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huiohana
Lokahi
115 Posts |
 Posted - 04/07/2004 : 04:26:26 AM
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Aloha kakou,
Please share, if any, your favorite story of an encounter with a musician of Hawai'i. Good or bad. Did the meeting inspire you?
Here is mine:
If you did'nt figure it out yet, my favorite group is "Hui Ohana". Among my greatest memories are taking pictures with Aunty Genoa Keawe,seeing uncle Dennis Pavao's nahenahe leo ki'eki'e in person and watching in awe at the master of showmanship...uncle Led Ka'apana. I must have caught their shows about 15 times each with the feeling of not seeing them enough. But the moment that I cherish in my memory is the few hours I got to wala'au with uncle Ned Ka'apana. Until recently, I had been a city bus driver here in my home of Hawai'i. One day, uncle Ned jumped on my bus to go holoholo to Waikiki. Needless to say, I was so tickled to meet him. But the best part was he sat up front near where I was and we just talked and talked. We had gone down to Waikiki and back past his house in Liliha. We did this for 3 round trips until he had to get off after that third trip. I did'nt even realize that 5 hours had gone by just like that. He was such a nice Hawaiian man and I will never forget that day. Just for a few hours, I got to talk to a legend. Mahalo nui in lending your ear and letting me share my story...A hui hou...Keali'i K.
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chunky monkey
Ha`aha`a
USA
1022 Posts |
Posted - 04/07/2004 : 10:40:24 AM
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| One of my favorites involves Dennis Kamakahi. We was staying at my house for a San Diego gig and I told him that his song Koke`e was the first Hawaiian song that I had learned. He proceeded to tell me the story of how he came to write that tune. It seems that during his stint with the Sons of Hawaii, the group was invited to spend time in the cabins in Koke`e State Park on Kaua`i. (I don't recall the reason). Anyway, the park is about 4000 ft and it was cold. He and, I think, Feet Rogers, started a fire in the fireplace. It apparantly was their first encounter with a fireplace, so they knew nothing about opening the flue (sic?). Since the fire wasn't drawing, Dennis kept putting on more wood and eventually filled the cabin with smoke. It was pouring out the door and windows, but not the chimney. Eddie Kamae and their local host came running up thinking the cabin was on fire. Dennis felt so bad about it, that he decided to write a song honoring Koke`e. He had me in stitches telling this one. |
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RJS
Ha`aha`a
1635 Posts |
Posted - 04/07/2004 : 7:10:24 PM
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Couple of years ago I set up a time for Randy Lorenzo to come over to the condo to play together. (Well, really I wanted to learn from him.) He didn't show up. Next day my wife and I were having dinner, and I spotted Randy coming up the walkway. When he came to the door, Randy sheepishly commented, "Well, I guess 25 hours late is even pushing it for Hawaiian time."
Spent a couple of hours together and Randy taught me a whole lot. Great guy. |
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Admin
Pupule
USA
4551 Posts |
Posted - 04/07/2004 : 10:37:30 PM
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I'm really enjoying this thread, everyone's story, but I especially liked the 5 hour bus ride to get this topic started!
I had to think a little while but here's my story...
About 5 years ago before visiting O`ahu I noticed a mailing address in the CD insert of Uncle Raymond Kane's Dancing Cat album so I drafted a quick letter saying that I love his music, saw him perform in Boston and just wanted to say aloha from a fan. I can't really remember what else I wrote, but I must have mentioned that I'd be visiting my mother-in-law on a certain date.
So here's what transpired about 2 weeks later. The day my wife and I are to arrive, there is a phone call to my mother-in-law's house.
My sister-in-law, Liane, answers.
"Hello?"
"Is Andy there?"
Thinking that this is a telemarketer or wrong number, Liane answers, "No, there is no Andy here."
"Okay, sorry," and the caller hangs up.
The phone rings again.
"Hello?"
"Is Andy Wang there?"
"Oh, yes, but he's not here yet."
"Aloha, this is Raymond Kane..."
So upon our arrival, Liane picks us up at the airport and tells me that she hung up on Raymond Kane, but he asked me to call him when I get in. Cool, yeah?!?! I thought so.
So I call Uncle Ray and I cannot remember if he asked if I'd like a lesson or if I asked, but the offer is made. Excitedly, I set up a time.
"Uncle Ray, what day is good for you?" I ask?
"What day is good for you? I'm retired! Any day is good for me," says Uncle Ray.
"How about Thursday?"
"Okay, Thursday. See you then. Aloha!"
