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Shapeshifter front man P Digsss performs in the rain.
Paora Apera, aka P Digsss, hasn’t had many chances to play live this summer. (Photo: Getty / Treatment: Tina Tiller)

Pop CultureApril 1, 2023

‘Holding back the tears’: Shapeshifter’s soggy summer of cancelled shows

Shapeshifter front man P Digsss performs in the rain.
Paora Apera, aka P Digsss, hasn’t had many chances to play live this summer. (Photo: Getty / Treatment: Tina Tiller)

As rain kept falling across January, February and into March, all band members cold do was sit at home cancelling festivals and posting sad Facebook messages to fans.

The first post landed on January 3. As wild weather began hitting the country, campers around Northland packed up their tents and Civil Defence issued emergency warnings about a “subtropical storm”. It hit just as Shapeshifter should have been kicking off a lengthy summer tour with Summer Haze Matakana, the band’s own festival with a hand-picked line-up that thousands of fans were set to attend.

Instead, the group’s five members sat down in front of their computers and began writing the kind of note no band wants to pen. “We regret to inform you that the Summer Haze Matakana concert … has been cancelled due to the current and incoming weather forecast,” the band told fans. In response, one wrote back: “Super guttered (sic) but absolutely understandable. It is WILD out here right now and only gonna get worse.”

A few weeks later, the exact same thing happened. Shapeshifter should have been headlining the debut of Whangamatā Beach Break with Aussie psych-rockers Ocean Alley on January 28, with thousands more set to attend what should have been a sun-drenched celebration for Shapeshifter’s very own festival. Instead, forecasts of huge wind gusts and heavy rain forced organisers to postpone the festival.

A note from Shapeshifter to fans cancelling one of their summer festivals.
Shapeshifter called off their Beach Break shows over heavy wind and rain warnings. (Screengrab: Facebook)

The next Facebook message expressed more emotion than the first. “Gutted, frustrated, and in disbelief are just some of the emotions we are feeling at today’s announcement,” the message on behalf of Shapeshifter’s five members wrote. “We ask our fans for their support in this difficult time by holding on to their tickets for the rescheduled date.” In response, some urged them to perform in the South Island, where the weather was fine and sunny. “Nothing worse than losing the chance for a good boogie,” one fan wrote, summing up the sentiment.

Unbelievably, a week later, it happened again – this time, in the South Island. “OK this one hurts,” the band wrote to fans after Nelson Beach Break suffered a now-familiar fate. “Another huge loss for Aotearoa summer, but we just can’t take any risks with the safety of fans, the crew, and all involved in putting on the event. We urge our fans around the motu to stay informed and keep clear of any severe weather.” A despondent fan wrote: “Another kick in the guts.”

All told, Shapeshifter, the Aotearoa drum’n’bass veterans who have soundtracked so many summers it’s hard to remember one going by without them, didn’t get to play a single 2023 show until late March. They couldn’t do anything but sit at home and watch as one wild weather event after another – from Northland’s storms to Auckland’s floods to Cyclone Gabrielle – wreaked havoc around the country, causing mass flooding events, displacing thousands of people, red-stickering hundreds of homes, wiping out crops and completely and utterly washing out everyone’s summer.

Bad luck? Possibly. “We’ve barely bloody played,” says Paora Apera, the band’s frontman, also known as P Digsss. They were crossing the fingers and toes, hoping none of this would happen. “People were going, ‘Bad things come in threes. We were like, ‘Don’t you fucking say that.’ And that’s what happened.” The weather forced Shapeshifter to cancel three of their own festivals, waylaying almost all of their touring plans. How bad does it hurt? “We’ve had a couple of chats over the past couple of weeks and almost wanted to fucking cry because of the weather,” says Apera. “We’ve been holding back the tears.”

Shapeshifter don’t make money from music streaming services. The group’s five members – Sam Trevethick, Nick Robinson, Dan McGruer, Darren Mathiassen and Apera – aren’t the type of band that receives big cheques from Spotify or Apple Music. They’re just not built to survive on income from the streaming era. “You have to have 400 plays to make one cent,” says Apera. “How’s that for shit stats? It’s never enough.”

