Good Sh*t From Hawaii: The Last of the Great Original Tiki Lounges

On a whim, we tried to get into the Honolulu Surf Film Festival at the Hawaii Art Museum.  It was opening night and the Festival were screening one of those films that was a little smarter than you’d expect from the surfer crowd; you know, probably some tasteful acid jazz over 16mm footage of peeling surf – looking very much like lines of coke on a glass coffee table – from oddball surfari destinations like Kiribati or Fiji.  Art crowd meets surf crowd.  Since it was opening night there would be a cash bar and a live band.  Looking forward to tropical images, surf music, and good libation, we circled the Museum in my truck looking for parking.

I already knew we’d have trouble getting in.  There was a trickle of Beautiful People sauntering towards the Museum from the nearby street parking, all decked out in Aloha shirts, Little Black Dresses and dress slippers (you mainlanders call them “flip flops).  Anticipating them, I had dressed the same in my kodachrome Phil Edwards-designed,surf-themed Aloha shirt and khaki Duck Head shorts.  The beachy version of Tom Wolfe’s Radical Chic were all turning out.

Sea Shell Lamps

It would’ve been a memorable night had we gotten in.  But without advance tickets we were sh*t out of luck.  Since we didn’t want to be uncool and get in off the waiting list (nobody wants to be uncool in the surf world), we executed Plan B.

Mai Tai and Blue Hawaii

Plan B: The last of the original tiki bars in Honolulu is located not in Waikiki, but hidden away in an industrial area off Sand Island Access Road, amidst a boatwright’s lot, some warehouse storage facilities, and probably a junkyard or two.  It’s called the La Mariana Sailing Club, and although there in fact are slips for several dozen sailboats, it’s not like any yacht club I’ve ever seen.

Sunset at the LMSC

As you might expect if you know me, the LMSC is the real deal.  It didn’t pop up in the midst of the lounge and tiki revival movement of the late 90s.  By that point, the LMSC was already into 40 years in business at roughly the same location.  Every artifact of the genre there, the tikis, the glass fishing balls, the hanging blowfish lamps, have the patina of authenticity, the aura that it was hung in the Kennedy era by some monosyllabic manservant to Annette La Mariana Nahinu, the establishment’s founder.  There is dust settled into the cracks of the koa carvings and mahogany filigree that dates back to the era of Skinny Elvis.

The food, while generous of portion, is average at best, but really, you’re there for the Boat Drinks.  The drinks you sip on a Lurline class ocean liner.  Mai Tai.  Zombie.  Blue Hawaii.   All strong, all original, all irony-free.  Brought to your table or served at the bar, where, on the night of Plan B we drank bathed in the light of startled blowfish, next to a particularly salty and pickled patron of dubious condition.  We watched him get politely 86d because he hadn’t lost his sea legs yet and was still a bit unsteady on land.  Evidently, outside he engaged in fisticuffs with some of the solid, and very real tikis lining the walkway.

Glass Fishing Balls

There were other tiki bars in Honolulu, mostly in Waikiki.  Famously, there was a Trader Vic’s at the International Marketplace and a Polynesian Village (founded by Don the Beachcomber), but they, and the multitude of smaller, lesser known establishments had all but died out by the 80s, when irony as a precious natural resource was discovered.  The only ones left standing on the island by that time were the LMSC and the Tahitian Lanai.

The Tahitian Lanai, and it’s adjacent tiki themed hotel, the Waikikian, sounds like it was a fine place in its day, hosting many sing alongs around its much revered piano bar.  I’ve heard anecdotes of holiday parties there involving guests like Martin Denny, Connie Francis, the Lennon Sisters, the cast of “Hawaiian Eye”.  It remained open until 1997, leaving the LMSC alone to carry the torch, which Annette did until her passing in 2008.  In the 90s when I started going to La Mariana, she would greet us as we walked in, dressed in a long floral mu’u mu’u and often a haku lei on her head, shushing her caged parrot.  And the LMSC continues to outlive her in exactly the manner she intended.

The Kodachrome Phil Edwards Surf-Themed Aloha Shirt

On the night of Plan B we had a C+ pupu platter and potent mai tais and Blue Hawaiis.  There may have been a martini and a beer in there, too.  We watched the sunset over my shoulder and through the masts of the LMSC fleet.  The place got dimmer, but the colorful glass fishing balls turned on.  Tourists and regulars were all charmed by the place.  The same entertainer from the Tahitian Lanai piano bar was there, too, singing for us, encouraging the shameless to sing along.