I'm totally psyched. It was Saturday and I had set up a lesson with Uncle. Next day, after doing fun vacation stuff during the day, we meet up for dinner at Ono's with Lynette's family. Liane tells me that Uncle Ray had left lots of messages on the answering machine back home, "Hello Andy? Are you coming for a lesson today?"... "Aloha, this is Raymond Kane. I'm waiting for you for a lesson?"
Yikes! Uncle's got the days all messed up. I run across the street to the gas station payphone and call the Kane house. Too funny! BTW, for those of you who might visit the Kanes, your best bet is to schedule with Auntie Elodia! We finally iron everything out, work out a day and time after Uncle's dentist appointment. And I got my lesson!
So many morals of the story here. Be careful who you hang up on! Schedule with Auntie, not Uncle! You never know when Uncle Ray Kane might call you!
The Kanes are so full of aloha and have welcomed so many people into their home. Aloha Uncle and Auntie! |
Andy |
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huiohana
Lokahi
115 Posts |
Posted - 04/08/2004 : 5:03:52 PM
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Ho Andy,
You must have been all tickled when Uncle Ray called. I know I would have been in la-la land. I know you did'nt expect to get a phone call, let alone a lesson, but I know in the back of your mind you must have been hoping for it. I'm glad you got to share time with him and his ohana. I met them once at a sreening of "Kiho'alu: That's Hawaiian Slack-Key" at the Honolulu Academy of Arts awhile back. I am the type of person to just go up to someone and just start to wala'au(ain't the best way to break the ice is to say "what school you grad from") with the person. This is just what I do to Hawaiian musicians, and UH athletes, and it is just what I did with uncle Ray and aunty Elodia. They were so sweet and carried on a conversation with me as if they knew me for ages. I never realized he was so short. Anyway...it was a very nice encounter. Happy for you, too. Mahalo nui for sharing your story. A hui hou...Keali'i K. |
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Bwop
Lokahi
USA
244 Posts |
Posted - 04/08/2004 : 10:24:24 PM
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E kala mai if this is way long, but it does fit...
“YOU GOT IT, IT’S A LUAU…”
Perhaps its odd that a ha’ole (Caucasian) mainlander like me could find so much heart connection with an island culture. But then again, why not? Weird stuff happens. I was born in New Jersey, and born again in Hawai’i. My wife, Melinda, had first taken me there nigh-on twenty years ago, and each subsequent trip deepened our connection with this rich and ancient place and people. The weirdest thing about our love of Hawai’i the culture, the music, people. Land and food—was that after all this time, we had never been to a luau. We’d been to Hawai’i a few dozen times, but most of the luau that presented them was geared to tourists and not exactly our cup of tea.
During the fall of 2001, I was taking guitar workshop with George Kahumoku, Jr., a Hawai’ian slack key—or “ki ho’alu””—master, in San Francisco. He mentioned how much he had been touring, and that playing small gigs—informal parties—was much more enjoyable to him than playing in a large venue. In a short time, and a few quantum mental leaps, and being completely naïve about the enormity of the event, I asked George if we could do a luau at my rural La Honda (California) home. Without a blink, George said, “Sure!”
Melinda and I figured we could have it as a new version of “Thanksgiving”. George’s schedule (which make mere mortal men swoon over its enormity) precluded Thursday, but the Saturday of that weekend looked good. As this was just after the felling of the World Trade Center, Melinda and I were delighted to be hosting a gathering of people to share food, music and aloha. The weather was an “iffy” question, but the momentum of wanting to do this ritual was compelling.
My family gamely jumped into the planning of the luau with an incredible lack of knowing the ropes. The first take I had on feeding the eighty people we planned to invite was that I would cook all the food (mostly traditional Hawai’ian dishes) myself, and we would just charge for tickets to cover costs. Although Melinda had no more luau experience than me, she was quick to talk me out of that notion. I settled for just making the Mac Salad (“use only Best Foods Mayonaise,” was a caveat I had already noted from George); mango/cranberry relish; haupia; rice; chili peppa water, and various and sundry culinary inspirations. Melinda would make what turned out to be, “the best chicken long rice”, George had ever tasted. The luau would be a pot-luck, but we would provide the drinks. And George, doing this luau full-on, was going to cook a whole pig in an imu.
As the time approached, we began to focus on all the tasks at hand. I dug the pit for the imu in the backyard (not to be confused with “emu”—as when San Choy went to Australia to do a cooking demonstration, and told the locals he would prepare a traditional Hawai’ian feast and cook a whole pig in an imu. “How the bloody hell is ‘e gonna get a pig in that!”, was the Aussie’s response). We put in supplies, and cooked what we could ahead (somehow, we also did a traditional Thanksgiving, but I can scarcely remember it…). I rigged huge tarps over the back deck and yard, hanging guy wires from the Monterey pines that ring the back of our property. We made signs for “parking”, makeshift tables and gathered coolers. We had that first glimmer of expectation and excitement.
