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Words by Guy van Egmond Oh, the magic of the movie theatre. The latest cinematic art and entertainment on the silver screen; luxury seats and service, the widest array of confectionery and the greatest markup on a bag of chips known to mankind. I spent 5 years working at an adorable cinema in Matakana and it was one of the greatest first jobs any 14-year-old could hope for. Working a couple shifts a week, I built up my hours behind the counter, under seats and inside projectors. I climbed the ranks to be assistant manager by the time I left. But, as with any industry, work somewhere long enough and the illusions of rigour and quality fade, the cheeky shortcuts and blindspots become clear. I have no grievances with cinemas—I still go very regularly—but I do think it’s only fair to now offer a glimpse behind that silver screen.  First order of business, I admit: cinema food is overpriced, often ridiculously so. But please grin and bear it. The problem doesn’t lie with the cinema; they’ve got wages and power and rent to pay. But that money sure doesn’t come from tickets. For a big blockbuster like Barbie or Oppenheimer, the faceless money-hungry studios demand more than half of ticket sales in the opening weeks—and continue to carve out their chunk of profit throughout the film's release. The films make piss-all profit themselves, but they’re incredible people-magnets: cinemas are basically candy-shops that happen to have a couple projectors going in the back. How else could people be tempted to buy an ice-cream, drink and a bag of chips for $18?  In all honesty, I wouldn’t want to pay that much either. So I could never get too mad when people ran to the Four Square for a Party Mix and a Coke. If I didn’t catch you? Fair play, enjoy. Just take your rubbish out with you! There is no bigger middle finger to some poor kid on minimum-wage than an empty can of Pringles on the floor, the last chips ground to dust in the carpet. You and I both know they didn’t sell those, so you can save them the extra work too. But the lolly-smuggler’s litter is nothing in comparison to what else could be found after screenings. The lost property was always stacked with sunglasses (easy to lose), credit cards (unfortunate), shoes (how didn’t you notice?!), car keys (how did you get home!?!). And what the rubbish bin got was even worse. One coworker’s favourite story was the used tampon he’d found on the floor…  We’d find these things while cleaning the theatres, but don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s sanitary. If you’re after the cleanest seat, bring it from home. We’d get hundreds of people through a single space each day, and the credits didn’t last nearly long enough to do a thorough job. The most you could hope for is a sweep of the crumbs and a wipe of the tabletop. To be fair, that’s all that most seats needed after a session. Every so often, some inept child would spill half an ice cream over the armrest, but that’s nothing a bit of fabric cleaner and a wet cloth couldn’t fix. However, any seasoned employee would know which seats never to choose: the one sat in by the lady who had some bad chicken from the restaurant downstairs; the one sat in by the 4-year old and their apple juice who didn’t need to “go bathroom” before the film. Those seats are beyond cleaning. Those seats should be burned.  Or at least deeply sanitised. Which does happen, I promise you. Besides Christmas, there were one or two days a year where we’d close up shop for the whole day. A battalion of us youths tempted by extra pay—and our 32-year-old manager who didn’t get a choice—would march through each theatre. The forward ranks with brushes and dustpans, spray bottles and cloths; behind them followed the vacuum and the steam cleaner, heavy artillery of this battlefield. The months of dust and crumbs never stood a chance. Buckets worth of stale popcorn, gum, bottle caps, dollar coins were pried out from between the seats. Mysterious stains were erased from existence, the pattern of the carpet rediscovered. It was always a hard day’s work, but satisfying. And afterwards, we’d go buy waffles with all the loose change we found.  But we weren’t a troupe of hired cleaners. The majority of our work instead required smiles and saintly patience, and an arsenal of ‘mm’s and ‘mhm’s. There’s an art to managing customers, skills which were very often put to the test. That black marble countertop saw some of the most ignorant, self-important and indecisive people Matakana had to offer; like the Almond Milk Lady, who tried to use an expired student ID every time and would  complain that her order of ‘scalding almond milk’ was both too expensive and not hot enough.  