🧐 He’s not an especially big man—non imposing actually, but oosh the mana radius is strong.
(a deepdive excerpt from our 'summer jams' edition)
He’s not an especially big man—non imposing actually, but oosh the mana radius is strong.
Staff simply can’t help stopping to stare as he strides through their throngs confidently.
See, it’s not every day you see someone of his standing around. Not here.
It’s been raining and rather than red carpets, his ara/pathway is laid with bits of old gib—makeshift bridges over puddles of mud.
A young runner with a clipboard stumbles in front of him. The man sidesteps—smooth as butter, claps the mortified kid on the back, and takes responsibility with a big menemene/smile, ‘Sorry brother!’.
The managers and security team don’t entirely share his laid back attitude. They glance at the surroundings in concern, worried the gates aren’t high enough.
A low hum can be heard. If you listen closely you can make out its components; feet shuffling, excited conversations (thousands of them), singing, laughing, clapping (already), the crinkling of of paper tickets, $8.70 a pop.
Through a hazy cloud with a telltale aroma, the man appears on stage. Dressed in double denim, with dreads piled high, his figure is recognisable in all corners of the world.
Bob Marley introduces The Wailers to twenty-two thousand roaring fans who fill Western Springs in Tāmaki Makaurau.
He picks up his rakuraku/guitar and plays those first famous chords.
Da dun dun—
Da dun dun—
Da dun dun—
This was the moment, e hoa mā, that reggae truly entered the psyche of Aotearoa, and in particular, a group of Māori musicians who were there that day;
a 5 year old Che Fu with his māmā, who had managed to befriend Rita Marley and was watching from side of stage,
Dilworth Karaka from Herbs—also backstage,
13 year old Thompson Hohepa, who would later form ‘Katchafire’ and was standing on tiptoe about five rows from the front,
just behind him, Boy Grace from Khaos,
And I’d say it was exactly 30 seconds later, as the vibrations landed and the connections fired, that the classic Māori summer jam became a thing—a kākano/seed of a thing at least, in the hinengaro/minds of these artists and more in that crowd.
Of course they were already familiar with his music, but seeing the man in person, watching his reaction to his welcoming pōwhiri (which he would later describe as one of the most amazing moments of his life) ignited them.
Their cultural similarities; being communal from small island nations, struggling with the negative impacts of colonisation, being of a people both laid back and fiercely passionate, were suddenly obvious.
And if this man could stand in his culture and religion and sing about what mattered to him, they could too.
Reggae, with full respect to its Rastafarian origins, would go on to take off in Aotearoa, and over generations, as these musicians inspired more to follow, a uniquely Pacific beat and voice would emerge and carve our own addition to the genre.
Fat Feddy’s Drop, Cornerstone Roots, Salmonella Dub, One Drop Nation, Sub Tribe, The Black Seeds, House of Shem, Kora, and more would become the soundtrack of Kiwi summers. That shared sound, dichotomic in its ability to inspire both the hand riding of air waves out the car window through its relaxed beat and passionate protest during political hīkoi with its strong messaging.
What a gift, ngā mihi to Bob Marley and the Wailers eh?
Ngā mihi also to these sources from whom I researched this piece! Radio NZ, AudioCulture, When Bob Came, Mount Zion.
We hope this little kōrero helps you to enjoy, learn about, and connect with te ao Māori a little bit more this wiki (or at least maybe sparks some old memories)😁 . For more recommendations and yarns about Māori arts, media, and events, make sure you sign up to our free weekly newsletter.
