Kenneth Makuakāne

What good is it to gain the whole world and lose your soul? Is self-gain bad? No, but stepping on others in the process surely is bad. Building trust is like building a house. You lay the foundation, put up the framework, then do the fine carpentry work. It is a tried and true, time-honored plan.

To reach the point of trust, you have to work at the relationship constantly. Consistency is the key. I believe in you, because you’ve always shown me that you would come through. It’s like having an A-rated credit report. Before a bank will loan you money or a credit card company will extend you the credit, you must show history. In the financial world, it’s credit history, while relationships are built on trust history.

We all know that nobody is perfect and we make mistakes every once in awhile. This is usually a built in clause. Just remember not to abuse the privilege. Continuity of purpose creates habits. Once a habit is formed, only periodic maintenance is necessary to stay in shape.

Do we dare speak of insecurities that will crop up if we are callous. Being mindful of the other person is the only way to keep trust in check. How do we develop an ideology into practical application? Take an introspective look and ask yourself how you would open yourself up to trusting the other person. How many times would they have to show you they care by acting out the same results, the same way in either the same scenario or a similar one? When you analyze your needs and expectations, then you can see how you have to act out those same expectations you require from the other person. Never expect from others what you won’t do yourself. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Be sensitive, know how fragile a heart can be.

The wounds of hurt and pain breeds mistrust, while the warmth of a dependable shoulder lifts all doubts.

I donʻt know when the thought first popped into my head, but Iʻm sure it must have been there for quite some time. I do remember noticing it every once in awhile, dropping me clues of its existence. It has the patience of Job, the passions of Christ, the perseverance of time, for as I have come to realize, it has always been present from the beginning of time.

It is there for the taking. It doesnʻt discern between individuals, it invites all to partake. It rules over no man, for its only rule is that there are no rules. It is the feeling of “falling” in love or “rising” above it all. Itʻs the longing for something, the endless yearning for answers, the pristine glance into nothing and seeing everything. It is called free thinking and it has no boundaries.

In my own world, I recognize it as my ‘aumakua and kupuna kahiko nurturing and guiding me to step into the light. I am an extension of their every thought, their every experience, their every dream. I take this torch to light my own path, to gorge my own destiny, yet I am connected to the same vein that flows through my ancestral past. What my heightened senses feel are a culmination of collected memories from which to draw on. Some people call it deja vu, I choose to view it as the bridge that joins me to my ancestral past. It is the conduit through which I communicate and resound with all creation.

From this well of thought, I gather only that which is needed for this time, never taking more than I need, lest I waste. In doing so, there is never a time of want or a drought to my thoughts. I understand that what I think and what I feel is given to me freely, to use responsibly, mindful of the source from which it flowed. It has nothing to do with ego or duty; it has everything to do with the journey of self realization, purpose and consciousness.

In order to create, you need to free your mind of all that is around ou, all that clogs the passageway of free thinking. Find a place where you feel comfortable, a place where positive energies vibrate randomly, a safe haven to nurture your mindʻs growth. It can be a bedroom, a couch, a picnic table, a beach wall, a tree limb, even an imaginary force field. Create to separate you from the rest of the physical world. When you begin to sense solace, start to let your guard down; release the crutches that hold you back; shed the burdens that weigh you down, cut all ties with the negative. Tell yourself there is no room in your closet of all the mess. Clean your mindʻs house. Let all things pass for they will correct themselves in their own time, not yours. All you will ever have is the present, the now, so make the very best of it.

Take a couple of deep breaths, open you heart and call out for help, not in desperation, but with valued respect. It is not your intention to know who or why, that is the job of the great “I Am.” It is your intention to fill your time with the waters of ideas, of wisdom, of endless thoughts. The flood gates will surely open, press down, shaken and overflow abundantly. Now pick from the tree of free thinking. Collect all that you need. It is joyfully given to you and with a joyful heart, you accept all of it.

Sitting in this express train from Narita to Shinagawa,
I sometimes forget that I am in a foreign land,
because I feel comfortable traveling around Japan.
There is a calmness in knowing that I am ok.
The snow falls around me like flakes of powder,
settling on the sleeping ground.
The grass lays dormant brown beside the naked-branched trees. Solemn is its demeanor, hidden is its hopeful purpose for a quick wintry season. Stark and barren are its parts, relegated to void mischief till Spring comes once again.

