The news that Fire Records had the rights to the two best albums from The Chills was something happy to read in a miserable summer. That the label was bringing these two records out as soon as possible, and putting them up for order right away was even better to hear. Yes, Submarine Bells (1990) and Soft Bomb (1992) are back in print!
In 1990 I was worked at the Record Co-Op on the campus of the University of Maryland. In the halcyon days of college rock, I felt like we'd be on the front-lines, but the sad truth is that for every 2 R.E.M. albums we sold we probably sold at least one Escape Club cassette. Still, some of our patrons had fantastic taste (lots of the folk who'd end on releases in the early days of Slumberland Records were regular customers), and most of the staff had similarly well-attuned listening habits. But for all that, in 1990 I didn't know anyone except future members of Velocity Girl, and my two friends from a competing record store in the mall, who even knew who The Chills were. Having purchased Brave Words on tape (thanks to the late, great Homestead Records' distribution of the band in the USA then) in late 1987, I was already a fan. And one day a cassette of Submarine Bells showed up in the promo package in the mail from Warner Brothers and I grabbed it. That plain blue cover did nothing to describe the splendors to be found on that promo tape, but within seconds of "Heavenly Pop Hit" starting to play I was elated. The tune not only brought me joy, it brought me a sense of dread that this beloved New Zealand band was about to become as big as R.E.M. in this country. I needn't have worried as the "smart-pop" on the record went over the heads of large swathes of listeners outside of college radio audiences.
"Tied Up in Chains" saw Martin Phillipps railling against racism and fascism over one of his most infectious riffs, this time anchored by a keyboard figure, while the organ-pumped "Singing in My Sleep" married a serene sense of reflection with a world-weariness that sounded like something from peers The Verlaines. "The Oncoming Day", now a roaring number on its album debut, shot energy into the veins, while "Effloresce and Deliquesce" seemed the smartest yet tune from one of rock's smartest songwriters. These all sound great here on this Fire Records reissue, with the entire release having a warmth that feels a bit new. For an already warm release, that's saying something, and testament to how good this remastering job is on this 2020 reissue. And by the time the closing title composition reaches your ears, you're likely to be moved again at just how wonderful this record is, how utterly flawless it seems, with even its rough bits only adding to the overall effect. Submarine Bells remains the quintessential Martin Phillipps offering, and the most consistent and rewarding Chills album to date.
Soft Bomb arrived in 1992 with a lot of anticipation around it. Assuming that the relative success of Submarine Bells in college-rock circles had allowed The Chills to bloom into their full potential on a major label, listeners like me were slightly let down by the resulting record. Mind you, Soft Bomb is a masterpiece, the better of nearly anything you'll hear from that year, but it's not an easy-to-love masterpiece the way the previous Chills record had been two years earlier. What was direct and simple before is cryptic and dense, with tracks going from bright ("Double Summer") to dark ("The Male Monster from the Id") real quick. A longer record that Submarine Bells, Soft Bomb is stuffed to the gills with ideas, and ornamentation around Martin Phillipps' sharp compositions. To that point: Van Dyke Parks worked on "Water Wolves" here, and it's the sort of symphonic pop that is a huge step forward from even "Submarine Bells" just two years before this.
But for all that, one can still hear here the sort of euphoric pop that got this band some attention outside of New Zealand in the first place, notably in the first of three iterations of the title track, and the one with a clever lyrical nod to peers The Clean. And when "Sleeping Giants" takes off, it soars in the sort of way that the best Phillipps' compositions do, such that you feel like you're being reminded again of how smart and clear indie-rock can be when done right. And somewhere within this album, presumably on the more upbeat passages, is Peter Holsapple of The dB's, a fact that I didn't realize then but which makes perfect sense when considered now.
Some 28 years later, Soft Bomb remains an unnecessarily busy record, with arrangements and bits and pieces threatening at times to smother things. For everything that's direct here, there are other numbers that suggest a new introspection in Martin's work. The lovely "Song for Randy Newman, Etc." is mournful but unbelievably wise, like something from Forster and McLennan, while "Entertainer" is haunting and unsettling, the sound of Martin Phillipps entering the worst phase of his life in entertainment as we've since learned. For all that complicates a listen to Soft Bomb, for all the baggage we fans bring to it, it's still a remarkable record, and one which also benefits from the remastering job done here in 2020. The shifts in tonal style, the leaps from bright pop to morose ballads are jarring, but there are a lot of colossal compositions here. In fact, a few still rank among the best ever written by Martin Phillipps.
Submarine Bells (1990) and Soft Bomb (1992) are out now via Fire Records.
More details on The Chills here.