Number 8. wire mentality: 5 promoters on what makes New Zealand’s DIY culture so unique

On December 4, IKEA, is opening its first-ever New Zealand store in Auckland’s Sylvia Park. To say kia ora to their new neighbours, the Swedish brand is hosting a run of three secret Kiwi Housewarming parties - a house party, a garage party and a beach party - with UK pop-up party innovators Lab54 across Auckland on the weekend of the 28–30 November. 

The flat-pack, roll-up-your-sleeves, do-it-yourself sentiment at the heart of IKEA similarly runs deep through the social and cultural history of Aotearoa and Te Waipounamu, the two islands better known to the wider world as New Zealand. Eventually, a local term was coined for it: the “number 8. wire mentality", a homage to how inventively rural farmers would use rolls of steel wire. Nested in the South Pacific, at the ends of the Earth, New Zealanders have always had to invent or build things they couldn’t easily obtain.

When DJing began to bubble up from the country’s counterculture in the 1980s, local nightclub owners relied on musically minded electricians like the Aucklander Michael “Moby” Diack to build the first mixers by hand. Unlike the dizzyingly complicated tech you see today, these were small silver boxes with a basic cross-fader and a couple of buttons. By the ‘90s, enthusiastic crews of house, techno, trance, and jungle/drum 'n' bass lovers were organising warehouse parties and outdoor raves across both islands. Sometimes they were secretive, word-of-mouth gatherings; others, highly visible operations, promoted by radio, the local music press, futuristic posters, and even television adverts. Regardless of the scale, the organisers were resourceful and skilled at snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, even in the most audacious situations. 

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25 years on from the dawn of the new millennium, and the sprawling outdoor rave festivals that accompanied it, a strong DIY spirit still runs through the local crews and promoters who work tirelessly to create spaces for their communities to dance and connect. Set against ongoing cost-of-living issues and the operational challenges faced by bar, nightclub and venue owners, these days you’ll often find dancers gathering in warehouse spaces, private residencies, art galleries, community halls, public parks, and all manner of repurposed locations. 

With the support of IKEA, we talked to five different promoters around New Zealand about how and why they use music and number 8. wire ingenuity as a tool to keep people connected and create well-deserved joy on the dancefloor.

Drawn into dance music by the 2010s Lo-fi house movement, Echo founders Jack and James quickly discovered they enjoyed a broad range of dance music genres. After a discussion with a speaker enthusiast, they decided to build a soundsystem for use within their community, organising free parties across public parks around Auckland. Over the last few years, they’ve gathered a crew around them that includes the DJ, producer, and label owner Eli Høff from Abyssal Soundworks, as well as plenty of enthusiastic friends.

Follow Echo Soundsystem on Instagram.

Could you describe what Echo Soundsystem has become?

We just wanted to do something fun and put on free, accessible events. We’ve done a bunch of parties that have been really successful. We try to involve new people every time so that they can have a go at playing on the system. The park parties are so much more memorable than nightclubs or basements. It’s been really satisfying seeing it come together.

Tell us about the first event you threw as Echo Soundsystem?

We both live out in Titirangi. There’s an old building called Lopdell House with an upstairs rooftop area. We approached them and the council about doing a visual arts event. We didn’t mention the soundsystem. It was a free private event, and we got a bunch of DJs to play. It was at the tail end of the pandemic, so everyone was itching to do something and listen to some music. It came to a point where the lady we rented it from was getting noise-control calls, so we had to pack everything up quickly. Apart from that, it went really well.

How has it been going since?

We spent a while scoping out areas where we could set up without bothering people too much. We do them during the day, and they look official. It almost looks like we’re meant to be there. As long as you’re wearing a hi-vis, you must know what you’re doing, right?

Have you had much go wrong yet?

We loaned our amps to someone who accidentally turned them up too loud and brought them back smoking. We’ve also pissed a few people off with the noise. In general, though, we’ve been really lucky. We haven’t had any disasters yet.

Can you tell us about some events you’ve thrown that really stand out?