The channeled tracks point the way to my destination. Steadfast is the course, determined is its sleek visitor.
Shrine temples remind me of home. So accurate are its similarities that I sense a cultural vigil unlike that of my hallowed heritage. What strength is there in subservience? Such prophesied literature rings true when first penned “to the victor go the spoils!”

Wow! The setting sun delves its last hurrah of golden sunlight on the tips of all the buildings. A menagerie of lit candles poised and proud till earth’s axis’d rotation dampens my excitement. A toast to yet another beautiful God-given day.

Water running out to the sea. I must be in Tokyo. Yes, the outskirts soon give ground to towers of concrete. It is here that life pulses. It is here that my bridge stretches across to welcome me with open arms. What lies ahead is yet to be determined. What was left behind is sorely missed.

I grew up in a little neighborhood in Hilo called Keaukaha. It was a sleepy Hawaiian community with not much going on. There was one elementary school, one little mom and pop grocery store, a park, a gym for volleyball or basketball – we usually played sham battle – a version of dodgeball, a swing, a giant slide, and my ultimate favorite – two acres of bagasse.
Now, most people don’t know about bagasse, because it’s only available in communities that have a sugar mill. What happens is that every eighteen months the sugar cane field is set on fire to burn off all the leaves and things. This method also increases the amount of pure sugar in the stalk. Thereafter, the field is harvested, placed on large rigs and transported to a processing plant, the sugar mill. The cane goes through several processes to extract the liquid from the stalk. The dried remains is the bagasse. It was used as compost for gardens. Because of the overabundance of the stuff, it was usually hauled away to a landfill.
One glorious day, the dump trucks arrived, unloading what seemed like Maunakea’s (the largest mountain on the Big Island) baby brother. The mountain was at least twice as high as me; it stretched an eternity in both directions. From then on, I spent every afternoon and weekends digging tunnels through this thing. We had such an elaborate tunnel system; it would rival the New York subway system – sort of; at least that is what we believed; an endless labyrinth, an underground community, another world. There were a bunch of escape routes to reach the topside of our little world. We even created tiger traps, deep holes covered by twigs, lightly sprinkled over with bagasse. Whenever we would play chase master on the top of the pile, we would lead pursuer to the hole, jump over, allowing the unwary person to step on the covered trap and fall in. There were a few shattered egos, along with a few broken bones, but hey, it was all for the honor of kidhood.

When you become a parent for the first time, there is an initial sensation of fear and insecurity that comes over you. How am I going to take care of this child? Will I be able to take care of this child? So I stumble through the first week, the first month, the first year. Slowly I got in to the rhythm of nurturing and teaching my child.

There were these formative years for both of us that shaped our bond for each other. How amazing it is to see the growth and development of another human being’s life unfold, because of you. Of course there is his mother, who is the foundation of this child, but I’m talking about my experience, my joy, my hopes and dreams, and my take on this matter.

My son came to most of my performances, willingly or unwillingly, and patiently waited until I was through. He would then happily jump up on me, when I got off stage. Sometimes I would let him sit on a chair or speaker while we performed. He didn’t make a peep, just sat there and took it all in. When he was six years old, I had him sing with me at several Christian concerts. He was never scared, or if he were, he would hold my hand tightly and walked with me on the the stage.

The largest venue that we did our father-son performance on was the Waikīkī Shell in front of thousands of people who just sighed “oh!” when we walked out. I brought a high stool for him to sit on, so that I could prop him higher. As we sang our songs, I remember looking down at him with pride and thinking how cool it was to be performing with my son. I had always wished for my son to be playing music with me, but I knew how hard it was to make a career in the music field, so I shied away from teaching him. I did teach him some songs on the ‘ukulele, but that was about it.

I did however notice that he had a propensity to hum whenever he was concentrating on something. He also loved to make up his own words, while listening to songs on the radio. Being a songwriter, I was very excited about this. I was surprised to see him effortlessly creating lyrics on the spot and singing those words as the songs were playing on the radio.

Since his birth, I decided to do an audio photograph of him every year. Most people take pictures of their child as they grow up. My idea was to take a snap shot of his voice as he grew. He recorded a poem he learned at school or a song he liked. One year he and a couple of friends put together a rap song about the garbage man that picked up the rubbish at the apartment complex twice a week. I laid down some music and the kids did the rap to lyrics they had written. It was the cutest thing ever. Iʻm still amazed that my son put this all together with his friends and asked me if they could do this recording.