Working the box office was the greatest hands-on crash-course; I learnt volumes about rhetoric and improvisation. After 8 hours of dusting and cleaning, it was rare that I'd want to spend another 2 hours in those very same seats. Which meant I very often hadn’t seen every single film we had screening at that moment. But with clues picked up from the poster and reviews, I could pitch just about any film to any guest. I once sold a man a ticket to Paw Patrol: The Movie at 10:15 in the morning. Although, I don’t know if I can claim much credit there, he just needed to kill an hour.  Then there were the moments that called for feigned shock and horror. Those chips you just bought were a week past their best-before? “Oh jeez, I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” Damn, we were hoping no one would notice. Like restaurants reusing the table bread and butter, cinemas are masters at making stock last. The best-before date is a loose guideline at best, and not legally binding. Besides, the chips tasted fine! I would know, I ‘checked’ an entire bag of them in my break. Slightly more criminal was when my manager gave me a box of colas dated to three weeks ago. I spent half an hour in the back with meths and a cloth, rubbing the best-before dates off bottle necks.  Infuriatingly, the times they never believed me were when I spoke with full honesty. The post-credits scene is a fun little gimmick and it gets people to sit through the credits. But certain unnamed franchises such as Marvel have pavloved audiences into expecting a reward at the end of every film, which very often is not the case. There were countless times that I’d be forced to sit in the theatre, listening to credits music that I’d heard three times already that day, because two diehards wouldn’t take my word for it. No, there’s no teaser for Elvis 2, go home!  The cinema certainly has its quirks, some more off-putting than others. But that’s the case with almost any industry: restaurants, hotels. I’m sure builders cut corners, and even a surgeon must forget to sanitise on occasion. We humans are inherently gross and lazy creatures. So please, don’t let me put you off the movie experience. It’s a wonderful way to spend a couple hours and a couple dollars. Take the upgrade on the popcorn and the chocolate-dipped icecream. Enjoy! Settle into your seat and try not to think about how many others sat there before, or why the attendant chuckled when you picked your seat, or what that weirdly sour smell is…

JAMIE CLUMPAS (HE/ANY) VUWSA has defended promoting high-dose caffeine pill “Nō Dōz” in the face of online backlash. The posts on Facebook and Instagram, which said the pills were to keep students ‘wide awake for a hard night’s study,’ were not declared as paid promotion.  The posts drew numerous critical comments, with one saying ‘This seems reckless and borderline irresponsible to promote.’ A Nō Dōz pill contains 200mg of caffeine, dwarfing the 80mg in a 250ml can of redbull. However much more common on NZ shelves is Nō Dōz plus,  which, despite the name,   only contains 100mg. 400mg is considered the maximum healthy dose of caffeine - more can cause anxiety, insomnia, loss of appetite and other symptoms. While caffeine pills are theoretically no riskier than other forms of caffeine, its much easier to slam back 3-5 pills in one go than 6 cans. VUWSA president Marcail Parkinson explained that the ad is part of a very large advertising deal with Auckland-based Wilson Consumer Products to promote a variety of their products, saying “VUWSA doesn’t specify which products they are allowed to advertise. They send us through a set number of ads per year and we put them out.” She said modifying the agreement to have more control on future ads could be possible, but that the contract is essential in funding services; ‘we are the most underfunded student association in the country, advertising is how the community pantry runs, how Salient runs, and the only way we can continue to put on O-week.’ She continued ‘we’ve been putting pressure on the university to fund us so we don’t have to rely on advertising, but they don’t have the appetite for it.’ Parkinson confirmed the omission of sponsorship marking was an “oversight.” The Facebook post has now been edited to include “#ad.” The instagram post, as well as other sponsored posts on the VUWSA facebook page have not been updated as of writing.

