This is an all-ages affair, teens in baggy streetwear and the mature in formal island attire. Most have come directly from garage drinks at home. By the time the six-piece Le Fiafia Band launch into a medley of Masese by Kapena, Ruketekete Te Mamae by Brother Love, and Ragga Ragga by RSA Band, the dancefloor is brimming. Mata’afa holds court, a consummate Samoan compere, he buoys the crowd with call-and-response chants:
“Totolu mai, totolu mai – choo choo choo!”
“My grandfather was the high chief of our village,” Mata’afa says. “He was a composer, and he taught us we are not singers, we are entertainers. It’s natural, I don’t have to go to school to learn this attitude. Whenever I see someone new in the club, I go up and talk to them, I want them to feel comfortable.”
Mata’afa recalls the night an overzealous clubgoer approached him with a song dedication request. “This is my new boyfriend’s favourite song. He won’t stop singing it.” Relieved he knew the tune, Mata’afa obliged.
However, partway through the number he was stunned when the couple who had up to that point been locked in a tender embrace ended up in fisticuffs in the middle of the dancefloor. Overcome by Mata’afa’s heartfelt performance, the boyfriend confessed to his date that the song was in fact a favourite of his wife’s.
Clubgoers perform a siva Samoa at Le Fiafia Southside Nite Club in Papatoetoe. Photo / Geoffery Matautia
The fob sound
Audiences are particular about the sound they expect, Mata’afa says. “Samoans, we’re loud people. Not only do they want their music loud, they want that low, fat bassy sound.”
Purists and sticklers for the Samoan music of days gone by with its live acoustic instruments and classic igi (finger-picked guitar) embellishments will be disappointed. The fob club sound is fully electric: stacks of synthesisers and the ubiquitous Roland R-70 drum machine. Thrust through towering loudspeakers, the effect is a deafening, congested wall of sound.
DJ Dave and the Big Boys Crew are well-versed in country, pop, and island classics. Photo / Geoffery Matautia
It’s 3am, closing time approaches at the nearby Parataiso Bar in Ōtara and resident DJ David “DJ Dave” Lafaele (Fasito’o-uta, Faleasi’u, Saipipi ma Tuana’i) starts winding down the tempo.
“You can’t always have the fast beat,” he says. “You have to drop the old-school love songs. I always like to turn off the music and hear the people sing.”
From his deck, he cues Maimau Ota Moomooga by Pacific Love Band to enthusiastic approval from the dancefloor. The crowd sway, revelling in the lush ballad. Fully in their feels, they sway, reaching for the upper notes of the verse, they miss, but points for passion.
Lafaele says his love for community pushes him to keep producing and performing even when he gets “lazy”. Despite his popularity on the fob scene, including more than 11 million YouTube views, wider recognition holds little appeal. “If I’m doing something for my people, then that’s enough for me. I already feel their love for my music even though I’m not on those big stages. Everyone knows me here. We’re all happy.”
DJ Dave and the Big Boys Crew, resident band at Parataiso Bar in Ōtara. Photo / Geoffery Matautia
The lights come up and an inebriated fan staggers towards the booth loudly requesting E Ofo’ofogia ‘Oe by Punialava’a, the Samoan version of the gospel song How Great is Our God. Lafaele accommodates his request to the delight of a few worshipful souls who remain to sing. The rest of the crowd, unsure what to make of hearing a church song in a nightclub, drift to the door to collect their pre-ordered supper plates of chop suey and rice.
David “DJ Dave” Lafaele. Photo / Geoffery Matautia
E afua mai mauga tetele manuia o le nu’u – from the high mountains are the blessings of the village – has been the theme for Samoan Language Week 2026.
Music can be understood as one of these mountains, sustaining the wellbeing of Samoan communities. The power of music and language evokes emotions that embody our Samoan identity and strengthen our sense of belonging to family, community, and culture. Through their artistry, Samoan musicians carry forward our collective stories, histories, and language, keeping them alive and relevant for future generations.
Powerhouse Lomie Vea sings at Papatoetoe’s Le Fiafia Southside Nite Club. Photo / Geoffery Matautia
Lomie Vea (Rarotonga) was already a veteran of the Cook Islands talent show circuit by the time she reached her teens. Her grandparents raised her on a steady diet of gospel and country music, favouring artists such as Patsy Riggir and Suzanne Prentice.
Now 38, and a devoted mother of eight, Vea’s sung in South Auckland’s fob clubs for more than a decade. Her stage presence is warm and sincere. She tugs the crowd’s heartstrings with the heartbreak ballad Lagona o le Alofa by Tropical Band.
Singing at the club is therapy, Vea says. “I still love it, it’s my time. When I’ve had a hard day, but then I see the crowd enjoying themselves, then I know I’m doing something right.”
She admits the monotonous nature of the weekend gigs can be onerous, sometimes pushing her to take breaks from performing, but her passion for community always draws her back.
“Our people do everything with heart. It’s very different to what’s out there in the world, that connection as islanders in South Auckland, we welcome everyone with open arms.”
The bouncers at Le Fiafia Southside Nite Club man the doors and hawk raw fish/oka to patrons. Photo / Geoffery Matautia
‘Sharing part of us’
It’s early Friday evening when I arrive at a windswept Sturges Park in Ōtāhuhu. The final whistle’s just blown at rugby training, and exhausted teenagers with boots and sports bags in hand hobble towards waiting rides. As they depart, a steady stream of family vans, decked out with 685 stickers, pull in and park along the grassy edge of the old sports bowl. We’re suited up in our finest island-wear, our banter and cackles filling the air. We’re in for a classy night of entertainment courtesy of Oats Band.
Ōtāhuhu Rugby Club has been their home for five years. The group comprises bandleader and keyboardist Penani Iuvale, with Melenau Lino and Saia Frank Sola on vocals. Their weekly shows are tailored to our aosinasina (elders), packaged as a “steak dinner and show” experience.
Melenau Lino (Haalaufuli, Neiafu mo Niuatoputapu, Niue and Portugal) is a legend of South Auckland’s Pacific live music scene. She was discovered at age 17 after performing at a cousin’s birthday party at the old Cecelia’s nightclub in Papatoetoe. Lino credits the Cecelia’s band with teaching her to sing in Samoan, a skill that’s become central to her career. Her YouTube cover of the Felise Mikaele classic A Fuli Mai Lou Tua has surpassed one million views.
Clubgoers at Club Le Tausala in Māngere perform a siva Samoa. Photo / Geoffery Matautia
Buzzing fluoro lights flicker on, exposing us in our dripping state. We return to our table as the host of tonight’s social announces the evening’s end. The proceeds from the door will support the village volleyball team. He wraps up his acknowledgments, and the old Korg keyboard rings out through the speakers one last time, tinny, nostalgic, imitating the classic and familiar igi line that opens all the old songs. The final dance is the taualuga: all poise and grace.
“When people hear our music, they feel it as well,” Lino says. “We’re sharing part of us that’s travelled with us from the Pacific to this land where we call home. I think it’s only fair that we share it.”