After that unmemorable Thanksgiving Thursday (although, I know it must have been good), preparations went into high gear. On Friday, my sons, Aidan and Kerry, and I took our old pick-up truck down to Santa Cruz to meet George and collect the imu rocks, firewood and other supplies needed. As we were picking up the imu rocks, George told us how he had collected them individually at Oluwalu on Maui, and brought them to the mainland in coolers, seventy-five pounds at a time. There were three quarters of a ton.
“I only like to take rocks that have touched the ocean,” he said, “and I always ask for their permission.” He showed us the different character of the rocks—one to fit perfectly in the right shoulder of the soon to be cooked pig, another in the penis sheath. A few were potential poi pounders. We were very careful placing the “keiki” rocks into the truck.
George and his friend Nino had gone out way early that morning to find a pig, figuring they’d find one at a farm in Modesto—but they had gotten lucky and found one in Watsonville, much closer. They had already cleaned and scraped it, so I was then to take it back to hang in the garage overnight, to cool the meat. We got a banana tree trunk and leaves from Nino, who was able to grow such at his house in Santa Cruz, and burlap sacks and a few more tarps, as the weather was glowering. My sons stayed down to play in the record surf while took the stuffs back to La Honda.
My sister and her family had arrived so my brother-in-law Earl helped, me hoist the pig in the garage. It was a large pig—a hundred eighty five pounds. The garage may have been a two-car garage, but it was definitely only a one-pig garage. Melinda had been off doing other errands (getting lowers, ice and a ti leaf lei for George—a good choice, as aromatic flowers knock him out), and when she returned with our dog Bu, who was partial to the occasional pig ear dog treat, he trotted through the garage. If you’ve never seen a dog do a double take, it’s evocative. “Look what my family did for ME!!!”, was the import his expression gave me.
The weather was increasingly ominous. The wind had kicked-up and ripped a few grommets out of the tarps. Being descended from a long line of sailors, I was determined to rig the yard for any form of foul weather, and, acknowledging the potential of the on-coming storm, it was soon put to rights.
La Honda is prone to mud slides and power outages, downed trees and general chaos when Auntie Ua (the rain) comes to town, and w became a bit concerned about how we could handle the number of people coming if we were obliged to have everyone inside. Although we had no accurate prediction for who was coming (some die-hards flaked, while everyone else seemed to have other friends), we guessed we could have up to eighty people. Our conception of maintaining some kind of guesstimate went out the window when we heard Geroge, on a live radio interview that morning, invite the listening audience. The luau was taking it’s own form, and we were being asked to go along with it.
As the storm gathered, so did we. George and his girlfriend Nancy Sweeny arrived, and Nino. Friday, late afternoon, found the eleven of us shifting into high gear—that lubricated efficiency of skillful activity that such a monumental tack as having a luau requires. So many details had to be attended to, and, of course, there was the cooking.
George had given careful instructions to Nino’s children on how to clean the pig’s intestines, so that he could prepare a traditional “duran duran”, made with the pig’s blood and intestines (a dish Nino had not eaten since his childhood). He was also cooking squid luau (his Mom had caught the squid), a dish of squid, taro leaf and coconut mile which could take five hours to cook.
“Aha!!” I thought, “My chance has come to fulfill a fantasy!” Ever since that last Maui slack key workshop where George (who had his own cooking show on Hawai’ian television) stuffed us slackers (would-be slack key guitarists) with Lawalu fish, Laulau, Kalua pig and all the trimmings, I had so wanted to get a chance to cook for him. It wasn’t so much a notion of “dueling chiefs”, as
That of “I can offer ‘aloha’ from my kitchen, too.” While George had both hands occupied with vigorous cooking, I was now having my chance to feed the gathering with pipi stew (beef stew), homemade bread and a peach pie.
As I started my culinary wizardry, George casually mentioned, “Are you using that burner?” Ever so gently, I got nudged off the stove upstairs (we do have another small kitchen downstairs), while George made the most amazing ham and bean soup for our supper, too.
That Friday supper, with storm clouds gathering, a kitchen full of wonderful smells and aloha, the expectation of what was to come and the most wonderful group of people, was like a “last supper”—if I ever get the chance, at the end of my life, to re-live a supper, that’s the one, no doubt about it. There were toasts and stories, bountiful good food and jokes, and a solid, shinning joy in being together at this place, this time. As the eleven of us filled our large dinning table, I began to guess what tremendous ‘aloha’ this luau might create. This supper was the seed.
