Remembering Martin Phillipps. —Ed.
For some, the two early 1990s releases from New Zealand’s The Chills, Submarine Bells and Soft Bomb, served as a doorway of introduction to one of the finest tunesmiths in the whole pop-rock shebang. But for folks who were previously clued-in to the band’s work for the Flying Nun label, these albums, both cut for Slash Records, represent leader and sole constant Chill Martin Phillipps’ already considerable pop ambitions in full flower. Both albums are available through Fire Records.
Although it was never my preferred format, back in 1990 when Submarine Bells came out, I was still in the habit of occasionally buying music on cassette. I mention this because I did indeed initially purchase Bells on that very format, a decision spurred by impatience, as on my visit, the store didn’t have any copies in stock.
This pained me a little at the time, but I also knew I could remove the shrink wrap and pop that tape right into the car’s deck for immediate listening out on the highway, which was enticing as The Chills’ sound, which flows from a jangle pop/ indie pop fount with tangible if savvy nods to the 1960s, is well-suited for vehicular absorption. Upon reflection, Submarine Bells hits something of an apex in the windows down volume up mode, beginning with one of the band’s signature tunes, “Heavenly Pop Hit.”
That song’s stature relates largely to pure skill in the construction, but as said up above, Submarine Bells was many folks’ intro to The Chills, and sequenced on that album first, “Heavenly Pop Hit” no doubt deepened this first impression. Along with reaching No. 2 on the New Zealand singles chart (the album hit No. 1, as The Chills weren’t an u-ground thing at home), it snuck into the UK singles sales list at No. 97 and even made the Alternative Airplay chart in the US at No. 17.
But in breaking through to a wider audience, The Chills had experience on their side, with the pre-Slash output including the superb compilation Kaleidoscope World. Released in 1986, the expanded CD version from three years later featured ’85’s “The Lost EP,” which was licensed by Homestead and issued standalone in the US. All this activity could obscure that Submarine Bells was only The Chills second full-length; Brave Worlds, their debut, hit shelves in 1987.
Submarine Bells brightened The Chills’ sound, but it otherwise made no major alterations to an approach that was already amongst the very best in the pop-rock biz. Instrumentally sharp, the keyboards of Andrew Todd broaden Phillipps’ jangle foundation as the rhythm team of bassist Justin Harwood and drummer James Stephenson knew exactly how much weight to give each of the compositions, which launch from a classique foundation but with an utter avoidance of cliché. Phillipps’ distinctive vocals bring it all together, and to often exquisite result.
In terms of ambition, the record’s highpoint is its concluding title track, but in “The Oncoming Day” the playing gets quite energetic, and later, in “Familiarity Breeds Contempt,” becomes borderline raucous (like we’re halfway to Vaselines territory), while “Singing in My Sleep” offers an infusion of tremolo rather than jangle. But it’s the sweet beauty moves, like the organ strains in “Dead Web” and the piano and strum of “Don’t Be – Memory,” that help to secure Submarine Bells as a masterpiece.
For newbies, the song title “Effloresce and Deliquesce” should be a tipoff to Phillipps’ disinterest in merely revamping standard subject matter, though don’t worry, it’s not like he’s bludgeoning you with a hardcover dictionary. This striving for lyrical freshness, and Phillipps’ delivery, helps to elevate Submarine Bells’ finale, but it’s the orchestration that points the way forward to 1992’s Soft Bomb.
Reviewing Somewhere Beautiful, The Chills 2013 live album at the time of its release, I slightly denigrated Soft Bomb for its unabashed maturity and the sheer breath of its ambition, but spending some time with it anew over the last few months, I’m afraid I need to retract any minor misgivings I previously articulated regarding this record, because from the vantage point of 2020, it’s the equal to its predecessor in terms of quality.
And it’s not like Phillipps cast aside the guitar pop he’d been perfecting since the early ’80s, as Soft Bomb’s opener “The Male Monster From the Id” makes clear. I stress Phillips in this case, as the band that made Submarine Bells had broken up, though in fact lineup changes weren’t unusual in The Chills; for this go ‘round, Phillipps enlisted Peter Holsapple of the dB’s as multi-instrumentalist (amongst many others), which worked out nicely as they shared a background in advanced pop studies.
A major facet of Soft Bomb’s enlarged scope are the two fragmentary variants of the longer title track, and the two short pieces “There Is No Harm in Trying” and “There Is No Point in Trying,” these cuts adding to the cumulative weight of a record that’s still only a little over 50 minutes long. And then there’s “Water Wolves,” with strings arranged by Van Dyke Parks, a connection that surprised some at the time but was effectively foreshadowed on the prior record by “Submarine Bells.”
“Song for Randy Newman Etc.” articulates Phillipps’ growth as a songwriter as he continued progressing beyond the psych-shaded jangle of The Chills’ early, more garage-aligned work. On Soft Bomb his pop auteur status is undeniable. Still, the mode of operation was essentially the same. A fan at heart, Phillipps adapted and transformed his loves into a style that continues to be unmistakable with anyone else’s.
Submarine Bells
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Soft Bomb
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