Bruddah Waltah: The Father of Hawaiian Reggae
By Le‘a Gleason
It’s amazing—and not surprising—how many people in Starbucks recognize Walter Aipolani. To them, he’s Bruddah Waltah, a 30-year music sensation sometimes called “the father of Hawaiian reggae.”
“My family was always into music,” he explains.
Walter was born in Keaukaha, lived there until he was four, and then moved to O‘ahu. There were four children in the family, and their music education began when he and his two brothers started playing Hawaiian music for their sister to dance hula to.
As Walter speaks, he has a sense of sincerity and calm that he says he’s gained through his experiences over the years. There was a time when he was young and playful, and a sense of that still finds a place in his smiling eyes.
“I started playing ‘ukulele, but I was noticing that all the older guys who played guitar got all the good chicks so I had to upgrade and learn the guitar, but [now] everybody wants to learn the ‘ukulele again,” he laughs.
When Walter started playing music, it was with a single goal: to make music that could make people dance. At that time in Hawai‘i, he says, everybody was playing music. And for him, playing the traditional Hawaiian songs he was raised hearing was a challenge.
“We weren’t taught Hawaiian. It wasn’t cool when we were growing up,” he says, “but my grandchildren speak Hawaiian. When I want to learn something Hawaiian I ask them.”
Walter wanted to play a different kind of music, and when he listened to the transistor radio, it was rock and roll that got him excited. He would soon find another genre that would influence him to change the face of Hawaiian music forever.
In 1979, his sister moved to New Zealand and mailed him a cassette tape of Bob Marley.
“I listened to the cassette tape and every song sounded the same. I never really caught on to his music until I went to see him at the Waikīkī Shell. They were wearing old army fatigues and smoking on stage. The music they were playing was rebel music, and I got influenced by the reggae sound,” he says.
At the time, though, Walter and his brothers were playing reggae with a standup base, guitar, and ‘ukulele, while the Rastas had the one-drop, drums, and percussion. They did it anyway, beginning to shape their music into something never seen before.
At just 11, he’d booked his first professional gig in Waikīkī.
“I knew what I had to do,” he remembers. “I had to be different. I didn’t want to be the same as everyone else, so I went into the [reggae] sound. All the kids nowadays, they listen to the reggae music. Reggae music was here for a long time, but it wasn’t as popular until I came into the scene.”
Walter says he’s also been influenced by Elton John, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Bee Gees, and The Beatles.
“I took some of their music and turned it into reggae. I did John Lennon’s Imagine. I was doing other things that the local entertainers weren’t doing or saying on the stage,” he remembers.
Ironically, today he says he’s going back to the Hawaiian songs of his youth.
“The kids now, they all play the reggae. Every song they get, instead of playing a Hawaiian song they’ll play something they heard on the radio yesterday. That’s sad, because they say, ‘you Hawaiian, sing Hawaiian’,” he says.
Despite this return to his roots, Walter has made quite the career on being different.
Today, he’s got four albums out. And it took a lot of hard work to get there.
Before he was a household name, Walter remembers, “Me and my brothers had a Hawaiian group that performed in Wai‘anae. I had lots of people come up to me and say they wanted to record me, but they were drinking and would forget. I had this one person come up to me and say ‘next Thursday I am going to pick you and your brothers up and take you to the studio.’”
Earnest “Ernie” Amona came back. They recorded a song on Friday, took it to the radio station on Saturday, and on Sunday, he was shot.
“I got scared. I cancelled the recordings. I was the oldest in the group. My brothers were younger and we were playing all night in a club getting paid $5 a week.
“When our manager died, KCCN radio wanted to take us and record, but I was scared,” he says.
Their uncle became the band manager and booked them gigs in bars and clubs in Honolulu until they finally landed a record deal.
Walter was different back then, and when he walked out of a club one night refusing to clean his own table, the rest of the band didn’t follow. He became Bruddah Waltah, a solo act capable of playing with a band or on his own.
His rocky ride would continue when in 1991 his album was the best-selling album in Hawai‘i, but the music industry wouldn’t take it seriously because they said it was made with drug money.
