Drum n’ Bass may be the music of today’s student streets, but Ōtepoti Dunedin has been a cultural capital for live music since the emergence of the Dunedin Sound. The critically acclaimed genre is associated with iconic ‘80s bands like The Chills, who cemented Ōtepoti as a hotspot of musical ingenuity. While student music culture still lives on (now mostly surf and progressive rock), it’s only an ember of its once vibrant past. In April of this year, the last affordable practice studio in Dunedin, Spaceland, was forced to close.
The closures of these studios – driven by the cost of living crisis and an opposition to spaces being used for live music – are a gutting reflection of the struggling scene in Dunedin. Local media coverage has repeatedly decried the lack of music venues, but less attention has been afforded to the equally troubling lack of band practice spaces, restricting the growth of new artists.
Without a permanent solution to local artists’ struggle, Dunedin risks losing music as a part of the city’s culture. Critic Te Ārohi looks into the history of practice space options, what’s caused their closure, and alternative makeshift solutions that creatives have turned to in the meantime. Despite the odds, whether it’s on the back deck of a flat or in a rowing shed, bands will keep jamming.
Past Practice Spaces
Forty years ago, it was commonplace for famous Dunedin Sound bands such as The Chills to rent out rooms on Vogel Street as jam spaces. Low rent prices and the area's reputation as an industrial district made for an ideal place to help found indie-rock as a genre. Vogel House, on the corner of Vogel and Water Street, was one of those spots.
But for modern bands, since the area's gentrification welcoming cafes and office spaces, this is no longer a viable option. To no one’s surprise, accountants on Vogel Street don’t want to hear student’s surf rock covers of ‘Valerie’. Increased demand for the area as a white collar district, alongside property-cost crisis, turned the once affordable musical hub into a rather pricey option.
Cost of living and noise complaints isn’t an issue unique to Vogel Street – it’s city-wide. If students can’t practise in their flats, halls or at the University music centre, they have to cough up cash for a space to play – ideally, somewhere affordable as bands are not often paid for the gigs they play.
Spaceland, located on Jutland Street in the industrious, ocean-facing side of the railway in Central Dunedin, was the last place in Ōtepoti that scratched that itch. As a not-for-profit jam space fitted with full backline equipment, Spaceland allowed musicians of any level to rehearse and record songs for cheap. That was until April this year, when the venue announced it would be closing its doors.
“Long email threads [...] between the landlord” and “2k upwards in lawyer fees” from noise complaints was attributed as the reason behind Spaceland’s closure, according to their Facebook post. “It’s clear we have an active music community in need of a space to create and rehearse. It’s sad to see this end,” the post concluded.
Third-year student Kaia Jamieson, singer and guitarist for the Audio Visual Drop Kicks, remembers Spaceland as “a big part” of allowing her to get into the band scene. Since there wasn’t a practice space in her first-year hall, she and other first-year musos would go to Spaceland. “It was like $10 and we'd all just take turns booking the sessions,” says Kaia. “You'd go in and they had a drum kit and all these different amps and like a little tea corner and stuff like that. It was awesome.”
Kaia recalls how “gutting” it was to see the announcement that Spaceland was closing: “If I hadn't been able to practise with that first band that I was in, I definitely wouldn't have been asked to join The Audio Visual Drop Kicks. And that's like a huge portion of my life now. Not only are they my bandmates, they're also my flatmates. It's crazy to think of all the [students] who are potentially going to miss out on [...] starting a band, making music and contributing to Dunedin's culture. Spaceland was the only [place] of its kind in Dunedin, and now it’s gone.”
Te Korokoro O Te Tūī Studio
Given the student-driven nature of Ōtepoti’s music scene, upon Spaceland’s closure many bands turned to campus in search of a practice space. A few years ago, a $26 million project refurbished the east campus of the Uni, which included the construction of the Te Korokoro O Te Tūī Studio (the voice box of the Tūī), alongside the renovations of Tower Block and surrounding facilities. The studio opened its doors to staff and students at the University School of Performing Arts in semester one of 2020.
The centre has a range of spaces that are accessible if you take the corresponding papers, from a computer lab for music production students to practice rooms for music-performance students to jam in. If you do not take the range of corresponding music papers, however, you cannot use Te Korokoro O Te Tūī Studio’s rehearsal spaces, a policy that has been criticised from some within the local music scene. As one band member voiced: "Shame on the University. Otago University is so proud [...] [of] Dunedin as being part of this wonderful history and the Dunedin Sound. I did production and [students’] role in this history was preached to me. I find it [...] ironic that they don't even celebrate it with the students now."
