Logan Bell: When music took over

It’s been 25 years or so since Dale first saw Katchafire performing at a talent contest in a Papatoetoe bar (which they won). Since then, there’ve been hit songs and albums — six in all, with a seventh, Revival 2.0, to be released in 2026 — and yearly tours to the US, Europe and Australia, where they’re celebrated as an “iconic Māori reggae band”.

Here’s Dale catching up with singer-songwriter Logan Bell, who’s been there from the beginning with his brother, Jordan, and his dad, Grenville, who founded the band in 1997.

 

You’re the lead singer of Katchafire, and it would be fair to say the band is part of you — and a neat part. But there are other sides to people, too, and I wonder if you’d be kind enough to talk about where you grew up and a bit about your folks, because I know that your dad was instrumental in encouraging you as a young fulla to pick up a guitar.

Sure. I’ve got one brother, Jordan. He’s the drummer in the band, and a singer-songwriter as well. I also have an older sister and a younger sister. We grew up in Fairfield, Hamilton, in the Waikato. Went to Fairfield Intermediate, Fairfield College.

Let’s talk about your dad. Was he a muso, your old man?

He was a muso pretty early on, but he had to give up music to provide for us. Back then, I guess a career as a musician was even less of a thing than it is today. It was very hard for musos to make it back then. And at some point, him and Mum must have said: “Look, things aren’t happening in the music.”

So he had to get a real job. When I was like six or seven, I can remember him being around bands and having rehearsals at home, but within a few years it all dried up. Dad went to work to provide for the whānau. Looking back on that, I can identify with having to sacrifice your dream for your tamariki and for your family. And being the family man I am, I can sympathise with how hard that must have been. So I’m so grateful for my parents’ sacrifice, especially Dad.

He raised us pretty much playing rugby and rugby league out of our nappies, me and my younger brother. He was my coach all the way through till I stopped playing when I was about 20 or 21, when music took over.

But he was always my coach or Jordan’s coach. We used to make the Waikato provincial teams every year, and we were really pushing towards that career path until our mid-teens, when we started moving into the arts. Dad saw that and pivoted and supported our pathway going into that.

What position were you, Logan? I think you’re probably a standoff.

Me and my brother were in the halves. I was quite awkward at eight or nine. I was quite tall for my age. And then in my early teens, I was one of the smaller guys. So, I went from playing loose forward to playing halves. I used to play utility back. I could pretty much play every position, but standoff and halves were the specialist ones.

Take us into the records that you had at your place when you were a kid. What were you listening to when the old man put something on the record player?

Yeah, he always had a big sound system. Dad was into progressive jazz rock, John McLaughlin, Miles Davis, some pretty heavy jazz stuff. That was the music he played in his band early on. Mum was into Motown, R&B, soul — those were her records.

We were absorbing all that like a sponge. Years later, when we started pursuing music ourselves, reggae was the genre that had the most profound effect on me, and we really started diving deep into the classics — the great Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, that was our schooling in the genre of roots reggae music.

Is there also a musical whakapapa in your mum’s line?

Heaps on my mum’s side of the whānau. My cousins and rellies are really good singers. Elkington is Mum’s maiden name. Huge family. She had 16 brothers and sisters, and every one of them had six to eight kids, and all very talented.

Mum was actually a back-up singer and dancer for Dalvanius in Australia when she was young, so it’s definitely in both sides of the whakapapa.

Your mum must have been pretty handy, because Dalvanius had high demands. What’s your mum’s and dad’s names?

Mum’s name is Haneta. Dad’s Grenville Bell.

You know how he got Grenville, mate?

It’s a family name. One of the early tūpuna names is Archibald. So, you know, traditional names from that side.

I’m curious to know about your first guitar and the first song that you learned to play.

Dad had a left-handed guitar. It sat in the wardrobe for years, and we weren’t allowed to play it. But when he went pig hunting or went away for the weekend, I used to get it out.

