedin, as well as in private collections (if you ask nicely). They launched theirsecond collective, ‘Sheila Tequila’, a house music-oriented project, on the 25th of February 2022,  following the nationwide success of their drum-and-bass collective ‘Norman Foreman’ with DJ and event organiser Sam Taylor. 

Robbie Baxter wants to make it clear that he doesn’t care. “On the record - fuck the haters”, he laughs before immediately backtracking, “no, I don’t want to seem cringe. You want people to take notice of what you make.” 

We’re sitting in his bedroom alongside Nick Guilford. A farming video plays in the background,  promising to teach us ‘How to Tame a Prairie Dog (speedrun 100% no hacks).’ Both Nick and Robbie admit to having no idea what sort of animal a prairie dog is. Slowly, we transition the topic of conversation to its intended purpose: the difficulty of promoting art in New Zealand. Robbie speaks first.

“It’s sad because you don’t want to be pushing it in everyone’s faces. But when someone else does it, it fucking works.” 

Nick concurs, “I don’t want to do it because it feels like I’m not allowed to say that my work is cool - I have to wait for other people to say it’s cool.” 

There’s an instant sense that these men are walking a tightrope in regards to how they gain exposure, as Robbie quickly notes that, on the other end of the spectrum, too much repeated exposure can desensitise the public to what he is trying to promote. 

“You don’t want to overshare posts online because then people will scroll past it and be like “Oh, Robbie shared another fucking song”. That happens all the time. The number of likes goes down until nobody cares.” 

There seems to be a disconnect between what they’re saying and their role in pushing other New  Zealanders’ music into the spotlight as the creators of Norman Foreman, but they remind me that just because they’ve made it their job to give others exposure, it doesn’t mean they enjoy doing it.  The collective stemmed from the concept of ‘if not me, then whom?’ - Nick, Robbie and Sam felt that talented DJs and producers from around the country who were unwilling to promote their own music were being under-represented. 

“I swear it’s because New Zealand is such a small country,” Nick comments. “In America, for example, there are so many people so it feels like there is a better chance of being taken seriously. You’re seen as an artist first and foremost, rather than, like, the brother of a friend of someone’s cousin. Here, there’s a fear that you’re just going to be laughed at.” 

By this time, they’ve identified that a prairie dog is closer to a naked mole-rat than a domesticated dog. I probe, “Do you sometimes wish there was an alternative to drum and bass that was a uniquely Dunedin sound?” Both men have lived in Dunedin for long enough to understand what I’m implying. 

"I think it’s good to not be categorised into one genre,” Robbie comments. “People seem to see the big dick-swingers in Dunedin music and think they’re assholes automatically - you don’t want to show them something for them to hate it because it doesn’t ‘fit in their style.’ In reality, they’re  just excited you’re creating something.” 

This fear of not fitting in with the right style may be a scar left from the Dunedin Sound revival, or even the remnants of a long-standing issue in New Zealand: tall poppy syndrome. Nick says he’s nervous to release paintings in case he’s asked to defend himself and his art, and he’s not sure he can. Robbie argues that he’s never actually heard of anyone explicitly being told that their art is shitty in New Zealand. It’s agreed that the syndrome doesn’t always manifest itself in the form of hateful comments but rather through the apathy of the public. 

“Apathy leads to ambiguity,” Nick says. He chews the words in his mouth before saying them.  “Ambiguity about the validity of what I’m painting. The more you sit with the nothingness, the more you take it negatively.” 

Any sort of discourse about creative endeavours, positive or negative, online or in-person, is greatly needed in New Zealand. Nick proposes that there should be an online platform like SoundCloud or Spotify for physical art, which can increase exposure and generate conversations about the pieces, rather than being forced to create new pieces at a faster rate, which he would be unhappy with anyway. 

“It’s difficult because you need to be constantly creating new shit to get exposure when you’re privately selling your pieces. Prints are a good way to build a reputation in Dunedin, but prints never sell the piece for what it is, and so I’m not sure if it’s the best exposure for what I do.” 

You can find Robbie’s singles ‘LUV LETTA’ and ‘Rear View’ on his Soundcloud, and Nick’s art can be seen on his Instagram @gyuleeg.