Stephen Stedman, a music technician for the School of Performing Arts and a prominent figure from the Dunedin Sound era, tells Critic he wants to “get more structure around” establishing practice spaces open to the public. While Stephen is sympathetic to students not enrolled in music who want to use the space, he says there aren’t enough hours in the day to accommodate them, nor are there sufficient financial resources to cover the wear and tear on the equipment.
“We have to keep the pathway clear for students who are studying music, so they have access to the rooms [and] prepare for their assessments,” Stephen says. “At the moment, they're wall to wall during semester time. If we start letting other people in and block someone's ability to prepare for their assessment, that's incredibly problematic. From the University's perspective, we can't do that. They're paying fees. They're trying to complete a degree [...] We'd love nothing more than to [...] open these services to more students, but we can't."
Backyard Solutions
As the campus band practice bureaucracy lumbers on, Dunedin artists must think outside of the box. Critic Te Ārohi spoke to the bands Dizzy, IVY, and Audio Visual Drop Kicks to hear of their creative solutions in the absence of a permanent one.
Dizzy
The band Dizzy is an emerging surf rock inspired group that has played their range of covers anywhere from parties to Pint Night. Guitarist Emma Gentry and lead singer Ruby Pepper erupt in a fit of laughter as they describe their make-shift practice space: "At our flat, on our deck, with a cord running into the living room.” Ruby continues, “We literally practise at night, every friggin' night, and it gets dark at 6pm! So we have this one single lamp that sits on the amp [...] and it's fucking freezing!” She says she’ll often be piled up in blankets during their nocturnal practices, since that’s the only time the band are able to practise together. According to Emma, their flatmates both “love and hate us. [But] the neighbours are probably sick of hearing the same bloody song!”
IVY
IVY is a Dunedin-born and raised "progressive alternative rock" band, as described by lead guitarist James Saxton. Before IVY entered Ōtepoti's student music scene in 2023, they recorded three singles and an EP at Spaceland Studios. Lead singer Jesse Hanan says they’re “very fortunate” to be able to practise at the North End Rowing Club. “My dad is a member of the North End Rowing Club, so there's some nepotism with that,” admits Jesse. “But we have been very lucky, when we were younger we played at Connor’s [IVY’s bassist] parents’ house. So we actually have access to a place to practise that isn't really open to the public, generally, in terms of practice spaces."
AVDK
Band members of the Audio Visual Drop Kick’s live together, meaning they jam in the flat’s living room – a very cramped one. Kaia tells Critic, “It's great. It's loud. It's so loud. And there's no room in our living room, like it's cramped in there. We've got a big PA, a bass amp, some guitar amplifiers, a drum kit and a couple of guitars. It takes up a lot of space. But it's nice to be able to practise near home and there's kind of no option to practise anywhere else."
With their current set-up, Kaia’s wary of noise complaints. Under the Resource Management Act (sections 326 to 328) a noise control officer only needs to believe that the noise from a property is excessive to issue a notice. If the notice is served and the noise persists, the officer – accompanied by the police – can enter the property and seize the equipment causing the noise. "It's not like a serious threat because we've talked to the neighbours and they kind of seem chill with it,” says Kaia. But if there were noise complaints, “Yeah, we would lose our practice space and wouldn't be able to make music anymore, which sucks."
Sam Charlesworth
Speaking on alternative practice space solutions, Kaia also mentions Sam Charlesworth’s makeshift home recording studio. Sam has recorded songs for his band The Beatniks, as well as the Drop Kicks, Leo Lily, and Caribou. Kaia paints a picture of the DIY set-up to Critic: "It's just in his house. It's kind of awesome, because in order to isolate all the tracks properly so he can mix them, he has to put the amplifiers in different rooms – but three people are living in the house. So when you put the amplifiers in all the kitchens and living rooms there's kind of nowhere you can go except the front porch. So it's really funny. You'll just rock up there and you'll all be standing in the same room playing amplifiers that are in different rooms while [flatmates] Ollie and Leo will be out on the front porch in their dressing gowns drinking coffee because they've been told they're not allowed in the living room."