Even though I would love my son to be in a band with me, I wouldnʻt want him to go through all the hardships of being in the business. One of the problems is that the general public, as well the younger musicians think of it as something you do for fun. I could get into it, but Iʻll save it for another book topic.

Anyway, I wanted my son to be successful and comfortable in life, so I wish for him to be a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer; anything but a musician. I would like to have him play music as a stress reliever, than something that brings him stress.

With this in mind, I wrote a fictitious song about my son actually doing the same thing as I am doing; writing, recording and singing his own songs. Then one day, he would be sitting down after a successful tour and start to think about his life and how he followed in his dadʻs footsteps. Then he would start to write a song that compares his life to mine.

My son at age four during a school May Day show.

JUST LIKE ME

You know my daddy is the kind of guy
Who writes the songs that make the women cry
Just like me, just like me
You know my daddy has a funny style
He looks for things that make the people smile
Just like me, just like me

You know my daddy is the kind of guy
Who never quits until the well runs dry
Just like me, just like me
You know my daddy has a special touch
He always helps, but never asks for much
Just like me, just like me

He makes you look at things from every direction
He never stops until there’s satisfaction
He never interrupts the flow of the action
Just like me

You know my daddy is a son of a gun
He takes a bad day and he makes it fun
Just like me, just like me
You know my daddy has a funny style
He looks for things that make the people smile
Just like me, just like me

You know my daddy is the kind of guy
Who never quits until the well runs dry
Just like me, just like me
You know my daddy has a special touch
He always helps, but never asks for much
Just like me, just like me

Please accept my gift of song. This is called Just Like Me. The artist singing is Clay Mortenson, a wonderful singer and friend.

You can download the file by either clicking and holding on the right mouse button (Windows users) or Control-clicking on the song name (Mac users).

Many times the eyes don’t see what the heart really feels. They blind the situation, cloud the thoughts, and worse – allow us to imagine the worst.

Do we not spend every waking and sleeping hour together? Do we not share personal information with each other? Do we not confide in each other? Do we not show every side of our personalities to each other, including the not-so-good sides too? Do we not say things to each other without ever speaking?

Is the spark gone; has the fire died? A spark only lasts for a second. It is the short “wow” that excites our lives, but it is does not control our lives. It is not the essence that makes or breaks our relationship. It is not the glue that keeps us bonded to each other. It is not the creation, only the fabrication in our minds. It is the faux diamond, the fake Christmas tree, the foster child.

If we were to look into the deepest part of our souls, there we would find the stuff that keeps us together. There is no name for it, no symbol, no monogram that identifies it. It stands there like a lighthouse, a beacon that shines through every bright and sunny day, every dark and stormy night. It is the path that always leads us back to each other.

There are joyous times that make us look at our relationship and smile as we baste in its warmth. There are also turbulent times that force us to look inside and determine the value of our bond. It is at that moment our faith is shaken, our foundation rattled, our convictions tested. Our minds wander through endless scenarios, painting nightmares, planting doubt into the fabric of our character. However, if we choose to think only the positive; trust that we are worth our weight in gold; value ourselves and persevere, we will push through those doubts.

What is the color of my love for you? It’s the late afternoon clouds as the sun slowly surrenders the remainder of its magic potion into the ocean; it’s the freshly-fallen avocadoes in Tantalus, ready to be devoured in an instant; it’s the feathery crashing waves that pelt the rocky shores of Opihikao on a blissful morning, it’s the brisk morning mountain air in Kula that reverberates through my skin; it’s the awe-inspiring sight of buildings towering above as hundreds of people scurry below in a Shibuya instant; its the laughter of a sudden puff of wind as the trains scream quickly past; it’s the quiet reverence of a mountain glacier strikingly set into a peaceful turquoise bay; it’s the endless mundane work days that sometimes pulls the life out of me; it’s the sensation I feel after hitting an incredible shot in tennis; it’s the times when I don’t do anything at all; its every hallowed evening that I lay next to you; but most of all it’s the time when you question my commitment. It’s not the short fun spurts that show my colors, it’s the long and lasting journey that determines it.