Words by VUWSA President Marcail Parkinson (she/her) When I first started working, unions seemed like a distant concept, something I heard mentioned in passing but never really understood. What did they even do? Were they just a bunch of organisations with confusing acronyms? And most importantly, what did they have to do with me?  But then, like many of us, I encountered some truly shit work scenarios and then ended up in a classic Wellington flat (mouldy, cold, and with no opening windows!). These things seemed unfair, but I didn't know where to turn for help. That’s when I started at VUWSA and quickly realised the necessity of unions.  Turns out unions are a poor student’s best friend—being in a union is like having a guy who you can complain to when people are being horrible to you and they can step in and fight your fights for you. Your union is there to stand up for you and do the work to make sure you get treated right.  Essentially, a union is a collective voice for workers, an organisation that stands up for employees in the workplace. They act as advocates, both collectively and individually with the employee's consent, negotiating for better working conditions and fair treatment.   One of the primary functions of unions is to bargain for collective employment agreements with employers. These agreements outline the terms and conditions of employment, including wages, hours, benefits, and workplace policies. By banding together, workers gain strength in numbers, increasing their bargaining power and ensuring their voices are heard.  But unions offer more than just collective bargaining. They provide invaluable support and resources to their members. From offering advice on work-related issues to providing training and educational opportunities, unions empower workers to understand their rights and stand up for themselves.  Membership in a union typically requires payment of a fee, but for those in casual or fixed-term positions, the cost is often minimal or even free. And the benefits far outweigh the dues. By joining a union, you not only gain access to expert guidance and representation but also become part of a community. You'll have the chance to connect with fellow workers, join networks based on common interests or identities, and build solidarity across different sectors.  So, when you find yourself in need of advice, support, or representation at work, remember that unions are there for you. Whether it's addressing a dispute, navigating a disciplinary process, or asserting your rights in the workplace, unions have your back.  VUWSA are a student union which means we’re here to look after students and whatever it is that students care about. Our advocacy service deals with all kinds of issues, from problems with the uni and your courses to employment to renting we’ve got you covered. Luckily for you VUWSA is also free (although we are partially funded through your student services fee), so make sure to make the most of our services!  What union is right for you?? All Vic Uni Students - VUWSA (free) Tutors & other uni staff - TEU (free for tutors) Hospo workers - Unite Union Public Sector - PSA If you aren’t sure which union to join come chat with us at the VUWSA office or look on the NZCTU website <3

Harris Puanaki Devon & Te Waikamihi Lambert Tumuaki o Te Mana Ākonga & Tumuaki Takirua o Ngāi Tauira The racist disestablishment of Te Aka Whai Ora by the New Zealand Government undermines 184 years of tino rangatiratanga and mana motuhake Māori. The continued weaponisation of Pākehā legislation to perpetuate Māori suffering and inequity is not surprising, and proves the ongoing and vicious existence of colonialism within modern-day New Zealand. The excuse of 'urgency' to push the bill through Parliament reveals the violent usage of ignorance and incompetence to stall equality. Where was this 'urgency' when Tūhoe was illegally raided? Where was this urgency when Ihumātao was being illegally confiscated? Where has this urgency been whilst the Government has sat silently observing a genocide in Palestine? The argument that Te Aka Whai Ora promotes inequality and privileges Māori ignores the systematic and racist frameworks of the New Zealand health system, a health system derived from the colonial teets of Westminster—built by Pākehā, for Pākehā and with Pākehā. By ignoring Māori and disestablishing Te Aka Whai Ora, the New Zealand Government is sitting idly whilst overseeing the continued death and suffering of Māori under its governance. For continued decades Māori have been told to find solutions by New Zealand Governments, and each time these are undermined and deemed not good enough. The Government is not good enough. The Government has never been good enough. The overrepresentation of Māori in negative health statistics derives from colonisation and the consequential social, cultural, physical and legal barriers, which have prevented Māori from achieving true equity in a health system that purports to support them. This is the birthright of Māori, as guaranteed under Article 3 of Te Tiriti o Waitangi which states that all New Zealand citizens shall be equal. The Government's actions to disestablish Te Aka Whai Ora is anti-Māori, is anti-Te Tiriti, is anti-Aotearoa, and is regressive—we are witnessing the re-colonisation of the New Zealand Health system which aims to forcefully portray Māori, as James Prendergast once described, as "primitive and barbaric". Nā māua, me ngā mihi o te wā, nā

