On stage, whenever Kuana Torres Kahele's fingers dance across the strings of his guitar, he makes the most of his music. It's a sweet time of deliverance.

"When you are on stage, everything is so carefree," he said. "Music takes you off this plane and to another plane. That's the beauty of music."

It is something to savor. His time in the spotlight, as half of the Hawaiian music duo Nä Palapalai, has always been precious. It has come and gone enough times to know that success can be an unreliable paycheck.

To survive, Kahele adopts the strategy many in his industry embrace: He's got a day job.

No secret, really, but the life of a musician can be an unsettling experience. All but the most successful have to count on outside employment to pay the bills, their artistic expression coming after 40-hour work weeks.

Add to that the unpredictable nature of the business and it sounds like a losing battle: Empty calendars are as common as long stretches of steady gigs. But Kahele, a 32-year-old Hilo native who has survived two periods when the local music scene went into a lull, said the potential rewards can be a hefty draw.

"When the music gets going and the wave gets going, the money is second to none," he said. "It's too damn good to pass up. It's in the thousands and you make that in a day."

Musical independence is rare. Leah Bernstein, president of Mountain Apple Co., which produces and distributes Hawaiian music, said there isn't enough work in Hawai'i that pays well enough to allow it. The end result can be a grueling lifestyle.

It's not uncommon for entertainers to work 14-hour days, Bernstein said.

"They do it because music is their passion," she said. "We don't encourage people to overwork, but at the same time we understand they have to live. There are very few groups that just work on their music."

THE COMPROMISE

Kahele, whose duo Nä Palapalai has recorded four albums and has won seven Nä Hoku Hanohano Awards, is a typical example of the local musician.

Kahele began playing professionally when he was 15. He moved to O'ahu in 1996 and worked full-time as a musician for several years before he had to get a job as a greeter at Honolulu International Airport. Gigs picked up again, but the wave lasted only a few years, and he returned to the Big Island to work construction, sapping the energy he liked to bring to the stage.

He found a compromise in education, and now works two part-time jobs. Kahele teaches in Hilo, then flies to O'ahu on the weekends to perform with his partner, bass player Kehau Tamure.

"Sometimes, if you are able to make a compromise with your day job and make it work with your music, it's perfect," he said. "Most times you ain't going to be able to make it work. It's one or the other. This last time around I was able to make that compromise."

But the compromise is also expensive. Kahele doesn't work enough hours teaching to qualify for health benefits and has to pay for them himself.

NO SAFETY NET

Ku'uipo Kumukahi, president of the Hawaiian Academy of Recording Arts , was able to work as a musician for 14 years before she had to scale back and get a regular job. She needed medical insurance and a retirement package.

Now she is a case worker for ARC in Hawai'i. Kumukahi works a full week — "and then some" — before taking the stage Friday evenings to front the Hawaiian Music Hall of Fame Serenaders at the Royal Hawaiian Center.

The musician has no safety net, she said.

"Everything relies on your ability to play the music," she said. "If you shut down, the whole business shuts down. So you work the day job to do all the stuff that keeps you alive and the music becomes the therapy."

When solo musician Del Beazley was younger, back in the early 1980s, he worked during the day and gigged at night six days a week. He'd be up at 5 a.m. to get to the Honolulu Board of Water Supply, and his day wouldn't end until that last hana hou around 10 p.m.

"I guess when you are young, you can do that," said Beazley, a six-time Nä Hoku Hanohano Award-winning singer, songwriter, composer and arranger. "I found that playing that many nights a week really made it seem like a job. It was fun for a while, but it wore on me, so I stopped doing that."

Beazley, now 48, never stopped working his day job. Instead, he scaled back his performance schedule.

These days, he's a stevedore and sometimes works 50 to 60 hours a week on the docks. He gigs on the weekends about four times a month.

It isn't just the headliners who are able to make music full time, Beazley said. Hawai'i has a large community of musicians who serve as their industry's day laborers, subcontracting their skills to any group that needs them, Beazley said.

"These guys work hard," he said. "The slang word in the industry is gig pig. If you are a good keyboard player, you get gigs with every band that needs a keyboard player. I play with guys who will do four to five gigs on a Saturday."

TRAVELING MUSICIANS

The three members of the group Holunape all work full time and have long considered their performances an extended, although passionate, escape from the working world.

Their approach hasn't hurt them, either. This year their album "Ahea? 'Ano!" won a Hoku for Hawaiian album of the year. And their show schedule has had them traveling to the Neighbor Islands on every weekend since early October. They're even scheduled to perform in Japan.

But making music full time becomes more attractive all the time, said band member Kekoa Kaluhiwa, who plays upright bass when he's not working as an aide to U.S. Sen. Daniel Akaka. It would allow them to focus more on their music, the 33-year-old Kaluhiwa said.

"We talk about it often," he said. "It would allow us to have a continuing source of income, to be able to play and perform when we want."

Holunape member Kama Hopkins, who plays 'ukulele, has concerns, however. Hopkins, who works for Office of Hawaiian Affairs trustee Robert Lindsey Jr., comes from several generations of entertainers, and as he grew up, he often heard the virtues of a steady job. The 35-year-old Hopkins fears that the stress of constantly looking for gigs to pay the bills would ruin the joy he has for music.

"If I had to make music my full-time occupation, I probably wouldn't enjoy music as much," he said. "Once it becomes your day job, it is tough because music is, quite frankly, seasonal."

Hawaiian music icon Brother Noland Conjugacion, who has spent more than 32 years in the business, believes he has found the key to a happy career by applying his talents to a variety of music-related activities.

One of the local industry's most successful musicians, he composes, publishes, licenses, records, tours, teaches and performs. And in that happy but busy mix, he also works with at-risk children in some of the state's poorest neighborhoods.

But Conjugacion doesn't pull his punches. Having to work another job to pay the bills is a fact of life, so his philosophy is "Don't whine and complain," he said. The music business is about hard work and his own success has come "through years of investment and loss."

"I remind myself every so often that I deserve it," he said. "I paid my dues."

Musicians should perform because they love it, not because of the money, he said. When he was younger and worked in Waikíkí hotels in housekeeping, Conjugacion recalls, he would sing in the hallways and the locker room. The music would take him and those around him to someplace better.

"I would be the guy at the end of the day jamming on the beach for all the workers, having a good time, making everyone happy after we all put in a good day's work," he said. "Create those moments that you never forget, and they remind you of how humble life is."