As you look back and revel in the past, you can rest assured that the future is continuation of the joy I have felt from the beginning of my life with you. Words and actions are indicators of my intentions, but they are not the only things that drive my affections for you. You can only choose to be in love with me, as I have chosen to be in constant love with you, no matter happens along the way.

On this day, I awoke once again with the thought firmly implanted that I choose to love you. There is no other person I want to be with, except for you. Thank you for all the love you have given me, all the strength you have shared, all the joys you have given. I raise you up on a pedestal and honor you. I want only the best for you. And why not, you’re the best for me.

Happy Valentineʻs Day 2009
Please accept my gift of song. This is called You Move Me.

You can download the file by either clicking and holding on the right mouse button (Windows users) or Control-clicking on the song name (Mac users).

We look at a situation, determine both the good and bad, consider the ramifications, then make an educated choice. It seems simple enough until we involve others into this decision. All of a sudden those lives are impacted by the outcome that comes from our choices.

Herein lies the dilemma we all face in our personal relationships. We learn that we can only control ourselves. We can never control others, because free will always dictates each person’s decisions. How then do we become comfortable in our relationships with others? For example, while your partner could stay with you for the rest of your life, he or she could have a change of heart in a split second and leave what you considered a great relationship.

When we place our trust in someone, we need to realize that the other person’s commitment is always a double-edged decision. Our expectations become our downfall as the shortcomings slowly unfold. The result is a spiraling effect of misgivings, mistrusts and misunderstandings. This challenge however is the glue that when successfully overcome will bond the two into one.

How, then, do we begin to walk through this process? It’s always easier said then done. If we expect any level of commitment from the other person, then we have to expect to exert at least the same amount of energy into her. We have to be the kind of person that is perfect in her eyes; intuitive, generous, free-spirited, considerate, loyal, kind, sensitive, fun and always dependable. We need to say the right things at the right time to make her feel comfortable and safe, and sometimes powerful because of our support. We HAVE to believe in her wants and individual needs of self-expression so that she can believe further in herself.

Here’s the freaky part. Look at what I’ve jotted down and put those characteristics into your wish list of things you wish she would be. Now wouldn’t she be the perfect woman in your eyes. This is a lesson for us all. Love is an emotion that you express based on the desirous beauty that is reflected from the other person. She in turn expresses her love based on the beauty that is reflected from you. So the more you give, the more you get.

Our relationships always start with what we put into it, usually everything we’ve got, and end with what we complacently try to get out of it, usually exerting no effort. Love is that circle that has no beginning or ending. It is a constant movement to encircle her life with consistent nurturing. Breaking this movement is like severing the heart and soul from the body, thus releasing the Pandora’s box of insecurities.

This is what I think about whenever I am writing a love song. I ask the question, what would make a woman fall in love with the song? the answer is easy, make the song fall in love with the woman.

An interesting article from Dave Kusekʻs blog substantiates a column in the the SF Weekly says that Mobile Phones will soon become the primary means of discovery and distribution for digital music. The market penetration for mobile phones already far outstrips that of music players. “You’re still going to see millions of iPods sold,” Resnikoff says. “It’s a great item. It’s not going to go away. But the move is toward the iPhone and more diversified devices, more complicated systems. That’s where the battle really starts to heat up.”

In my humble opinion, island musicians need to start to gear up for this paradigm shift from physical distribution to include digital distribution services that include iTunes USA, Australia, Canada, UK/European Union and Japan, Rhapsody, MusicNet, Napster, eMusic, Sony Connect, along with international cell phone companies and/or affiliates that provide middleman services, in order to capitalize on divergent sales markets.

I currently see many local products being sold through CD Baby, a nice bandaid approach, but in order to secure a more robust sales, there has to be a multi-pronged approach. We local musicians need to capitalize on the emerging markets and their technology or get swallowed up by it. We canʻt allow the opportunity to pass us by.

Be assured that the way we have distributed our products in the past is not the way we distribute products today. And thatʻs my little mana‘o for the day.

Iʻd like to copy a text written by Carol Yotsuda who has been putting on the “E Kanikapila Kakou” storytelling event for the last 26 years. The article can be found in the Garden Island Arts website. Our performance was on January 19, 2009.