Words by: Guy van Egmond (he/him) Content warning: suicide I am genuinely lost for words, trying to describe Twenty Minutes to Nine. It was nostalgic, raw, grim and witty, heart-sinking and furious and so painfully wise. Absolutely phenomenal.  The show is personal even before it starts. I’m sitting in the front of two rows of seats, so there’s no doubt it’ll be an intimate show. Amanda (Santuccione (They/Her), the show’s writer and performer) asks what we’re up to afterwards, if we’d be alright to wait another 5 minutes for the last few people. In the end it’s me, a mother-and-adult-son duo, three other women and Amanda. We chat back and forth about hills and penguins, public transport and spilt beer.  Then suddenly, with only the quieting of the house music, it begins.  Amanda knows their show so inside and out that it feels no different than our small talk just before. Effortlessly conversational, she lays out the foundations of her life: her father playing ‘Blackbird’ in the evenings, moving to the not-a-farm around the block, her brothers and their rock, jazz, blues, folk bands. From the get-go, we’re drawn into the world as they see it, the world they grew up in. Zero time is wasted with cliche or generalisation; her dedication to detail is vivid and so full of love. They also build their world with more than words. Through subtle mime and mimicking, she laughs at the way her mother would ask for a cup of tea as you’re just getting up, and send it back when it wasn’t perfect. Those habits that drive you up the wall. Those habits you didn’t know you loved until they’re gone.  Because Twenty Minutes to Nine is, ultimately, a show about loss. A sharing of grief and pain and the confusion when people are suddenly taken from you, or choose to leave. Amanda knows loss more keenly than most others, and is entirely candid about it. Death took an incredible toll on their life, and this isn’t a miracle success story where everything is suddenly golden again. But it is a story that stubbornly remembers the good times. A story that tells you of the night that Jaspar was found, pauses, and then says “I met Jaspar at 18. He looked like a young John Lennon.”  Beyond the memories and anecdotes, the show is a call to action. It’s angry, against a profit-driven healthcare system that gives people open access to suicidal amounts of prescription drugs. It’s angry, against a system that won’t accept a call for help as an emergency, not until it’s too late. But it’s angry, not resigned; her story is driven by hope. Grief doesn’t ever leave you, Amanda says, but it changes. You learn to live with it. It can take a painfully long time, but the hard times will pass.  Most of all however, the show is a celebration. Through her multitalented performances, Amanda remembers and honours the beautiful people they’ve shared their life with, those still at the party and those who’ve left. Her guitar echoed her father’s serenades and made soundscape backgrounds for her poetry about femininity. Their beautiful accordion performance remembered music lessons with their grandfather, and the last conversation they had with their grandmother. Amanda Santuccione is one of the most talented storytellers I have ever met, who’s undeniable affection and dedication left tears prickling in my eyes, as our gentle claps became a rapturous applause.  Twenty Minutes to Nine is still running, from Thursday 29 th  till Sunday the 2 nd  at two/fiftyseven on Willis St. I urge anyone who can to go see this truly shattering, heartfelt performance.

Words by Phoebe Pierard (she/her) Greeted by a wondrously energetic, excited, and (most probably) exhausted crew after an intense season, this beautifully immersive show was the perfect distraction from my bad breakup earlier in the week.  Oh That Theatre Company’s Fringe show Icky, written by Viki Moananu, won the Best Play by a Pasifika Playwright for the Adams NZ Play Award 2023 and was shortlisted in Playmarket’s Playwrights B425 competition. Lizzy Burton-Wood’s direction reshaped the experience by organising the stage in ‘traverse style’. The set-up acted as an aisle of life: two chairs on either side and a doorway in the centre. Icky, a meandering and mournful student, played by Moananu, paced and slipped into different timelines as they muddled their way through grief, yet marvellously wove a tale of university embarrassment, shitty friendships, and neglectful, flawed parents.  Though the focus was on Moananu’s superb acting with the feel of a solo show, Burton-Wood supported the act in the corner as a musician, foley artist, and voice actor, using wine bottles, paper, blocks, ukulele, and guitar. The lighting and stage production was seamless. The sparse Dome in BATS Theatre was lit up, from a rainy blue to a rager of a student party (where dice cup and monopoly were played simultaneously?!) The relationship between the crew was intoxicating and perfectly supported the play. The dramedy cushioned the dismay of the plot and Icky’s grief with humour. There were gentle reminders that this was  a play that was self-aware of its situation through jokes and, at times, with the knowing looks between the operator, Angela Pelham, Burton-Wood, and Moananu. Likewise, the audience was acknowledged for their place in the play—at times acting as bodies over which Burton-Wood would act their lines, and at times acknowledged directly, as with Icky’s slightly ambiguous, poignant comment that they were just talking to “you guys” when they found out about their father’s death. These elements of using mime and bodiless voices to tell the story made this play more acutely a commentary on aloneness, storytelling, and grief. The play between hearing both sides of the conversation through voice acting and Viki’s lines and, at times, only hearing Viki’s responses and commentary, kept a fresh and engaging perspective. The show’s closing, where the giant Tartar Sauce draws Icky out of their tumultuous spiral through dancing and pulling a reluctant Icky through the transformative doorway, emphasised the importance of people and acknowledging and processing grief.  While the night I viewed the show had a lousy audience (some of the jokes didn’t reach the desired response), the show delivered an enticing and rich Wellingtonian experience. Sprinkled with camp and ironic use of xylophones, Icky  was a show that spoke to the experiences and lives of students and the youth in Aotearoa. A visionary performance of queerness, mental health, and grief that reminded us of the importance of saying “goodbye”.

