It begins with a few soft ukulele strums, then a voice — so smooth and full of emotion — that it feels like the ocean is singing to you. Within seconds, the world falls quiet. Somewhere Over the Rainbow / What a Wonderful World by Israel Kamakawiwoʻole has stopped more people in their tracks than almost any other song to come from Hawai‘i. And maybe any song, period.
The version of the medley that we all know — delicate, gentle, haunting — was recorded in a single take in 1988 in the middle of the night. IZ walked into a small Honolulu studio, sat down, and asked if he could try something. The engineer hit record. What came out changed Hawaiian music forever.
Israel Kamakawiwoʻole, known lovingly as Bruddah IZ, wasn’t just a singer. He was a symbol of aloha. Born in 1959 and raised in Kaimukī, he was part of the legendary Makaha Sons of Niʻihau before going solo. At over 700 pounds, he was physically larger than life, but his presence was gentle, his activism powerful, and his music filled with deep cultural love and pride.
His voice — airy yet weighty with soul — brought the Hawaiian spirit to a global audience. While “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” was the hit that went worldwide (appearing in movies, commercials, and funerals), IZ’s catalog also included Hawaiian-language songs, political commentary, and deep expressions of identity. His Facing Future album remains one of the best-selling Hawaiian albums of all time.
But what’s most remarkable isn’t the fame — it’s the feeling. There’s something about IZ’s voice that makes you pause. It brings comfort during grief, joy during weddings, peace on a stressful day. It’s been played at births and memorials, on beaches and in hospitals, by people who’ve never even been to Hawai‘i but feel connected through the song. That’s mana.
Bruddah IZ also used his platform to advocate for Hawaiian sovereignty and environmental protection. He sang not just for tourists or record sales, but for the people — for the keiki, for the kupuna, for the future of the land. In one live recording, he introduces a song by saying: “This land belongs to those who live in it, not to those who come and take from it.” He believed in using music as medicine, protest, and prayer.
When IZ passed away in 1997 at just 38 years old, thousands gathered at the Capitol in Honolulu to honor him. His ashes were scattered in the waters off Waikīkī as canoes paddled out and chants were sung. It was a farewell fit for royalty — because to many, he was.
Today, IZ is more than a voice. He’s a feeling, a presence, a reminder that Hawaiian music is not just background noise for vacations — it is the soul of the islands, filled with stories, struggles, and beauty. Every time someone presses play, whether they’re in a hotel room or stuck in traffic, his message continues to ripple outward.
So the next time you hear those first ukulele chords and that voice that sounds like home, take a moment. Breathe. Listen. Let IZ remind you what aloha sounds like.
Music & Film – Hawaii Monthly Staff
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