Simply put, the local electronic veterans make their money by playing live. A full year of planning goes into each performance, ensuring the lighting’s up to scratch, digital displays are on point, smoke machines are timed right, the setlist evolves and their “million dollar PA” system is tuned to perfection. That’s thanks to Tiki Taane, still twiddling the knobs as Shapeshifter’s unofficial sixth band member.

“We’re old school. You play, and play, and play,” says Apera. “You get people to come and see you because of how good you are live.”

Shapeshifter say there's no better feeling than locking in at a live show.
Shapeshifter cross their streams at a live show. (Photo: Supplied)

It’s a huge machine with many components that can go wrong. But when things click into place at Shapeshifter shows, Apera admits the feeling is like nothing else. “It’s the best drug. It’s a massively powerful sensation when you’re on stage … when the harmonics all form into one. It’s like the giant laser beam in Ghostbusters. ‘Don’t cross the streams!’ Nah, fuck that. Cross the streams. Let’s pee together … That’s the power of a band, when multiple elements become one.”

Over the past decade tens if not hundreds of thousands of people have enjoyed that exact experience. Most of Shapeshifter’s touring is done between the months of December and March, when people head to holiday hotspots in coastal regions. Across all those summers, Shapeshifter’s persistence has paid off. “People now consider us the sound of summer, the band of summer,” says Apera. “We go in, we go hard, we give it all our juice so people don’t forget. They go, ‘Shit, that made my summer’.”

Precious little of that has happened lately. Aside from writing sad, sodden Facebook posts, what have they been doing instead? Trevethick is expecting his first baby with his partner, Martine. They’ve been recording new music, and have just released the first single, Runaway, with at least three more new songs on the way. They’ve also been tentatively organising next summer, announcing Whangamatā Beach Break will return on January 4, 2024. Nelson’s leg has been cancelled.

 

Finally, on March 18, a miracle happened. Shapeshifter managed to make it onto a stage, headlining Wellington’s all-local Homegrown festival. “It was a bloody smasher,” says Apera. They had plenty of emotion to release over the band’s lost summer. They’re also scheduled to close the Synthony festival in Auckland Domain, but Shapeshifter’s soggy summer wasn’t quite done: the Saturday show was pushed to Sunday because of a wild weather prediction. More than 20,000 people are expected to be there.

Despite the weather, Shapeshifter are staying philosophical, trying to make the most of their bad run. “It’s heartbreaking [but] you’ve got to push on and be strong. You know it’s going to be sunny one day.” So what happens if next summer’s a washout too? Shapeshifter has a Plan B, just in case: “We play in the rain,” says Apera. “We got out and smash. And we love it.”

* Shapeshifter perform with Kimbra and Dave Dobbyn as part of the Synthony music festival in Auckland Domain today (Saturday April 1). 

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John-Paul Foliaki with his lunch at Halo Hihifo in Ōtāhuhu.
John-Paul Foliaki at Halo Hihifo in Ōtāhuhu. (Image: Charlotte Muru-Lanning/ Tina Tiller)

Pop CultureApril 1, 2023

The many lives of John-Paul Foliaki

John-Paul Foliaki with his lunch at Halo Hihifo in Ōtāhuhu.
John-Paul Foliaki at Halo Hihifo in Ōtāhuhu. (Image: Charlotte Muru-Lanning/ Tina Tiller)

The Red, White & Brass star talks spectacle, honouring family sacrifices and his debut lead role over a Tongan lunch in Otāhuhu.

Name a creative pursuit and 28-year-old Tongan New Zealander John-Paul Foliaki will give it a go. That is, if he hasn’t already. 

Foliaki plays the lead role, Maka, in the just-released comedy film Red, White & Brass – his feature film debut. In the last four years he’s produced theatre, starred on TVNZ reality talent show Popstars, performed spoken word poetry and worked in front of and behind the camera across multiple television shows and music videos. He’s also been a regular face in local advertising campaigns, released his own self-funded R&B and reggaeton inflected music and corresponding videos and opened for Sean Kingston.

A week before Red, White & Brass premieres, we meet at Otāhuhu Tongan eatery Hala Hihifo for lunch. Foliaki bounds around the bend of Great South Road in a purple Minnesota Vikings jersey, black rectangular framed sunglasses and a denim patchwork bag. His braided hair is shrouded by a silk bandana. It’s his second time here today – he’s just delivered a load of takeaway food to his Nana, who he lives with along with his parents a five minute drive away. 

