Chris Knox: Not Given Lightly
by Craig Robertson
If ever one could judge the content of the book by its cover it would have to be this biography of Chris Knox. First there is the photograph of the subject, involving one of Knox’s most impish and silly grins. Then there is the title, with “Not Given Lightly” being his most well-known song, devoted to the mother of his children. The inside of the cover has Knox’s cartoon depiction of life up to the age of 47: in this he draws a highlight in a box for each year of his life, but most seem to involve females.
So if Knox portrays himself as a musician and artist who does not take himself too seriously, do we get a book that should be taken seriously? It certainly is a comprehensive catalogue of all of Chris Knox’s artistic endeavours and pop cultural criticism. From the early 1980s to his catastrophic stroke in 2009, Knox cultivated an iconic status in local popular culture.
Craig Robertson is an enthusiast for the Flying Nun label, and has diligently examined all of his subject’s prodigious recordings, it might even be an oeuvre. Robertson could have been more analytical, if not critical, but doesn’t really want to detract from the creativity. So what we get is an aesthetic package of Knox’s life and times.
Robertson’s main interest is obviously the music, especially with Knox being a key player in the Dunedin sound, and a major figure in the Flying Nun Records story. Knox is indeed a Southern man, having grown up in Invercargill, and gravitating to the cold Dunedin student flats that spawned the ‘indie rock’ that became iconic. Knox was a punk with attitude in The Enemy; an effective songwriter and frontman for Toy Love; and the mainstay of the duo Tall Dwarfs with long-time collaborator Alec Bathgate. But this is not the same as being a professional musician. Robertson quotes Simon Morris, then working for Radio With Pictures, saying in 1982 that the Dunedin music was “badly played through horrible equipment.” It was, of course, seen as ‘underground’, and was not intended to be fully professional, but just being “interesting and alive” doesn’t make it artistically successful.
Knox had always seen his “shambling amateurism” as a virtue, in contrast to slick professionalism, but he still had to make a living. And his timing was good, as he came back from Sydney in 1980 to settle in Auckland. Although he was working for Flying Nun Records, he also had to find other gigs to get by, especially after his two children came along. Luckily, his pop cultural cachet and connections meant that he was able to get regular music reviews in mainstream publications, like The Listener, after being anointed by Gordon Campbell as the rock music columnist, and then the author of the “Rant” column. He also published regular cartoons in the New Zealand Herald, and for music publications like Rip It Up. Robertson adds Knox’s contributions to other, short-lived, music and cultural magazines, and later appearances on some forgettable TV art magazine-type programmes.
So Knox has been given many opportunities in local media outlets, in the era when music and pop culture activities were significant. His dogged enthusiasm and iconoclastic status also received some recognition from international musicians, as highlighted in the photograph of a grinning Knox in between Deborah Harry and Chris Stein of Blondie fame. But his combative personality, and what Robertson calls his “bullet-proof ego”, also included irascible and sometimes harsh criticism of his peers, and personal insensitivity to friends. But all was forgiven in the end, and Knox continues to create art, including the cartoon depicting the experience of his stroke, as idiosyncratic as ever.
by Craig Robertson
If ever one could judge the content of the book by its cover it would have to be this biography of Chris Knox. First there is the photograph of the subject, involving one of Knox’s most impish and silly grins. Then there is the title, with “Not Given Lightly” being his most well-known song, devoted to the mother of his children. The inside of the cover has Knox’s cartoon depiction of life up to the age of 47: in this he draws a highlight in a box for each year of his life, but most seem to involve females.
So if Knox portrays himself as a musician and artist who does not take himself too seriously, do we get a book that should be taken seriously? It certainly is a comprehensive catalogue of all of Chris Knox’s artistic endeavours and pop cultural criticism. From the early 1980s to his catastrophic stroke in 2009, Knox cultivated an iconic status in local popular culture.
Craig Robertson is an enthusiast for the Flying Nun label, and has diligently examined all of his subject’s prodigious recordings, it might even be an oeuvre. Robertson could have been more analytical, if not critical, but doesn’t really want to detract from the creativity. So what we get is an aesthetic package of Knox’s life and times.
Robertson’s main interest is obviously the music, especially with Knox being a key player in the Dunedin sound, and a major figure in the Flying Nun Records story. Knox is indeed a Southern man, having grown up in Invercargill, and gravitating to the cold Dunedin student flats that spawned the ‘indie rock’ that became iconic. Knox was a punk with attitude in The Enemy; an effective songwriter and frontman for Toy Love; and the mainstay of the duo Tall Dwarfs with long-time collaborator Alec Bathgate. But this is not the same as being a professional musician. Robertson quotes Simon Morris, then working for Radio With Pictures, saying in 1982 that the Dunedin music was “badly played through horrible equipment.” It was, of course, seen as ‘underground’, and was not intended to be fully professional, but just being “interesting and alive” doesn’t make it artistically successful.
Knox had always seen his “shambling amateurism” as a virtue, in contrast to slick professionalism, but he still had to make a living. And his timing was good, as he came back from Sydney in 1980 to settle in Auckland. Although he was working for Flying Nun Records, he also had to find other gigs to get by, especially after his two children came along. Luckily, his pop cultural cachet and connections meant that he was able to get regular music reviews in mainstream publications, like The Listener, after being anointed by Gordon Campbell as the rock music columnist, and then the author of the “Rant” column. He also published regular cartoons in the New Zealand Herald, and for music publications like Rip It Up. Robertson adds Knox’s contributions to other, short-lived, music and cultural magazines, and later appearances on some forgettable TV art magazine-type programmes.
So Knox has been given many opportunities in local media outlets, in the era when music and pop culture activities were significant. His dogged enthusiasm and iconoclastic status also received some recognition from international musicians, as highlighted in the photograph of a grinning Knox in between Deborah Harry and Chris Stein of Blondie fame. But his combative personality, and what Robertson calls his “bullet-proof ego”, also included irascible and sometimes harsh criticism of his peers, and personal insensitivity to friends. But all was forgiven in the end, and Knox continues to create art, including the cartoon depicting the experience of his stroke, as idiosyncratic as ever.
Review by S A Boyce
Title: Chris Knox: Not Given Lightly
Author: Craig Robertson
Publisher: Auckland University Press
ISBN: 9781869409838
RRP: $59.99
Available: bookshops
Author: Craig Robertson
Publisher: Auckland University Press
ISBN: 9781869409838
RRP: $59.99
Available: bookshops
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