New Zealand, Beastwars’ home country, is very remote. The closest neighbours are three hours by plane away. If you were to swim south from Bluff, the next land mass you’d hit would be Antarctica.
It is also large, so its inhabitants are relatively remote from each other, as well as other lands. If you were to superimpose the country onto Europe, it would stretch from Copenhagen to the Mediterranean Sea. If the archipelago were to be plonked on the east coast of the US, the northernmost point of Cape Reinga would be nudging into Canada, while Rakiura, or Stewart Island, in the south would be basking in the Gulf of Mexico.
This remoteness, and subsequent yearning to listen to what the rest of the world is up to, have given the country its own musical culture – especially in the realms of guitar-driven genres since the late 1970s. And this new Beastwars album of cover tracks is a celebration of that recent history – as well as sounding like an excellent Beastwars album. One upside of the, ahem, tyranny of distance endured by New Zealanders and Australians, if you like.
If you will allow a little diversion, may we give an extremely truncated history of Kiwi alternative music. The so-called Dunedin Sound is the best-known New Zealand export, with its jangly, melancholy, occasionally acerbic and angular pop music. Put it this way: when Kiwis listened to early Blur many thought “we’ve heard this before”.
But away from this, New Zealand music outside of radio-friendly pop hits has had a core of darkness running through it. Some with a clear lineage from Joy Division – The Gordons, for instance – and others from the melancholy of outlaw country, like Marlon Williams. Still others harnessed the bleak drone and repetitiveness of Neu!, like Headless Chickens (and their predecessor, Children’s Hour) and Snapper. Even ostensibly poppy bands like Fur Patrol, or folky acoustic singer-songwriters like Nadia Reid, have had their moments of gloom. And all of the above artists have cherry picked influences from other areas.
And then there are Beastwars. They may play sludge metal, but they do so with a distinctly New Zealand flavour. High On Fire is the most obvious touchstone, but over their four albums there have been moments of industrial dirge, gloomy blues and out-and-out noise.
And with that in mind, the songs they have picked for Tyranny of Distance give a glimpse into their musical upbringing – or at least a flavour of the country they grew up in and the songs that may have been playing on Radio Active in their native Wellington when they were nippers.
The originals on Tyranny of Distance were played by the bands above – or in the case of standout track ‘We Light Fire’ by the lead singer of Fur Patrol, Julia Deans – along with the 3Ds (notable for outshining Nirvana when they played in support) and Superette.
The Superette song, with Deans on guest vocals, ‘Waves’ is a lurching beast of a song – and it is a particularly clever mash-up, as it uses the crunching riff from ‘Saskatchewan’ by the same band. Together, it sounds like a Beastwars song. ‘Spooky’, the final track on the album – originally by noisy jangle-pop outfit The 3Ds – follows a similar path, with the rustic plucks of an acoustic guitar from the original turned up to maximum.
The three songs that most resemble the originals are from the 1980s; the urgent, angular Gordons sound coming through strongly in ‘Identity’, Snapper’s comforting drone in ‘Emmanuelle’ turned up full and transformed into a stoner-rock song perfect for driving fast to – and the nascent post-punk electro of ‘Looking for the Sun’ by Children’s Hour slipping easily into a proto-hardcore rager.
‘Dark Child’ by Williams was the spark that kicked this album of covers off – a country-tinged number about a boy who takes his own life, as told by his father. Singer Matthew Hyde wanted the band to cover it, but then stuff happened – he got cancer, the band went on hiatus, he retrained as a nurse, Covid… Then a brewery stepped in and financed a whole album of covers. So here we are – and Beastwars turn ‘Dark Child’ into something even bleaker than the original, but still immensely satisfying.
Similarly ‘High and Lonely’, by Reid takes on a far darker hue than the original, with Beastwars restraining themselves from out-and-out loudness.
Then there is ‘We Light Fire’. What a gorgeous song. The original is Deans and an acoustic guitar and is brilliant in itself. But the lyrics in Matthew Hyde’s hands become desperate, bleak – and wait for the spine-tingling chord progression in the chorus.
It epitomises the ethos behind the album – to unearth some undiscovered gems (well, undiscovered by the rest of the world outside Aotearoa) and give them some attention. And Beastwars have done every song proud. For those who know the original artists, it gives fresh impetus to some old (and not so old) memories. And for those who have never heard them before but are interested in the provenance of the tunes, this album provides a whole plethora of rabbit holes to dive into.