Q: Is it too soon to move in together? My boyfriend and I, both 20, have been together for 2 years. While my friends and family think it's too quick, I feel it's been fine. Am I being naive?  At the age of twenty, I entered my first "serious" relationship. He spent at least four nights a week with me. I was enjoying the freedom of living independently, without parents or rules, but I quickly grew reliant on his presence. I would get frustrated, furious even if he could not join me every night or so.. My stability was utterly dependent on him being in my bed nearly-every night. We didn’t live together, but the big-codependency-bear is real. Don’t lose your individuality by trying to grow up too quickly.  I want to preface this advice with the idea that something being ‘too quick’, is created by society's expectations. There is no official timeline for anything. There may be unique factors in your relationship which have led you to living with your partner. Maybe something traumatic has occurred and you need that support? Maybe it reduces living costs, enabling you to live in the city? If so, then I am sure that this is the best decision for you both.  However, you are 20-fucking-years-old.  You’ve been together for two years. That means  you met in high-school.  Look, maybe this person is  your soul-mate, twin-flame, or whatever other tik-tok-created-pet-name you want to call them. However, that does not revoke the fact that you have got your entire life  to live with your partner. Whilst you have your entire life to live with your partner, you only have  limited time where you can live with your best friends. Living with friends is nothing short of the most transformative moments of your life, and in my opinion, one of the most rewarding aspects of being in your twenties. The personal development that occurs when living in a flat with your besties is unmatched.  You create life-long friendships and lessons which are priceless.  So, to answer your question, I don’t know all your circumstances, I cannot say whether you’re being naive or not. What I can say is that by choosing to live with your partner you are missing out on unrepeatable  life moments - when you literally don’t have too.  Ask yourself, is living with a person you met in high school really worth sacrificing irreplaceable moments of your youth, friendships and self-development?  Is it really worth it when you can have the best of both worlds? You can live with your friends, experience personal development, friendship and learning  as you enter the adult world, and then; live with your high-school-sweet-heart-eternal-twin-flame-lover in the future. You don’t even have to break up. Don’t cut yourself short. You don’t need to be wifed up and settled at the ripe age of twenty, save that for 2030. Enjoy life while it’s in front of you, it sounds like you’re trying to grow up when you don’t have too.  Need a hand? Send your anonymous questions here !

Embracing Belonging Through Club Engagement Words by UniQ President Khai Dye-Brinkman (they/them) Entering university marks a pivotal moment in one's life, a transition into newfound independence and self-discovery. For many, university clubs serve as vital conduits to forge connections and foster a sense of community. My own journey as a fresher led me to UniQ, the queer students’ club, where I discovered a profound sense of community. UniQ, like many university clubs, offered more than just a space for socialization; it provided a sanctuary where individuals of all backgrounds and orientations could converge without judgment. Walking into UniQ's events, I was greeted with warmth and openness, instantly dispelling any apprehensions I had. The club's commitment to inclusivity transcended mere rhetoric; it was palpable in every interaction, fostering an environment where diversity was not just acknowledged but celebrated. Engaging with UniQ extended beyond casual gatherings; it became a catalyst for personal growth and self-acceptance. Through discussions, events, and unwavering support from fellow members, I found the courage to embrace my identity. UniQ became more than a club; it evolved into a lifeline, a beacon of hope in navigating the complexities of university life. My experience with UniQ underscores the power of club engagement in fostering a sense of community. Whether one identifies within the LGBTQ+ spectrum or not, the essence of belonging transcends labels, encapsulating the universal yearning for connection and acceptance. As I continue my journey through university, I carry with me the invaluable lessons learned within UniQ's embrace: that true belonging lies not in conformity but in the unapologetic celebration of our authentic selves.

