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Che Fu in 2002. Image: FOTOPRESS/Dean Purcell
Che Fu in 2002. Image: FOTOPRESS/Dean Purcell

ĀteaOctober 19, 2018

‘I wanted to rep my neighbourhood, my country’: Che Fu on making 2b S.Pacific

Che Fu in 2002. Image: FOTOPRESS/Dean Purcell
Che Fu in 2002. Image: FOTOPRESS/Dean Purcell

Twenty years on from the release of his debut album 2b S.Pacific, RNZ Music‘s Sam Wicks speaks to Che Fu about how getting kicked out of Supergroove lit the fire that helped him create his landmark album.

In October 1998, BMG New Zealand released the debut solo project from Che-Fu (Ngāti Raukawa, Ngāti Whakatere), an artist who – at the time – was better known as Che Ness, ex-frontman for Supergroove.

While being pushed from the funk-rock outfit was the catalyst for his hip-hop and R&B-spanning solo debut 2b S.Pacific, Che’s total hip-hop immersion first came via ‘Chains’ with DLT


On the back of that track’s chart success, Che drew together a team of tastemakers, beatmakers and musicians including King Kapisi, Manuel Bundy, John Chong-Nee, and others and harnessed their powers for a project forged deep in the Pacific.

Fourteen songs that would cement a legacy that stands apart from that of his former band.

This is how Che-Fu broke free on 2b S.Pacific:

Che Ness aka Che-Fu: I guess for me it starts with a young Māori-Niuean boy from Ponsonby who’d just left a huge band, a huge career with Supergroove. Pretty much from there, I was thrown into the oven and I’d been prompted to do a record, an album, my first album. It was definitely something I relished, a challenge that I relished, but also it was a nervous time. I had spent eight years with a rock band and here I was about to venture into making a hip-hop record, which I have to say was not only new ground for myself but for the industry, I guess.

Philip Bell aka DJ Sir-Vere (ex-Assistant A&R at BMG New Zealand, Mai FM Content Director): Getting thrown out of the band lit the fire. I saw a guy who was deeply invested in Supergroove, who loved that band to death, and then I was there the day that they kicked him out […] Che became a solo artist that moment.

Che Ness: I do remember getting called up to come into the office and to have a big powwow about what type of direction I was going to head towards musically with my first album. They asked me to come into the BMG offices and sit in the big room and play them some CDs that I was feeling.

I had a clear direction on what I wanted to do, and I pretty much wanted to make East Coast rap beat type of music and I wanted to sing on top of it. Man, they weren’t prepared for that! […] The next day they gave me a call and they said, ‘You know, we’re not too sure on the direction you’re taking – we’re a bit mystified about how to push the reggae feel of your music,’ and I was thinking, reggae feel, is that what you guys got from what I played y’all?

And so they said, ‘We’d like to send you to New York for a couple of months, maybe you can soak up the atmosphere of the city and perhaps move away from the reggae direction and head towards the hip hop direction’. And I was like, aight!

Philip Bell: Let me tell you what I know. I believe it was hoped that when Che-Fu and DLT went to New York City that they would immerse themselves in the hip hop culture that that city is. I also think that they were thinking Che would […] see the hip hop/rap landscape and decide that he would want to just sing again.It almost worked in reverse. Che went there, realised he loved hip hop music and just made more of it. How ironic is that? That that trip worked in reverse but then he came back and made potentially one of the greatest New Zealand hip hop and R&B records of all time.

Otis Frizzell, Darryl ‘DLT’ Thomson, Che-Fu, Mark ‘Rhythm Slave’ Williams, Phil ‘Sir-Vere’ Bell at the 1996 APRA Silver Scrolls Photo: Supplied

Che Ness: I come back to New Zealand. Basically Kirk [Harding, ex- A&R Director for BMG New Zealand] wanted me to make the record with [DLT]. We did that for a couple of weeks, I wasn’t really feeling it […] I basically wanted to make the album with Submariner, reason being I had already been jamming with Submariner for two or three years while I was in Supergroove.

In my downtime, in my holidays and stuff, I’d be playing music with another bunch of friends. We’d call ourselves Token Village and we were just like a bunch of musos and rappers and Submariner was in that crew, and I knew that he was someone that I wanted to work with because I felt that he had a good idea on how to make mean hip hop.

Andy Morton aka Submariner (2b S.Pacific co-producer and engineer): I think it was kind of the middle of ’96 we did some first demos. Isaac Tucker [The New Loungehead] was playing the drums, Ned Ngatae [KillaManRaro, The Black Seeds] on guitar, I think that was the first time Chip Matthews [The New Loungehead, Che-Fu & The Krates] came in […] And they were great demos. I mean, I was really excited to be a part of it all and I thought Che had some really great songwriting going on.

Che Ness: I wanted the album title to be like an address, an address code for your street and your city – I live at ‘2b Spacific’.

