Honolulu Weekly

With an album coming out next year on Grimm Image, Nabahe Benally has gone from sneaking into the Wave to catch a Busdriver performance to bringing the same act to Next Door last weekend. How does a Native American foster kid do all of that in less than five years? Ambition, talent and simple discontent.

You started out throwing shows at coffee shops and venues that don’t serve alcohol. What brought you to that?

I saw my friends doing music at certain places, but it was like the people didn’t come out to see them; they just came out to drink. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with drinking, but the clubs didn’t give a shit about the artists.

So me and my friend Josh 86 (of 86 List), from the punk scene started off doing shows with his nonprofit, Unity Crayons, which was perfect, because it’s all artists, all ages. We just started from scratch, performing everywhere we could, and since hip-hop and punk can thrive in any area, and it’s more of a down-to-earth, grassroots style, I took it to the coffee shops, and the supporters just came to support. It was straight up all-ages. We didn’t get our support from alcohol or drink tickets. We performed wherever we could–Hale’iwa Gym, Club Pauahi, Coffee Talk. Anywhere that a sound system could be set up.

Was that hard?

Hell no. It’s hip-hop. You have a beat–a CD player–and speakers. From there, we just kept bringing people out here. We’d do a show and get nothing out of it–as long as we’d break even, we’d give the rest of whatever we made back to the artists. Other promoters weren’t willing to take those risks, but if you’ve got nothing, there’s no choice but to go up.

So, much of your motivation in throwing shows has come out of frustration with what was out there.

That’s what it is–you can complain about it or you can do it yourself. Just like Jamal, Taharba, G-Spot, Hesham–they all started in Chinatown with nothing. As one of the younger kids, I just took that aspect and built on it. That’s the reason that I throw shows; because I’m an artist, a performer. I don’t want to be worrying about door costs–I do that every month with my rent.

When was the first time you made money doing a show?

Performing? I guess the Busdriver and Radioactive show (at the Wave) in 2003. I wasn’t supposed to be on that bill, but my friend Joey (NiceOne) did the flyer, and I needed to get in for free because I was under age, so he put me on it. My whole thing was sneaking into clubs, because I had no money. So I got in, and then the promoter was like, ‘So what? Are you ready to perform or not?’ So I was like, ‘Are you serious?’ He was like, ‘You’re on the flyer.’ So me and my group at the time, LCD, we killed it both nights and, fuck, I made money.

The label you’re releasing your next album on originally knew you as a visual artist, correct?

Basically the art paved the way to do my music. I threw a show here with Ceschi and David Ramos, and performed and sold my art. It was just like little scribbles, just some little $5 and $10 things. They remembered me from my art, and then some of the people who had seen me perform here started a label [Grimm Image] and commissioned me to do a wall at one of the owners of the label’s house. While I was staying there, they drove me down to L.A. do a recording session. They heard my music and they asked me to sign with them then, but I said no–I’d already been picked up by an indie label. I had to honor that contract. Then that label went under, so I agreed.

How has your experience been with them versus whether as you had signed with a major label?

They’ve been really supportive. The relationship is both friendship and business. They’re half-Mexican and half-Native American, and that’s what we can relate on. They came from nothing just like me, and they got blessed. Their position is just for me to do whatever I like, as long as it sounds good. On my new album I work with Mikah 9, C-Rayz Walz of Def Jux Records, Xololanxinxo of OMD, Yara Bravo from London and Icon the Mic King, from Philadelphia.

What was your first musical influence?

My mother was in the punk scene–L.A. Hardcore. We grew up in San Pedro–little ghetto by the sea. We were Native Americans, so we adapted more to the Chicano style. There’s a lot of Latin punks out there, and my mom hung out in that scene–The Minutemen, Mike Watt and all them–they all had crushes on my aunt and my mom. My brother was in a punk band, but I was always into hip-hop. My brother’s half white and I look more brown, and in L.A. I hung out with a bunch of African American and Hispanic kids. I was more into urban areas and graffiti, and I grew up in group and foster homes since I was about 4, and so I latched onto that. So I was exposed to punk, but that same grassroots, DIY aspect of it aligns with hip-hop, and that’s what I’ve brought to the things I’ve done here.

What do you find most interesting about the scene in Hawai’i?

The young kids. Funky Four Corners, Lightsleepers–I’ll watch whatever they do, even though it costs an arm and a leg. The Sunday Night Ciphers–kids from the housing, KPT, suburban kids–it doesn’t matter where you’re from, as long as you’re yourself. It’s just grassroots…realizing that everyone’s the same. All of us–we’re not anything special. You can throw a show one night, be in the VIP room of the O Lounge, and the next night, there you are in some parking lot under a freeway overpass–it doesn’t matter. Anyone can do this. If there are people who love music and want to share it, there’s always going to be a scene, but honestly, you’re in Hawai’i–if you’re doing hip-hop music or any other type of music, no one gives a fuck about you. Once you realize that, then you can humble yourself and work off of that.