Believe me, Radical Surf Chic was not missed.  An irony-free zone, when it can be found here, is definitely Good Sh*t from Hawaii.

Spiny Blowfish

Fresh-Water Fish Tank, here?

Piano, Ukulele, and Sing Alongs

The Old Salt

A Memory of Brubeck

I described one of my Greatest Dates previously, but I am reminded of another on the day the news breaks that Jazz Immortal Dave Brubeck passes.

It was 1998 and I was a datin' fool.  Perhaps the reason I can't elevate this night to the Greatest Date ever is because I can't remember my companion's name.  But she was a pretty attorney from across the table who at some point during a gravely inconsequential litigation commented to me that she was a classically trained concert pianist.  One deposition turned into three and the timing became right for me to ask her to see Dave Brubeck and his sons when they came to play at the Blaisdell Concert Hall here in Honolulu.  She leapt at the opportunity, probably more for the performance than for the companionship, but in the end ... well I'll show you rather than tell you.

It was a wonderful night that started with drinks at a nearby saloon to loosen us up.  Fortunately, we had tested the waters with a pre-date and we knew that nothing awkward would ruin our intended night of listening to Mr. Brubeck's odd time signatures.  (I think the previous week, we had Thai food and saw "Titanic").  As we were standing in the lobby waiting to enter the concert hall, I spotted an old friend scurrying around, and I quickly remembered he was in the entertainment business, so I hailed him over.  Understand, I never miss an opportunity to show a romantic interest that I am Kind of a Big Deal.  Sure enough, he was involved behind the scenes in the production.

So my pal comes over, we chit chat and I introduce my date.  He gives her the approving once over and we finish up with more small talk and then proceed to our seats.  She is pleased to find that I haven't gone cheap.  Our view is spectacular, eight or nine rows back and just off center.  When the time comes, we'll be able to see Mr. Brubeck's fingers.

The lights dim and Brubeck leads his sons out and they take their places.  They are dressed timelessly in white jackets and black bow ties.  My date and I share the intimacy of beautiful music, and at one point I lean over and confess to not understanding the time signatures.  As a self-trained rock drummer (really, I am), I am unaccustomed to counting to anything beyond four, four times.  So she leans over and places her ten fingers on my thigh and, with her fingers and whispers, counts fives and sixes, for a few bars as the Brubecks are playing.

So the intermission comes and we decide to keep our seats and continue our music-oriented conversation.  We are busy impressing each other with our knowledge when my pal suddenly appears.  He slides in one row in front of us and says he's been looking for us.

He looks at my date and says, "How'd you like to present Mr. Brubeck with a lei onstage before the encore?"

"Would I?"

As the final piece of the set started, my pal came and got us and led us backstage, my date pulling me excitedly by my hand, me trying to act as if I had made all of this happen, feeling like Kind of a Big Deal.

And that is how we found ourselves standing not 20 feet from Dave Brubeck's piano as he played his iconic Take Five, with a luxuriant green maile lei draped around his neck and falling to the floor.

Trad Movie (Greatest Movie Opening Sequences, Chapter I)

There are a lot of Trad devotees who visit this blog so I thought I’d inaugurate my list of Greatest Movie Opening Sequences with a very traditional movie, one with an overture meant to be played over a closed theater screen curtain, featuring one of the most revered motorcycles ever (the Brough Superior), and introducing to us the great historical figure and example of British eccentricity and perseverance, T.E. Lawrence, portrayed by Peter O'Toole (also introduced here for the first time). There’s even a cameo from Field Marshall Lord Allenby.

In what was probably one of the greatest Dates With Someone Other Than My Wife, I saw Lawrence of Arabia, restored by Steven Spielberg, at the Uptown Theater on Connecticut Ave., in D.C. in 1988. The Uptown remains one of the last urban stand-alone cinemas, resisting the tide of multiplexes that now dot the landscape, and boasts a crimson lobby and a large screen that defies real estate values. The film was an “event” movie, and we went dressed up and had burgers beforehand at a kitschy art deco diner nearby. Besides the overture, the film had an intermission, during which time we retreated to the lobby where we enjoyed cheesecake and coffee, standing at bar-height café tables. The lobby lights flickered and we went back in for the second half of the movie.

So behold the opening sequence to David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia. The first five minutes are devoted to music only. Your patience is rewarded, though, by perhaps the finest argument in favor of filming in widescreen (it's filmed in Super Panavision). The sequence concludes with Lawrence's gripping final ride through the Dorset countryside before he meets his demise. The coda comes before the main story with a quick illustration of the various misapprehensions of the man. Then, cut to the desert.