Inside Halo Hihifo, the walls are plastered with larger-than-life action shots of Tongan rugby league players. One side of the room is covered in wallpaper printed with a mix of Tongan coat of arms and Mate Ma’a Tonga crests. Each table is embellished with red and white-petalled plastic roses. Everywhere you look, it’s Tongan pride distilled as decor.

A still from the film Red, White and Brass. The band dressed in red marches onto the field surrounded by fans with Tongan flags.
John-Paul Foliaki in Red, White and Brass. (Image: Supplied)

“I will always say I’m a proud son of South Auckland,” Foliaki says as we join the line alongside a counter abundant with Tongan delicacies. Foliaki moved to Papatoetoe with his family from Remuera as an eight-year-old almost two decades ago. Countering the relentlessly negative narratives that surround the corner of Tāmaki Makaurau he calls home is a common thread in his work. “I mean, look at this place, it’s 1pm and these people are living their best lives and having a mean-as feed for their lunch break.” 

At the till, Foliaki recites our order in Tongan. We cart foil-wrapped manioke and kumala, lu pulu masima, kale sipi, sapasui, ika lolo’i and a tall cup of ‘otai to our table. “Oh my gosh, I love this song, this is why I love coming here, it’s just Tongan songs back to back,” he says while lifting a piece of coconut-doused fish from the plastic container to his plate.

This spot is a regular haunt for Foliaki, and he sometimes finds himself here five days a week. “My nana is from Vava’u in Tonga and she always talks about how much he misses the islands, being down in the clear blue sea, getting fish, fresh octopus,” he says. “She’s not well at the moment but she’s comfortable and getting her food that she likes to eat is one thing I can do to make her day easier.”

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His grandparents on both his parents’ sides of the family moved from Tonga to Auckland in the 1970s. Both sides of his family are filled with nurses, doctors, accountants, businesspeople and academics. His mum has a PhD in education and his dad is a lawyer. Foliaki has spent most of his life following in those same academic footsteps too, studying subjects like physics and accounting in high school, graduating from law school at the University of Auckland and then eventually working at PwC. “I thought that’s what making the most out of your family’s sacrifices looked like,” he says.

That role at PwC began in 2018 and involved analysing corporate teams in order to advise on improvements in systems and team culture. Despite the fact it didn’t align with his desire to do work that served his own community, Foliaki was drawn in by the prospects of working with people. “But at the end of the day, I guess I really don’t care about improving some bank’s team culture,” he says. “I felt like I was working for a money-making machine.”

John-Paul Foliaki sits at a table with plates of Tongan food. He wears a bandana and a purple football jersey.
John-Paul Foliaki with his lunch at Halo Hihifo. (Image: Charlotte Muru-Lanning)

The suit pants, the cropped corporate haircut, the early-morning train rides from Papatoetoe to Britomart, but mostly the type of work, chipped away at Foliaki. “I was really unhappy,” he says. “It was less than a year into the job but it felt like a lifetime, and I ended up having an anxiety attack in the work bathroom.” That same night, realising his mental health was deteriorating, he sent a resignation email to his manager.

That was a step out of one pathway, but it wasn’t necessarily a step into a new one. He had no job, no money and no idea what to do next. He spent that summer in Tonga for a family reunion, mostly swimming, lying on the beach or with cousins. It was a period of time he describes as “grounding”. 

“I know it wouldn’t have been an easy lifestyle back in the islands, but you can see your friends, your family, you’re surrounded by your community, your church – it’s all right there in the village,” he says. With a tangle of vermicelli on his fork suspended in the air, Foliaki pauses before continuing, “I remember thinking ‘I can’t believe my family and grandparents left this lifestyle for me to go and work somewhere that I’m not happy’, that just didn’t make sense to me.”

Those beachside reflections gave way to a decision to pursue whatever creative opportunities arose – and it’s now led to his first feature film role.

You first meet Foliaki’s character in Red, White & Brass as he stands on the roof of a Wellington villa engulfed in red and white in celebration of the 2011 Rugby World Cup, and more specifically, the Tongan rugby team. “We’re gonna show our pride to the world,” he exclaims.

