[Back in December 2024, I dedicated a weeklong series to histories from our 50th state. This week, in honor of the 75th anniversary of James Jones’s debut novel From Here to Eternity, I’ll offer a complementary series on Hawaiian stories!]
[NOTE: The first four posts in this series expand on texts I discussed briefly in this weekend post concluding that 2024 series.]
On how both recording and artist contexts add to our appreciation of an iconic song, and why we need to go beyond them and it.
At least according to legendary Hawaiian producer and recording engineer Milan Bertosa, the only other person who was there at the time, Israel “Iz” Kamakawiwo’ole recorded his beautiful and historic acoustic ukelele rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in one take (later it was paired with his version of “What a Wonderful World” by another legendary Hawaiian producer, Jon de Mello, to make for the combinatory song that is often played today). Iz had called Bertosa’s recording studio at 3am one night in 1988 asking for space, and once he arrived and was settled, as Bertosa tells it, “I put up some microphones, do a quick sound check, roll tape, and the first thing he does is ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’ He played and sang, one take, and it was over.” Like anyone with ears and a heart, I’ve always enjoyed Iz’s rendition of this already-great song, but I have to admit that now that I know that we’re hearing the results of such an immediate and immersive moment, it both makes total sense and makes me appreciate the song’s raw grace and power that much more still.
Despite that longstanding enjoyment, I have to admit that I had never looked any further into Iz, not until researching this post that is. For some reason I had been under the impression that he was relatively young and early in his musical career when he recorded “Rainbow” (a youthful quality to his voice, I suppose); while he wasn’t yet 30, so certainly “young” would qualify, he had already been making and performing music for nearly two decades, as he, his older brother Henry (known as “Skippy”), and his cousin Allen Thornton had been in an ensemble together since Iz was 11. While he was still just a teenager they joined with a trio of older musicians to form the group the Mākaha Sons of Ni’ihau, and would release their first album No Kristo (1976) when Iz was only 17. Although Iz wouldn’t release his acclaimed first solo album until 1990, two years after the “Rainbow” recording, I think this long history of collaborative music-making offers another crucial context for understanding the layers of culture and community that Iz brought to that solo career, and certainly that we can hear in this song.
At the same time, it’s fair to say that “Rainbow” itself is not a Hawaiian song, even though Iz’s version adds distinct Hawaiian flavors to it. Which makes it particularly important for us—and again I’m including myself in this, as I had never previously ventured beyond this song—to listen to more of Iz, and especially to focus on the songs in which he expressed his lifelong and profound support for Hawaiian rights and independence. Take for example the song “Hawai’I ’78,” first featured on his second solo album (and the best-selling album of all time by a Hawaiian artist) Facing Future (1993). “Hawai’i ‘78” imagines a present-day return by “our king and queen,” historic figures who Iz imagines forced to grapple with the fact “that our people are in great great danger now.” But as the album’s title suggests, Iz is ultimately interested in pushing his people and the islands forward, arguing in that same song, “The life of this land is the life of the people/and to care for the land is to care for the Hawaiian culture.” If everyone who listened to “Rainbow” (which has remained one of the most listened-to songs in the world ever since its release) would also check out “Hawai’i ’78,” we’d really be hearing the great Israel Kamakawiwo’ole.
Last Hawaiian story tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you think? Hawaiian texts or contexts you’d highlight?
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