The reinvention of Te Kaahu

By channelling traditional melody and writing from a place grounded in whakapapa, Te Kaahu’s gorgeous collection of te reo Ma¯ ori songs taps into a timeless vein, one rich with possibility, writes Alex Behan.

The evolution of the artist known as Theia has been interesting to observe. She emerged in the wake of Lorde and Broods, as our local industry scrambled for copycat pop divas to coattail on the international appetite for Kiwi teenagers. That’s not a jab at anyone (least of all Theia), that’s just how the music business operates.

Theia (the alt-pop moniker of Em Walker) broke radio with several tracks – notably Roam, which became a smash hit and amassed many millions of streams. But although she had pop chops and proved herself capable in the mainstream arena, she seemed to doubt her own path.

Creep, her collaboration with Hamilton rapper Vayne was an early sign as the hard hitting track spitting back at abusers, misogyny and the male gaze was markedly more abrasive than her innocuous early offerings. Then she started collaborating with unlikely seeming characters like Delaney Davidson and Shayne Carter and began embracing and exploring her Ma¯ ori heritage and musical inheritance. She decided all this was bigger than Theia and invented a whole new persona.

Enter Te Kaahu and Te

Kaahu O Rangi, a gorgeous collection of te reo Ma¯ ori songs that show Em Walker in an entirely new (and very becoming) new light. It’s a revelation. By channelling traditional melody and writing from a place grounded in whakapapa, Te Kaahu has tapped into a timeless vein, one rich with possibility.

Themes of healing and peace abide throughout and, frankly, it’s hard not to get caught up in the wholesomeness of it all.

E Hine E¯ opens proceedings in the simplest and most effective of ways. A simple mantra of self-love, self-care and recognising the beauty within oneself, it is at once familiar and fresh – a feeling replicated many times during the album.

Davidson’s lap steel guitar adorns the angelic melody in Rangirara, which also benefits from producer Jol Mulholland’s firm grasp on the classics.

E Taku Huia Kaimanawa feels closest to an undeveloped Theia track – you can hear where bigger production and beats would easily transform it to a modern ‘‘banger’’, but it’s better off left in its raw form, as it is here.

He Hiimene follows and returns us to an easy listening waltz, gorgeously lit by Te Kaahu’s shining vocal. Songs like Waikato and Pai Maarire resonate with beauty, pay homage to her heritage and will prove a timeless part of her repertoire. Taupiri is simple and stunning.

Te Kaahu has redefined herself and, by acknowledging her past, has unearthed a new future.

Noah Slee is the Tongan singer based in Berlin whose new album It Takes a Village also bursts with wholesome vibes (and excellently harmonised guests). His 2017 debut Otherland picked up a couple of Pacific Music Awards, but it’s been a few years between drinks. Now the charismatic artist has amassed a collective of similarly gifted musicians that round out the village sound.

Neo-soul is the immediate reference point and aesthetically we’re channelling artists like Jill Scott, D’Angelo or anything Questlove touched through the mid 2000s. But there’s an emphasis on consciousness, empowerment and equality.

Rise twinkles with synths, between brackets of brass, and we get a taste of Slee’s vocal range as he flips between a sweet, soulful hook and deep, spoken-word verses. Culture shows off the first of his Berlin buddies, as Mulay takes a chance to shine and doesn’t disappoint. She soars.

Even more impressive is Greed, featuring Lie Ning, which slides seamlessly from complex chorused vocals into a haunting single string line.

It Takes a Village showcases Slee’s many talents – not least of which is bringing together likeminded artists to create something more than the sum of its parts.

It’s not just a calling card for Slee, this record is a gateway to an undiscovered world of Berlinbased brilliance.