The film, which is inspired by a true story, follows Maka as he attempts to secure tickets for the 2011 France v Tonga Rugby World Cup match by creating a Tongan brass band or ifi palasa to perform ahead of the game. The problem is, neither Maka nor his “band” have played in a brass band before. Both Foliaki and his character share the same brand of resourcefulness, unshakeable tenacity and a knack for generating spectacle – an energy that could probably best be encompassed by a word discussed frequently in relation to the film, māfana. 

It’s a pillar of Tongan identity, but “there’s no proper explanation for māfana, literally it means warm or a state of warmness,” says Foliaki. “In terms of a feeling, it’s that feeling of pride, joy, happiness, all coming together and reaching a pinnacle moment, where you get up and you can’t contain how happy you’re feeling, where you can’t contain yourself.” 

Looking around, it’s clear that the restaurant we’re sitting in is an expression of that energy. So too, are the familiar sights of homes or cars in Aotearoa ablaze with Tongan flags, just like that in the film. It lies behind the success of the Tongan rugby team against France in the 2011 Rugby World Cup, despite comparatively limited resources. That fueled the 2017 protests by Tongan league fans in Tāmaki Makaurau. It’s that feeling that propels the characters in the film to form a brass band – against all odds. It’s how Foliaki ended up with the role in the film too.

John-Paul Foliaki in Red, White and Brass. (Image: Supplied)

The producer of Red, White & Brass, Halaifonua Finau, noticed Foliaki while he was auditioning for The Panthers television series. “I noticed this dude with a big afro pacing up and down the room looking dodgy and so I started a conversation with him. It was JP (Foliaki) and he had just shared with me that he had lost his car keys,” Finau told The Spinoff. “However, they weren’t actually his keys as he was borrowing the car. He had just got off the phone with the locksmith and was told it would cost $300 to get a replacement and he said to me, ‘I’m going to find those bloody damn keys’ and immediately I thought, ‘this guy is going to be Maka.’”

“As a Tongan, when you do anything, you’re doing something that’s so much more than just yourself. This movie was an opportunity for me but I’m really doing it for my family, the young kids in my family, for my parents and the sacrifices that my grandparents made,” Foliaki tells me.

“If we’re talking about honouring sacrifices, then we should be doing it in a way where we’re happy, of course there’s always a struggle, but at least struggle in an area that you love.”

Co-existing alongside this vibrant energy in the film is the weight of expectations from family, church, community and from those on the outside. That’s an experience Foliaki believes is shared by most young Tongans living in Aotearoa. 

At times, he’s found his attempts to resist being boxed in by his own community only leading to being boxed in by another. On Popstars, for example, “I realised I was kind of playing a character and getting used to being this person that they wanted me to be for screen,” he says. “Just this loud, confident, funny, R&B boy from the South Side.”

“I was trying to become an artist, just trying to fight to be myself. But then there’s the flip side of people always expecting you to be the loud one, to be the funny one, to be the one who brings the good times,” he says. “It can get heavy sometimes, sometimes I’m just not in the damn mood, I just want to sit down and eat my food.” 

Putting down his fork, Foliaki gestures at his bag hanging on the corner of the chair next to him – a vintage denim tote he found in an op shop in Kaitaia while filming for upcoming television series Far North. “I’ve always got a bag with me now and people are like ‘oh that’s another new bag’.” He loves wearing crop tops and having his nails painted. At the Wellington premiere for the film he wore a modernised ta’ovala made by Frankie Lolohea. Far from the conventions of corporate wear, Foliaki plays with fashion as a means to challenge expectations from his own community and outside communities too. 

Then there’s his musical output: R&B and reggaeton bops released under his moniker JP with sleek but racy self-funded music videos (The most expensive being Pull Up (Remix) which cost over $10,ooo and was funded by Foliaki and a crowd-funding campaign) that unsurprisingly didn’t fly without controversy from within his family and community. “It’s funny because all of that is a side of me too,” he says. “This is what a Tongan male in 2023 can look like – there’s so many different versions.”

Before packing our leftovers away to take home to his nana, Foliaki reaches into his denim op shop bag and says, “the thing is, I’ve also got a bag within a bag”. 

“So this is for when I don’t want to take the whole bag so I just pull this one out and pop my things in,” he says while pulling out a miniscule holographic satchel that his friends have named “Penelope”. “It’s just the whole stupidity of it all, but it’s so funny and I love it – it’s a spectacle really.” 

Red, White and Brass is in cinemas now.

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