Here and Queer and Head over Heels for Tears for Fears

(Note: It’s been two weeks since Tears For Fears rocked Manila for a one-night concert. In between that and today, we had the national elections. Here’s my belated blog on that wickedly awesome night).

We didn’t invent the karaoke machine for nothing. It’s occasions like a ‘Tears for Fears Concert’, when this Filipino invention is put to optimum use. Never mind if the entire Araneta Coliseum crowd drowned out the duo’s vocals almost all throughout the concert. As one fan’s shoutout to Curt Smith’s FB fanpage put it, ‘where else in the world can you find a concert with 22,000 back-up singers?’

To say that Pinoys anticipated the TFF concert is an understatement. No, we PREPARED and PRIMED ourselves for it. We confirmed attendance in the FB event page that Curt Smith himself, put up; researched their playlists in previous concerts; discussed their 80s legacy and impact on our growing up years (well, for those of us who lived through the 80s); and, glued ourselves to YouTube to watch and listen to live versions of their songs (I especially liked the NOTP concert). And more importantly, we bought our tickets early. I bought for myself and for four other friends (Natty, Michelle, MJ and AK), two months ahead.

I was particularly curious about their playlist. While their peak could be traced back to ‘The Hurting’ and ‘Songs From the Big Chair’, they also released several albums, which did not take off as spectacularly as the previous ones. In fact, two albums released under the TFF tag had only Roland Orzabal in it, because Curt had already left the band by then.

And so, spirits were high on the concert day itself. Tickets were sold out and as we were going inside the concert venue, the box office offered “standing” tickets at the Upper Box A section, meaning, standing on the aisles. The crowd was predominantly made up of people in their 30s and 40s, i.e., those who have grooved to the new wave beats of ‘Change’, ‘The Way You Are’ and ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’. Indeed it could have been a college or high school reunion, depending on which class/batch one belonged to.

As I anticipated, they played a mix of old and new songs, several of which I am happily familiar with (esp. their songs from the 2004 album, ‘Everybody Loves a Happy Ending’). The set started with an intro of ‘Mad World’, which was taken from their NOTP concert. Good thing it was just an intro because I was kinda apprehensive that Curt would not be able to pull off a mellow version of the song. Yes, AI fans, Adam Lambert owns ‘that’ version. When the strings played to “Everybody Wants To Rule The World” the crowd leapt to their feet and went wild. What a fitting, raucous start! This was followed by ‘Secret World’, one of my fave songs from the ELAHE album. Unfamiliar with the song, most of the audience slunk back to their seats. By the time the duo did ‘Closest Thing to Heaven’, which was also from the same album, practically everyone around me had sat down. I actually liked this song – and if you’ve seen the music video, it featured deceased actress, Brittany Murphy. Just as everyone had sort of settled down, they did ‘Seeds of Love’ – which brought the audience back to its feet again. But then they followed it up with the unfamiliar “Call Me Mellow (again from ELAHE) and this rendered the crowd to be quiet again.

See the pattern here? They sandwiched the not so familiar songs with their highly popular tunes from the 80s and early 90s. Yet, the Pinoy audience knows how to throw back appreciation and so each song, however unfamiliar, still merited a thunderous applause.

It was such a relief that they decided to do the original (fast/electronica) version of ‘Mad World’, which, as you guessed it, had everyone going again. When they did Floating Down the River, I so wanted to jump with Roland (and he enjoined the audience to jump with him!) but it felt silly doing that by myself. The duo also did their respective solo numbers. Curt sang ‘Seven of Sundays’ (from his solo album ‘Halfway, pleased’), which he dedicated to his daughters. The crowd swooned with approval. We Pinoys, are a sentimental lot. After Curt, it was Roland’s turn to transform the audience into jello, as he did a pseudo-70’s slow rock version of Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’. If I remember correctly, he performed this song in a concert, just right after the King of Pop’s death.

