By the time Victoria hit radios in 1982, New Zealand had changed. The Springbok Tour protests had torn through the streets. The land marches had shaken Parliament. Muldoon’s grip was tightening, the economy was buckling, and the old British affectations — the vowels, the subservience — were slipping.
Into that came The Exponents, then still The Dance Exponents. Young, loud, multi-ethnic. A gang of real Kiwis, singing in their own voices, not trying to sound like the motherland. Victoria wasn’t just a catchy track about someone else’s girl — it was a pub-rock anthem for a country just starting to stand on its own.
Jordan Luck’s delivery is all bite and ache, but there’s no polish. That’s the point. This wasn’t London or LA — this was Christchurch garage energy, messy and honest and local. It didn’t need gloss. It had guts.
The Exponents would go on to give us Why Does Love Do This to Me, a song so embedded in the national psyche it’s almost too easy to forget how good it is. But Victoria came first. Sharp-edged, hook-heavy, and defiant.
This was a band that looked like New Zealand. Sounded like New Zealand. And gave New Zealanders permission to do the same.