Mum would let me play it, but it was tapu. And I realise now that, because he had to give up his dream, and he knew what that felt like, he probably didn’t want that for us. And that was maybe the reason he didn’t teach me, or the guitar was out of bounds.

I still got that guitar out, even though it had three strings on it for years. And those are the first times I touched the guitar. I would also tinker around on pianos or any instrument that I had access to. There was always a piano at church. And while Dad and Mum were yarning after church for hours, I would sit at the piano and figure things out.

My intermediate teacher, Mr Tane, was a classical guitarist. He brought his personal guitar to school, and he let a few of us play his guitar in the lunch hour and practise the stuff he was teaching us. He was real influential in teaching me a few classical things.

One of the first songs I started learning was “Stairway to Heaven”. That was my introduction to the guitar.

I visited a music store in Sydney one time, and it had a sign that said: “Please do not play ‘Stairway to Heaven’.”

Yes, exactly. Or “Wild Thing”.

I know you as a vocalist, but I’m assuming that you’re a multi-instrumentalist, too. I love the way that you incorporated horns into Katch’s sound, but what instruments do you play?

Drums, bass, guitar. I was originally a drummer and a percussionist in the early Katchafire lineup. But not too long after buying a drum kit, my brother was kicking my butt at it, so I just left him on that and moved to vocals.

I dabble a little bit in keyboards, but I wouldn’t say it’s enough to say I’m a keyboardist. It’s just a couple of chords to work out an idea or a melody for songwriting. I do hear horn lines in my songs. That’s one of my strong points — horn lines, bass lines.

And, you know, a lot of horn players need charts since they come from that classical reading music thing. I don’t read or understand music at all, but I understand melody, and I just sing the parts to them. We keep it simple — drums, guitar, bass and a little bit of keys.

You’ve been drawn to reggae. Our people were big adopters of that sound. And I wonder if you’ve delved into why you think that is? It goes without saying that some of the lyrics that Bob Marley shared with us have a timeless quality to them, and so it’s been hugely influential on Māori music since we connected with it. I’m guessing that was in the 1970s. What do you read into our love as a people of the reggae sound?

I think the consciousness of the social commentary, we get wholeheartedly. Those stories resonate with us because they’re our stories, and I think a lot of it is the similarities between colonised Jamaica and colonised New Zealand.

Bob Marley’s social commentary was bang on to what our tūpuna were going through in the ’60s, ’70s, ‘80s — right to this day, really. It is still very on point, his social commentary and the consciousness of equality and justice for all.

That’s a big reason why Māori love his music and identify with his messages. But first and foremost, that rhythm and beat. The beating heart that ticks in all of us, wrapped in his stories and woven in his commentary.

When you look back at the pictures of him being in Aotearoa in 1978, you realise that he was not unfamiliar with our people. Quite the opposite, he embraced us as we did him.

Mmm.

But when you break down the intricacies of his sound, what do you sense, Logan?

I think the group of musicians that were around him were a very special group of people, very elite. That’s one part of it. Also, I know from my aunties and uncles who were there when Bob visited Takapūwāhia, my marae in Porirua, that after the pōwhiri, he spent four or five hours just sitting in the meeting house, because he could feel the spiritual power and energy that he gravitated to.

Al Anderson was with him on that first visit, and every time Al came back to Wellington, he went to Takapūwāhia to feel that spiritual power to recharge his batteries.

So there’s a spiritual connection to Māoritanga, to te ao Māori, to the marae, to our ancestors, to a spiritual power that he knew was rich and was something he needed. And I think he had intuition like that with his music and with his musicians, and the way he approached his art, too.

It’s spiritually powerful music, and that’s why I gravitate to it — and I think that’s why a lot of other people gravitate to it, because we can feel it, right? We don’t have to talk about it. We hear the music, and we feel it. And then we hear the social commentary, and it just tops it off and validates our feelings about what’s going on with us as well.