I wasn’t really seeking a global audience at all. I was basically wanting to rep my neighbourhood, rep my country. I just felt, not like a pressure, but I felt like a duty to put out a record that represented my people really well because up until that point from memory there weren’t that many records that had been given – like rap records – that had been given a big budget, a big push, and was about to get a good shot at it and so I really took that to heart.

Andy Morton: I think Che was really keen to show everybody what he had. He had been part of Supergroove and everybody kind of knew him from that, but he had a whole ’nother side of himself that people hadn’t really seen. Probably just all the reggae as well – you know, that’s his history, that’s his family, it’s kind of what he was raised on.

Philip Bell: There’s a really crucial part of the story for me personally. In 1998 – January 19 – my son Ethan was born. We’re in the thick of the Che-Fu project, the record label’s demanding me to do things that I just don’t agree with, like staying out all night at these things, and I had to call it, man. I just said, ‘I can’t do this anymore’ and then they kind of threatened me and I literally walked out the door.

I had to go and see Che a week later and he was… he may not admit it, but he was pissed with me. It was a really difficult time.

Che Ness: In terms of the record company and the type of role they played in making this record, they were pretty unsure – that’s how I felt – on how to market the record, how to direct me in making the record. So, it wasn’t all smooth sailing, but I wasn’t really going to budge because I was pretty sure when it came to rap music I knew what I was doing, you know what I mean?

Andy Morton: It was very last minute when we actually pulled it all together at the end. Everybody came back and we ended up making most of the final choices with the album just in my little studio, and I actually knocked down a wall and built a little booth just so I could accommodate it.

Che Ness: We were pretty much up against it. The deadline I think had been pushed back a couple of times already. Many a time me and Submariner would wake up face down on the desk, and so we were doing crazy hours around the clock trying to get this record done. It was a mission, bro, it was a mission. And when we finally got it in the can it was a huge feeling of relief.

How I felt everybody received the record, it was great, everyone dug it. Radio was loving it; the public was feeling it. For me, one of the most important things was that the record company realised that I was a serious record maker. Like, if I was going to do some more, it wasn’t going to be a risk.

It was like I finished the exam, you know what I mean? I finished the test! I could do it, I can make records. And I felt like it proved the point to [BMG] and I felt extremely happy about that ’cause it meant that I was able to have a career in this.


Philip Bell: The legacy of 2b S.Pacific is that it was the first fully-realised story and project in a hip-hop and R&B-fused fashion this country had ever seen, and I don’t think it’s ever been done as well ever again because it’s a watershed moment in our history.

Che is that guy, it’s like this was the moment. You need to listen to it all to understand his journey, where he’s come from, where he’s been, his father’s [Tigilau Ness] influence on his life, the importance of marijuana in his life, dawn raids, Ponsonby. You know, really confronting issues. Che nailed it with that record.

Andy Morton: I was excited about it from the minute I heard Che sing me the basic songs. I felt like it was really honest writing, really honest music. It never really blew up to be a big record, but I do know it influenced a lot of people and set things up. It had a sound and I think it kind of influenced the general scene. It had a place in the history.

Che Ness: When I think about that record, I think about a young man, a young boy even, making his way like Jango Fett, you know what I mean? Just a Māori boy trying to make his way through the universe.

I think about, wow, we did it. And it was the first piece of the puzzle, it was the first domino that kicked off the chain there.

LISTEN TO 2B S.PACIFIC:

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ĀteaOctober 16, 2018

On the outside: Life after prison

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If you serve time in jail there is a nearly one in three chance that you’ll end up back behind bars in the first year after release. For RNZ’s Insight, Leigh-Marama McLachlan speaks to former prisoners trying to build a life outside the gates.

Jamie Mako, 46, spent his first night of freedom in four years sober driving for his mates and sleeping in a car outside the Mongrel Mob pad in Porirua.

He had been arrested that morning, July 24, for an altercation at Work and Income and he spent the rest of the day at a friend’s funeral.

“I was at the Mongrel Mob pad, I slept there for the night after the tangihanga when one of our brothers had passed away.

“I opted to be the sober driver for the brothers and then at four o’clock in the morning, I slept in the car.”

His accommodation plans had fallen through and he did not want to crash on his younger brother’s couch, because he already had a full house.

“That’s how panicky I got – I’m at the pad thinking, ‘Where the hell am I going to go?'”

Mr Mako had just served four years in Rimutaka Prison for armed robbery. But even before that he was no stranger to prison. He was in and out of jail since he was 18.

With nowhere fixed to stay and not a lot of money behind him, he said his options to keep on the straight and narrow were limited.

“I have been at the Mongrel Mob pad, I have been at drug houses – well it’s warm, ya know. I’m hungry, ya know.

“But I do realise that those are high risk situations for me. I am just so grateful that I have disciplined myself. I know the consequences of those actions if I go back into that world.”

