Listening to The Chills’ Submarine Bells, I hear an awful lot of what would find its way into music in the years that followed. Name a band from the 2000s, and I think you could hear Martin Phillipps’ music in their DNA. The jangly guitars, dreamy melodies, bright pop hooks, and occasional bursts of anthemic energy all feel remarkably familiar.

Released in 1990, Submarine Bells is an album with an impressive range. Phillipps moves between bright pop, punk, psychedelic rock, gentle folk, and dreamy indie pop, often shifting the entire mood from one song to the next. But there’s a consistency to his songwriting that holds everything together. No matter where the music goes, there’s always a melody, a hook, or an interesting lyrical idea waiting around the corner.

“Heavenly Pop Hit” is an almost impossibly infectious opening, a piece of pure pop that seems designed to brighten your day. There’s something wonderfully simple about it, but the song’s optimism goes beyond just being happy. It’s about those little moments of rejuvenation that help you get through the gloom, whether it’s the sun coming up or a great song coming on the radio.

“Tied Up In Chain” takes that catchy pop sensibility somewhere darker, with a driving piano groove and lyrics that confront nationalism and fascism. “The Oncoming Day” brings a punkier urgency, with a melody that makes me think of both Robyn Hitchcock and early Midnight Oil.

Phillipps is just as comfortable dialing things back. “Part Past Part Fiction” is gentle and wistful, while “Don’t Be-Memory” uses a piano-led arrangement to explore the sadness and anger of a relationship that seems destined to end. “Singing In My Sleep” has a brighter, almost electronic pop sound, but there’s a sense of unease beneath it, as though music offers some refuge from the worries of the world. “I SOAR” goes somewhere completely different, combining an almost mystical folk quality with a darker, gothic atmosphere.

There’s also a playful, unpredictable side to the album. “Dead Web” has an eccentric alternative-rock sound, while “Familiarity Breeds Contempt” gets sharper and more punk-inspired. I hear the latter as a warning against the kind of cynicism that comes from believing you’ve already figured everything out, dismissing what came before and assuming there’s nothing left to learn.

“Effloresce and Deliquesce” turns the emotional ups and downs of a relationship into a brisk, catchy pop song, and even the 42-second “Sweet Times” manages to feel like a little anthem about holding on when things aren’t going particularly well.

The title track brings the album to a dreamy, almost psychedelic conclusion. With its soft, lullaby-like vocals. The ocean becomes a metaphor for the enormous and unpredictable depths of human emotion, making it a lovely way to close the record.

Submarine Bells showcases Phillipps’ ability to write so many different kinds of songs, with an endless supply of melodies and an equally endless number of ways to present them. There’s always another hook, another unexpected arrangement, another interesting turn of phrase.

Martin Phillipps passed away in 2024, without ever quite receiving the worldwide recognition his songwriting deserved. But listening to Submarine Bells, it’s hard not to appreciate how much of his musical sensibility found its way into the decades that followed. This is a gem of a record, one that deserves to be heard by a lot more people.

It’s not just a great album from 1990. It’s an album that makes so much of the music being made today sound like part of a much longer story.

Verdict: Great

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