“My producer was arrested for cocaine. Our studio got raided. We cleaned that all up. I’m not as cocky as I was before. I thought I was the best. I never cared what I said on the stage. People would listen to me and say ‘did you hear what that guy said?’ ” Walter says, almost surprised at himself.
When Walter talks about it, there’s humility in his voice. He knows he made a mistake. But he made the choice to change and is much wiser for it. He appreciates all the good opportunities he’s been given, especially the support of family.
“I was losing it in Honolulu. I had all the money and I was cocky. I thought I didn’t need my family. I only needed myself. My wife packed up everything and moved us to Hilo. Being a musician, you gotta have a wife that understands, trusts, because of the music life. You gotta be really strong and have a good ‘ohana. A lot of my friends got divorced. A lot of musicians are on drugs,” he says.
Walter knows that being a musician isn’t all roses. Like every job, it takes work to succeed.
“People say ‘you play music, it’s not work’ but I tell people, ‘you try entertaining people for even five minutes.’ It’s not easy. Especially when it’s over. The screaming is done and the lights go out, and you’re all alone in that room. People think it’s lights all the time, and you make a lot of money, but music is hard,” he says seriously.
Only someone who loves music as much as Walter does could keep up this kind of career. He smiles as he remembers the high points.
“I opened up for Steel Pulse, Gregory Isaacs, Inner Circle, UB40—all those good top 40 reggae bands. I got to play with them, travel with them…I sing with Dirty Roots, Mana‘o Company, Ho‘aikane,” he says.
Smiling, Walter explains that music is his life, his bread and butter. He’s worked his whole life to be here living his dream and do what he loves to do.
Walter has a hard time with people referring to his music as “Jawaiian,” though.
“When they ask you what Hawaiian music is, I don’t know. It’s maybe Hawaiians playing Hawaiian songs. What I do is Hawaiian music or Hawaiian reggae. I’m not Jawaiian, I’m Hawaiian. I just loved the music, I loved the sounds, so I wanted to incorporate that in my Hawaiian music,” he explains.
Maybe it’s because, just like his mother told him to, he’s begun to return to traditional Hawaiian music.
Or maybe it’s just because as a proud Hawaiian man, everything Walter does today is unmistakably reverent towards his culture. A part of that comes from what he says is the center of he and his wife’s life today: their grandchildren.
“No need teach them [music]; they pick it up. They are in the room singing and playing ‘ukulele. I teach them a little chords and singing, but they learn on their own,” he laughs.
His grandchildren are in Hawaiian language immersion school, unlike he was. He’s set on being a good influence for them.
Walter also travels to high schools for career days.
“You gotta be an inspiration to the kids,” he says. “I tell them I started by listening to the music. Be different, make a difference. You want to play music, be a game changer. Instead of playing Hawaiian music all the time, that’s exactly what I did. I got tired of it, so I tried playing Hawaiian music with Reggae.”
Walter keeps busy these days playing two regular weekly gigs and traveling on weekends to play elsewhere. He plays on O‘ahu at least twice a month and is recording music with Ryan Hiraoka of Honoka‘a.
“I don’t like to travel. I hate the airports, but I take the gigs whenever they come. I grumble when there’s no work, and I grumble when there’s too much work,” he laughs.
The smiling Bruddah Waltah sitting in Starbucks has certainly transformed from the cocky young man Walter once was.
And what makes him different?
“My heart,” he says.
As he stands, several people wave, saying “eh, Bruddah.”
He hugs them and shakes their hands and slips behind the Starbucks counter for a moment to say goodbye to his daughter.
“I love you,” he says.
The famous yet amazingly ordinary Bruddah Waltah gets into his regular car (nothing fancy) and drives off, disappearing into the Hilo rain. And yet, driving next to the other people in the regular cars on those wet Hawaiian streets is a music legend. ❖
Contact Bruddah Waltah: Facebook.com/bruddah.aipolani
Contact writer Le‘a Gleason: lgfreelancehawaii@gmail.com