As we sat in blissful satiation at the end of supper, we mused over the machinations of doing the imu in the coming storm. “Let’s fire up the imu right now!” George declared.
We went up the dark hill to the imu. I unleashed the guy-wires on the main tarp while we began to start the fire (“It’s high up, but the fire make one puka in that, fo’ reals!”, Nino advised). We had oak wood, but it seemed to be damp. We needed a bellows. “I’ve got it!” I chimed in, and ran down to fetch an electric fan. I brought it back, and plugged in into an extension chord from the green house, and handed it to George. We were all set to get this blazing. He turned on the fan, and with an incredible anti-climatic fizzle, the blades began a barely perceptible movement. “Oops”, wrong fan.
Got the right fan. We got the fire blazing. George started placing the rocks into the fire to heat them. An hour or so later, and we’re ready to start the imu.
We brought the pug up, and with tongs (George’s father, who was a blacksmith, used to use his bar hands to place the white-hot imu stones) fit the particular rocks into their places. The rocks were so hot, the pig would spontaneously burst into flame, and we’d have to beat it out with ti leaves. We lowered the pig, now stuffed with white-hot stones, into the imu. We also put in a couple turkeys and sweet potatoes. The banana trunk was laid on top, more ti leaves and wet burlap sacks. We then covered the lot with the excavated soil.
The cooking technique of the imu is actually “steaming”, so it’s important that there aren’t any holes in the dirt, which would allow air in and cause combustion inside. Aidan and Kerry volunteered to be on “puka patrol” (checking for holes) through the whole night, to assure there would be no unintentional fire.
With the imu underway, I sent George off to our redwood hot tub. He liked it. “Tell Nancy to come, whether she has a bathing suit or not!” he requested. We battened-down the kitchen, and put things in order for the next day. We sent George and Nancy off to our bed, my sister’s family throughout the downstairs, Nino in Kerry’s bed, and Melinda and I in Aidan’s bed—though I can’t remember if I actually slept.
We all rose early the next morning, Aidan and Kerry being unreasonably chipper for not having slept at all, and had breakfast. The storm came on, and our power went out. Unfortunately, I had given George something sweet at breakfast, and it upset his stomach a few hours. We used the time to place traffic signs, re-fix tarps and generally prepare. When George re-appeared, it was time to open the imu.
We removed the turkeys, sweet potatoes and the pig, still needing to beat out the flames when they erupted. The imu had gotten up to an internal temperature of over two thousand degrees, so everything was HOT. As we shredded the pig meat with fingers and forks, we kept adding boiled water to keep it moist. We brought down the large cooler filled with kalua pig.
The other dishes we all had made were readied, and the tables were spread by noon—the time that we had ordained was to start the luau. The weather was so grim, we had only a few arrivals, but George is not one to procrastinate. “Let’s pule (pray) and grind (eat)!”, he said. We held hands and prayed, giving thanks. “This ‘aina (land) has now been blessed by kalua-ing this pig,” prayed George, and we began to realize that what was taking place would have an on-going benefit in our ability to share aloha here in La Honda. “Let’s eat!”
We started in on the food, and it was ambrosia. If you’re wont to be squeamish, you should taste “duran” before you ask what it is. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in this world as good a kalua turkey, and that’s a fact. Oh, man! We start the cycle of eating, drinking and playing that will continue through the luau.
More people, against all odds, find their way. La Honda is hard enough to find on a bright summer day, so we figure everyone who gets here does so by some divine guidance. After the first wave of satiation, it’s time to start a Kanikapila (jam). We go around the group, and when it gets to me, I have my chance to play the first song I’ve written in Hawai’ian, “Pie Li'ili'i”-- about my honey-pie Melinda, with George. As I sing, Melinda’s mother arrives (if nothing else could convince her I am Melinda’s best possible husband, this should…). We go around the several dozen of us slackers, sitting around the living room up-stairs with no power. The camp-lights and candles made George reminiscent of his Kealia days.
When the jam comes around to me again, I play “Ripple”—a Grateful Dead song that bridges my connection with music from being a Dead Head to being a Led Head (Ledward Kaapana is another of the great slack key masters). During the chorus, the hail comes down big time. I just keep on, chukling to myself over this hoailona (mystic sign). Either Uncle Jerry is very please, or he’s wincing over my vocal attempts. Yet another fantasy realized.
