Strange feelings come out in strange ways, as tends to happen in a city of miserable winter, depression, and a uni populace crawling with the sorts of fucking jocks about whom the songs basically write themselves. Lucy, in ‘Supermarket’: "Make me cute, make me sweet, make me fragile and petite / So I can be pushed around by some dickhead who likes rugby, beer and meat". Swipe right. Tim’s standout moment, ‘Tasman's Puke’, spells out in no polite terms his take on NZ's colonial past. And with Reggie’s voice crawling away with his guitar in ‘Regicide’, it makes it abundantly clear that Opposite Sex have as many ways to do songs as they have songs.That’s because, in spite of the patented ‘sound’ of their city, the real Dunedin influence on Opposite Sex comes by way of an ideology. There’s punk, of course, as usual, but the bizarro lens of Xpressway -- “the Dunedin label” -- what with its Marxist dues and DIY purism, is the heftiest inheritance thanks to how many of Opposite Sex’s peers come from this older school. (Peter Gutteridge from Snapper was a close friend; Alaistar Galbraith enjoys spinning the odd Opposite Sex record; the two Dunedin members of the Dead C are often seen at a gig). It only helped their underground reputation that certain big-name ex-members of the Fall and the Pastels wound up being big fans of this obscure New Zealand band.Whichever way you have ‘em -- and there are many ways to have ‘em -- Opposite Sex have already left a permanent impression within today’s younger underground generation. Besides that one fact, there aren’t many unifying features of a band so scattered, but so brilliantly chaotic, and by no means confused. But that’s just what you get from a band with so much uncontrollable inspiration, a band that’s like mashing your hands against the keyboard of existence and expecting Shakespeare to come out. Judging by HAMLET, it’s just funny when it sort of does.