In one long Hawaiian breath, we greet the 2009 season: As I watched the muffler-overcoated-cold-weather-garbed crowd disperse on the television coverage of the inauguration, my phone rings at 8:30 a.m., and the cheerful voice of O’Brian Eselu, the first presenter at EKK Monday Night last week, is on the other end; he asked if I could pick him up for our scheduled visit to Lawai Kai as guests of Chipper and Hau’oli Wichman because his companion presenter Ken Makuakane already left for the garden with his hosts, Phyllis and Marty Albert, and he needed a ride to get there, so I told him it was not a problem as I was just about to leave to meet them at the Kaua’i Inn and show them how to get to NTBG Garden for the visit to Queen Emmalani’s summer cottage near the beach at Lawai Kai, but O’Brian wanted to share both over the phone and later in person that he got up at 4:00 in the morning, probably because he was so high – thrilled and ecstatic – from last night’s presentation that, upon waking, he burst into the Mele Inoa for Pohaku Nishimitsu, demonstrating to me his singing in a high falsetto voice, until he heard this loud pounding on the wall and remarked with a look of surprise, “I didn’t know the walls were so thin! and when I looked at my watch I saw that it was only 4:00 in the morning and I could not sleep from the excitement of the night before, so I turned on the television and watched the inauguration of Barack Obama – Oh, how exciting – and it just finished so can you pick me up now.”

Last Monday night was the beginning of the 26th season of E Kanikapila Kakou. What a perfect pair to jumpstart this exciting program for the “buzzing” standing-room-only crowd that showed up. “Only on Kaua’i!” quipped Ken Makuakane as members of Pohaku Nishimitsu’s halau showered the artists with garlands of maile li’ili’I, Kaua’i’s flower.

It was homecoming with so many of the “snowbirds” showing up on Kaua’i earlier than usual so as not to miss the wonderful music, stories, dancing and fellowship; new visitors from as far away as India; and a record crowd of local folks not wanting to miss a rare opportunity to meet and learn from the eminent kumu hula O’Brian Eselu.

You could tell right away that he was a kumu hula as he wasted no precious time and took charge immediately telling the participants that he was not going to walk to the ukulele circle; …he wanted the ukulele circle to turn around and face him so everyone with instruments wrapped around him and those without ukuleles just joined in the singing as he had them learning the melody and properly pronouncing the words to “Kalaeloa” and “Lanikuhonua.” He even spotted Joyce and asked her to sing a solo in her beautiful voice.

Kenneth Makuakane sat with the guitar circle on the lawn outside and the stereophonic harmony of the verses from inside and outside made one feel like it was church.

O’Brian shared his history with Ken that goes back 30 years to the days when Ken was scared of the kumu hula, but over the years they worked together and O’Brian credits him for his genius at putting the magic into the songs. One could see and hear what that magic was as O’Brian sang his songs and Kenneth with his deadpan expression and amazing musicality not only accompanied O’Brian but created the mood of the song as he riffed and strummed and made his guitar sing along with O’Brian. “So sassy, yeah?” applauds O’Brian. Well deserved compliment. Having produced over a hundred albums and composed thousands of songs; twelve of which earned him Na Hoku Hanohano awards, Ken has etched himself a significant place in Hawaiian music.

O’Brian encouraged everyone to get Ken’s new CD, “The White Bathtub”, because he was a new daddy and could use all the help he could get. Kenneth talked about the white bathtub, which could be found in every home in the old days, as a symbol of the existence of all the kupuna that came before him and influenced his music. It was a metaphor for the celebration of his own life. He talked about his Grandmother, born in 1900 in Ka’u on the Big Island with whom he spent every summer. He spoke of how she described her life in Honolulu from ages 12 to 15 and the way that Queen Liliu’okalani would ride by in her carriage to visit the Queen Emma cottage in Nu’uanu. All of this is embraced in and celebrated by his new CD. “I Breathe” is the song he shared, injecting some musical techniques that sounded like the Chipmunks singing.

O’Brian’s sharing of his own musical development made everyone laugh, cry, cheer, and applaud as he took us on a musical tour back through his years of musical matriculation. Although renown as a kumu hula, his passion for songwriting will be his legacy.

