Rhymes & Real Grooves

Rip It Up, Issue 240, 1 August 1997, Page 18

Rhymes & Real Grooves

Dam Native

T- 5 midday on the third Friday in July, 11 C? and hip hop group Dam Native are playing a brief instore gig at Real Groovy Records in Queen Street, Auckland, to launch their new single, ‘The Son’. Squeezed into a corner of the store beside the hip hop section, Dam Native, led by Danny ‘D’ Haimoana, cruise through four funky acoustic versions of tunes from the forthcoming album, Kaupapa Driven Rhymes Uplifted. At Haimoana’s feet, two members of the 80s breakdance crew the Megazoids, execute the crazy legs and do backspins with expert finesse. “20 percent off ‘The Son’ if you buy it now, and get a free t-shirt”, Haimoana announces to the crowd, as Dam Native wind up their final song. “Support Aotearoa hip hop.” Half an hour later, Haimoana is sitting in a cafe, a short stroll down the road from Real Groovy, scoffing seafood pizza, and talking enthusiastically about ‘The Son’. The third single to be lifted from KDRU, following on from ‘Hori’fied One’ and ‘Behold My Kool Style’, ‘The Son’ features former Supergroove and ‘Chains’ singer, Che Fu, on guest vocals. Now that Che’s a chart topper, it costs cash to have him appear on your record, say’s Haimoana, but he deems it money wisely spent. “It was all done in good spirit. Me and Che were always out on the road — Big Day Out, Orientation — so we were real close. He used to say that if there was any Dam Native song that needed vocals, he was the man. It cost us about a grand to have him on ‘The Son’, and a video fee as well, but I think Che deserves it. He said he’d do it for free, but he’s got a lot of people on him, management and that, and they charged a fee. Che, he just wanted to do a song with us and uplift the whole Dam Native buzz.” It’s been a frustrating trip for Dam Native since Tangata Records dropped ‘Hori’fied One’ in October 1995. It took until 11 months later before they followed up with ‘Behold...’, and almost another year has gone by, prior to the unveiling of ‘The Son’. The early singles were well received and raised the profile of Dam Native, but on both occasions they were unable to capitalise on the media and public interest. Haimoana acknowledges it has been a tricky time for the crew. Ironically, he explains, the staggering success of DLT’s ‘Chains’, and the inroads it made for local hip hop, caused Dam Native to reappraise the music they were writing, and therefore postpone the release of KRDU. Dam Native wished to produce an equally radio-friendly single to draw maximum attention, whilst ensuring they retained their street flavour. “When ‘Chains’ took off, Darryl [DLT] and Che opened it right up for New Zealand hip hop, and so I had to go back to the drawing board before I could finish my album. I had to decide if I was going to keep moving my own way, or play the industry game. I already had all the songs down, but I didn’t have a single for the album, and that’s all I was looking for, and all Tangata was looking for. If I had put my album out without ‘The Son’ on it, it would have got lost under the carpet. We did ‘The Son’, which will make the radio ’cause Che’s on it, and retailers will be into it ’cause Che’s on it, but that’s the only catchy song we did. It’s a fair trade, it’s not like I sold my soul out. I didn’t want to be like Ol’ Dirty Bastard doing it with Mariah Carey.” With Haimoana, “standing over his

shoulder the whole time”, former Urban Disturbance frontman and Max TV host, Zhane Lowe was in the producer’s chair for KRDU. Work began three years ago in Lowe’s bedroom studio, progressing to Kane Massey’s (Deepgrooves) central Auckland MIDI suite, and onto the Lab for ‘Hori’fied One’ and ‘Behold...’, while ‘The Son’ was laid down at York Street Studios. If it sounds like a mission, it was, says Haimoana. “I had so many sleepless nights thinking, why is this album taking so long? What am I gonna do? Am I doing things right? You have to acknowledge all that, and deal with it, otherwise it will break you. It’s a struggle, but you’ve got to keep on the track. ‘Realms of Existence’ described it best, the way I was feeling: ‘You will receive your mission at age 12 I You will be instructed to reach the four realms of existence in the hip hop culture / On your journey you will be persecuted / Told to get a real job and sabotaged / To out-last this will mean victory to the nation’. The sleepless nights, that’s all part of the musician buzz, but I’m in touch with it now, I know how to handle it. We’re already four tracks into our next album. What I want to do now is stay busy, I can’t be slack.” Right now, the main focus for Dam Native and Tangata must be to doggedly promote KRDU. Local hip hop albums traditionally receive marginal radio and TV exposure, and therefore little in the way of actual sales. In September 1995, Upper Hutt Posse’s second album Movement In Demand was released on Tangata, and was allowed to sink like a stone. Even DLT’s masterful Trueschool album (on BMG Records, Tangata’s distributor) had disappointing success. Haimoana is aware of the potted history of NZ hip hop, and with that in mind, is sceptical of Tangata’s commitment to Dam Native. “No disrespect to Tangata, but I feel that they didn’t have full faith in Dam Native up until this point. It’s taken this long to get some support from the record company, so it’s like this; I have a contract, and I’ll fulfil my obligations to the best of my ability, but the day when the contract runs out, I’m anybody’s game — Sony, Polygram, whatever. I’ll be on the new-jack on this motherfucker, I’ll be out there, I’ll go talk the gab, go and see the big bosses, get signed up for three albums — bang, bang, bang!” All said with a mouth full of pizza, so it’s hard to tell if Haimoana’s tongue is in his cheek. Anyone would be hard pressed to find a major label executive willing to contract a local rap act for a three album deal. Even if that group has just won Most Promising Group and Most Promising Male Vocalist at the New Zealand Music Awards. Deep down, Haimoana knows the score. “It may just be paranoia, but I can’t help feeling the ‘token’ buzz about those awards, like it was tokenism. The industry, they don’t understand hip hop, they’re not really into it, yet they give us two awards. The industry thinks they understand hip hop, but they don’t have a clue. The only way to change the way the industry sees it, is to have people like Sir Vere [Phillip Bell of BMG], people with knowledge, working at the record companies. That’s the only solution, because you can’t school someone who works in an office on hip hop, you have to have someone who knows, working from the inside.”

