I was first introduced to the cult of Dale Kerrigan at Camp A Low Hum. Now I’m obsessed.
After a ten-year hiatus, the atmosphere at Camp last February resembled a kind of phantasmagorical hysteria — the time of our lives was suddenly back from the dead.
No lineup announcement, no signal, and no worries — just a gathering of like-minded humans parked up in the valley for a weekend of mind-altering music and shenanigans.
I’d been to four previous Camps (2010, 2012, 2013 and 2014 for those versed in CALH whakapapa), and as expected, the festival introduced me to a whole bunch of artists I’d never heard of before. For last year’s double weekend edition, organizer Blink scouted underground scenes throughout New Zealand and Australia to curate the freshest, freakiest and most far-out bands he could find into a program of over 100 live acts.
Of those 100 acts, Dale Kerrigan was the one I couldn’t stop raving about.
Their first set was on Day 2 at Square. Designed to be viewed from all four sides, the stage provided the perfect way to watch the band’s alchemy unfold. We were on a high — Wu Zhuoling had just killed it in the Forest, where her ethereal live set pulsated through the trees, and we’d been sinking beers in the sun to celebrate, excited to see Kiwese alumni Womb perform later at the Lagoon.
It only took one set for me to be converted into the halls of Dale fandom.
“MY HAIRS A DIFFERENT COLOUR
FROM WHAT IT USED TO BE….
URGGARRHGGHHHH”
Discordant, 90s-inspired riffs careened into wails of feedback; Shlee screamed unintelligible yarns into her pickups, as Joel wrangled his guitar across the amps. Just before the whole thing exploded, they recalibrated with a knowing look, and dropped into the next song in perfect unison, propelled by Josh and Connor, who’d shown their chops in Koizilla the previous night.
Their set was noisy, disorientating and cathartic — with enough screaming and distortion to appease the punks and metal heads, with more poignant, emo moments to appeal to everyone else. Bodies surrounded the stage, a head banging amoeba of black t-shirts and raised beers. South Island sludge at its finest.
At the end, ears ringing, the crowd erupted into cheers and calls for an encore, alongside stunned decrees of “…that was fuckin’ mean.”
I saw them play one and half times. I say one and half because the PA crapped out during their second set at Winter — an absolutely rammed affair of fans who made the trek up the hill to see them play again on Day 3.
As darkness fell, the power gave out beneath the weight of their sound — which added to the awe surrounding them.
Led by guitarist and vocalist Shlee Nicholls, alongside brother Josh Nicholls (drums), Connor Blackie (bass), and Joel Field (guitar, vocals), Dale’s sound is a collision of noise, grunge, shoegaze, post-hardcore and emo — channeling the dank energy of Dunedin living rooms and angst of South Island winters into a sonic palette of their own.
Deeply involved in the community surrounding independent label trace / untrace, it seems most bands from Dunedin involve a configuration of one or more members of Dale Kerrigan: Koizilla, Pearly*, Denudes, Flesh Bug, bathysphere, Fazed on a Pony, Space Bats, Attack!, Asta Rangu, to name a few.
Having only visited Dunedin once (a trip to visit Wellington scarfie friends in their Castle Street flats in the early 2010s), and unfamiliar with the spaces and faces of the local scene, I caught up with the band to find out more…
“Sorry, I’m not really good at talking to people,” says Shlee over a WeChat video call from the home she shares with partner and bassist Connor in Dunedin.
Covered in duvets and their newly adopted “divorce dogs” Ginger and Chester, her endearing shyness cut through the wintery South Island cold, a stark contrast to her wild on-stage persona.
Originally hailing from Perth, the Nicholls family moved to Dunedin when Shlee was three. Her oldest brother Zac is a musician and recording engineer, while Josh drums in a myriad of bands in their close circle.
As the youngest child, Shlee says music always felt like her “brothers’ thing,” recalling how she’d hang around while Zac and Josh practiced in the music room at home, holding up the lyrics to Metallica and Green Day from the CD booklets. “I was actually really into Hannah Montana and Hillary Duff,” she laughs.
Things changed upon meeting Julie Dunn (Bathysphere) in “study,” the equivalent of detention, at Otago Girls’ High, who along with Jayde Medder, went on to form the band Mary Berry, inspired by a love of bands like Sonic Youth and Pixies.
“They were all a few years older than me,” she says, where low-stakes jamming and messing around with guitars and drums at their flat gave her the support system and confidence to start performing.
Inspired by the noise coming out of DIY spaces The Attic and Spaceland, the name “Shlee” became an alter-ego for her noisy musical explorations.
After university, a penchant for drawing “weird little aliens” led her to art school, which led further into the world of noise and mark making — the practice of making visuals using sound — where smashed instruments and paint became her mediums.
With a bunch of musicians under the same roof, it made sense a band would follow. After recording some rough demos into Garage Band and randomly adding amps and distortion to make them noisier, she invited guitarist and fellow art school student Joel to join her, with Josh and Connor completing the lineup.
Recorded by brother Zac, their debut album Noise Bitch came out in 2021, followed by the water in 2022, with New Zealand tours facilitated by trace / untrace and Wellington music collective Eyegum, and appearances at festivals like Welcome to Nowhere and Cuba Dupa establishing them in the North Island.
The band’s new album HEAVY GREASY has been three years in the making.
Recorded on a low budget in Dunedin flats with local engineer Gloria Cescon of Pretty Dumb (whose massacred guitar from Camp sits in my Chengdu flat) and mastered by Nick Roughan of Skeptics, HEAVY GREASY is the bands most meticulous offering to date — exploring claustrophobic rooms, friendship and anxiety with brutal honesty, rejecting polished sameness in favour of something more dissonant and human.
“Gloria is amazing,” Shlee says, “she set up a bunch of amps and gear in her lounge, surrounded by all this art and weird taxidermied animals.” The album was recorded at Gloria’s flat, with finishing touches added after she’d moved house.
“We really took our time with the riffs and arrangements,” she says, the band’s songwriting process developing into a more collaborative effort on this record, particularly between guitarists and lyricists Shlee and Joel.
As active members of Dunedin’s noisy music universe, where the scene largely revolves around long-standing live venue The Crown, its no wonder the new album was tested and refined in a live environment, describing the pub as “the only place we go.”
The band speak fondly of the venue — run by local legend and avid local music supporter Jones Chin — with the band playing gigs in support of the venue (and even appearing on the news), against noise problems with a nearby residential building.
“I strongly believe songs should be played even if they’re not recorded,” she says, with tracks like ‘Hide’ and ‘Dare’ finally released after years as part of their setlist.
While Shlee describes Dale as “more of a live band than recorded,” their new record breaks new ground. HEAVY GREASY is a triumphant release — harnessing ballistic outbursts like the breakdown on ‘Andrea’ and quieter, more reflective moments like ‘Home’ into an emotive listening experience — ending with the voice of de-facto manager Julie on the aptly named ‘The Amps are for Everyone to Use.’
“This is the longest we’ve ever spent working on an album,” says Shlee, before coyly adding, “and it’s the one we are most proud of.”
Dale Kerrigan’s new album HEAVY GREASY is out now via Bandcamp. Stay tuned for their China Tour announcement in Sept/Oct 2025!
KIWESE 