Gabby
Pahinui was a mystery to a lot of people, but not to me. I worked with him off
and on for over 10 years, and he was like a lot of performers I have known, who
are pulled two ways. Gabby was one of the greatest Hawaiian singers of all time.
Some say he was the greatest. He was a musical genius. And he was his own worst
enemy. We would get jobs because of Gabby, and we would lose jobs because of Gabby.
It was more than booze. He was an angel with a demon inside of him. He could drive
people crazy. Once I was talking with a guy who used to manage a band Gabby was
in, and he had this big scar across his stomach from an ulcer operation. He lifted
up his shirt and pointed to his scar and said to me, “Gabby Pahinui did that.” Take
the time they staged the first big slack key concert, downtown at Blaisdell Concert
Hall. Some of the younger musicians put it together, and Gabby was the star of
the show. Everybody knows how much he did to establish slack-key as the most authentic
Hawaiian style of playing. They have rehearsed everything and put a tight show
together. The place is sold out. Some good bands are there to warm up the crowd.
Finally Gabby’s time comes. While he walks out onstage a band is already playing,
and he is supposed to join in. But now he likes the sound of the music so much
he puts down his guitar and he starts to do the hula. Gabby happens to be one
of the best hula dancers I have ever seen-you know, that Hawaiian style of male
dancing-so the crowd goes wild. But the guys who organized the concert are dying
a thousand deaths backstage because the main idea is to honor slack key, and Gabby
decides it’s time to dance.  | Photo:
Ken Sakamoto |
I remember one day we were in
the bar at The Flamingo over on Kapi’olani, me and Eddie Spencer, who worked at
the rent-a-car place next door, and the head of the Musician’s Union and this
real estate guy named Chin Chai. We’re in there drinking and having lunch and
then playing a few songs. I’m just wearing slippers and a T-shirt, and I have
my ‘ukulele, and Eddie Spencer is playing a guitar that belongs to Chin Chai.
And after a while Gabby comes in. He just got off from his job with the county,
doing road work in those days, so he’s in his boots, T-shirt, muddy pants. Nobody
was playing music just then, so he says to me, “Son, who owns that guitar?” I
said, “That guy over by the bar, Chin Chai.” He said, “Ask him can I borrow
it.” So I go over and say, “Chin Chai, Gabby wants to borrow your guitar
to play for somebody, but he’ll bring ’em back pretty soon.” Chin Chai doesn’t
even ask where or who. He just says, “Sure, it’s OK.” Then Gabby says, “Come
with me, son, and bring your ‘ukukule.” So we jump in my car and I say,
“Where to?” Well, we drive from Kapi’olani Boulevard all the way up to Nu’uanu
Mortuary, where all these people are dressed for a funeral, and I say to myself,
“Oh no,” because I’m just there in my T-shirt and Gabby in his muddy pants. But
it’s too late to turn around, so I follow him while he walks up to a guy in a
black suit who says, “Gabby, what do you want?” Gabby names the man who
died and says, “I came to play for my friend.” The guy in black goes inside
and comes back with a member of the family, another guy in a black suit who looks
at our T-shirts and my slippers and Gabby’s work boots and just turns around and
walks away. Gabby looks at me with this wild look in his eye that says he’s going
to do whatever he’s going to do. I say, “Who did you come up here for? That
guy in the suit?” He says, “No.” I say, “Then let’s go in. But one
thing, Gabby-the minute we walk into the mortuary, you start playing.” He
says, “OK, son, here we go.” People inside are all dressed up, starting
to take their seats and we walk through the doorway, and Gabby starts strumming
Chin Chai’s guitar, that magic sound, the way only he could do. And nobody gets
mad. They don’t know what to do but sit there and listen. Then I play my ‘ukulele,
and we start singing a sweet Hawaiian song that Gabby knows his friend used to
love. We walk down the aisle until we get to the casket. When we finish we just
say aloha to Gabby’s friend and turn around and walk out again and don’t talk
to anybody, just go back to the car. While we’re driving away I tell him,
“Don’t ever do this to me again. I don’t mind playing if we got decent clothes
on, but not with slippers and T-shirt.” Gabby he just laughs. He’s happy, because
that’s Gabby’s way. Whatever comes to him on the spur of the moment, that’s what
he does. He used to have this word, “Skabadooz,” which meant anything goes.
Sometimes in the middle of a song he turns and says to the rest of us, “Skabadooz,”
which could mean ‘I don’t remember how we rehearsed this so just stick with me
and we’ll get through it one way or another.’ Here was a guy who made so many
people stop and pay attention to Hawaiian music-me included-and you never knew
when he was going to change the words in the middle of a song or make up verses
or leave out verses. If you don’t know Gabby ahead of time, that can really throw
you off. Joe Marshall would get annoyed because Joe went to Kamehameha
and I think he sang in the chorus, and he was a stickler for how the words should
go. Joe used to shake his head and call Gabby Mr. Skabadooz, said Gabby had been
skabadoozing his whole life and getting away with it. But that was Gabby’s
way. You never knew what would happen. He wants to drink all night, he drinks.
He wants to do the hula instead of play guitar like everybody paid money to see
him do, he dance the hula and bring the house down. If a string breaks in the
middle of a number, he keeps on playing. Maybe two strings break. Gabby keeps
playing. He finds new chords and takes great solos-with two strings gone! He wants
to play a song for his friend who passed away, he don’t tell anybody he’s coming.
If he’s in a tuxedo or muddy boots from his job, he doesn’t care. He goes, he
sings from his heart, so sweet, with so much aloha in his voice he makes you cry. |