“Get up, stand up, stand up for your right” is a line that will resonate through the ages, and it’s such a wonderful kōrero for our people who’ve been subjugated and oppressed. And as you say, the similarities dealing with the colonisation process is global. You pay homage to him by naming the band “Katchafire”, from the Wailers’ debut album Catch a Fire.

Yeah, definitely. And we love the era of the Wailers, when Bunny Wailer and Peter Tosh and Bob were together — and all the lads, everyone singing, three- and four-part harmonies. You know, a full set of parts, even the men doing the high parts as well. I love that era, before the I-Threes and Bob went global. That’s the era of the early Katchafire days that we all have an affinity for, and I just love it.

They say if you’re going to write, write your truth. Write a line that you believe to be true. And I just wonder, is there a line that you’ve written that still sticks with you today, one that you’re proud of and will stand by for all of your life?

It’s a good question. Jeez, I’m racking my brain now trying to go back through my catalogue for a line. The pressure of finding a line! Maybe: “Come back and lead us.” Yeah, it’s the song from the album On the Road Again. Come back and lead us. Have a listen to that. There’s a few bars in that song that I think people need to hear.

Come back and lead us. Who were you thinking of when you wrote that line?

I was thinking of our leaders who may not, for whatever reason, be fulfilling their purpose here on earth. Leading our people, encouraging them to find that purpose in their life again and lead us.

Do you feel our people with you sometimes on stage — our tūpuna, I mean. And I know it sounds a bit cosmic delving into that space.

Yeah, definitely. I’m a very spiritual person, and I believe in the spiritual world, and I believe that our ancestors are always watching us and want the best for us. They guide us as well, and we just need to listen for it.

You’ve carved a very successful career in a very demanding space. You talk about sacrifices as fathers, and I have no doubt that you’ve made sacrifices. Your whānau has made sacrifices to share the sound, to share the aroha. You’ve been going now 25 years, maybe more, with Katchafire. How does parenthood sit with you? Do you think you’ve become a better musician as a father than you might have been as a single guy?

I think it’s made me a more well-rounded human being. I don’t know if it plays into being a better musician, but just a better person, I think.

You know, being a father and having to raise young ones is a privilege. I’m not saying people who aren’t parents won’t have that fulfilment in their life, but it definitely makes you a more well-rounded person. And I believe it’s a duty. I believe in family.

To keep the ball rolling, you’ve got to spend long periods away from your whānau. That’s a sacrifice you make, and it’s also a sacrifice that they carry and accept too. Life as an international reggae artist — people probably think it’s all bells and whistles, but it’s quite gruelling, isn’t it?

Can be, yeah. The road is a tough place to be. It just doesn’t let up. There’s more than enough stimulation going on, and you have to be strong mentally to take it. Leaving loved ones at home, the pitfalls, the peaks and troughs of touring. It’s a tough place for anyone, for any creative.

I think one of the strengths that we have is being able to face these challenges as a whānau. I couldn’t imagine being a solo artist and having to take everything on. I’ve had my father and my brother to help me take the strain, not to mention the other brothers in the band from other mothers. Our family dynamic is what keeps us strong and gets us through when times are tough.

That takes some managing. I mean, there’s always going to be friction in any family. How important is it to keep the dynamics workable and respectful?

Definitely a juggling act. Family and business, man. Some of the toughest things to negotiate in the world.

Can we talk about horn sections, because I really love the combo of trumpet, sax and bone.

I love having a sax, trumpet, and a bone. That’s the ultimate, for sure, but usually we’ve only had a sax and a trumpet. Bone players are so few and far between.

Please, whānau, more bone players, more bone players!

You’ve had some wonderful gigs, I’m sure. Is there one that sticks out for you, when it all came together and you thought: “Wow, this is deadly, this is what it’s about for me.”

I just took my son on tour. He was filling in for my brother on the last USA trip. And, as a father, I was so proud of him. The boy stepped up. He had two to three weeks to learn the set. We ran it every day after work here at home and got him ready for it, and he absolutely smashed it.

We had 12 shows in three weeks, including a couple of festivals where there were 20–30,000 people, and there was definitely a moment where I just sort of pinched myself. It was a very proud father moment.

