Located between the grandeur of ‘Iolani Palace and the stately eminence of the Hawai‘i State Capitol lies one of downtown Honolulu’s lesser-known gems: the Hawai‘i State Archives, a compact two-story building sheltered beneath the canopy of the palace’s sprawling banyan trees. But don’t let the archive’s relatively small footprint fool you. In addition to housing historical photographs, maps, and government records dating back to Hawai‘i’s monarchy, it is home to the largest known collection of recorded Hawaiian music in the world.
With over 28,000 pieces of recorded music, the collection is primarily composed of two sizable acquisitions: the late steel guitarist Michael “Malahini” Scott’s 10,000 records shipped from Toronto, Canada, and the vast collection of Harry B. Soria Jr., the radio personality behind the long-running Hawaiian music program Territorial Airwaves. Soria’s passing in 2021, and his subsequent donation of nearly 12,000 records, prompted the archive to expand into the realm of phonographic recordings, an unusual move for a state archive.
According to Adam Jansen, the Hawai‘i State Archives’ archivist, traditional archivist training emphasizes the primacy—and permanency—of paper records. However, this approach doesn’t account for cultures with strong oral traditions. “The whole point is, once it’s written down, it’s indelible and can’t be changed,” Jansen explains. “But Hawai‘i is such an orally driven society, even today, and a lot of these stories and songs were never written down.”
Jansen is currently spearheading the digitization of the archive’s record collection. On a recent visit, in an area of the archives’ reading room that resembles an overstuffed attic, a volunteer was hard at work carefully cleaning records from a box donated by Aloha Got Soul, a record label and store located on South King Street. Instead of a feather duster or dust cloth, though, the task is aided by state-of-the-art machinery. First, a record is placed into a Keith Monks DiscoveryOne Redux Premium Record Cleaning Machine, which resembles a record player with two needles, but with a squeegee and sponge where the needles would be. Next, each disc is transferred to the Degritter, an apparatus that uses ultrasonic vibrations to create bubbles that then burst against the record’s grooves, dislodging any remaining dirt and debris.
Only then is the record ready to be digitized through yet another meticulous process, one involving a Rek-O-Kut Trovatore turntable and a dual-output equalizer. The devices allow for two simultaneous yet distinct recordings: a raw capture, with all the hiss and pops of the record’s age, and a processed capture for clarity. From there, in preparation for indexing, records are placed into breathable, custom-made woven polyester sleeves.
Jansen is aware of the Herculean effort required to digitize the entire archive, a project that largely depends on the commitment of volunteers. “I don’t have staff to do this. Fortunately, we have brave volunteers committed to the project,” Jansen says. “Everything that’s gone online so far has been primarily community driven.”
Despite the painstaking nature of archival work, Jansen hopes to one day make the general collection accessible to a global audience—and he’s already glimpsed the impact such reach could have. During a recent trip to his mother’s home in Brookings, Oregon—he describes the town as “a little bump in the road”—Jansen spoke about his work at the local library. To his surprise, there were two Native Hawaiians in attendance, one of whom he noticed breaking down in tears as he shared the archive’s public-centric initiative.
The woman, who had moved away from Hawai‘i years ago, realized the archive provided a means of reconnecting with her heritage, serving as a priceless bridge to the ‘āina, her homeland, through historical records ranging from photographs and land titles to marriage certificates and personal diaries. For Jansen, the powerful moment reinforced a core belief and the purpose behind the project. “Realizing there are more Native Hawaiians living off the islands than on, we have a greater duty as the public archives to serve all the public—regardless of their ability to travel, regardless of where they are, regardless of their political bent,” Jansen says. “Our only responsibility is to preserve the records and the truth that they contain.”
