http://www.LivingInthePhilippines.comis theORIGINAL, firstPhilippines Expat site on the Net, since 1989. This is not one of many knock-offs, copycats, imitations. Some have permutations of the names,misspellings and "in" and "the" or "ing." left off to deceive you. This is the original, by: Don A. Herrington
Confessions
of a "Rock Journalist, or Some Disjointed Ramblings on
Pinoy Rock 'N' Roll (By Eric S. Caruncho)
Confessions
of a "Rock Journalist, or Some Disjointed Ramblings on
Pinoy Rock 'N' Roll
"Most rock journalism is
people who can't write, interviewing people who
can't talk, for people who can't read."
The above is a quotation from one of the more astute
observers of popular culture that rock 'n' roll has
produced, the late Frank Zappa. The reason I am
opening this rather rambling disquisition with it is
that I have the same quotation framed and mounted
right atop my word processor, perhaps as a reminder
of the essential absurdity of the enterprise of
writing about pop music.
For better or for worse, and much as I loathe the
term, I have been saddled with the (I must
emphasize, unwanted) occupational label of "rock
journalist" for more than a decade now. At dinner
parties, I am inevitably introduced as "so-and-so,
the music writer" at which I have to suppress a
cringe. One particularly misguided soul has even
referred to me, in print, as "the dean of rock
journalists." (I'd much rather be the Dean, capital
D, of rock journalists -- you know a rebel without a
cause. But hey, even I'm not that pretentious.)
I have tried to set the record straight in my book,
Punks, Poets, Poseur: Reportage on Pinoy Rock &
Roll. If I might paraphrase from the Preface:
"I am not now nor have I ever been a 'rock
journalist'. (I mean, what the hell kind of a
pathetic occupational label is that anyway?) ... I
guess deep down I'm just another fan...I just
approached rock 'n' roll as any other journalist
would any other social phenomenon: I tried to learn
as much about it as possible, tried to sniff out
what the real story was, and tried to communicate a
sense of what the people and the milieu in which
they existed were really like."
I chose the subtitle of my book precisely to
emphasize the fact that I was merely reporting on a
subcultural phenomenon, not critiqueing it: the
phrase "rock critic" (and all the high seriousness
it implies) is even more abhorrent to me than "rock
journalist"
Of course, now it dawns on me that by writing a book
on Pinoy rock 'n' roll I have only succeeded in
burying myself deeper in the pigeon-hole so to
speak.
It is also dawns on me that, in spite of myself ,
some critical ideas, have managed to seep into and
contaminate my reportage, and that I have not really
given it much thought. Until now.
What I would to do in the next half hour or so is
discuss some of the major themes and patterns that
have emerged in a decade or so of reporting on Pinoy
popular music. Since I lack the necessary critical
apparatus and the inclination, I have not formulated
a conceptual framework, an intellectual armature for
organizing these ideas into a coherent whole. In any
case, I do not know that that would be a good idea.
Pinoy rock 'n' roll is shot through with
contradictions, and the best of it eludes neat
intellectualization. That is as it should be.
The closest I can get to finding a conceptual handle
with which to rasp the slippery phenomenon of
popular music is to examine the many dichotomies
which seems to permeate current thinking on the
subject. In so doing I hope to point out why such
dichotomies are wholly inadequate in understanding
the meanings of Pinoy rock 'n' roll to our culture.
The Band Wagon Effect
In the last year or so, I have been asked by a
number of college students from various universities
to act as a resource person for term papers or even
undergraduate theses on "alternative music".
Invariably, the first question they ask is : "Bakit
putok na putok and banda ngayon?" "Why have bands
become popular?" "Bakit nauso ang banda?"
The point is this: to a great many people the main
distinction within current popular music is between
bands and solo performes. This thinking lumps
together bands as diverse as the Eraserheads, the
Side A Band, Bagong Lumad and the Ex-Presidents
Combo; and pits them against solo performers such as
Ariel Rivera, Regine Velasquez and their ilk.