He said his friend runs a business of sorts, and offered him a room upstairs. Although he appreciated the gesture, he refused.

“It came from the heart but I just did not like the undesirables it attracted, because it is not a very healthy or stable environment for me.

“I find myself having to go back into my old lifestyle and do what I got to do to survive.”

Easing back into whānau

A lot has changed for Patricia Walsh in the almost a decade that she has been out of prison. But the transition back to family life was etched into her memory.

Her criminal record lists 144 convictions and sentences amounting to 20 years. She had been in jail five times before her last lag in 2009.

“You’re free but you’re not free; you’re pushed out the gate really.”

Ms Walsh was released to home detention with a family she hardly knew in Wellington – forbidden to return home to her children and grandchild for nine months.

“The sad thing was I couldn’t go back to my hometown where my kids were, where my support systems were.

“Corrections realised that my family may have a negative impact on me, but being here isolated in Wellington, I felt just as isolated.”

Patricia Walsh struggled to ease back into a family that had carried on without her. Image: RNZ Insight/ Leigh-Marama McLachlan

Moving home was an adjustment. She said the police called in to say they knew she was back in town. She was used to a routine. She did not speak often, and was not used to thinking for herself.

“How do we ease ourselves back into a family that has carried on without us? They are expecting the same behaviours from you that they got before you went to prison.

“Even if you had managed to make some changes while you were in prison, when you go home, there is that need for you to be the same person so you tend to go back to behaving those ways.”

Ultimately it was her whānau that got her off methamphetamine and on the right track.

“I went back into that addict behaviour and my son said to me, ‘Mum change what you’re doing,’ or [he said] he’s not going to let me have a relationship with my moko.

“He gave me a koha, he told me I was the strongest person he ever knew and that I could do anything.

“I didn’t realise my strength. I was always that victim, that little girl that had been hurt.”

These days, Ms Walsh is adorned with a beautiful moko kauae. She has a Bachelor of Social Work and is flown around the country to speak publicly about the justice system.

The most heart breaking thing for her was realising that she had missed the window of opportunity to show her children how valuable they were.

Having to choose work over whānau

It felt like the right thing to do to be up-front about her jail time, but Mihi got sick of employers shutting the door on her whenever she did.

After not being able to get work in her hometown, the mother of one decided to move away from her friends and whānau for a job in Auckland.

“It’s hard to fit in to society when you get out. I only did a short lag of six-months and it’s hard getting a job,” she said.

Mihi got out of prison in January after being locked up at Arohata Prison for several convictions including assault, breaching protection orders and benefit fraud.

Her and her ex-partner were both convicted of benefit fraud she said totalled $76,000. This time around, she kept it from the boss, and landed a cleaning job.

“If he found out he would probably let me go. What am I going to do with that?

“I’ll probably fall back in to drugs and make a mess. I don’t want to be like that; I don’t want to go that way at all.”

When Mihi left prison, she got rid of everything to do with her past relationship. It was part of the process to move forward and forge a better life.

“I didn’t want any of my stuff from my past so I left all of that alone.”

Once upon a time, Mihi had protection and restraining orders put in place by her son’s father. Now she drives 12 hours return to see her son every second weekend.

Ideally, she would be living in the same town as him, she said, but things were looking up now having a job.

“My car is actually f***ing legit, everything I have had hasn’t been legal – for the first time in five years I have got a car that’s legit, it’s mine.”

“My son is really proud of me and he’s seen me come a long way too and I am able to support him. I used to do that on the dole – but the dole is the dole and I need to set a better role model for him.”

Rehabilitation in isolation

A former prisoner who ended up back in jail dropped his head in shame when he caught the eye of senior Corrections staffer Neil Campbell.

The General Manager of Cultural Capability said the man told him how hard it was to use the skills he had learned in rehabilitation when he got back home.

He said when he got into an altercation with his partner, he tried to draw on his lessons from prison to diffuse the situation.

But Mr Campbell said it all went wrong.

“He told me that his partner looked at him like he was from Mars and said: ‘Don’t come back here with all your flash prison crap.’

“He found it easier to up and punch her in the face again.”

For director Māori of the Department of Corrections, Neil Campbell, the whole family has to be rehabilitated, not just the prisoner. Image: RNZ Insight / Leigh-Marama McLachlan

The department spends just under $200 million on rehabilitation each year, and $20m on reintegration services. It’s budget last year was $1.4 billion.

There is little value in rehabilitating prisoners in isolation, Mr Campbell said.

“We had invested good time, good money, and good quality programme with this individual, but he was going back to a situation where nobody else had had exposure to that rehab, so couldn’t recognise it when he was trying to practise it.”

Mr Campbell said rehabilitation was only as good as the environment that people were returning to and called for investment in whānau and community.

“Reoffending generally occurs when people aren’t under our management – when they’re back in their community, when they are back in their whanau.”

This article first appeared on RNZ.