Back in the day, he wasn’t known as Fiji. He was simply Poji.
These days though, in fact, for maybe three decades now, he has proudly showcased to the world his real name — the name of his country of birth — and he’s wielded it with such pride and patriotic fervour, he truly is the embodiment of Fiji.
This past weekend, George ‘Fiji’ Veikoso headlined two memorable concerts that featured, perhaps, the finest ever artistic collaboration of Pacific singers and performers who set Nadi’s Prince Charles alight in a kind of baptism of fire that was as much a refreshing cultural homecoming experience as it was a spiritual awakening of what it means to be Fijian, to be a Pacific islander.
Joined on stage by a band of brothers that featured J Boog, Maoli and Josh Tatofi, it was obvious Fiji — a Grammy nominee for Best Reggae Album with his collaboration on the Island Warriors compilation album — commanded the deep respect of both his fellow performers as well as the eternal gratitude of the thousands of fans who chock-a-blocked Prince Charles Park.
With the help of a minder, Fiji wheeled himself onto, around and off stage, right up to the moment he brought the house down as he joined the thousands of adulating fans in a sweet yet powerful rendition of the traditional folk tune Lomaloma. Truly, that moment was the stuff of goosebumps.
His medical condition, which has confined him to a wheelchair for several years, clearly had no bearing whatsoever on the delivery of his vocal range, one that allows him to shift comfortably between a warm, earthy tenor and an ear-piercing falsetto in a nanosecond.
Off-camera backstage, a member of the touring party remarked that although he didn’t know what the tune was about, or the lyrics, the response of the crowd to the encore was “phenomenal”.
Flanked by massive jumbotrons that employed light-emitting diodes to create images, the stage was one massive hook-up, wired for both light and sound. And the energy generated on it over the two nights was simply incredible.
From a musican’s standpoint, Fiji’s Homecoming could possibly have been an inspirational life-changing experience in terms of live stage performances and production, along with the little tips shared backstage just by hanging out for one brief, shining moment with some of Hawaii and the Pacific’s finest in that turbo-charged atmosphere.
But things haven’t always been so magical or plain sailing for the award-winning performer.
First, there were the early days, when he would be paid $5 a gig. It wasn’t very much, but on the streets back then, if you managed it wisely enough, you could survive on a diet of Bongos and ciggies for a day.
As Fiji said in an early interview, he was brought up in the Hood where it was normal to rock up to the neighbours and ask for salt or sugar because there was none in the house.
It was the early ’80s and the line between right and wrong was still a little blurred, the concept of women’s rights was still in its embryonic stage and children’s rights were non-existent. Back then, if children were mischievous, the biblical rod wasn’t spared.
Then there was Raiwaqa and the savage thuggery of its streets.
There was Rootstarata, the roots-reggae outfit of which this writer was a humble founding member and Fiji was a frontman along with Freddy Fesaitu and Steve McComber.
They wrote songs of freedom, songs of economic upliftment, songs about social justice, angry songs of protest against the system, songs of hope, even songs of misguided political ideology that were banned by the radio stations because they were deemed too radical.
There were tunes heavily influenced by Bob Dylan’s lyrical wizardry or punctuated by the tight three-piece riffing of Sting and The Police and, ultimately, Robert Nesta Marley.
The songs of Rootstrata were raw, but they were real
Back then, local bands were all covering tunes, from rock n roll, hard rock, dancehall disco, funk, island music, R&B and jazz, along with its mutating fusions.
When Rootstrata decided to go the way of original roots-rock reggae, even though the Heatley brothers’ Exodus were the country’s first exclusively reggae outfit, the idea was so revolutionary that critics baulked at the idea.
But as history would show, the concept was immensely popular because it was tailor-made for the islands. It was simple, sweet music that had a groove with an attitude.
As a consequence, many bands would become insignificant. Some would admit later that their big mistake was their failure to embrace reggae as a legitimate music art form because they considered it Third World junk.
Marley’s death in 1981 at the age of 36 did more to catapult reggae onto the global stage than any other factor, to be sure. It was truly an all-embracing global phenomenon that Fijian musicians and Pacific Island musicians couldn’t resist.
When yours truly first heard Fiji sing for the very first time back then, he was just a teenager, but the verdict was clear — the brother could sing!
On those occasions when this writer was honoured to share the stage with him, Fiji could single-handedly, almost effortlessly, carry the entire band, even when the rhythm section sounded half-cooked or just too tired to match his oozing confidence and soulful vocal deliveries.
In the studio, he recorded some original Rootstrata songs. The most notable, in this writer’s opinion, was a tune called Young Generation that was written by Fesaitu.
On this track, Fiji recorded all the harmony parts. The end result was breathtaking.
This writer is really not sure where that song is archived or, indeed, if it has been. It would be worth checking out the studios that were operating then.
Rootstrata would go on to record their debut album The Message Is In The Music in 1988, four years after the band was formed. Fiji relocated to Hawaii in 1987, the year the uniform of brutality forced its way onto the country’s political landscape on May 14 and scarred it forever.
By then the perky, bubbly teenager was already in the process of doing what he wanted to do in Hawaii. To be sure, it wasn’t easy. Initially, he was given backing vocal parts to record, but he had found his way into the business. And he was there to stay.
Eventually, Fiji would go on to record two Rootstrata tunes — Warrior of Love written by Fesaitu and Unem Lament that this writer co-wrote with Fesaitu.
He now writes, performs, records and produces music.
He’s even done some acting. The accolades and awards are just too many to count, but now there’s talk of a similar event next year. So, indeed, if that show happens, it will be so worth it.