How old’s your young fulla? What’s his name?

He’s 19. His name’s Tane Atakura Bell. He’s fresh out of music school. Last year, he did Whitirea down in Porirua. He stayed with my mum. And, the year before that, he graduated high school. He went to Fairfield College, and his music teacher was none other than the master, Jamey Ferguson, ex-Katchafire member, singer-songwriter. He’s the guy who put an instrument in my son’s hand and encouraged him to learn drums and piano.

And so he did that. And we didn’t even know he could play drums. I think it was when he was in the sixth form, we went and watched a school recital where he was the drummer, and that was the first time I’d seen him drumming. Jamey had encouraged him and started him on that, which I’m eternally grateful for.

Sometimes it takes another authority figure in their life to get them motivated. I mean, he’s been around instruments his whole life, but it took J to go: “All right, you pick those drums up and you start practising, and you learn the keyboards at school.” And that gave him a bit of mana at high school, which is always a good thing for any student trying to find their way. And it really set him up after graduating high school to go straight into Whitireia.

This year, he’s just been working here in Tauranga at a labouring job, and every day he gets home, he’s on his kit practising hardcore just for an opportunity like that to happen. So, when it came up, we put him to work, and the kid done me proud, man.

I think of Sheepy’s Bar out in Papatoetoe and a talent quest of yesteryear. It was about a hundred years ago, wasn’t it, bro?

Yes, I remember that. You were the MC there that night, eh?

That’s right, mate. You guys were really just getting underway. I don’t know how many talent quests Katchafire has been in.

That was the only one, mate. That was the one.

I remember that night. Sheepy’s Bar. Thompson, one of the early original members of Katchafire, brought that to the group and said: “Look, there’s a talent search on, and if we win, we get $5,000 recording time in the Dawn Raid studios.”

Those were the early days, and it was all about working and getting the name out there, and that’s exactly what we did. They held heats every week for four or five weeks leading up to the finals. We got into the finals.

We sang “Redemption Song”, a cappella, no instruments, just voices, and the crowd was overwhelmingly deafening for us to win that. So, we won the $5,000 recording time, which equated to two days of recording in Dawn Raid studios.

And in those two days, we recorded the songs “Giddy Up” and “Bounce”. All tracked, mixed, mastered in two days.

Wow.

And about six months later, we released “Giddy Up” through Mai Music, and it was the biggest-selling single that year.

Fantastic. How many albums have you released?

Six or seven. I want to release a live album, so we’re working on that at the moment. The new studio album is set to be released in 2026. We’ve still got a lot of miles left in the tank.

We’re looking forward to an awesome Aotearoa summer. A few gigs lined up, and I can’t wait to connect with everyone here in Aotearoa, where it all kicked off for us. Our fans here will always continue to be our champions.

Is there a whakataukī, an affirmation, a proverb, something that you live by that might illustrate your attitude to music or to life?

I guess, “E kore au e ngaro, he kākano i ruia mai i Rangiātea.”

We’re all the seed of Rangiātea.

I’m a seed that was sown in Rangiātea, and therefore I will never be lost. I always know my way.

Beautiful, bro. Just to wrap up, we know you as a muso, but you never talk about your downhill skiing or skateboarding skills. I haven’t heard about your fly-fishing prowess. Is there something that keeps the bounce in you, bro?

Yeah, at the moment I’m really diving back into my golf. I’ve been playing for like 15 to 20 years, but some years I don’t play it at all. But since I moved to Tauranga a few years ago, I’ve been really enjoying that. Helps me keep the hinengaro in a good place. It’s definitely something I value.

What’s your handicap?

Oh, depends on who I’m playing, but I play off 11 at the moment.

That means you’re pretty damn good, Logan.

We’re trying to get into the single digits.

Hey, really lovely to kōrero with you, Logan. All the best, not just with music, man, but with life.

Mihi nui, brother. Mihi nui.

 

(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)

E-Tangata, 2025