Muzak

Francis M and Eraserheads - Don’t Forget the Lyrics

(Long overdue. Sorry naman Batch for the late post. Had to wait for my friend Bao to email me his photos on ‘some’ event at Mall of Asia last Saturday. If you wanna see people necking, petting and doing all sorts of debauchery during the Last Set, check out my Multiply account. And, Harry, I expect you to give me some space for your Badegdiaries Blog next week ‘coz I’m gonna be posting my way-too-late-after-Valentine’s-Day, Fuck-My-Life-like anecdote.)

Or don’t forget. At all.

Remembering. Some got a knack of it, while some fail to do so. People reminisce how uplifting—or even funny— those moments were. They made you laugh, love or miss someone you care about. On the other side of the coin, some episodes are so forgettable that you wish it didn’t happen or even existed in your faculty of knowledge. It really pisses you big time. But whatever you do, it still lingers. There’s nothing much to do about it but to sigh, “Shit, I still remember that”. On the bright side, though, you may still praise yourself for having a good memory.

An Angry, Patriotic Mouth

I remember the time how Francis Magalona ‘motored’ his mouth, rapping a music countdown while the pre-Wowowee Willie Revillame thumping the skins during a music countdown in an Alma Morena show called Loveli-Ness. Aside from having been adolescently awed by the ‘tanga’(or the black bikini made popular during the late 80s in musical shows to grab ratings share)-wearing Alma along with her equally scantily-clad backup dancers, I was also particularly enamored by Magalona’s skills. So cunning was his craft that I could easily grasp his words like, “From the east to the west. From the north to the south. The beats don’t stop till the break of dawn. Yaw. Yes, yes, Yo!” The diction was clear. Accent’s so impeccable. Not bad for a budding rapper struggling to introduce such novel musical genre in a kundiman pop-dominated scene at that time. With this flow deeply rooted to American Hip-hop, he used this as a vehicle for what he truly wants to say. Songs like the anthemic Mga Kababayan, Man from Manila, Tayo’y mga Pinoy and even Three Stars and a Sun preached nationalism. Mga Praning and Nilamon ng Sistema tackled the ills rotting along the dark recesses of our society. While Ito ang Gusto Ko and the likes aim to empower the youth as well as embrace love of country.

So what seems to be motivation behind all these display of genius and advocacy for patriotism and social awakening? This is what I suspect.

About to play in a gig at Club Dredd (when it was still at Km. 19 along EDSA Cubao) while engaging in a musical masturbation at the hands of seminal rock group Wolfgang (who played before us), I overheard some dude from behind standing with a bottle of beer in his hand. He was asking for a couple of more songs from them. The band amicably obliged to the request of their friend. A frantic mood of trance from the man whom we fondly refer to as “Francism” swiftly ensued.

It was at this juncture that I thought I had made a ‘Eureka moment’ about him. I guess he had been there. Not only has he had seen it, but felt it. All the corruption, poverty, social inequality and other sorts of ‘shitness’ had him fed up and took part in making a difference. If the rock genre used the whaling riffs of their guitars and the chaotic growls of its vocals as vehicles for a generation in protest , Francis Magalona used what he does best to deliver his point: the verses and the rhymes coming out of his mouth, like a dagger stabbing every motherfuckin’ corrupt, pot-bellied anti-Pinoy mentality in all of us.

‘Beatle-esque’ Foursome of the Masses

Some say they launched a million katutubo Orcs slam-dancing their way to the nearest videoke bar singing to their favorite bubble-gum pop melodies. I say they opened the floodgates of awakening to 10 million (or so) of them. It was early afternoon in our high school auditorium in the spring of ‘92, having ceremoniously spending a break from one-act play rehearsals and trying to make sense out of our boring lives at that time—which co-equates to a snore-fest, basically. When out of the blue, a very low-fi, garage days-inspired sample played over the PA. As if it had only been recorded the night before during a drinking binge at a nearby railroad shanty, the voice was nowhere to fit a decent rock band, so much like what I described in my previous E-Heads Reunion Concert post.

College came, and they were still at it. Our group of friends was to support one of ours in a much-contested wit and beauty pageant in a college where he belonged—or otherwise known as “The Search for the Best in Drag of comedic proportions just to make contacts for work when you graduate and score some alienated but estrogen-filled female species “. Headline band: who else, but THEM. Little did I know was that they had become ‘cuter’ and that throngs of chicks would swoon over their grungy appearance. Years past and multi-platinum albums later, they would eventually reach their downward spiral. ‘Selling out’ (which, I think, is the most painful adjective a rock band would get) would come into concerted boos , plastic bottles (and even stones!) being thrown at them during gigs or not-even-half-filled venues. And the tumble weeds would go rolling the empty seats. Too bad, the very people who embraced them from start would later crucify them for their artistry and musical genius. Yes, I remember them clearly.

How about that last week? It sure was a delight to be alive at that time. So much emotions running through. So many memories to cherish. It was a week of celebration and goodbyes. People loved each other a little even more, united even more—even for just a bit. They wallowed in tears. They smiled, they shouted, they jumped, they sang in unison.

We all remember those memories pretty well.

As for the forgetful ones? I suggest you call a shrink. Why? Coz you would only remember them by the time when they die or bid their farewell. That’s when you jump into the bandwagon, singing praises and chanting eulogies to someone whom you thought you really know—by heart. It’s not good. Pop some anti-amnesia capsules or something.

Oh, I almost forgot! Now I remember: I have a sucky mundane life to go back to. So what? My memory’s still working perfectly fine.

PS(s)

How could Tim Yap miss those lyrics? It’s only “nakatambay kami sa Tandang Sora” and not “Pen,Pen, Pen de Sarapen”. I guess he knows his Pinoy nursery rhymes pretty damn well, but I doubt it if he lives in that part of Quezon City.

To the dearly departed loved ones, rejoice for He is now in peace at the hands of his Creator. He has done a lot for the inspiration of all. And as for that four-piece combo, THANK YOU for killing that unrelenting boredom which could eventually make me wank for momentary nirvana in that dark corner of our high school auditorium during that spring of ‘92.

A closure well done.

-30-

© 2009 Blournalist.