More than three decades on, the memory of Margaret Urlich’s (Ngā Puhi) use of the phrase “eleventy seventy” brings laughter to the rest of the Kiwi supergroup When The Cat’s Away.
The mere mention of it kicks off a barrage of giggles and recollections, as the group explains just how special their friend and bandmate was.
Maybe you had to be there to fully understand the joke, but that’s half the magic. The group of five female artists formed in 1985 for a bit of fun, and in five years together almost developed their own language.
“We had meow reo,” laughs Annie Crummer.
Just shy of a year since Urlich died after living with cancer for two years, the remaining members of the iconic group – Annie Crummer, Dianne Swann, Debbie Harwood and Kim Willoughby (“Always have been, always Willoughby” Kim laughs, joking that she’s still telling gags from the 1980s) - announced a one-off show in honour of Urlich in October this year.
Sitting around a coffee table on a stormy Auckland afternoon, the memories and laughter are intertwined with clear moments of grief and reflection, as the women remember their hilarious, stylish and “stupid talented” friend – affectionately referred to as Margie.
“It went from her being vibrant and well and happy, and about to come over for a show, to not being well and down for the count,” says Harwood of Urlich’s illness.
“It was quite a hard time because none of us could get to her [Covid had closed borders].”
They were “devastated” by her death, says Swann, and performing together now felt like the “right thing to do”.
“It’s actually her that’s brought us together, because we haven’t performed as this group for a long time”.
In fact, it’s been 33 years. But now the group are ready to honour their friend the best way they know how, although they’re pretty tight-lipped on what the show will entail.
There will be special guests and songs from the catalogues of both When the Cat’s Away and Urlich’s own work.
“It will be a massive celebration,” says Willoughby. It will also be emotional – for both performers and fans.
“I’m pretty sure our people will be happy to go on that journey with us, and we’ll just keep it real like we always have done.”
It’s also a chance for the fans to have closure, says Crummer, who shyly admits she was “starstruck” by her former bandmate.
She recounts the band’s first gig in 1986 at Auckland’s Wildlife, where she was “so buzzed” that Urlich took the microphone spot right next to her.
Crummer’s voice starts to shake as she says it will be “weird to not see that microphone”.
“Margie was stupid talented. She was a superstar in every way.”
She was also “all class”, and had a hell of a backbone, laughs Harwood. “The Queen”, as the group used to call her when they first formed, “was incredibly humble, incredibly funny, but you didn’t mess with her”.
In just five years, the group had huge success in Aotearoa. The single Melting Pot shot to number one in 1988; they had a record deal with CBS and a top 40 album with their 1987 debut self-titled live record. They won a New Zealand Music Award in 1990 and in 2021 they were inducted into the New Zealand Music Hall of Fame.
The five solo artists came together at a time when New Zealand music wasn’t really played on commercial radio.
In fact, says Harwood, there would likely be no group if their solo work had been getting actual airplay. And getting all the attention as a band “pissed [them] off”.
“That’s what people wanted, which made it difficult for us with our original music,” adds Swann.
“It was great but terrible at the same time.”
But they had plenty of laughs together, both on and off-stage. And many, many costume changes.
“I think some people thought we were serious, we were pissing ourselves,” laughs Harwood.
Behind the fun were frustrations, too. Especially in an industry dominated by men, where Harwood recalls the group was often underestimated intellectually.
“That was almost our trump card in a way,” she says, adding the women often had to “stand up for ourselves because the general attitude was, ‘hello, little ladies’.”
Then there was the fandom. Sometimes it was odd – Swann had people camped out on her front lawn, and everyone laughs remembering Harwood’s letter from “Lucky” – a fan with a missing eye and no teeth, but the ability to pick a winning horse.
Sometimes, recalls Harwood, it was downright scary.
There was one incident in Tutukaka, when the five were hiding out in a truck, which was being rocked by a “full-on brawl” outside between gang members and severely outnumbered security guards – one of whom “almost died”.
But ultimately, through the ups and downs, the gang fights and fans, and many, many laughs, the band simply got so big they “had to stop”, says Harwood.
“We literally went OK that’s cool, that’s the end of it.”
Now they’re getting ready to get back on stage, in honour of their former bandmate.
“That’s the real reason why we have got back together is for Margie, her family and her fans,” says Crummer.
And despite all five members touring together for only five years, they’re not “reuniting”, insists Willoughby.
“We never break up, we only get together.”