How do we start to write about one of the most brightly glittering stars to shine its gleam in our direction?
Martin Phillipps is dead, and while the music he invented with various iterations of The Chills lives on, to listen to it again so soon risks inviting along a veil of tears.
For those of a certain age, Phillipps was somehow so intimately tied to the city that he was Dunedin. Mentioning his name was enough to conjure up images of dark winter afternoons, student flats, brooding hills, cold winds and pounding seas.
Even if Phillipps was not Dunedin, nobody could argue that he wasn’t the driving force behind the Dunedin Sound, that often melancholy, sometimes joyful and exuberant, movement propelled by throbbing bass lines and jangling guitars which developed in the city as the 1980s dawned.
The incredible writing and performing talent which Phillipps had in spades helped define Dunedin to a generation of Kiwis who were less interested in the city’s architectural heritage and its historical links to Scotland than their predecessors.
In fact, it’s probably not exaggerating to say Phillipps was the most internationally famous Dunedinite still living in the city. His influence among musicians around the world has been immense. Who would have thought a son of Dunedin might be the inspiration for a huge American band like REM?
Yet despite that certain level of fame and recognition, Phillipps, in the best tradition of many New Zealanders, never appeared to let it go to his head. He remained phlegmatic, down-to-earth, and was happy to stay in Dunedin.
You were just as likely to bump into him in the supermarket or walking down George St as you would anyone else.
Perhaps this is why his sudden death at the weekend, aged just 61, has come as such a shock to many. The sense of loss across the city is palpable.
The deaths of John Lennon and Elvis Presley left millions stunned around the world.
Phillipps, however, really was just one of us. It feels like we have lost a family member.
It would be too easy, too glib, though, to try to make out he was some kind of saint, as often happens when someone dies. He had major health problems linked to life on the road and past dependence on alcohol and drugs, along with his struggles with hepatitis C and liver failure.
All of that made him only too well aware of his impermanence. In 2014, he told The Guardian his hepatitis C had given him "a closer relationship to mortality".
In recent months there was the sense he was sorting out his affairs, selling parts of his large collection of records, books and posters to help pay for home renovations.
Like all of us, Phillipps was flawed. But it was that vulnerability, and the fact he still exhibited his quintessentially Kiwi shyness and modesty, which further endeared him to the nation.
We shouldn’t allow ourselves to become too maudlin. There is too much to be thankful for as a result of his incredible creativity and his wonderful way with images and words.
The Phillipps’ story is a reminder if ever we need one about the heavy toll on any musician, artist or writer of constantly having to come up with new creations and strive to entertain others and make them happy.
These people bring so much joy to others and their work becomes a part of others’ lives. We owe them a huge debt of gratitude.
From the glowering majesty of Pink Frost, to the wistfulness of Rolling Moon, to the blissful, shiny Heavenly Pop Hit.
As the rest of us keep getting older, Phillipps’ and The Chills’ work will carry on agelessly.
For those that still want it.