words by Miriama Campbell (she/her) Kia ora e hoa, ko Miri ahau. I hear you'reyour new here; don’t worry, I was a fresher too. Let me tell you about my experience as a first year studying at Te Herenga Waka. My first year was 2022, right as we were starting to see the possibility of a return to normality after the covid lockdowns. And honestly, the first tri was absolute shit. Although I like to blame it on the covid restrictions, allowing me to do all my courses from the comfort of my single sized bed, in my quarantined hall. I made the mistake of putting minimal effort into seeking help, and lost my way. But not you, you’re going to be better than me. Here's some quick tips to stay fresh. Kanohi ki te kanohi Go to campus Only use zoom if you need it Take rough notes in class, use the online notes to tidy them up at home Join a club! Whakawhānaungatanga is really the best thing you can do, especially as a Māori in a Pākehā system. Ngāi Tauira was my lifeline. Find people similar to you, you can find friends in halls too but don’t limit yourself. Take the pressure off Uni is important but so are you. Take care of yourself. Āwhina is the Māori student support group here, they can help with anything e hoa, trust them Stay hydrated Drink water. Always. It helps with the hangovers too. Kia Waimarie!! Nā Miriama Campbell

Explored and Catalogued by Sabrina Gates (she/her) When I first decided to make the move to Te Whanganui-ā-tara, my Wellington-native Dad was delighted. All his fond and foolish memories flooded into his mind’s eye as he recounted, “you know, I probably have a memory on every street corner of that place”. After three short years in this city, I already felt I could agree to his statement. Wellington can feel small, especially when it’s assignment season and campus feels like a never-ending liminal space. Do not give in to this! Seek the crevasses and hidden gems.  Coffee, Beer, and Food. Start your residence here by enjoying the culinary creativity of the city, with so many options and cuisines. These are a drop in the harbour of what the baristas, chefs, and brewers of Pōneke have to offer.    Swimsuit, 5 Lombard Street Tucked away in a cosy nook on Lombard Street, a friendly barista brews an unmistakably Wellingtonian oat milk flat white. Lombard Street provides the perfect seclusion for study, hungover debriefs, great coffee, and highly addictive cheese scones. Swimsuits Dixon Street location is also great, its fishbowl interior and outside tables making it ideal for people watching.  The Rogue and Vagabond, 18 Garrett Street It’s 4pm on Friday, and you’ve just finished your last class of the week. Outside the lecture hall, the sun beats down on the hustle and bustle of students excited about the new year. Situated just 10 minutes away in Glover Park is a crisp Ginger Fusion 4% beverage from Rogue. Accompanied by live jazzy tunes, picnic style seating, and impeccable vibes—you won’t want to miss out.  Cafe Laz, 112 Cuba Street I couldn’t make this without shouting out my favourite kebab spot in the city. With a main restaurant in Newtown, they also have a quaint street stall at the entrance of Left Bank, just off Cuba Mall. The falafel kebab…lord…it’s so fresh and the portions are ridiculous.  Walks, Swims, and Picnics. Te Whanganui-ā-tara packs a whole lot of natural beauty into a small harbour. Familiarise yourself with the Metlink app (the Catchy  app is not-so-laggy alternative) and get exploring! Brooklyn Windmill, entrance at 231 Aro Street If you are new to Wellington, I challenge you and a friend to walk off the Sunday scaries with a march up to the windmill. Taking in Pōneke from above the hills changed my perspective of the city, and provided me a sense of direction and place—so important when moving somewhere new. If walking isn’t an option, the windmill is accessible by road so anyone can enjoy the view. Central Park, Brooklyn Road When I lived in town, I would trek this short loop every day to clear my head. I find immersing myself in nature helps to balance my mental health during the trimester, something that can be extra hard in halls. Not far from Kelburn Campus, Central Park is an inner-city oasis rich with native and exotic bush, streams, birds, and fungi of all kinds. It’s also a great picnic spot if you fancy! Princess Bay Beach, Te Aranui o Pōneke A rocky shoreline cradles this quaint sandy beach. Some of my fondest memories, of building bonfires and enjoying the best sunsets in Pōneke, have been made here. It’s a really special place. You may need to organise some transport to get here, but it is worth it.  Beyond Courtney Place  Post O-week, I’m sure many of you are more than familiar with the feral nature of Courtney Place on a weekend. Some can’t get enough of this stretch, and others will be left wondering—is that all there is of Pōneke nightlife? Do not fret, freshers, there is more to discover.  Meow, 9 Edward Street Meow is my go-to venue, with a diverse variety of shows and indoor-outdoor spaces. I’ve found the sound to be a let down sometimes, but the energy is always there! It’s also great to support their fundraising mahi, such as the Music 4 Palestine gig last year which brought together community awareness and donations for Palestinian whānau. Keep an eye on their schedule to snag early bird tickets as door sale prices can break the bank.  Valhalla, 154 Vivian Street One of the few places left with an authentically grimey club atmosphere where one can boogie into the early AMs. On a busy night, this spot is full to the brim. Here you will see the best (and worst) of the Pōneke DJ scene, which I highly encourage getting familiar with. Moon Bar, 167 Riddiford Street If you don’t check out Newtown nightlife at some point, you’re missing out. Moon Bar is where DJs as old as your Dad will be cranking the groove and funk tunes that only a seasoned mixer could spin. The crowd is local so it’s always best to respect the veterans by having a bloody good time. These are just a handful of the spaces my peers and I have come to love in the city, but there are many more! Finding your own spots to frequent is half of the fun, so go forth and enjoy all that Te Whanganui-ā-tara has to offer!