The next songs would cater purely to what the audience had been eagerly anticipating. It was karaoke madness to the hilt. Oh, and one thing about us Pinoys: we don’t just sing; we dance, too. Imagine a packed Araneta Coliseum swaying and singing in unison to ‘Pale Shelter’ and ‘Break it Down Again’. And when they did their “final song” ‘Head Over Heels’, all hell broke loose. The audience stomped their feet, raised their fists, clicked their cameras and hollered for more! And this was when the infamous “booing” of Korina Sanchez took place. Hell, yeah, this was not a place to campaign – it was inappropriate. But what was funny was that this happened as the whole coliseum was belting out a thunderous “mooooore” and then, somewhere, from the sidelines, we could hear a low, reverberating, “booooo”. Heaven forbid that Roland and Curt think they were being booed.

Expectedly, the duo promptly went back onstage and sang two more songs. ‘Woman in Chains’, which had back-up vocalist, Michael Wainwright, doing the part of Oleta Addams. We were forewarned by Roland that we would be “shocked” with what this guy could do, vocally. And the crowd roared with approval every time Michael hit the high notes. Finally, they did the phenomenal ‘Shout’. Oh, what mayhem! The crowd was enveloped in heavenly hysteria and the whole coliseum rocked.

…. And then, it was over. Amidst all the screams, shrieks and squeals, the duo waved warmly to the crowd and promptly disappeared. Oh, before that, Curt made a cute gesture by taking a panoramic shot of the crowd with his digital camera.

As the lights on stage dimmed, we stood waiting… transfixed by what had just happened…wrapped in TFF euphoria. Maybe they would go back again on stage… perform a couple more songs? But the crew started pulling out the cables and taking out the playlist…so yeah, that was it.

But what a show! What an evening! There was no fanfare – no costume changes, no production numbers, no special effects. It was pure and sheer 100% Roland and Curt – who, in their fifties, looked fabulously well and fit. Their voices have remained almost the same – Curt, still slightly thin and pitchy, and Roland, strong and wide in range. We wanted to see them dance and flail their arms, the way they did in ‘Change’ and ‘The Way We Were’ but instead, they swayed rather sexily with their guitars in tow. Curt looked a little older with his gray hair, but Roland had the same wild wavy mane that he kept flipping throughout the night.

I missed ‘Change’, ‘Mothers’ Talk’, ‘Advice for the Young at Heart, ‘Suffer the Children’, ‘Year of the Knife’ and many more songs.

Hours after the concert, hundreds of fans flooded Curt’s FB fanpage wall with gushing, congratulatory messages. In fact, the number of his twitter followers and FB fans leapt significantly. I can really conclude that Pinoys are one of the best fans an artist can ever dream of having. Indeed, Roland made a comment during the concert that they had toured extensively in the US, Europe and other places, but how could they have missed Manila?

Oh, did I mention that Sandwich and Pupil were the front acts? I am not so much a fan of either band (my friends and I preferred if it was Dawn or True Faith who opened for TFF) but Raymond Marasigan and Ely Buendia wowed the crowd with their joint performance of an Eheads classic, ‘Alapaap’.

I will bet my ass that TFF’s best concert in their Asian leg was Manila. And in Curt’s subsequent tweets, he thanked Singapore, Hong Kong, and Taipei, but he had the best to say about the Philippines: “Doesn't happen very often but...I'm speechless. Manila, what a night! Thank you so much, we've now officially peaked:)…”

The complete Manila concert playlist:

Intro: Mad World (NOTP version)

Everybody Wants To Rule The World

Secret World

Closest Thing to Heaven

Seeds of Love

Call Me Mellow

Mad World

Floating Down the River

Memories Fade

Raoul and the Kings of Spain

Quiet Ones

Everybody Loves A Happy Ending

Seven of Sundays

Billie Jean

Pale Shelter

Break It Down Again

Head Over Heels

Encore:

Woman In Chains

Shout

(Photos #2-5 by AK Ocol)

Remembering Cory Aquino: the Yellow Beacon of Change

(Note: I wrote this blog days after Cory Aquino died in August 1, 2009. I was in Hong Kong when she died and ended up signing the condolence book at the Philippine Consulate. In the last night of her wake, my friends and I attempted to have a final glimpse of her – but we never made it. The events that unfolded following her death, leading up to her son, Noynoy Aquino’s candidacy, are not reflected in this blog.)