O’Brian felt that he was basically a singer, but the music teacher always made the fat guys do the comic hula or be in the choir but one day his teacher asked him to do the solo. Even when he started to participate in the Merrie Monarch hula competitions, he liked to sing the songs for the hula until one year a halau mother told him, “O’Brian, no sing; just chant!” and the second year she would find him the singers, and indeed she did; five singers showed up at practice — Aunty Genoa Keawe, Val Kepalino, Peter Ahia, Aunty Waileka Lilikoi, and John Piiano…. “No wonder they no like me sing” he thought. And thus began a lifelong friendship between Genoa and O’Brian.

Each time he had a new song, he would call her and let her hear what he came up with. She was pure aloha and really encouraging, always saying, “Uh-huh …. Nice, O’Brian, nice …. Keep it up … JUST KEEP PRACTICING!” He said that she, too, never stopped practicing right up to the time of her death.

Finally after ten years of Merrie Monarch, he sang for Tracy Farias (daughter of Karen Keawehawai) and felt really good about the singing. He called Genoa from Merrie Monarch and asked her if she saw him on TV, and he knew he had “arrived” when she said, “O’Brian, you get ‘um…but keep practicing!” He began crying on the phone and Aunty cried along with him.

Whenever Genoa was performing, she asked him to come up and sing with her, so Genoa would sing the Hawaiian and O’Brian would sing the English, He then sang “You are so beautiful to me” in English and Hawaiian and asked, “Aunty Genoa, you hear us?” He knew she was around listening. When he would hit and hold the high falsetto notes, she would fondly tease him with, “You SO show off!” He is so dramatic in his singing – his pure lovely voice brushing along the rafters as his fluid hands, always in hula motion, tell the story of the song.

He took his sister and niece to visit Aunty Genoa the evening before she passed away, telling his niece that she was going to meet someone very special. He spent the whole evening serenading Aunty Genoa with all the songs she taught him. When he was singing “Nani Kawena”, he realized she never taught him the fourth verse, so she took the ukulele and spent half hour teaching him the last verse.
It was truly an Aunty Genoa song.

O’Brian spoke of Pohaku Nishimitsu of Kaua’i who studied hula with O’Brian while matriculating at the University of Hawaii in Hawaiian language and history, but he wanted to return to Kaua’i to share his hula with the dancers here. When O’Brian was celebrating 25 years, he asked Pohaku to chant with him and Tracy at the Merrie Monarch, and after it was over, Pohaku confessed that it had always been his dream to chant on the Merrie Monarch stage and he expressed his gratitude to O’Brian for the opportunity. Overcome with emotion, O’Brian had to take a moment. Some years passed and he called Pohaku to perform with him at Kilohana but learned he was in the hospital; he later tried to contact Pohaku and learned that he had lost his battle with cancer. He sang the Mele Inoa that he wrote for Pohaku – “Pohaku O Kaua’i.”

Pohaku’s students were in the audience and they came up to honor O’Brian with a chant. One of the students, Alohalani, danced “Kipu Kai” and others joined her for “Kaulu Wehi O Kekai” a fast-paced hula about seaweeds by Edith Kanaka’ole.

With everyone in the hula mood, O’Brian stood up and ordered everyone to stand; he got everyone to dance a simple hula, shouting out “Kaholo!” “Hana hou!” “Smile!” Amazingly, even in such crowded quarters, there were no fisticuffs as everyone moved their bodies in unison.

O’Brian asked Kenneth to sing the song he wrote after his Dad’s passing which was not a sad song but a rock-style song. Kenneth shared the importance of the dash that comes between the birth date and the death date of his father because that dash represents his life. He wanted to make his life count. He called up world class percussionist Cary Valentine who he met at the Kauai Music Festival to accompany him with his Jimbei.

O’Brian to Cary, “ Stay for next half hour!”
Ken to Cary, “ When Kumu says, you listen”

So Cary played his “cajon” to accompany Ken’s very upbeat version of “These Dreams”. A jimbei drum solo encouraged by O’Brian got everyone into a jumpy mood.

With the music taking on such an upbeat and rhythmic turn, O’Brian’s intro to his next song was a story of his Halawa Housing days as a young sixth grader when he was a total “nut case” about music. He drove his sisters and brothers crazy with his poster-plastered walls and got all his siblings to be his backup singers as he sang songs by Motown, Tina Turner and Aretha Franklin. His football player brothers were not too happy about being backup singers, but even at his young age, a bit of the kumu was already there as he ordered them to “Just do it!”