Xavier Farrow-Francis (any/all) FROM ACROSS THE GLOBE Fountain Baby  by Amaarae (Ghana/USA) Handily one of the most dynamic and vivacious albums released in 2023. It’s a straightforward record about enjoying life’s simple pleasures: love, money, sex, lesbianism. You know, all the best parts of living. But it’s one executed like no other of its sort. Amaarae’s girlishly sweet and silky voice is the glue that fuses some terrifically masterful production. Thumping afrobeats + lushly arranged beds of instrumentation = an undeniably arousing album that I guarantee will have you moving. If you’re a fiend for R&B, you seriously can’t let Fountain Baby  slip under your radar. Listen if you like : Doja Cat, Burna Boy, Rema, Victoria Monét Genres : Afrobeats, pop rap, alternative R&B Esoteric  by Kiss Facility (UAE/Egypt) Sensual, melancholy, and full of intrigue, the debut EP from Kiss Facility – vocalist Mayah Alkhateri and producer Sega Bodega – is as beautiful as it is wistful. Almost entirely in Arabic, Alkhateri sings of loss and self-discovery across gossamer tracks with reverb-soaked vocals and guitars, sexy downtempo drums, and sweeping synths. Despite how mournful the subject matter can be, Kiss Facility steadily keeps the music graceful and alluring, tapping into the sound of alt-rock and trip hop from the late 90s and early 00s. Esoteric  is ethereal, luscious and sincere, and is among the most fulfilling listening experiences 2023 had to offer. Listen if you like : Massive Attack, Cocteau Twins, Eartheater Genres : trip hop, alternative rock, shoegaze, dream pop SUPERNOVA   by Ralphie Choo (Spain) Trying to encapsulate the whirlwind of an album like SUPERNOVA  is a bit of an impossible task, but I’m gonna do my best here. It’s probably the most instrumentally eclectic thing I heard last year. From the production side of things, Ralphie turns all these sharp corners yet none of them feel half-baked or too odd. It makes for a super fun listen and in the process, gives the album a sublime surprise factor. And he knows exactly what he’s doing too, as he swaggers all over each and every track, never wasting a moment to constantly flex his superb musicianship. Essentially, this album is just really really cool and if you’re looking for something familiar but perhaps with a twist, I couldn’t recommend SUPERNOVA  enough. Listen if you like : ROSALÍA, BROCKHAMPTON, Frank Ocean Genres : neoperreo, glitch pop, experimental hip hop, Latin electronic Heavy Heavy  by Young Fathers (West Africa/UK) As someone who wasn’t particularly well-versed with much African music, Young Fathers’ 4th LP completely blew my mind. Not to say that this is straight up classically-minded West African music, because that really isn’t the case. Heavy Heavy  is a bit of art pop, a bit of psychedelic, with a lot of inspiration from gospel music and spirituals, and some industrial sprinkled in for good measure. Using West African music as a jumping point, Young Fathers crafted a record that is pretty special. It’s magnificent in size and sound, utterly awe-inspiring, touching at times, and completely powerful. Listen if you like : Algiers, billy woods, U.S. Girls Genres : post-industrial pop, West African music, neo-psychedelia HERE IN PŌNEKE classics   by charmort This may only be one song in a list of full-length releases, but don’t let that dissuade you. charmort’s single released in March last year is quite simply divine. Its energetic and pulsating beats and synths wrap you up with a whoosh, as if they were whispering the secrets of the underground electronic scene to you. Chuck in a sample of Tom Hardy and we’ve got ourselves a wonderfully glitchy and futuristic dance track. charmort’s new Viewfinder  EP expands on the musical ideas presented on “classics” in fresh abundance. You’ll find yourself traversing techno, trip hop, club, and ambient realms just to name a few. Truly one of Welly’s finest creative young producers working now. Listen if you like : Burial, Four Tet, Boards of Canada, Autechre