Amazingly, many more fold are getting here. As we greet people (and try to explain a name tag system—“Put your name down, and your favorite beach in Hawai’i. If you’ve never been to Hawai’i, put ‘Malihini” (new-comer). During the luau, find a ‘Malihini” and try to convince them why your beach is the best. At some point, prizes will be awarded to Malihini’s and people who have convince them that their beaches are the best…”), we don’t know where George is, We find him filling plates for everyone, making sure no one goes with an un-attended appetite.
The store of food only seems to grow, the group swells despite all odds with some folks leaving early and many more arriving, and the party is in full swing. The weather is horrendous, but at some point the power actually comes back on.
We head downstairs to the Biscut Parlor (our downstairs wide-open space and studio for our sons’ old band, “The Burning Biscuits”), where we have a sound system and loads of chairs set up. George begins an actual concert, asking requests and playing with lots of us. I ask him to do “Ho’opio Kamaha’o”, or “Wonderful Wooing”, a song he hasn’t done for a few decades, but with a few reminders he launches into it, pantomiming during the middle the appearance of the “puhi”, or eel. I get to play more songs, others play with George, too, and friends dance hula. This is one of the most incredible concerts I have ever heard in my life (one lavishly colored with amazing concerts, too, I might add), and it’s happening here in my own Biscut Parlor! Ho, man!
It’s one of those, “Shoot me now, ‘cause it doesn’t get better than this” times. We’ve had over a hundred people, by latest count, participate in this luau, and it’s become its’ own entity, far out-growing any conception we could have presupposed. At one point, George says, “You know, in Hawai’i, you do a luau for something- a high school graduation, a one year-old birthday, a wedding… Why are we doing this luau?”. Melinda and I didn’t have to even gather our wits. “This is for you, George. To thank you for all your teachings, all your music. It’s your luau.”.
George, giving the Energizer Bunny a run for its money, has played for hours. Finally, Aina and Kerry are playing some original song with George, and as they hit a dramatic chord at the end of a song, the lights and poser vanish. The timing was so impeccable, most people thought it was a clever stage effect, But it’s a sign; it’s time to wrap up the luau and put it to bed.
“Hawai’i Aloha” is always sung at the end of any Hawai’ian function, but when it’s done by candlelight, with everyone holding hands and swaying back and forth in your own Biscut Parlor, something happens inside you. It not only happens inside you, it gets imbedded in the mortar of the bricks of your chimney. The aloha that manifested at this luau was awesome, transforming, and life-affirming. What had started as an idea of something fun had opened into a righteous expression of goodness, a vision of “Lokahi”, or “unity”. We were humbled by what had happened.
We led people out by the light of tiki torches, George piling everyone with “doggie bags” that would go on feeding for days. With a final gift from us, George and Nancy left, last of all, late that night.
Eventually, the power came on. Eventually, we cleaned house. The tarps came down, and now, where, the imu was is the asparagus and pumpkin bed. The rocks (which stayed so hot, that after three days of being hailed on, could still ignite kindling) were returned. Bu, exalting in the canine exuberance of an opportune porcine-leavings feast, was gloriously sick for four days.
But our house, and we, are not the same. We now know what a luau is, and what a luau does. Yes, it’s the “big fun”, and, yes, it’s lots of great food, and lots of great music, too. But it’s also a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. It’s what can happen when people share selflessly to create a uniquely human expression. It’s called “aloha”.
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huiohana
Lokahi
115 Posts |
Posted - 04/08/2004 : 11:45:11 PM
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Gee Bwop,
Your story gave me chicken skin and some ue in my eyes. It brought some memories back of my stint in Germany and our Luau we had there. I wish I was with you guys. It seemed like you had an awesome time.
Yes, the luau has a lot of mana. Some people think a Luau is just to drink and eat. But it is just more than that. It is nice that you and your wife had the opportunity to share it with George Jr. and your good friends. That is the best people to share it with. People who you consider your ohana. Nice!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!A hui hou...Keali'i K. |
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Admin
Pupule
USA
4551 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2004 : 12:57:06 AM
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Wow Peter,
I think you win the award for longest post to date! No joke, your story had me drawn in following every word. It's 1 am, I'm tired, lying in bed with my laptop (yes I need therapy!) but reading every single word. Thank you so much for taking the time to share your experience in such vivid detail. I felt almost as if I were there. So the online `ohana here got your lu`au without the calories! Mahalo nui. Much aloha to you, Melinda, Aidan and Kerry. |
Andy |
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Karl Monetti
`Olu`olu
USA
756 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2004 : 03:39:03 AM
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Well,i was going to say something, but, how do you follow bwop???? That about takes the cake!
