The Chills Doledrums

Two years ago, the world lost Martin Phillips — a remarkable artist of rare sensitivity and imagination whose music shaped so much of what I love. I’ve written before of my love of the Chills and about how deeply he influenced me, and how that admiration opened the door to so many other New Zealand bands that have become woven into the soundtrack of my life.

I only had one direct interaction with Martin, and I’ve carried a quiet regret about it ever since. In 2001, he released the three CD collection Secret Box: Chills Rarities, which I ordered immediately. When it arrived, the special jewel case was damaged, and I emailed him to complain. He responded with humility and kindness, apologized, and sent a replacement without hesitation. Over the years, I’ve replayed that moment and recognized how misplaced my frustration was — as if he were personally responsible for whatever happened in transit. He handled it with humility and generosity, and I wish I had matched that.

With time, I’ve revisited that exchange and recognized how misplaced my irritation was — directed at someone who had poured so much of himself into his work, someone who had weathered struggles far greater than a damaged jewel box. Knowing now how difficult certain years were for him only deepens my regret. I’ve grown a lot in the twenty five years since then, and I’ve learned from moments like this. I wish I had written back, apologized, and simply told him how profoundly his music has meant to me — how inspiring it was to watch him persevere through challenges and continue creating beauty.  

I doubt he ever connected my name as a supporter of his documentary to that old email. He never struck me as someone who held onto small grievances or keep a ledger of human imperfections or kept score. Still, I carry the wish that I had offered him the gratitude he deserved.

Martin, wherever you are — know that you were cherished by countless people across this wide world, and that your absence is felt. Your music continues to echo, gentle and enduring, in all the places you once illuminated.