Contact 89FM Reunion: Four Hours That Brought It All Back

by Adam Hyde
​
I've never been to a reunion before. Never wanted to. But I always said that if Contact ever had one, I'd go. And this was it.

It was officially four hours, but it felt like more. Not because it dragged—because it meant something. The night was a reminder that something real happened in Hamilton. A scene, a community, a time where people showed up for each other.

Watershed, at the Contact 50ish

I saw faces I hadn't thought about in decades—people I used to hang out with all the time.  There were so many good people back then. And they were good to each other. You could make something—a band, a zine, a show—and the people would show up for you. Not out of obligation, but because people gave a shit. That kind of community is rare.

​The music was a huge part of it. Back when I was at Contact, we knew we had to be fiercely proud of Hamilton music—because no one else was. The rest of the country either ignored it or mocked it. But what came out of Hamilton was better than anywhere else. And I don't mean just better than other towns or student radio scenes in New Zealand—I mean better than anywhere in the world. I've since lived in a bunch of cities and been around different music scenes, and looking back, I believe that even more now. The talent, the energy, the originality—Hamilton had something that most places never do.

Broadcast State, Contact 50ish

I still remember seeing so many good bands but even more, so many specific performances that just broke my brain. I remember seeing Dribbly Cat Attraction play at their school and being floored. I remember Wendyhouse playing live to air at The Fridge, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Frybrain in their practice rooms doing their thing. I remember specific lines from songs that have stayed in my head for decades--"Eva Braun's holiday was a mistake", "Morrinsville has no sphinx". That stuff never left.

And then there was Mobile Stud Unit. Just so funny, but also amazing songs. By any arithmetic, MSU just don't make any sense and they shouldn't have worked —but they did. And then the whole PLOP IT UP scene which most folks, even in Hamilton, didn't know existed, but the PLOP IT UP people didn't care. Bands like The Smooth Canadians and Armice Pumpit, switching members, creating endlessly, putting out zines. I still have copies of each issue. It wasn't just music.

​There was visual art too—Stefan Neville, Fiona Jack, Greg Page, Bryce Galloway—all doing world-class work, making covers, posters, comics, and playing music too. It was all mixed together.

MSU, Contact 50ish

It was ok to try stuff. To start something. To mess around and make noise. The weirder the better and it often seemed like the odder, the weirder, the more surprising or out of context, the more it was appreciated by the scene. Straight up, boring, unadventurous music just didn't get anywhere.

I left Hamilton and didn't stay in touch with anyone except a couple of close friends. But that night brought it all back. The flyers, tapes, old CDs, even unused Fiona Jack logo stickers. The music was fantastic. But what really hit hardest was the people. Seeing how many turned up—20, 25, 30 years later—wasn't just touching, it was affirming. It was a collective recognition that we were part of something really amazing. The night gave us a chance to glimpse it again, even just for a short moment. Even that brief, 25-year-old glimpse—just a brief flash—was worth it. That's how special that time was, and how powerful the night turned out to be.

Big thanks to the organisers for making space to remember something that meant so much—to all of us.

[Editor's note: Adam flew in from California, specifically for the event]