Waves of Knowledge

We hear them in songs, movies, even TV commercials: the haunting plaintive sounds of taonga pūoro – Aotearoa’s ‘music treasures’. They seep into our consciousness and give us a sense of connection to our land. But taonga pūoro came close to extinction, before a renaissance over the past few decades. Composer Michael Norris and taonga pūoro expert Al Fraser spoke to Dan Poynton about their upcoming performance with the NZSO.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY JORAM ADAMS

How many of us know about the ancient spiritual meanings of these whispering taonga, that so preciously imitate our endangered birdlife and reflect the entire Ao Tūroa (natural world)? And how many of us have heard taonga pūoro in conversation with Western classical instruments? Like the clash of cultures our land has seen since Europeans first arrived, can such a conversation even work? Wellingtonians will judge for themselves in July, when the NZSO premieres Mātauranga – Rerenga, a piece commissioned for the NZSO Cook’s Landfall Series to mark the 250th anniversary of Cook’s first landing. It was written by prominent composer Michael Norris and features Al Fraser, a tohunga of taonga pūoro.

Both men are pākehā. Many people will see this as positive, while others will see it as yet more ‘colonisation’ or ‘cultural appropriation’. Such conflicting perspectives have been reflected in the media in different framings of this year’s celebrations of Cook’s first landfall. Some prefer to call it a ‘commiseration’, owing to the permanent disruption to Te Ao Māori (the Māori world) this event irrevocably set in motion.

Both Al and Michael sympathise with this view, but they are also elated at this opportunity to feature taonga pūoro in such a big cross-cultural event. ‘I fully acknowledge the taonga pūoro belong in the Māori culture and I’m really lucky to be able to use them,’ says Al. ‘It’s fair enough if people don’t like what I do.’ But Al says people are usually just ‘stoked to hear taonga pūoro. They can see that I respect it and what I’m doing is a good thing.’ Al tells the story of a Māori photographer who once said to him that it was ‘so cool to hear these being played by... someone like you,’ hesitating as to what to call Al. ‘I don’t think he could bring himself to say pākehā,’ he laughs.

Michael says he has mixed feelings about using these instruments as a pākehā. ‘But the taonga pūoro also need pākehā, just like te reo Māori needs pākehā to speak it, so it’s not culturally ghettoised but it’s actually embraced by the mutlicultural society we live in,’ he says.

Wellingtonians Al and Michael both grew up in Dunedin near each other and have been planning a project like this for years. Mātauranga (knowledge) in the work’s title refers to Cook’s mission to study the Southern stars, flora, and fauna and chart the Pacific. ‘Rerenga has many meanings,’ says Michael. ‘It’s the idea of flow, flying, waves.’ He says taonga pūoro were an obvious choice for him to use in this piece. ‘They are the musical representation of the flora and fauna. Al’s [pūoro] collection has kurī (dog), moa, toroa (albatross) – all plants and animals from here.’

This is the first time Michael has composed for taonga pūoro and he’s taken a radical approach, using electronics to process the pūoro sounds. ‘All the electronics come from capturing and processing the sounds of the taonga pūoro which I will do entirely live,’ he says. ‘This creates overlapping waves of sounds and the orchestra will reflect these sounds as well. The sound of these electronics and pūoro are quite haunting.’ Michael is no stranger to electronic music; some of his plug-ins have been used by legends like Brian Eno.

Al will be using eight instruments in Mātauranga − a tiny portion of his entire collection which includes just about every taonga pūoro we know about so far. They include the kōauau pongā ihu (gourd nose-flute), the porotiti (a whirring, spinning pounamu disc) and other instruments with amazing stories. One is the pūmotomoto, a Tūhoe birthing flute. ‘It’s played and spoken through at the same time, over the mother’s pregnant belly and the new-born baby’s fontanelle,’ says Al. ‘They spoke of knowledge, whakapapa, hopes and desires.’

The pūmotomoto is an example of the groundbreaking research behind the revival of these instruments by legendary pioneers like Richard Nunns, Hirini Melbourne and Brian Flintoff. They spoke with kaumātua who remembered long-gone instruments, often from the mists of their childhoods. ‘The kaumātua described it and then they just made it,’ says Al of the pūmotomoto. ‘When they played it back to them they said “Yeah, that’s the sound”. If we didn’t have the kōrero that Richard, Hirini and Brian got we wouldn’t have some of these instruments because the people have gone now.’

