Yes, Explotied.
It should have said The Exploited. But the mate who owned the bag wasn't a great speller.
He was, though, a top surfer and a very good drummer - two things which a few years later endeared him to The Clean's David Kilgour who invited him to play on the album Sugar Mouth.
And that was the thing - we felt like we were a little behind the times with punk. But New Zealand music, thanks to record label Flying Nun, was right there in our faces, on the counter of local record shapes like Tracks N Tapes.
I don't remember what drew me to The Chills "Doldrums" 45, because at the time my music taste was closeted. But the Chills helped broaden my music spectrum, and open my ears.
I took the Doldrums home, set it upon my National 3 in 1 stereo, and became entranced.
The opening clock chime, chugging organ and off-key chorus, peppered with da-da-das was like nothing that I had heard before.
That drew me to Rolling Moon, and the kiwi-punk chaos of Flame Thrower. And so on and so on. The Chills, The Verlaines, The Bats, Chris Knox, The Gordons, Bailter Space, The 3Ds and of course, The Clean.
All on Flying Nun - a record label started by a music fan called Roger Shepherd.
Shepherd has written a book - In Love With These Times.
The title comes from a Nesh Bailter Space (later to become Bailter Space) song.
The song itself isn't arguably the greatest example of what became known as the "Dunedin Sound" - a description Shepherd admits he was never that fond of, given it's all encompassing reference to what was an eclectic group of acts on his label.
But it stuck.
Words describing music are tricky things. And after reading In Love With These Times, there is a sense of having only scraped the surface of a golden era of New Zealand music.
There are personal revelations from Shepherd - he struggled with alcohol, and was later diagnosed with manic depression. But he avoids delving further into the depths of either, choosing to acknowledge each with his arid humour and move on.
There is detail, though, on characters he knew well. Chris Knox had a key role to play in Flying Nun, recording bands and flip-flopping around Auckland in his jandals distributing vinyl hot off the press.
Shepherd was circumspect about getting too close to Knox's shard-like tongue when it was lubricated with alcohol, but is equally in admiration of Knox's wit, intelligence and pioneering musical approach.
Which is why many, including Shepherd, struggled with the cruel irony dealt to Knox when he suffered a stroke that took away his ability to communicate in his slightly mad, verbose manner.
In general though, that's as personal as Shepherd gets, and readers may wonder why there isn't more dirt dished on the scene that Shepherd remains a part of today.
Perhaps that's just not Shepherd's style, and after a day or so since finishing his book, I tend to think that he has achieved all he set out to achieve.
Because having devoured his many words about music, I was compelled to play some of those Flying Nun bands.
Which only served to remind me, that I am still in love with those times, and Flying Nun.
