Dealing with Scribe’s dramas
Shaun Bamber sees both sides of rapper and playwright Scribe.
‘ The cops came and invaded our house and my dad grabbed the samurai sword.’ SCRIBE
This is a tale of two Scribes. There’s Scribe the family man and artist – devoted to his brother Matthias, who speaks earnestly and eloquently about their play The White Guitar, which the two cowrote and perform with their father, John Luafutu.
Then there’s the other Scribe, who – well, let’s just say you don’t want to piss him off.
I met Scribe – real name Malo Luafutu – in Auckland’s Q Theatre, where The White Guitar will make its Auckland premiere on July 6 after an earlier run at the Hannah Playhouse in Wellington from June 29.
A publicist and The White Guitar’s director, Nina Nawalowalo, were there too.
We had a private room set aside upstairs for our interview. A piano sat in the corner, empty glass on top, painting a picture in my mind of some Billy Joel-esque ivory-tinkler belting out tunes between sips of liquor. I was going to ask Scribe if it might have been him sitting at the piano, but it quickly became apparent that banter like that wasn’t going to come easy.
It seemed Scribe hadn’t been fully briefed on just who he would be talking to. Upon finding out we would be filming portions of the interview for Stuff, he refused to allow it.
‘‘I’m not doing a filmed interview for Stuff,’’ he declared. ‘‘I’ve had problems with some of the shit they wrote about me.’’
‘‘No, the last one was good,’’ claimed the publicist, attempting to placate the 37-year-old rapper. ‘‘We liked the last one.’’
At this point I beat a hasty retreat, leaving the publicist to work her magic while I met our photographer, who had just arrived out front. Warning him as we ascended the stairs, I was relieved to find everything now seemed sorted – for the time being.
Having originally played to sold-out audiences in Wellington and Christchurch last year, The White Guitar is based on the reallife stories of its participants and protagonists, the three Luafutus. ‘‘What’s in there is all real, really happened, and all three of us were part of that story as it played out in real life,’’ explains Scribe.
Based in part on a book written by Scribe’s father, A Boy Called Broke, the play was originally meant to be a one-man show starring his brother Matthias, but the multi-platinum-selling rapper eventually – and somewhat reluctantly – came on board as well.
‘‘I didn’t want to do it. But I’d do anything for my brother, and he asked me.
‘‘I said to him, ‘Do you need me, do you really need me to do this? Tell me you need me and I’ll do it, otherwise I don’t want to’. And he said ‘I need you to do it’. So here I am.’’
The White Guitar is, in Scribe’s own words, ‘‘pretty confronting’’. Asked for a taste of what audiences will see, he shares what is both a scene in the play and DAVID WHITE / FAIRFAX NZ obviously an affecting real-life family memory.
‘‘When I was born my dad was in jail, and we play out that scene. Because my dad was a drug dealer in Christchurch. He got arrested when mymumwas pregnant, and so he did five-plus years. And that was really – I don’t know.’’ Scribe pauses here, as if remembering an event he wasn’t actually present for. He’s pushing the words out now, like they’re coming from somewhere real deep down.
‘‘I always feel it because my brother’s in that scene – he was only six when the cops came and invaded our house and my dad grabbed the samurai sword.’’
It’s an incredible thing to share one-on-one, let alone up on stage in front of a theatre full of people – and as director Nina Nawalowalo adds, the whole play is ‘‘very brave storytelling, very courageous’’.
Which makes it all the more surprising when a seemingly innocuous question about Scribe’s past provokes a wholly unexpected reaction.
Nearing the end of the interview, I ask Scribe if he ever got any of his awards back – you know, the ones from that pawnbroker who sold some of them on Trade Me back in 2011?
He answers the question, if a little haltingly, but it’s what he says right at the end of our interview that sticks in my mind.
Leaning forward across the table, so close that I can finally see his eyes through the dark sunglasses he’s been wearing the whole time, Scribe let’s me know what’s what.
‘‘Don’t say anything about the awards,’’ he hisses. ‘‘That little f...ing throwaway question, don’t say anything about that. This is about the play. That cool?’’
Taken aback, I throw my hands up. ‘‘OK, OK...’’ I mumble appeasingly. Nawalowalo is mortified. She apologises profusely, and when I look around again, Scribe has gone.
I haven’t seen Scribe since, of course, but if you want to see him, go check out The White Guitar. It should be well worth a watch.
Hannah Playhouse, June 29-July 2, tickets from Ticketek, and Q Theatre, Auckland, July 6-15, tickets from qtheatre.co.nz