O’Brian got carried away and off he rocked with an upbeat “Do You Want to Dance”…it was a cut-loose number with Cary on the “cajon”, Kenneth riffing away and singing backup and O’Brian orchestrating everyone in the audience to join in and others irresistibly boogieing in the fringes. “Now we know who the born-again virgins!” laughed O’Brian as everyone tried to catch their breath.

O’Brian kept trying to squeeze more songs in but, as always, the evening melted away into the cool night air as elated participants joined hands to clinch the musical fellowship with “Hawai’i Aloha” and folks found it difficult to leave because the early evening buzz has turned into an energy field that had folks floating out the door with smiles etched on their tear-streaked faces.

It was indeed another unforgettable EKK Monday that by early Tuesday morning had already pulsated through the Kaua’i coconut wireless along with the excited reactions to the inauguration of a new President of the United States.

John Peter Cotano Makuakāne was a manaleo, a native Hawaiian speaker; he was a Kahu, a minister of the Opihikao Congregational Church; he was proficient in all things Hawaiian, including fishing, hunting, breaking horses, traditional Hawaiian food preparation and more; he was a storyteller of his familyʻs rich history; he was the most gentle human being I have ever known; he was all this and more, and he never once waivered in his undying love for me, always saying from the pulpit that “this is my son, whom I am very proud of”; a quiet, unassuming, man; slight in stature, yet giant among all who knew him. He profoundly affected so many lives, living and giving through example.
His leadership was the embodiment of his Hawaiian values – “give respect and you will receive respect.” His work ethics were so infectious, though few, if any, could rise to the occassion. He was a one-in-a-million kind of guy, a valued treasure.
It is impossible to image my life without his presence. He was my biggest fan, making every effort to catch my shows. Once, while I was producing an important album project, he and mom flew to where I was living at the time, cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner, and delivered it to the studio for my production crew for the whole week and a half. There are too many stories, but they remain intact in my heart.
My previous CD, Makuakāne, was my first secular solo release. It took me a year and a half to conceive, write the material with my collaborators, record, and release. During one of my recording sessions, dad brought a pillow and blanket, and laid on the studio floor, listening to me lay some ‘ukulele tracks down. He looked so cute with those big headphones on. On one particular song, I just completed an ‘ukulele solo and I felt dad tapping me on the shoulder. He leaned over to me and said how beautiful the song was and it reminded him of his younger days, but thought my solo was fancy, it didnʻt feel Hawaiian, so it didnʻt match the song. At first I was a little bummed, but his heart was in such a good place that I did another ‘ukulele take to make him happy. As it turned out, he was right again. Sadly he passed away shortly after that session, on March 7, 2006.
I dedicated this CD to him, because it has his heart-prints all over it. In this last year, since his passing, I was wondering why that one song always got to me and I finally realized that it was actually a message about him. The song is entitled “Manu Po‘ouli” and as my friend and co-writer Keola Donaghy explains, “while mankind has witnessed, and caused, the extinction of numerous animals and plant species, it is not often that we know the exact date and time when the last member of the species dies. However, the last known po‘ouli bird died in captivity.” In my eyes, my father was that po‘ouli, the last of his kind, and his death marked the extinction of a remarkable species.
My latest CD, The White Bathtub, contains a song song entitled “The Saga of Pedro Kumukahi.” Less than a week after my fatherʻs passing, I was sitting down thinking about him and I realized that the memory of him will pass. I decided to write a song about his life, so that future generations will know about this man. Pedro Kumukahi Makuakane was the name his mother gave to him at birth. Because he comes from the country, folks usually waited until someone went into town, at least a day or two day trip, in order to register the births, marriages and deaths of family and friends in the area. It was almost two months before my dadʻs uncle made that trek to town. This man took a liking to my dad and registered my dadʻs name after himself; John Peter Cotano, and ended with Makuakane. Throughout my dadʻs life, people knew him as Pedro, but it wasnʻt until he registered for military service did he find out his registered name. He couldnʻt do anything about, so he accepted the fact that his name was now John. His new friends called him John and the country folks always called him Pedro.
My father continues to live, because he lives in me. It is my hope that my children and their children will keep my memory alive in them when I pass, thus keeping my fatherʻs memory alive.