Genres : future garage, ambient techno, IDM Holding Patterns   by Grayson Gilmour Shimmering, wondrous, and exuberant are words that come to mind when I think of Grayson Gilmour’s fantastic Holding Patterns . This record, released via the iconic Flying Nun Records, feels and sounds so full of life. Even when removing the meditative/introspective lyrics from the equation, the instrumentation has a distinct quality to it that breathes experience. One of my favorite qualities of this album is its seamless ability to blend electronics with acoustics. The synths and bass all throughout strike you with awe, and paired with effervescent live drums and Gilmour’s soft and lilted vocals, Holding Patterns is an inspiring listen. Listen if you like : Bon Iver, Japanese Breakfast, Rostam/Vampire Weekend Genres : art pop, indie rock, folktronica Unearthed & Obsolete: Recordings from the Akai GX-4000db  by re:ruby Completely self-written, produced, engineered and recorded in part via a tape machine from the 70s, re:ruby’s Unearthed & Obsolete  is a creative and technological feat. The 7 track project is a concept album written from the perspective of, and about the life of, the titular machine. The recordings are often frail and lo-fi, as Ruby explores themes of obsolescence and rebirth amongst flittery guitar and piano, and delicate vocal passages. It’s an introspective little album that packs an unexpected amount of universality despite its specific topic. Listen if you like : beabadoobee, Mount Eerie/The Microphones, Big Thief Genres : indie folk, bedroom pop, singer-songwriter (Soliloquy)  &  (Soliloquy) Remixes   by TOČKA Released in 2022, the debut album from experimental producer TOČKA is a mechanical, abrasive and wild ride. Spanning from harsh glitchy electronics to eerie ambients, it showcased the musical perspectives of an entirely unique up-and-comer. In 2023, a remix EP of the album aimed to showcase more electronic acts throughout Aotearoa, combining a slew of eclectic styles. With a bonus remix from TikTok ‘brain scratch’ sensation Galen Tipton, TOČKA’s (Soliloquy)  projects were a sharp breath of crisp air, and allowed a platform for a collection of innovative new artists. TOČKA’s brand new project Sarcologue  is out now. Taking the caustic sonics of (Soliloquy)  and inserting them into classical instrumentation, Sarcologue is complexly atmospheric and emphasises emotive piano arrangements. Sarcologue is out now. Listen if you like : Arca, SOPHIE, Aphex Twin Genres : experimental, deconstructed club, IDM

DAN MOSKOVITZ (HE/HIM) The Wellington Phoenix Men are top of the league. In the seventeen-year history of the club, that sentence has maybe been typed twice.  For a club who are usually mediocre at best, this is uncharted territory. The last time the Phoenix were top of the league was nine years ago. What’s more, Wellington are the only club in the competition to have never won a trophy. Teams added as recently as 2019 and 2020 have titles to their name. This season, Wellington might finally get one.  As such, there’s never been a time when the Nix deserve your support more. Their atmosphere is one draw. Unlike most sports in Aotearoa where you sit down and quietly watch the game, the Nix’s active support - the yellow fever - is up and vocal all game long. This includes a delightful array of chants, including “seagull, seagull, seagull” (when you see a seagull) “we’ve got the ball” (or alternatively, "we've lost the ball”) amongst more commonplace chants. It’s an experience unlike anything else in NZ sport.  There’s an Auckland-shaped threat on the horizon too. For their seventeen years of existence, the Nix have been the only Kiwi club in the competition. Next season, Auckland, backed by billionaire Bill Foley are set to join the competition, making the Phoenix underdogs to Auckland before they’ve even kicked a ball.   So who would you rather back? Billionaire-backed JAFAs or your new local team defying the odds? Come down to a game at the cake tin - you won’t regret it.