A Night of Aloha with Keali'i Reichel

On Friday night, I took my friends Michelle and Donna to see Keali'i Reichel perform at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. It was a joint birthday and wedding present for Donna, who embodies the Aloha spirit more than anyone I know here. It was also a revisitation of our island roots, and for two hours, we all forgot that we were in Los Angeles.

People often dismiss Hawaii as some laid-back, sunny getaway, but it is so much more than that. The islands are enveloped in a warm, loving culture that no words can do justice. It took me 18 years of living there to truly understand it; it took me 18 seconds of living in Los Angeles to truly appreciate and miss it. There is no place on Earth like Hawaii, and I say with both pride and humility that I was born and raised in Paradise.

That pride was evident in every local person even before the concert, as thousands showed up in their Aloha shirts (not the tacky kind that fat haoles wear on the mainland, but the legit, dressy designs that color King Street in downtown Honolulu). I sat in the lobby of the concert hall with Michelle, and we took in the joyous atmosphere around us. We heard dozens of people scream and embrace each other in tearful reunion, and smelled all the fragrant leis adorning the women in attendance.

I think it is embedded in every Hawaiian's genetic makeup to be able to pick out other local Hawaiians in a crowd. That night, it was too easy to tell. Whenever someone spoke in pidgin, the haoles would be the ones going, “huh?” The rest of us were laughing and having the best time.

I don’t like using the word “beautiful” to describe things, but I cannot think of a better adjective to describe the concert. Everything about it put me at peace, and rejuvenated my spirit in so many ways. Keali’i has the most majestic voice in Hawaiian music, and in addition to his regular band and backup singers, he had a small string ensemble accompanying him. Even the most subtle violin or cello embellishments added an emotional punch to his songs.

He also had members of his halau (hula school), Halau Ke'alaokamaile, perform. I was never a fan of hula as a kid. I didn’t understand it. I remember having to do a hula routine for May Day in the fourth grade, and I felt like the biggest dope. Flash forward nearly 20 years, and I now think it is the most elegant form of dance anywhere. Keali’i’s halau moved with such fluidity and grace, I spent a good portion of the concert transfixed on the dancers more than him.

My favorite song of his is “Maunaleo,” in which he compares his mother’s love and solidarity to a Maui mountain. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing him perform it everywhere from the Hollywood Bowl to the Blaisdell, sending a shiver up my spine every single time. On Friday, however, the vocals, the guitars, the strings, the dancers, and the ambience were so perfect, I was practically moved to tears. Again, it was all so damn beautiful:



Keali’i left the stage for a moment as the crowd yelled “hana hou!” (encore!) repeatedly. I love that about going to shows in Hawaii. When Michael Jackson performed, everybody in Aloha Stadium yelled “hana hou!” at the top of their lungs. On the flip side, I recall Mariah Carey’s performance there a few years later, when nobody said “hana hou.” Instead, they said, “pilau!” And rightfully so!

Keali’i returned to a standing ovation, much deserved.

Before closing the show with his first hit, “Kawaipunahele,” he pointed out that it had been 16 years since his debut. I couldn’t believe it! I remember my dad bringing home the Kawaipunahele album back in 1994. He would always play it in the living room, and just when I thought I could escape it by going outside, I heard it on every radio station, and in every store. I’ve never seen an album take Hawaii by storm like that, be it a pop/rock or Hawaiian act.

I couldn’t believe it was 16 years ago. Still can’t. But I am grateful Keali’i is still recording and touring; he really is the only ambassador of Hawaiian language around.

One of my favorite parts of any Keali’i show is the ending, where he and his fellow performers join hands and sing “Hawaii Aloha” without any mics or instruments. You can hear the unity in their voices, and as you look into the crowd, you see thousands of Hawaiians also holding hands and sharing one voice. I never sing at concerts, but “Hawaii Aloha” is not so much a song to me as it is a declaration and a blessing. I sang along on Friday night with a grin, realizing that I could still remember the lyrics from May Day in the fourth grade.

Everybody left the show happy, hungry and homesick. Concert experiences rarely ever get better than that.

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(On an unrelated note, this may be the first blog where I get to rightfully use two apostrophes in one word, or in this case, a name: “Keali’i’s.”)