I ALMOST got Keola Beamer to Fairbanks lask November, does that count?
Karl
Frozen North |
Karl
Frozen North |
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huiohana
Lokahi
115 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2004 : 03:46:15 AM
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Dear Karl,
I would like to hear everybody's story. I hope, Hawaiian style, that nobody will knock anyone's story here. Keola almost to Fairbanks sounds pretty interesting to me, anyway. You kind of left me hanging. Plus, you're not following Bwop's story so you don't have to follow one huge story to top, eh? A hui hou, Keali'i K. |
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huiohana
Lokahi
115 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2004 : 04:10:56 AM
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Aloha RJS and Chunky Monkey,
RJS...did you get to sing some songs w/ brada Randy. He has a pretty good leo ki'eki'e. I really like the song he recorded with sista Robi Kahakalau. I believe the song was "Pauoa Liko Ka Lehua". You lucky buggah!
Eh, Chunky Monkey...Don't you love how mellow uncle Dennis is? He looks wild when he dresses all in his motorcycle get-up. But when he wala'au Hawaiian music...just so smooth, yeah? I think he is, truly, one of Hawaii's treasures in Song writing. Needless to say, one of the greats in Kiho'alu. Mahalo a nui loa in sharing your accounts of great memories for you. A hui hou, Keali'i K. |
Edited by - huiohana on 04/09/2004 04:54:47 AM |
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cmdrpiffle
`Olu`olu
USA
553 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2004 : 12:08:40 PM
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This was a long time coming.
My favorite encounter(s) with Hawaiian musicians
is about as local as you can get. It involves
folks on this forum.
Summer before last I went to the Aloha Music Camp.
The fact that I was able to make it there was a
minor miracle. I had been there maybe 2 days when
my world fell in. A personal tragedy had taken place
back home. I was on the big Island and had to make
a choice. Stay or go. There was in the end nothing
to be gained by flying back, there were enough grieving
people there. I would have just put myself into the
middle of it, and in retrospect, have most likely broken
for good.
I chose to stay. I was with a group of people I'd never
met 3 days before, and in the end had to trust myself to
just 'be' for the remainder of the time.
I could NOT have chosen a better group of people to immerse with.
I stayed in Hawaii because it had been my choice to do so.
Every fibre of my being was screaming to fly back.
So, my favorite story of Hawaiian musicians are the special
people. John (jwn) who talked me down more than a few times
sitting on those wicker rockers on the lanai. Toki and Liko.
Real family there. Julie Hendriks, bless her, she understood.
Annie and Mark. Took me aside and offered any help I needed.
Dusty, sitting under that mango tree playing when I suddenly
just needed to stop and listen to some music. Thanks Brah, you
never knew just how much I needed to stop and listen for a few
minutes. I was going thru periods where I was surviving for a
few minutes at a time. Auntie Cathe, and Sistah Liz!. Thank you
for the grace and eloquence to KNOW what was right for me, and
point me there. Keola Beamer for walking up telling me I looked
like hell, and what could he do? Funny that in effect, I paid
to be with him and it's all about me. Thank you Brother.
Debbie, for sticking a Longboard in my hand and forcing me to
chill out a bit. I know you're in Indiana, but your aloha radiates
everywhere. Bruce Lamb, for deciding this 'slack key' stuff is nice,
but someone needs to start hammering out some BLUES. Michael from
New Mexico, for sitting down one evening and laying down a
beautiful rhythm on Kuu Lei Awapuhi with me. Steve Grimes, for
recognizing my guitar and joking, 'you must play some HAPA', to which
I was able to respond, 'ya, better than Barry'. Cracked me up!
And to my band NameaHuna, Craig and Liko. Sitting up all night
making those wooden floors shake. You guys are the best.
That was my favorite encounter with musicians of Hawaii.
Without them and many others un-named, I wouldn't have made it.
Life is a journey always. Sometimes when the path falls out,
wonderful people are there to catch you.