Campus Bureaucracy
On-campus Te Korokoro O Te Tūī hasn’t been gatekept as a space entirely, however. As Stephen points out, the upcoming Local Produce concert experience is one example of how the music department has used their resources to help out the student music scene. Local Produce is an annual live-to-air collaboration with Radio One and Critic Te Ārohi, where three Ōtepoti artists perform in an intimate studio recording session with a live audience. This year's lineup promotes student musicians Emily Alice, Becca Caffyn and Sam Charlesworth. Te Korokoro O Te Tūī has also supplied Radio One's band room with some equipment.
Stephen tells Critic Te Ārohi he is passionate about increasing practice space availability and is looking to start a conversation with some of the relevant parties. "Well, we'd like to see something happen, and I think that there's a bunch of different stakeholders,” he says. Stephen lists OUSA as one in particular, since the association has the “organisational structure” with booking systems in place. Stephen continues, “If we could find a room somewhere that we could contribute to resourcing with some redundant equipment that is still perfectly usable, I think the University itself or the Union events people, as well as the U-Bar teams, are probably interested.” He suggests that the DCC could also be part of the conversation going forward.
With many turning to OUSA for a potential solution, President Keegan Wells chips in on the conversation. “I think it’s an avenue worth exploring,” she says in response to Stephen’s suggestions. As the President, she oversees their flagship OUSA Clubs and Societies Centre on Albany Street where students can freely book rooms for recreational activities. Sadly, they’re not able to be used as band practice spaces due to noise restrictions. The most the building can accommodate musically is the piano room. Neighbouring flats are already blessed with the cries of opera singers throughout the day, however OUSA is not in the business of extending this to the whaling guitar amps just yet.
There are some temporary solutions being formed with the available means from the University. Keegan tells Critic she’s reached out to the Chief Operating Officer of the Uni, Stephen Willis, recently on the issue, who tentatively offered the Union Hall space. “So students can actually apply to use the Union Hall in the Main Common Room if it's after 5pm for noise regulation stuff. That being said, it's a giant hall, you know – and I'm no musician myself, but the acoustics on that just seem quite bad still,” says Keegan. You can find the form to book Union Hall on the OUSA room bookings page.
It’s not a permanent solution, but it does show that the University is open to taking steps to improve practice space resources for students. On whether Keegan thinks OUSA could open a practice space, she says, "Yeah, I think so. I'd like to see it, in all honesty. Issues like this, there's always just so much more behind the scenes than I think a lot of people realise. That's not a reason to not keep trying though. And I would like to see something come about or have conversations at least about what could happen because there are a couple of areas that have potential. But unfortunately, a lot of the really good noise-dampening spaces are like sheds that have canoes in them, and that would be taking away from one group of people to give to another, which is not really what OUSA is in the business of. But, hopefully."
"I feel like we are at a tipping point though,” says Keegan. “If it doesn't come up soon, I worry it won't happen at all because then suddenly there will be very few bands who have a place to practise and therefore ten or twenty years down the line, no one will care enough about putting those spaces in. So I think we can just hope now that enough flatmates are okay with letting their flatmates' bands make enough noise so they have places to practise. So then people can open up these [rehearsal] spaces when maybe they're out of uni and have a bit more money."
Many are hopeful that the University's new head honcho Grant Robertson can be pulled into the conversation – especially given his apparent reputation as a Dunedin Sound lover. Stephen of the music centre tells Critic, "Back when he was President of OUSA, he was involved in directly supporting bands and helping organise gigs […] So I think it's likely that Grant would be enthusiastic. Whether there's any scope for him to do that as a Vice Chancellor – we don't know. But we certainly want to canvas that with him." A chance Critic Te Ārohi encounter with Grant at a recent Saturday farmer’s market presented just this opportunity, to which he expressed interest. However, follow-up emails have been left unanswered to date. Local musos can only hope that some of Grant's attention can be shifted towards opening up more practice spaces.
Though the University of Otago has long leveraged the city’s rich musical heritage as a way to attract enrolments, without enough practice spaces local artists have struggled to keep Dunedin's musical legacy alive. While Dunedin’s musicians have been forced to become more creative in their solutions, these are temporary fixes. Without the support and action from key stakeholders – including the DCC, OUSA, and the Uni – in creating new practice spaces and uplifting local talent, the Dunedin Sound may soon become silence.