Undoubtedly, says Haimoana, the biggest threat to the rise of New Zealand hip hop is the never-ending landslide of cheesy American R&B, and gangsta rap, that floods the local market. Groups such as Blackstreet and Boyz II Men, and rappers like Tupac Shakur, and Notorious 8.1. G., are idolised by kids on these shores, and Haimoana believes youth need to see and hear their own culture represented first, before they can become proud of it. “There’s such an influx of American stuff, and we need to quell it, and we need to give these kids some knowledge on what’s really up. You can only change people’s perceptions through leading by example. Kids don’t want to be preached to, so what I’m trying to is put it on their level, and take all the good influences from hip hop, and bring it close to home. There is a good vibe out there for New Zealand hip hop, but it’s being poisoned by the Americanisms — the Tupacs and the Snoop Doggy Doggs. You have to have a balance, and Dam Native are trying to help kids work out that they have their own culture, they don’t have to adopt Americanisms.” Haimoana puts down his can of soft drink, wipes his hands, and opens his mouth. He’s on a roll. “When ‘Hori’fied One’ came out, people liked it, but motherfuckers wouldn’t play it on the radio, apart from the student stations. Mai FM? They’re all shit. They’re using the kaupapa, using Maori, and they don’t play Maori music — you hear more Maori music on Max TV. At Mai FM, those fuckers in control, they don’t have any knowledge, they just play that American R&B shit and tell kids how cool it is. Mai FM are teaching kids to be down with American shit. Fuck that!” Being seduced by Americanisms is a trap Haimoana knows only too well. Not long after the first incarnation of Dam Native (called Native Bass) formed in 1992, DLT, the group’s DJ, left due to the overriding gangsta swagger of Haimoana and his posse. “When I look back on it, yeah, I was like that. It was a rugged time, and I was just another lost motherfucker.” Haimoana grew up in a close-knit community near Island Bay in Wellington. His best friend was Shihad’s Jon Toogood. “Me and Jon were very close, and our families were very close, we grew up together from seven years old till about 13. We used to play cricket, we made the Wellington reps team together. He was always, ‘l’ve got to go to guitar lessons, bro’, and I would say, ‘teach me that song ‘Stairway to Heaven’ when you get back’.

Next thing, I leave Wellington to come to Auckland, 10 years goes by, I don’t see him, and the next thing — Bam! Shihad, bro.” When Haimoana was 13, he shifted to Auckland with his parents, and the family settled in Kingsland. The change of scenery was not to Haimoana’s liking. “My Dad got transferred up here for work, but I didn’t want to leave Wellington. I was from the sticks, it was a small buzz, I was into horse riding, sport, playing guitar. My shit went wrong when we came up here, it was too big, there was too much trouble around, and I just got sucked right in. My parents were too busy, they had their own hassles, so I was out there getting into as much trouble as I could.” Roughly a year later, Haimoana was hanging around Queen Street, smoking pot in Aotea Square, when he met two members of Upper Hutt Posse. They introduced Haimoana to the people he credits for steering him away from trouble — the Posse’s DLT and Teremoana Rapley, and Auckland carver, George Nuku. “They did it without coming down hard on me. I was only young, and the way they said things and the way they acted left a big impression on me. I would be thinking that I was the man, that I could fuck with anyone, and they just weren’t even interested. I’ve done a few lags at George’s house when I’ve had nowhere to stay, and he gave me the Maori knowledge that I have now. Through that, slowly, I changed my life, got to know myself, and tried to find my feet. Now, I’m concrete.” At five o’clock in the evening, the Dam Native posse reconvene at Real Groovy for a second instore appearance. There’s more breakdancing and more funky grooves, and Haimoana repeats the cry, “Support Aotearoa hip hop.” Realistically, Dam Native and Tangata Records have a great deal of work ahead if they are to make any kind of dent in the local music scene. It will be a mission to turn young local ears away from American R&B, and onto indigenous hip hop. As yet, no one in the camp knows how they’re going to do that. But Haimoana is confident, because Dam Native have, “knuckled down and stayed true.” “I give love to the boys, ’cause they hung in there. There were thousands of MCs around me, back in the day when I first started. Over the years, life got to them and they disappeared, But Dam Native, we’ve stuck around, and I feel like we’re coming out of the tunnel, and we can see a bit of the light.”

JOHN RUSSELL