I don’t want to speak of Cory Aquino in the past tense. To do so is almost tantamount to thinking that she has already passed on, ready to be forgotten, like a ray of sun dipping fast in the horizon.


The grief that many of us felt over her death, especially those of my generation, seems to be a grief over our own inaction, our own inability to sustain the activism we started in EDSA. Or, for those of us who are somehow still “at it”, i.e., engaging in various causes that endeavor to change world, it was grief at our own fatigue and collective disenchantment.


I was 18 years old when EDSA happened. As a student in Ateneo, I took part in a few political actions leading to that momentous event (see my other blog entry).


Who was Cory to me, then?


First, we called her Tita Cory. Before she had the “audacity” to challenge Ferdinand Marcos for the Philippine presidency, she was “but” the widow of the slain oppositionist, Ninoy Aquino. With permanently arched eyebrows, yellow-rimmed spectacles, and soft-spoken colegiala accent, she intrepidly plunged into the murky world of electoral politics. She was the first and perhaps the only president I ardently campaigned for (other than Jovito Salonga in 2002). I planted my activist roots the moment she declared her intention to run in the snap elections in 1986. Her candidacy, sneered at by many, however signaled to the world (and even to the skeptics) that another (post-Marcos) world was possible. Indeed, she was the primary icon of my youth – a smiling yellow beacon at a time of turmoil and darkness. This is not to say that I do not recognize and give tribute to those who came before her – those who sacrificed their youth and shed their own blood – eons before the sweet flavor of democracy started wafting through the changing political air.


This is not to say that she did not disenchant me: her inaction on agrarian reform that precipitated the Mendiola massacre; her affirmative vote on the US bases treaty; her passing off the opportunity to ask for debt relief from the IMF and WB for the onerous loans contracted under the Marcos regime; her conservative stance on the Family Code; and, cozy closeness with the Catholic church hierarchy, among others. She survived six coup attempts, including a very bloody one, in which her own son was shot. She was an indulgent mother to a media-hound daughter whose colorful private life became intermittent fodder for public news – till today.


Despite her failings, Tita Cory facilitated the restoration of political democracy. It was during her time when civil society organizations flourished and became recognized as a third force of democracy. She inspired people with her simplicity, strength of character and unflinching moral conviction. She was at best, a transition president who knew when it was time to move on and transfer the reins of power onto the next president.

February 22, 1986: Encoding the Memory of EDSA

As far as I’m concerned, there is only one EDSA. I can say so with conviction, because I was there. To those not in the know, EDSA stands for Epifanio delos Santos Avenue, the longest stretch of highway that cuts through four cities in Metropolitan Manila. This was where the downfall of then president Ferdinand Marcos concluded, a product of many long years of struggle of political activists, some of whom have already died even before EDSA happened. It was precipitated mainly by the defection of the leaders of the defense and military establishment, shortly after the snap elections concluded in February 1986. Every time I remember the historic walkout of the COMELEC workers who were tabulating the election results in PICC and the brazen murder of Antique opposition candidate, Evelio Javier, I still get goosebumps.


I was 18 in 1986, and was just initiated into political activism through my involvement in the electoral campaign of Ninoy Aquino’s widow, Cory Aquino. Together with my classmates and schoolmates from Ateneo, I heeded the call of Jaime Cardinal Sin to mass up in EDSA (I was still a good Catholic, then) – which was perhaps, the only “religious” prodding, I am proud to have participated in.

My feelings were a confused blend: heady excitement over the prospect of participating in the unfolding of a significant historical moment and resolute belief that there really was no other choice but to be part of it. But, I was also gripped by uncertainty and slight apprehension. Before February 1986, EDSA was just a long lonely thoroughfare, with the trademark blue buses traversing it on a daily basis. Instead of flyovers, stoplights punctuated the traffic flow in that highway that seemed to stretch forever (mainly because of the traffic).

On February 22, 1986, when people began treading towards EDSA, both the southbound road from Cubao and the northbound road from Ortigas Avenue were closed to vehicular traffic. Our motley contingent consisted of students, faculty and Jesuit priests. From Ateneo, we converged in Cubao. We trudged towards EDSA, mulling over our decision to participate in this unfolding “revolution”. How long was the “military rebellion” going to last? How long did we have to stay in the streets? How do we keep everyone safe? Who do we have on our side now? What if Marcos will order his soldiers to open fire on the people? Who else can we call to join us?