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my Poodle is smarter than your honor student |
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Mainkaukau
Lokahi
USA
245 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2004 : 04:19:37 AM
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Back in the late 1970's, I was jamming with "Bozo" Cazimero at a friend's party at "Dots" in Wahiawa, Oahu. I can remember we played a couple of songs off of the "Sunday Manoa" albums. He Hawaii Au, Hawaiian Lullaby and Hula Maiden. As we exited the stage a young boy came up and asked for autographs. Roland signed first, the kid was thrilled, I signed second, the boy looked at my signature and said, " Hey, you not Peter Moon" and walk away abruptly. I will never forget the disappointment in that young fellow's eyes. Personally, I took it as a compliment.  |
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Karl Monetti
`Olu`olu
USA
756 Posts |
Posted - 04/11/2004 : 03:31:52 AM
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Keali'i,
OK, so here's how it all started. I first heard slack key on a PBS radio show in 1996. Led, Raymond Kane, Dennis K. It was wonderful but sounded so exotic and unaccessible at the time. In 1997, my daughter spent the fall semester at UH Manoa on the swim team. As any good father would, I had to make sure she was OK, so my wife and I visited her for Thanksgiving. One of my ulterior motives in going was to see if I could find someone who plays lack key. I must have asked half a dozen bar owners, and several music store owners, and shop vendors and people on the street if they knew where I couold hear slack key guitar. The sad thing was, nobody seemed to understand what it was I was talking about...I guess this musical form did almost die out!! Finally a person visiting a gutar store overheard my querry and said he had a friend, Bobby Moderow, who played every Friday night at Roy's restaruant. Finally, a thread. And, it was Friday! So my wife and daughter, her swim team friend and her boyfriend piled into the rental and off we went to Roy's Big deal for the kids, they were all starving college students with big, swim team appetites and bag lady budgets. I had no idea what they would think of the music, but I figured the food would hold them, and, I had the car keys anyway.
Bobby and his group, MaunaLua, were playing out on the veranda (lanai?), so we got a table up near the band and settled in. They played a few contemporary songs, a few Hawaiian songs, and took a break. I introduce myself to Bobby and told him I understood he played slack key, and I would love to hear some. Well, i have rarely witnessed a transformation as that night. He was thrilled that someone wanted to hear ki ho'alu, played several tunes, and from that moment on, the band took all it's breaks at our table, even his wife, returning from her hula class, stopping over and dancing for us while Bobby played.
It was truly wonderful, adn the really cool thing was, the kids loved it, too!!
I made arrangemtents for a lesson with Bobby a few days later, and he invited us to his home. Our twenty minute lesson lasted an hour, and we spent several more hours visiting with his ohana. Sadly, we had to leave, but not without a few good tips, lots of encouragement, and ten pages of tab notes.
I worked on the first song he taught me, Ke Aloha, and even stuck in an original inttro and bridge I figured out. I made a tape of that and sent it back to him, hoping for some feedback, but never heard from him again. Tried calling a few times, no response. I figured he must not have wanted to fiddle with a guy so far away.
Fast forward a few years to Christmas 2002, when my wife and I flew my daughter, now a teacher in Baltimore, and my son, a student in an eastern college, to Kauai for the week. Again, and this is the sad part, I tried to find local information about slack key guitar from shop owners, music stores, bars, people on the street, "event coordinators" at the hotels. Nothing, mostly blank stares. Fortunately I had found out about the McMasters in Hanalei via the internet before we went over, and we spent a few hours with them during one of their Sunday afternoon info/concerts. Then we stumbled on to a restaurant one night near our hotel where a dashing Hawaiian was playing standards. I asked the hostess if he ever played slack key, and she said, yes he did. We quickly got cleaned up and came back for dinner, asking for the table closest to the stage. Between some original songs, I asked him if he could play some slack key....again, the eyes lit up, and Titus Kinimaka played several tunes for us. He came over at the break and we talked a bit. He asked how i knew about slack key and I told him about Bobby, and the radio show, and that I had gotten Keola's video and had been practicing a lot. He went back for his last set, and near the end, he said,"Karl, could you come up here for a second?" Well, i got up and walked over and he got up, handed me his guitar and said, "Play something for us!" Talk about pressure!!! Well, it turns out there was no pressure, becaue I didn't have time to think about failure, no anxious moments waiting to go on stage, I was already there! I sat down, made sure his guitar was in taro patch, and ripped off my rendition of Ke Aloha, complete with my home made bridge, and as clean as I have ever played it (which ain't sayin much). But, it got a good response from the small crowd, and, more importantly to this old guy, a loving, respectful, and awed response from my kids and wife. Well, that went over so well, titus asked me to do another. I tried one of Keola's on his video, cannot even remember which. I did OK, but by then the stage fright had kicked in and my knees were knocking aout of synch with my fingers, the sweat ran down my face and I made more than my share of mistakes. But, the audience, such as it was, was still appreciative, so I called it a night.
Hey, this might get as long as bwop's after all!?!?!?
