The drums start before the light is fully gone. On Kauai’s north shore, dusk does not so much fall as get absorbed; the sky over Kilauea falls dark while a line of torches gets lit along a gravel path. Somewhere behind the stage, dark and enormous against what’s left of the light, sits a mountain the old Hawaiians called Makana and the movies renamed Bali Hai. Nobody on stage mentions the second name. They don’t …