Yet, we stared uncertainty right at its face, flushed out the butterflies churning in our stomachs, and summoned our naïve enthusiasm. We believed in our power as a people to effect political transformation. People power – that’s what it got branded later on – was a unique take on democracy.  Literally, it’s about the people themselves, bringing about change. This moment did not occur overnight --- the ground had been laid by many political activists who had risked life and limb, fighting for freedom during the dark days of the Marcos dictatorship. Cory was the catalyst, she was the symbol that things can and could change. Really, before Barack Obama came into the picture, we already had our “yes, we can” historical moment.

I also remember the seemingly “fiesta” atmosphere. For indeed, what is the Filipino without the funfare, fiesta, and yes, food? Just before we left Cubao, I remember happily slurping a Mcdo sundae (back in the days when I used to eat it), a treat from our very affable college dean, Fr. Raul Bonoan, S.J.,. Food was a-plenty, with many people donating boxes of packed meals, sandwiches and water. I was stationed in the food distribution section and I remember distributing Jollibee hamburgers to a very orderly queue of people (no pushing, no shoving, no "singit").

Everywhere, people were singing, taking pictures, and playing card games. Mats were laid on the hard concrete and makeshift sleeping areas were arranged.  If it were not for the intermittent whirring of helicopters and the presence of the tanks in Ortigas, one would think it was a national picnic. Amidst the chatter and laughter, one could hear the crackle of Radio Veritas, which was the only radio station that had been taken over by progressive forces. As night approached and darkness enveloped the gathering, candles were lit and flashlights were turned on. People huddled closer to each other. Complete strangers shared a resting spot, comforted by a common dream and a peculiar sense of closeness.


In 1986, the internet did not exist as a popular medium of communication. Mobile phones, and yes, even pagers, were not in vogue at that time. Everything happened by word of mouth and until there was a takeover by progressive forces of the media establishments, Metro Manila, the entire country, and perhaps, the rest of the world, would not have heard about the thousands of people who have spontaneously heeded the call to converge in EDSA.

Meanwhile, somewhere in a city in central Philippines, within the cloister of the Pink Sisters, Cory Aquino was reciting prayers non-stop. The “people power” fever was so infectious – more and more people overcame their fears and massed up in EDSA for the next four days. We also learned that with barely a month to go before the end of the semester, classes had been indefinitely suspended in the campus.

I was back home in my uncle’s house when the Marcoses were flown out of Malacanang, four days later. It was all over in the news. How the intrepid journalists covered those events as they unfolded, could put all the current reality TV shows to shame.

Classes resumed almost as quickly as they were suspended. Some of our teachers exercised mass promotion, giving everyone a passing grade (except for the resident nerds who got higher marks). My Spanish teacher eventually gave me an “A” for submitting an essay called, “Fuerza la Gente.” I also submitted an essay for our English Essay class chronicling my four days in EDSA. I’m still trying to locate that frigging essay in my stockpile of college "abubots".

It's been 24 years since all that happened. EDSA has changed quite a lot –  with its flyovers, roadside malls and the MRT, but this country seems to have gone back into those dark times. Ironically, it was also at EDSA, where an abomination called Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, rose into power. I suppose it’s a good time to wave those yellow banners again.

A Daily Dose of Knockouts

In General Santos City, where Manny Pacquaio hails, the celebrated boxer is part of the daily dish. Even during the Christmas and New Year holiday season, he was still the main course, following entrées consisting of updates on the “special treatment” of the Ampatuans detained in Camp Lira and the aftermath of the Christmas eve fireworks/firecracker explosion that razed a row of shops and killed three people. Well, what could possibly go wrong when an idiot decides to “test” a firecracker, just meters away from the fireworks/firecracker shops? My brother, who lived two blocks away, said he felt the earth shake after hearing a thunderous blast that lasted for several minutes. But I digress…as I often do.