The last one we threw in a park was really memorable. It was a choppy day, a bit rainy. We weren’t sure whether people would come because of the weather, but it all came together. We had a huge crowd. There was this really euphoric moment when the sunset was filtering through the trees. The DJs really nailed music that fit the time and place. Those sorts of moments are really special.

What have you got planned on the horizon?

At the moment, we’re focused on a New Year’s Eve event we’re planning. We’ve secured some land out near Bethells Beach/Te Henga Beach. We had a party last New Year’s at a campground we booked out in Kerikeri. We had to push the 100kg subs over the black sands on these trolleys for about a kilometre. It was almost biblical. The packdown was a nightmare. This time, we’ve got access to four-wheel-drive vehicles that can get us to where we want to go. We’ve also bought a stretch tent we’re going to set up on a hill as the main stage. 

Mouthfull is a DIY artist organisation encompassing an internet radio station, workshops and events. Originally founded in Wellington in the late 2010s, their activities now extend across the country and over to Melbourne. Mouthfull’s events combine music with performance art, spoken word poetry, or free giveaways such as printed zines. In 2026, they’re hoping to establish a multi-purpose community space.  

Follow Mouthfull on Instagram.

Who are the key people involved in Mouthfull?

Ollie Hutton and I (Jack Gittings) hold it down here in Te-Whanganui-a-Tara. Over in Melbourne, Tyler Barrow is our stalwart of radio curation. In Tamaki Makaurau, we’ve been working with AJ Honeysuckle. She’s been broadcasting her Badpoiradio show from Moana Fresh in Avondale. It’s great to have her and another one of our DJs, Awa, pushing a Māori community radio vibe. Also, Sonya Ishimnikova has been heavily involved as a graphic designer and broadcaster.

Tell us about the first Mouthfull event?

We did a party called Magnitude 1.0 at Moon Bar in Newtown in 2017. We learned a lot about events and promotion through that experience. We held the sequel, Magnitude 2.0, at a warehouse flat in the city. We kitted it out with a stage and a P.A. For some reason, there was a wrestling ring in the foyer, so we dressed up some mannequins and had people cosplaying as wrestlers. 

What do you find compelling about organising events?

Having spaces where you can connect and understand the communities around you is really important. We try to mix free-entry and paid-entry events to help pay the bills. Often, the people who support us are doing independent things themselves. Seeds are being sown at the same time as flowers are being shared.

Could you give us an overview of some of the other DIY events happening in Wellington?

We just went to a rave at this old military bunker up in the hills. There’s a lack of club spaces for electronic music here, so people are expanding into warehouses and doing things outdoors. I’ve been more obsessed with hi-fi listening lately, so it's been nice seeing people build and use sound systems. 

Is there any local music history you’d like to mention?

There’s a history of dub and dubstep in Aotearoa. It’s influenced by the UK and Jamaica, but it’s sort of become its own subculture here. 

What are the challenges you face running events at the moment?

The big one at the moment is showing people the bright side. It’s easy to become complacent in how you engage with art and music, and what you do in your echo chamber. We’re trying to bring people into a more active and engaged way of consuming art and music.

Are there any particularly memorable parties you’ve thrown that you’d like to talk about?

The two annual calendar events are our birthday party and the end of B2B2B celebration. A lot of the joy comes from being part of communities and contributing to their kaupapa. Last year, we went down to the Two Minds Festival with the Midnight Miso food truck and set up a tiny studio booth inside their kitchen. We played some tunes to set the environment and sold a Midnight Miso mixtape at the end of the night. 

Any good number 8. wire Kiwi ingenuity stories?

We did a festival art tent tour that felt very make-it-up-as-you-go. There are always technical challenges when you’re trying to do things like this. One time, we rigged a remote-controlled car with a phone and a Bluetooth speaker, so it could drive around town playing our music while we were broadcasting.

Led by George Waterhouse, aka FAM, and photographer and artist Gabe Bertogg, House of Pluto is an arts collective based in Blenheim, in the north east of the South Island. Operating out of an industrial unit in a builder’s yard, they organise and curate dance parties, provide performance spaces for touring bands, and facilitate local music and arts projects.

Follow House of Pluto on Instagram.

Would it be fair to say part of what you do is about giving people the extra push to make things happen?

