There was this Big band on a Big label whom The Bats toured with overseas, one that flew between gigs while The Bats chugged along far below in a van. And one that stayed in better hotels while The Bats shared smaller rooms. The singer of the Bigger band said when the tour began he didn't understand what it was The Bats had. So the tour wound on, and The Bats blew the Bigger band off the stage at damn near every gig. The Bigger band changed the playing order around but The Bats still did it no matter when they came on. The Bigger band would go back to their Bigger hotel and have meetings about what could be done. But nothing could be done. And at the end of the tour the singer said he finally understood what it was The Bats had.

So what WAS it The Bats had? Simplistically you could say they are a real band, for there have been no personnel changes in all that time. And yet they hardly live in each others' pockets like a real band might. 

Singer-songwriter Robert Scott works from Dunedin, sending his song ideas up to Christchurch for Paul Kean, Kaye Woodward (who DO live in each others' pockets) and Malcolm Grant to fine-tune. And where real bands play all the time and know instinctively what the next move is, The Bats have often kept things deliberately loose, Scott adopting a Dylanish respect for the fresh. Let's not practice that song tonight, he is fond of saying, in case we ruin it for tomorrow. 

But when they HAVE been playing for a time, at the end of overseas tours especially, then they are one terrific little pop machine, the rhythm section - busy rubber-kneed bass lines above rock-solid drums ripping punters off their bar stools from Grant's very first boom-thwak. Someone once said Malcolm's favourite drummer was the guy in Creedence Clearwater Revival. That says so much it would be a pity to actually check the story out. 

Kaye Woodward. Stage right. Delicate lead guitar lines that are song hooks in themselves, and lovely backing vocals. She should have done lovely fronting vocals too. They were always promised, but it didn't happen until Couchmaster in 1995. Shame.

And Robert Scott. Bob. The singer and writer of the songs. With so little stage movement, you wonder how he even got there from the van. Did Malcolm carry him? The true pop writing genius in the Flying Nun stable. One-off bands have formed in Dunedin during late night revelry, the players gathering ruefully the next day for practice to find Bob already there waiting, ten songs written, cocked and ready to fire. He's written for The Clean and The Magick Heads too of course. And fifteen (FIFTEEN!) albums for Electric Blood. Dang, these songs are simple. And yet so wonderfully..........catchy.

Yep, THAT was what The Bats had, and what they always will have. So many

many good songs.
Roy Colbert