Makana’s String Theory

Spring/Summer 2014 / Jocelyn Fujii / Wailea Magazine

One of Makana’s goals for his art and his music is to heal, changing the world one string at a time.

When the slack-key artist Makana says, “I’m here to create a revolution,” I believe him. Those who have watched him command the stage since he was a teenager believe him, too, and those who have heard him at environmental rallies and fundraisers also nod knowingly. And what about his Facebook and online fans, who devour his “Mind Mints” of profound philosophical nuggets? They not only believe him, they’re signed up and ready. Ranging from the Woodstock generation to kūpuna, kids and his contemporaries, his music fans have applauded him through six albums and multiple awards, and they’re not just believers, they’re partners.

To produce a new album last year, the 35-year-old Makana raised nearly $70,000 through crowdsourcing from Kickstarter, the funding platform for creative projects. The financial and artistic coup solidified his reputation as a fearless, fiercely independent artist who backs his talent with an equal measure of moxie. With powerful vocals and his signature riffs, the album that resulted, “Ripe,” explores new territory, sometimes autobiographical, with passion and transparency. These qualities make us care about him.

Even before “Ripe,” The New York Times called him “a dynamic force within the style.” Noting that slack-key guitar music, kiho‘alu, “has been around longer than the blues,” Esquire magazine wrote that Makana Cameron “is considered the greatest living player” of Hawai‘i’s indigenous music. Onstage he’s electric—a complex fusion of rock star, troubadour, slack-key god, political activist and philosopher. Sold-out performances throughout Wailea and Kihei, in venues such as Gannon’s, Four Seasons Resort Maui at Wailea and Stella Blues Cafe, have made Maui audiences (including Mick Fleetwood and other luminaries) thirst for more, just as his O‘ahu fans can’t get enough of his limited-run performances at The Kahala Hotel & Resort.

You can count on a few things at every show: a tribute to his kūpuna and mentors (Sonny Chillingworth, Bobby Moderow, Raymond Kane and others), a deft demonstration of slack-key tunings, a soup^on [sic] of irreverence and breathtaking licks on his six-string guitar. Having shed the distracting tremulousness of his early years, his voice, after intense discipline and training, has become a powerful and well-honed instrument for the mature Makana.

“The guitar isn’t an instrument. The body is the instrument,” he declared at Gannon’s last fall. To deafening applause, he had just played the Hawaiian classic “Hi‘ilawe” and was about to launch into Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Something about his vulnerability and honesty on stage, especially when he sang “When You Wish Upon a Star” alone with his ‘ukulele, seasoned his performance with a deep poignancy. And when he rocked his guitar, whether it was in the famous Led Zeppelin song “Going to California,” his own dazzling “Manic” or kihoalu classics, the energy was transformative.

On the sidelines throughout each performance, a ponytailed man called Budgie is seen tuning and handing him his guitars before numbers. Theirs is a fluid, intuitive oneness, a kind of “Vulcan mind-meld” in tuning and musicality. Alex “Budgie” Martin, Makana’s guitar technician and right-hand man for 18 years, has known him since he was in high school. Having taken up the ‘ukulele at 9 years old and the slack key at 11, Makana was so young, says Martin, that his father would drive him to his Waikīkī gigs.

These days it takes two guitars for a show, with each song requiring its own tuning. So intense are the performances that Makana uses a new set of strings for each show or risks breaking them mid-song. Miraculously, says Martin, “He’s broken strings in the middle of a song and doesn’t even miss a beat. He’ll make up the notes, finish the song, and most people won’t even notice.”

“Every performance is approached à la carte,” Makana said years ago. “I create a special performance for each room, every venue. It’s my dharma to uplift people and make emotions rise out of their bones.” Years later at his Diamond Head home, he was even more explicit: “One of the goals of my art and my music is to heal.”

If his body is his instrument of healing, he feeds it well. His home sits on the slopes of Diamond Head, with ocean views, flourishing organic gardens and an aquaponic tilapia tank in the yard. There are vanilla beans, cucumbers, grapes, limes, chard, curry plants, collard greens, taro, multicolored carrots, lima beans—an edible garden exploding with color. The sprinklers are solar-powered. The golden tilapia are fed automatically, their tank water recycled to irrigate the taro. As he’s written on his Facebook timeline, “Living right is not for the lazy.”

Indoors, in a spotless environment, valued artifacts honor the past: a piano from the 1800s, a steamer trunk from 1919, a 1920s Hawaiian steel guitar, traditional hula implements and prized rattan furniture. A writing desk holds a quill, a bottle of ink and a kerosene lamp, and not just for show, but in use. A guitar played by Sonny Chillingworth, Makana’s teacher, is given a place of honor in the living room, not far from a traditional Chinese harp and a bamboo gamelan. A yoga studio with an ocean view reveals the secret to his well-defined biceps, essential to the strength of his playing. He points out the gramophone and a reel-to-reel recorder. “My records in the future will be completely reel-to-reel analog,” he says.

Many wonder what it takes to sustain such a life. Writing music, performing, touring—it all takes time, and the demands of social media do not allow a grace period. Clarity of mind and the physicality of his showmanship demand high-octane, quality fuel, and one part of the equation is healthy cooking. Enter Makana, the food activist.

As the public is rapidly discovering, there’s no separation between his art and his food. Smoothies are his drinkable music, and he is nothing if not committed. Fruit and herbs from the garden, homegrown turmeric, cinnamon and dashes of protein powder, blue-green algae and organic nuts all do a dance in the blender. In the evenings, fresh opakapaka or golden tilapia is prepared with the same artistry he devotes to his music. He cooks often and with passion.

“The simplest and most available way to revolutionize is through food,” he says confidently. He feels that food is the one common denominator of the world’s problems—its supply, purity, sharing, distribution—and that healthy food can change the world.

“This is an instrument here,” he says, pointing to his body, “and I’m caring for an instrument every time I put something in my mouth.” He is generous in his support of food sustainability and environmental awareness and uses his music as a path toward change, appearing often at rallies and fundraisers as a vocal advocate of a pesticide-free world, as well as educational and other causes.

 Having seen him play at many fundraisers, I asked him about his philanthropy. “I wouldn’t call myself a philanthropist,” he responded. “I can’t take credit for anything. I guess I’ve helped … ” As a 13-year-old he performed at a benefit for the Angel Network. In later years, there were shows to raise money for lifeguards, the American Heart Association, cultural education, global disasters, dozens of nonprofits and hundreds of school visits. Last year he helped raise $20,000 to restore a historic pier on California’s Central Coast. “Caring is what makes us who we are,” he says simply.

“He’s got a heart of gold,” adds Budgie Martin. “He’s always there for medical fundraisers and personal health issues—we rarely turn them down. We go through some tough times, but all in all, he gives everything he can.”