Chapter 02
Meke, Ceremony and Collective Rhythm
4 min
The word meke is often translated as dance. That is only the visible edge. A meke can join composed or inherited text, melody or chant, patterned movement, formation, costume, percussion and community memory. The dancers do not merely decorate a song, and the singers do not provide background for movement. The work is made from their coordination.
What to listen for
Some meke are performed for visitors or national occasions; others belong to particular communities, histories and protocols. The respectful first question is not “What does every gesture mean?” It is “Who is presenting this work, and what have they chosen to explain?”
In a group performance, rhythm arrives through several channels. Handclaps sharpen the beat. Stamped or shifted weight makes pulse visible. A leader may establish a line that the group answers. Repetition lets the formation tighten. Percussion can mark the large cycle while voices place words across it.
The result changes with space. Outdoors, a group needs projection and a clear communal pulse. In a hall, walls return the voices and can make the ensemble sound denser. On a small resort stage, amplification may bring one lead singer forward even though the choreography still depends on the group. A video close-up can make a spectacular individual gesture seem like the centre of a work whose real logic is collective.
Try watching once without sound, then listening without looking. On the third pass, reconnect them. The entrances and pauses begin to reveal how sound and movement organise each other.
Lali: a wooden voice with distance
The lali is a slit drum made from wood. It has no skin: a beater strikes the wooden body, whose hollow interior can project a deep, carrying tone. Size and construction affect pitch and resonance. One lali may support an ensemble; larger instruments can function as calls whose reach is social as well as musical.
The lali is more useful as a sounding instrument than as a national icon. A museum object shows material and form, but the sound belongs to a player, a striking tool, an acoustic space and an occasion. Hear the difference between a single measured call and a repeating dance figure. The first defines time across distance; the second can become part of a layered rhythmic field.
The attack is short, but the wood speaks after the strike. In an open space the sound spreads without the sustained ring of a metal bell. When several percussion parts surround it, listen for the lowest structural pulse instead of chasing every accent.
Derua: rhythm built from many hands
Derua are bamboo stamping tubes. Players strike them against the ground or another surface, producing a dry, forceful attack. A single tube gives a beat; a group can divide patterns, change accents and turn the floor into part of the instrument.
The visual simplicity is deceptive. Consistency requires control of height, angle and rebound. In a group, each player must know where their stroke sits against singing, clapping and movement. The interest lies less in a solo timbre than in interlock. Hear how a pattern becomes exciting because no one part owns it.
Yaqona is a context, not a mood preset
Yaqona, widely known beyond Fiji as kava, appears in social and ceremonial life. Music around yaqona can include formal protocol, village social song or contemporary composition. One 1986 string-band collection documents sere ni cumu associated with gatherings around beer or kava from the 1920s onward. A modern popular song titled “Na Yaqona” belongs to a very different setting.
It is tempting to write about “the calming sound of kava ceremonies.” That turns a social practice into wellness marketing. Listen instead for sequence: who begins, whether conversation stops, how the group joins, and what kind of song follows the formal moment. If you are a guest, follow local guidance before recording. An event being audible does not make it public property.
Tourist stages can still be heard intelligently
A staged meke for visitors is not automatically fake. Musicians adapt duration, explanation, repertoire and amplification because the audience and timetable are different. The useful task is to hear the adaptation.
Is the group named? Are performers introduced? Does the programme distinguish a meke from a general song-and-dance set? Is a particular island or village credited? Are the musicians paid and allowed to sell recordings? Does the host explain when photography is appropriate?
These questions change the quality of the encounter without demanding a private ceremony. A public performance can be generous, vivid and culturally grounded when its makers remain visible.
Three precise starting points
For recorded meke, look for “Meke Iwau,” filmed in 1978, and the 1983 programme performances “Meke Rara Nakelo” and “Meke Seasea.” Their value is their specificity: title, programme and date. They should not be used to build an origin myth.
For a modern staged route, start with Nawaka Entertainment Group's “Same E Me Au.” Hear how voices, rhythm and presentation work for a public audience. Then compare it with Mili Rova's “Na Yaqona,” an authored popular recording. The shared word does not make the two pieces versions of one tradition.
The larger lesson is simple. Collective performance becomes more alive when we stop calling it timeless and begin hearing the decisions people make.
