VICTOR Buchanan still remembers the day he met a firebrand guitarist called Timoci Salaca.
It was the late ’70s and fresh from a stint in New Zealand, Salaca was keen to share the professionalism and work ethic that he had been exposed to in the Land of the Long White Cloud.
At the time, Buchanan was keeping the beat for the Korolevu Serenaders, alongside guitarist Opeti Uluvula and bass player Pedro Philitoga.
The trio had built up a reputation on the Coral Coast as a musical group with a unique but familiar mix of island and dance tunes.
Salaca brought a new dynamic to the group by expanding the repertoire and he challenged each member to become masters of their instrument.
“Tim was a hard man,” Buchanan recalled.
“We never had a day off and every performance was carefully scrutinised and monitored by him.
“He came from New Zealand with a different type of vibe and drive and he really challenged us to be the best that we could be.”
During the late ’70s and early ’80s, groups such as Nostradamus at the Hyatt Regency (now Warwick Fiji), Ulysses at Lucky Eddies (now Suva Business Centre) and Dragon Swingers at the Golden Dragon nightclub in Suva, were the prime acts on the local live music scene.
Salaca’s recruitment into the Korolevu Serenaders took the group from a hotel lounge setting and into the annals of Fiji music folklore.
“We were good at the music we played but when Tim joined us, we became among the best in the business.
“His view was that there were many great bands in Fiji and the only way we could rate among the best was by being different.
“Tim decided that our edge would be tight music arrangements topped with the sweetest harmonies.
“So instead of drinking grog, we spent hours practicing our vocals and then even more hours getting the music right.
“We went from playing island music to disco, funk and even jazz standards.
“Songs that we would not have attempted because of their complexity became so familiar that we knew them like the back of our hands.”
Buchanan said the hard work and extra effort that the band put into their craft paid off.
“We became really popular and pulled a big following.
“Back in those days we used to get $60 a week and that was big bucks.”
After their stint at the Korolevu Hotel, Buchanan and company headed down the road to the Fijian Hotel (now Shangri-La’s Fijian Resort & Spa).
Management at the Fijian made the group a lucrative offer, one they could not refuse.
“And again this was because of the hard work that Tim put us through.
“At the Fijian, we were given living quarters, our pay moved up to $80 a week and to top it off, we got to perform with two living icons — Henry and Teresa Purcell — at the Kalevu Restaurant.
“We did all the great jazz classics from Frank Sinatra right through to Louis Armstrong.”
At the height of the group’s popularity on Yanuca Island, Buchanan approached management with an offer.
“I asked them to consider putting a live band at the resort’s Black Marlin bar.
“I was so sure that it would work that I even told the management that I was willing to put up my own money if the band did not pull a big enough crowd to justify its performance.”
The resort managers gave Buchanan the go ahead but with a strict proviso that the lounge had to be full or they would pull the plug.
Agreement was reached that the band members would be paid $70 each for the gig.
“I decided to make the Black Marlin a jazz club every Sunday. And to make it happen I got Tom Mawi to play guitar with Tim Salaca, Tui Ravai was on the keyboard and Pita Rabaka was on bass guitar.”
Buchanan asked his wife for $280 and kept the bills in his pocket in the hope that he wouldn’t have to spend it.
“That first night, even though I knew we had the goods in terms of the music, things were a bit shaky because when we started playing at 7pm, nobody was there.
“But in true Fijian fashion, people began to trickle in right when we were about to do our last set at 9pm.
“The managers came in, saw the crowd and just gave me a big thumbs up. I knew my wife would get her $280 back plus an extra $70 from my pay.”
The Sunday jazz gig pulled in tourists from neighbouring properties and even die-hard local music fans from Suva.
Buchanan had the foresight to ensure there were replacement musicians in the event that someone couldn’t make the gig.
Waisea Vatuwaqa, Inia Tuicakau or Vili Tuilaucala were always on-hand to step in when Mawi was obligated to perform elsewhere.
“The scene was different back then. We all looked out for each other and even though there was some rivalry between bands or performers, we had a bond and respected each other.”
After 30 years in the music business, Buchanan decided to call it quits in 2007.
The effects of the three military coups on the tourism industry had all but resulted in resorts, hotels, bars and restaurants cutting costs.
In almost all the cases, the first people on the chopping block were the musicians.
“It just got to a stage where I was not able to support or feed my family anymore. We used to get up to $70 a night back in the ’80s and instead of getting better things have gotten worse with a lot of musicians nowadays scrambling around for $50 a night or less.
“The industry has gone backwards instead of progressing and musicians are not respected as artistes anymore.
“They are just seen as people who are only appreciated when there is a need to be entertained and then ignored.”
Buchanan said musicians also had themselves to blame for the way the industry was today.
He expressed disappointment with the fact that computer-generated music had taken over the industry to the detriment of skill, creativity and artistry.
“Before, music was played by people and it had feeling. It expressed emotions and meant something. Today, you can have two people up on a stage pushing buttons on a keyboard and that is called live music.”
Today, Buchanan heads the security detail at the Radisson Blu Resort on Denarau Island in Nadi.
Unlike the uncertainty of the music industry, the job keeps his head above water and helps him meet his obligations.
“I miss playing music but it’s just not worth it with the way things are. When I have time or when people call me up I go and sing.
“But I really miss the old days when live music was everywhere. I really hope things change and we get to relive those days again.”