Yeah, basically. That might mean lending them a P.A. Someone might want to do a gig but doesn’t know any venue owners. We’ll serve as the middleman and vouch for them. It’s super handy to have gained a slight position we can leverage. 

Aside from you and Gabe, who are some of the key players in House of Pluto?

We also work a lot with Trevor Montgomery and his dream-pop/shoegaze band, Young Moon. Trevor is signed to Orindal Records in Chicago, so he has some good connections. There’s also a post-punk band, Big Scout. Their drummer, Matty Hellriegel, ran a venue here called The Plant, which was kind of our predecessor. 

Rather than just organising DJ nights, you also host bands.

Due to the population size, we can’t just focus on cutting-edge electronica. Luckily, whether we’ve got a punk band on or something bass-centric, people are open-minded. This is what’s on tonight, and we’re getting into it.

Tell us about the first House of Pluto events?

In the early days, we did daytime dance in an old chapel with an amazing wooden floor to get people out. I had this idea that there were sleeper cells, folks who’d been beaten down and hid away. Those dances really brought people out of the woodwork.

What made you want to start doing all of this?

When we arrived back here, no one was doing much. It was a springboard moment. We thought about all the dancefloors we’d been on and realised it was our turn to do the work.

Tell me about what else is going on around town?

There’s a Latin American crew that comes here seasonally to work on the vineyards. They want to do cool evening stuff. We try to help them out, so they don’t feel shut out. There are also some older heads who come from the outdoor rave tradition. I also want to highlight the Discrete soundsystem crew, who built their own rig. They play drum 'n' bass and psy-trance, but they were super open to being involved in some of the weirder stuff we wanted to do. 

Tell me about some memorable events.

We hosted this crazy synthesiser musician, Kraus. People generally come out, but that night, they really didn’t know what to expect. We also did a thing with Discrete in our industrial unit. A chronically big sound system in a little concrete bunker was a lot of fun. 

Have you got any good number 8. wire stories?

It’s all just one big exercise in ingenuity. We’re always shoehorning gigs into unlikely spaces like this disused chapel, or even doing gigs in an op shop. We’ve got a connection at the classic, meat-raffle-type pub, where we use their back room. Sometimes we take the sound system out on the streets. We’ve hosted livestreams in coffee shops. We’re just making do and fitting in where we can, really. 

Strange Behaviour is the brainchild of Paul Berrington, AKA aka DJ B Lo, who was inspired to launch the party brand after returning home following a stint in Melbourne during the rise of blog culture, indie-dance and nu-disco in the mid-2000s. These days, he lives near Nelson in the South Island, where he continues to throw parties and DJ.

Follow Strange Behaviour on Instagram.

Could you introduce us to Strange Behaviour?

Strange Behaviour is my banner for local events, a Bandcamp label and a radio show called Behaving Strangely. It’s about sharing music I love that sits outside the mainstream, and providing a space for those who like underground music to get together and get down. I’m basically a one-man band, but there are many hands at play to make things work. A good collaboration can go a long way toward making the event successful.

You’ve been in Nelson for a few years now. How is it going for you down there?

Since I’ve been based in Nelson, I’ve formed a strong bond with the legendary local music journalist and DJ, Grant Smithies. We play together as Expansions, a monthly Strange Behaviour residency that’s all about vinyl and music for the mind and feet. It’s a great small city to be in.

Tell us about the first dance party you organised?

My first actual event was Critical Mass, which I promoted under the name Cybernetic Industries. I held it at a shop I was helping bring records into, called Bassment 45, on Cuba Street in Wellington, but we also used the car park out the back. This was 1996, and I really didn’t know what I was doing. The power went out for 10 minutes, and people cheered when it came back on. There were sets from the late DJ Mu, Christopher Tubbs, and an amazing live acid set from Simon Swain. It was absolutely crazy. My DJ name was Genocyber. Forgive me, manga was big then.

Twenty-nine years later, what is it that keeps you organising events?