Al will also play the pūkāea – a booming martial trumpet with a ferocious-looking toothed head. ‘This is the vagina of Hine-Nui-Te-Pō (Great Woman of the Night). You enter her vagina when you die, and she’s got teeth in her vagina,’ Al explains. ‘So you’re welcoming your enemy to die by playing this in battle.’ But like many pūoro, it had various uses. ‘It was blown to signal the birth of a high-born child. In utero they recited karakia and whakapapa into the instrument, and painted it in kōkōwai (red ochre) to represent the afterbirth,’ says Al. ‘But it was also used just to signal that dinner was ready!’ Another featured flute is the pōrutu tutu. The tutu tree and its purple berries are lethally toxic. ‘But they also make baths of tutu juice for detoxifying,’ Al says. ‘An old diary described an old Māori, out of it on fermented tutu with purple round his mouth. I think it was used for psychedelic reasons.’

The story of Al becoming one of the few tohunga pākehā of the pūoro is an unlikely one. His first instrument was the snare drum in the school pipe band. He quickly moved on to drumming in rock bands and then taught himself blues guitar. A degree in jazz guitar at Massey University in Wellington followed. Then, in his last year, he heard master pūoro player Richard Nunns by chance at a concert. Although he’d been given a kōauau which he’d played around on a bit, this was something radically new to him. ‘This wasn’t just a kōauau,’ he beams. ‘I didn’t know there were all these instruments!’ He started making some of the instruments himself ‘because you can’t just go out and buy them.’ Al describes his primitive efforts in the back shed of his flat with a vice and drill, guided by pictures in books. ‘Someone told me about Hirini, and when I was making my pūtātara (conch shell trumpet) I was a bit stuck so I rang him up, and he just told me how to do it on his way to a lecture,’ smiles Al, as he remembers the laid-back kindness of the famous late Māori

musician. Soon after, at a Māori instrument wānanga in Rotorua ‘there was Richard, Hirini and Brian, and I asked, do you guys all know each other? I didn’t even know there was a revival.’ He showed them the instruments he’d made, and these tohunga became his teachers, in both playing and making.

These taonga have now been part of his life for 20 years, and it seems Nunns, the great pākehā pūoro pioneer, has passed his baton on to Al. ‘They’re a direct connection to the land and the people,’ says Al. ‘If I’m playing in a natural place it’s a lot about communicating with the voices and sounds that are around me. I’m not sure if the birds or insects react or it’s just that your listening is enhanced − you can hear the stream better.’

You can hear this connection to nature in Al’s latest solo CD, Toitū Te Pūoro, produced by Rattle. The powerful sounds seem to take you into the mystical realm of Tāne Mahuta, God of the Forests and Birds. Like Nunns’ and Melbourne’s seminal album Te Kū Te Whē, which Al describes as ‘unsurpassed’, it’s exclusively taonga pūoru. But Al has developed the soundscapes further with richer combinations, close miking and some electronic processing. ‘And culture’s a fluid thing, right?’ says Al. ‘Māori were innovative. That’s why a lot of people now say it’s cool to use modern tools, because Māori have always done that.’ Pūoro makers have to be inventive because so many of the instruments have now been lost. ‘But you can look at the environment, see what sounds natural materials produce,’ says Al. ‘Because in Te Ao Māori the natural world is the touchstone.’

Recently Al researched the pūoro of the Moriori on Rēkohu (The Chathams). ‘Because they suffered a genocide there’s not a lot to go on,’ he laments. ‘I did a heap of beachcombing. We’re happy to be informed by the environment. You can make kōauau from crayfish, toroa, shells. We don’t really know if there was a flute tradition there, but we still can make flutes.’ And then he performed for the islanders on Rēkohu marae with these newly created taonga. ‘If all my instruments went up in flames I’d just make more,’ says Al. ‘I’m pretty sure I could get a concert together in a day. You can just go down to the beach and get a collection – you could have a lot of fun with just that.’

Although Al would like to see more young people embrace pūoro he thinks the future is looking good. ‘It’s all about sharing the knowledge and everyone’s welcome. That’s the kaupapa I follow. I try to make as much time as I can to help others out with materials, knowledge, showing them how to make them. This is how it flourishes.’