Two days later, at a Border's book store, I was looking through the Hawaiian cds and out pops Bobby Moderow's face on the cover of their first, award-winning album. Mine!!! right now!! What a wonderful album, and it brought back such great memories of that night at Roy's and the later lesson with Bobby. When we returned to Alaska, I tried contacting him via the website for the record company, and the maunalua site, but, no dice...everything came back undeliverable. So, finally, just a couple months ago, while looking at the the CD cover for the thousandth time, wondering why my efforts to contact Bobby had brought nothing, I decided to call him. All I could find was the number for his mother and dad, at the address I had remembered. So I called. His mom answered...."Hello, is this the Moderow residence? You probably would not remember me, my wife and I...etc.etc.....in 1997...etc. for a couple hours and a lesson......blah, blah..." "Well, of course I remember you, Karl! Wasn't your wife's name Susan?" Just like old home week. She gave me Bobby's work number, so i called him "Hi Bobby, you probably don;t remember me, i met you in 1997 and had a half hour lesson with you. My name is Karl..." "MONETTI!" He said. Of course he remembered,,,,,"Why didn't you ever get back to me with your practice lessons?" We talked for half an hour, made arrangements for some lessons in the future, got a permanent invitation to visit, and the blessings of a teacher..."you have the spirit, Karl, and the kumu, so keep up the good work".
Just a week later, Cyril, Dennis, Cindy and Patrick Landeza rolled into Fairbanks for a concert, and I got a lesson (at 3am) with Patrick. He said, if you are a die-hard, you will come when I can teach you...that is after we pack up our gear, go out with the concert assoiation big-whigs, and come back to the hotel, and before we fly out at 6am. What a trooper! ANyway, the lesson was great, but his biggest legacy to me was telling me to log onto this site. SInce then, I have come across asome really nice folks who are help[ing me with long distance learning from the 50th to the 49th state. Well, actually, they are in California, but i bet they wish they were in Hawaii!
So, about keola. remember keola? This is a story about Keola Beamer and how he almost made it to Fairbanks, Alaska in November of 2003. Along about January 2003, I heard on the radio the Keola would be in Anchorage, (350 miles to the south) the next day! I couldn;t believe it. How could they (Whoever THEY are) not have told me ahead of time??? I could not get a flight, no time to drive after work, heck it takes 6 hours in the summer, and this was January! So i got on his web stie and found the contaact for his manager,. I contacted him and he said, yes, we could probably get him to Fairbanks around thanksgiving. He said he needed a hall between 300 and 500 people, I said i could find one. I asked if he would give a workshop, he said yes, for at least 10 people; I had 15 signed up in 5 days. I asked if his wife would be coming, and if so, would she be interested in hula workshops? Yes, she would for at least 20 but no more that 40 people. I had 35 dancers ready to go in a week! (Fairbanks is STARVED for entertainment). We kept up a running dialog for over a month, even making arrangements for the Beamers, in fact, the whole troupe, to stay at our cabin out in the woods. And, then, suddenly, all communication stopped. I called and left messages, emailed half dozen times,,,,,never an answer. So, down the drain, and i had to let all those folks know.
Can you imagine what it would have been like to have had the Beamers at my cabin??? MAn, I was in heaven just thinking about it.....'let's see, how are we going to do this.....no, you keep your guitars out of sight, maybe just one propped up in a corner, no pressure on the guy to perform, just let him relax and enjoy some real Alaskan experiences, don;t make him work. Maybe he will "volunteer" a song or two, Maybe he will want to stretch his fingers an play some tunes. Maybe he will see my copy of his video ......I could leave it by the tv near his bed, and he might just see it and ask me.....'hey, you play? wanna jam?' GOose bumps!
Visited his site again yesterday and noticed he has a new manager, so I will try agian, maybe I'll have a second installment with some real results!!!
Aloha,
Karl
Frozen North |
Karl
Frozen North |
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wdf
Ha`aha`a
USA
1153 Posts |
Posted - 04/11/2004 : 2:06:46 PM
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Hey Mike, Aloha Camp was a major highlight for me and Sheila too!
Check it out:
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Bwop
Lokahi
USA
244 Posts |
Posted - 04/11/2004 : 9:18:50 PM
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Aloha e Karl,
Wonderful, your story. I believe it's true: "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear". A tender heart, an open mind, some spot cash and being willing to drive a lot are important, too. I don't think there's anywhere too far away to be reached by the mystic tendrils of ki ho'alu. Like they said in that movie, "wherever you go, there you are...". Jus' do it, and don't entertain the notion you can't.
Hey, why not come to George's or the Aloha camp bumbye??? You could play, your wife can hula and I know there'd be food and swimming places for your daughter.
A hui ho! |
Bwop |
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