I don’t know about you, but getting a daily dose of Manny Pacquiao news is unduly and excessively torturous. We already know that he is the world’s best pound-for-pound boxer and that he holds the record for being the first boxer to win seven world championships in seven different weight divisions. Oh, and one other thing that we all know: his dogged, or should I say, foolhardy pursuit of a congressional seat (comments reserved for another blog). Do we then need to know what morsels he munched for the Christmas noche buena, what his wife’s wish is for the upcoming year (most likely, it has to do with him ceasing his ‘alleged’ womanizing) or what his mother will wear for the New Year celebrations (yes, Mommy Dionesia prefers Natasha over those designer labels). Really, does anyone give a scream?

And then there are the gazillion ads. Pain reliever. Anti-dandruff shampoo. Liquor. Beer. Ice cream. Vinegar. Car battery. Telecommunications company. Artificial food seasoning. Between ‘polling her’ and highland roasted legumes, we are besieged, barraged and bombarded by images and contrived spiels of the famed pugilist, along with his candidly hilarious mother. Whether the same success that Manny Pacquaio enjoys in the world of boxing translates into his product endorsements, is a question that advertisers and sales people need to confirm. I think not, but that’s an opinion borne out of speculation than actual product sales computation. Well, if there is one major indicator that not everyone is buying into the Manny-mania, it’s none other than his monumental flop of a movie, “Wapakman”. Yup, he got whipped in the tills by the veteran top-grossers. Not surprisingly, his co-stars attribute it as a fallout possibly caused by the “extra-marital” scandal he was embroiled in, ironically, with a woman who played one of his nemeses in the film.

It does not take that much imagination to realize the omnipresence of the Pacquiao brand. And yet, there are many people I talk to (mainly friends and long timers in Gensan) who are not amused with this Manny-mania, especially, his foray into local politics. Is it the headiness of fame and wealth that makes him think he can do anything? Has he taken his role as Nike endorser to heart by, ‘just doing it’?

We are suckers for stories of the lowly becoming triumphant, of underdogs overcoming their wretched existence, of prodigal sons returning to the fold.
But that’s not the reason why I spent an entire afternoon, doing a ‘tour of Pacquiao’, with my friend, Tet. I simply wanted to comprehend the breadth and expanse of his economic empire, resulting from his multi-million dollar wins of international boxing bouts.

If there’s one good thing he did, it was to invest some of his earnings in Gensan. He owns several buildings, which house his coffee-shop franchise, his wife’s “fashion” store -- imaginatively named “Jinkee’s Fashion World” (roll eyes), and a digital printing shop. He owns a billiards bar, which is becoming “the place to be” and which also happens to be one of his favorite haunts. The day we dropped by, which was a New Year’s day afternoon, the guard told us he had just left, at around 12 noon). He also owns a sports store, called “Team Pacquaio”, which sells sports items such as shirts, boxing shorts, gym bags, boxing gloves, and wristbands, among others. There are also DVDs of his fights and novelty items such as planners, key chains, and buttons. He also operates water refilling stations and convenience stores. After scouring the city of his establishments, we hied off to see his lowly beginnings in Brgy. Labangal. A modest house, which is still under construction, stands in place. It is a far cry from the multi-million mansion in another section of the city, where he now resides.

Our tour of Pacquiao culminated in Super Pacman Farms, which was showcased a few years ago for its organic vegetables. Well, there were no broccoli and carrots in sight. Instead, we found rows and rows of fighting cocks sandwiched by mango trees. Surprisingly, the farm is almost bereft of human presence. An image of his championship belt forms the arch of the main gate. A friendly guard ushered us in and left us alone to “desecrate” Galleria Emmanuel, the mini-museum containing some of his boxing memorabilia, photos and sculptures. Well, ahem, we only “rearranged” a painting because it did not make a good background for a picture shot I was taking.

I have a fairly good conjecture that Manny Paquiao’s next fight with Floyd Mayweather Jr. (if it materializes) will further amplify the already mad, Manny-mania. Even if he says that he’d rather win in the upcoming congressional elections. Even if his mother insists, “I don’t want Manny to fight with Weather.” Oo nga, naman. Lalabanan mo ba ang panahon?