I didn’t come to Nelson expecting to be putting on parties, but it felt like a fresh start here. People have really engaged with what I’m trying to do. Not only am I doing well-supported local nights, but people are also coming out to enjoy visiting DJs like Frank Booker and Eden Burns. Bringing Kenji Takimi to Nelson will be a long-lasting memory. Having nearly 400 people dancing to such a revered figure was magic.

Tell us about another memorable party you’ve organised?

Just before they became genuine stars, Bicep toured New Zealand and spent a week in Wellington with me. There were no clubs then, so we transformed the very fancy Matterhorn restaurant into a club on a Thursday night. Afterwards, Andy admitted that, while we were having a Michelin-star-quality dinner with the P.A. warming up, he felt pretty sceptical about the gig. It ended up being amazing. Thanks to the Irish venue manager, Amy, for believing in it!

Any stories of Number 8. Wire ingenuity you’d like to share?

It’s not one unique story, but the community here in Nelson is strong. When we throw a party at Deville (a café that transforms into our best venue), it’s all hands on deck. There’s a lot of love in the room, and that’s often reflected in the vibe of the party.

Tender Buttons is a queer club night and radio show produced by DJ Kate.Land (Rongowhakaata/Tangata Tiriti, she/they) in Ōtautahi/Christchurch. Through a mixture of music, visuals, and live performance, they present immersive multidisciplinary events for audiences who don’t always feel seen. 

Follow Tender Buttons on Instagram.

Can you tell us about your community?

We collaborate and take our cues from local collectives, such as Queer Horizons, House of Coven, Browntown and Te Wā. They are contemporary visionaries who weave together experiences of Tangata moana, Tangata whenua and the wider global majority. Purpose and kaupapa can align while still maintaining the integrity of everyone. 

What were your early experiences like organising events?

I have very rarely organised events completely independently. I learnt the hustle through co-producing all sorts of silly things in my early years. 

How did you become involved in all of this?

Music culture, at its simplest, stems from the need to express ourselves and find like-minded people. I fell into nightlife by accident, driven by a need for belonging. I have been working at clubs and festivals across Europe, the USA, and New Zealand for the past decade or so. Nerding out, getting my hands dirty, learning how every little moment and sleight of hand can create magic. I just love controlling chaos to create unforgettable acts of joy. Now, I’m in my manaakitanga era, rave aunty, harm reductionist, moving from the dancefloor to the booth, as both a DJ and an audio technician. 

Is there any notable dance music history you’d like to share about the region you live in?

Music culture is an outlet for imagining alternative futures and a tool for deconstructing systems of assimilation. Pressure to conform pushes us into the margins, which are often the most expansive places to experiment and explore. I am always in love with discovering the historical correlations between scenes born in spite of social sanctions.

Licensing laws and dress codes in Aotearoa have parallels with worldwide punitive restrictions on dancing and culture, such as the Cabaret Laws in U.S. cities like Detroit and New York (1926-2017) and the Anti-Rave Public Order Act in the UK (1994, still enforced). Experimental underground scenes can grow and thrive despite regulatory hurdles. Te Waipounamu (South Island) has a history of raves expanding rurally, with sound systems rolling deep in the valleys, where noise restrictions are meaningless. 

Do you have any stories of DIY ingenuity you’d like to share?

My favourite events have always been DIY duct tape dreams: a ragtag team of passionate people pulling together resources through borrowing, scheming and bargaining. 

Where do you see things headed next in Christchurch?

The “Leaders” need to be accountable for leading the way on harm reduction, fair pay equity, accessibility, inclusion and support. We need to have the hard conversations, to show up for one another, create open resources and mutual aid systems. Pseudo-neutrality is out! Music has always been political, and it belongs to the people on the margins. Rejecting the notion of competition is an act of defiance against vapid hyper-individualism that leaves the scene siloed. We must collaborate! We need diverse members of niche subcultures to organise workshops for skill-sharing, conceptualising, and scene-building. The scene can’t help but thrive when we support one another. 

IKEA's Kiwi Housewarmings will be free to attend for IKEA Family members. You can join the scheme here, and if you’d like to be part of the celebrations between 28-30 November, you can sign up to attend the house party here, the Garage Party here, and the Beach Party here.

Martyn Pepperell is a freelance music journalist, follow him on Instagram.