Half the pub was covered in beach sand back in 1996, recalled musician Vijay David.
“As soon as you came up the stairs, you were bound to step onto sand,” he said.
It was part of founder Tony Siew’s vision for Waikiki: a humble beach‑bar concept that began with just a CD player when it was located on a smaller lot.
“When it was just the CD player, people could talk as the music wasn’t very loud,” said Vijay, 65.
Opening deejay Bernie Charles, 57, remembered using a CD player.
“I’d play a track, eject it, then put in another CD.
“Waikiki was all about the music, and it welcomed a diverse crowd of music lovers,” he said.
Then came a new energy with the musicians and bands.
As word spread, partygoers started pouring into Waikiki, giving the pub in Lorong Sultan the boost it needed.
The space evolved with wooden panels and addition of a balcony.
Siew’s pet, the resident albino python named Goldie, and a seawater fish tank added to Waikiki’s quirky appeal.
But even as the physical space changed, one thing stayed constant: the feeling of being welcomed.
For musician Albert Sirimal, 64, who performed alongside Vijay, Waikiki was an after‑hours institution – a place where the night refused to wind down.
He said the clubbing scene then had its own rhythm.
People queued up, stayed out until dawn and, for some, went straight from the dance floor to work, Albert reminisced.
“Vijay and I started playing at Waikiki when the floor was sand‑filled.
“For a Monday, it was a full house until the wee hours.”
The crowd typically arrived around 11pm, he said.
“Waikiki was the best place to work and party.
“In fact, I was there almost every night,” said Albert, who performed under several contracts over the years before teaming up with Vijay again, and joined by drummer Badar.
There was a familiarity to Waikiki that went beyond the music.
Regular customers knew each other, making the Cheers sitcom theme song Where Everybody Knows Your Name a fitting favourite among deejays including Jason Koo, who toiled late nights compiling music videos for the bar.
Koo, 56, who was the deejay at DV8 and later moved to Waikiki, said he was close to the Waikiki team. “I would often hang out at Waikiki because we were neighbours, and like family.”
Albert too, developed some very good friendships at Waikiki.
Veteran guitarist and singer Balaraja Palanisamy, famously known as Bala, recalled nights that seemed to stretch on endlessly.
He began his solo sets around 11pm, playing late while customers had food, drinks and conversation.
“Waikiki was a place where you could have your dinner and breakfast because customers stayed out late.
“It was a great time, a different era. People were more unassuming,” he said.
And, of course, there was still the sand.
Bala remembers starting out at Waikiki when the floor was covered with it – an unusual combination with the boots he wore for his performances.
“It wasn’t a good pairing, walking in with boots onto the sand,” he said with a laugh.
“It was a unique place. The people made it unique.
“Both the customers and musicians gave it its warm and homely atmosphere just like Cheers.”
Over the years, the pub changed with the times.
Its space evolved, its music shifted and the crowd grew and changed with it.
For Bala, that constant evolution was precisely what kept Waikiki alive.
“Waikiki never remained the same. It changed over the years as it grew.
The fluidity gave the place its magic, he said.
“If you belonged to Waikiki, you belonged to a certain type of crowd.
“It attracted a mature crowd and was a home away from home.”
Vijay agreed saying: “Waikiki was like home. We were all friends and felt welcomed.”
He added that no amount of money could revive what Waikiki had.
“No matter how much you spend on a bar or beautify it, you will never be able to replace the vibe we felt at Waikiki.
“In my 48 years as a musician, I have never been to or played in a pub like Waikiki.
“Waikiki had a welcoming atmosphere, where you felt free to do whatever you wanted or be whoever you wanted to be,” said Vijay.
Bala said Waikiki gave him the freedom to express himself through his music.
“I could belt out songs according to my interpretation of it,” he said.
It was also a place where people were willing to give back.
Waikiki later became known for its charity drives, including the Heston Siew Tribute Fund, which raised funds for Siew’s son after he was diagnosed with leukaemia, as well as Tribute to Kindness Bald and Beautiful.
That warmth, the music, friendships, late nights, Goldie, sand and the generosity, is what made Waikiki, which closed at the end of 2018, more than a pub.
Waikiki was a community of music lovers who called it home.