This point of view is not restricted to college
students; even record company executives apparently
subscribe to this thinking, at least at one time in
the not too distant past. If the Eraserheads sell
platinum quantities, the seemed to say, then sign me
up a dozen more bands.
The result was that a whole lot of lame outfits
found themselves with record deals and promptly fell
into a not-undeserved oblivion. Clubs are now
overbooked with bands hoping to make it in the music
business. Each month the record companies churn out
a host of new titles by new artist, each competing
for our attention and our pocketbooks.
In short, the progress in popular music over the
last few years has been mainly in terms of quantity.
It is hard to say whether the advances in quality
are not merely in proportion to the increase in
quantity of talents waiting to be heard.
But bands are formed for different reasons, and
these reasons are by in means mutually exclusive. To
make money, to express one's self, to create art, to
be cool, to attract women, to let out teenage
aggression and anxiety, to change society and the
world at large, all of the above -- these are just
some of the reasons people get into bands.
As with any other art from, the writer needs to
consider the artist's intent if he is to arrive at a
meaningful measure of the success or failure of the
resulting art.
There is no use criticizing the Side a Band for
being a commercial sell-out; that is their reason
for being. If the Eraserheads are successful, it is
more a by-product rather than the purpose of their
art. By the same token, it does no good to bemoan
Joey Ayala's lack of commercial success; his musical
approach precludes widespread without compromising
his vision.
On the other hand, skilled ensembles such as the
Jerks, Put3Ska and the Bodhisattvas are guaranteed
to give one a good time at the club, but their
impact on the culture is negligible compared with
the Eraserheads, who it is widely known can barely
play their instruments.
That"A" Word
Let me start out by saying that there is no more
useless word in the current critical vocabulary than
"alternative". Its meaning has been stretched to the
breaking point, so much so that it now means the
exact opposite of its original meaning. At one time,
a band that played "alternative" music could be
expected to sound different from anything you had
heard before. Nowadays, to say that a band plays
"alternative" rock is to say that it sounds just
like any other band. Alternative rock is Top 40.
It wasn't always this way. In the beginning,
"alternative" was a useful distinction.
The word first came to be used in connection to
music during the mid-to late-'80s. Pinoy rock has
lost steam as the '70s ended, and was effectively
dead at this time. There was a small but loud
underground scene at the start of the decade
centering around the punk bands that played in high
school gyms and dives such as Katrina's, but as far
as I know they had not used the word "alternative"
in connection with what they were doing. In any
case, most of them had disappeared during the
recession following the Aquino assassination. The
only bands making a living were playing in hotel
lounges.
The word "alternative" first began to be bandied
about with the emergence of protest singers such as
Jess Santiago and Gary Granada, and especially Joey
Ayala and his band, Bagong Lumad.
Ayala, in fact, made a point of telling his audience
-- first in Davao and later in Manila -- that Bagong
Lumad meant "new native" or "alternative". He was
certainly one of the first to consider his music an
alternative to the music currently popular, which
was the usual radio crap.
Around the same time, other bands began to appear in
such new venues as Red Rocks, and old ones such as
Mayric's. Slowly, a scene emerged.
All of this was largely ignored by the music
industry, which at this time was enamored of novelty
rap acts and syrupy pop crooners and found little
commercial potential in rock bands and protest
singers.
As the '80s turned in the '90s, musicians started
thinking of themselves as playing "alternative"
music, which largely meant that they had an audience
that was too small to attract record company
interest. Mainly for their own satisfaction, they
began to record and produce their own independent
albums, which they often marketed themselves at
their concerts.
But even during these early days, there was no one
"alternative: sound. The label covered everything
from the protest folk of Jess Santiago, to the
ethnic experimentation of Joey Ayala, to the roots
of the Jerks. The one thing they had in common was
that their music was too adventurous in either
subject matter or form to attract the attention of
the play-it-safe mainstream music establishment.
Two things changed this forever: the commercial
success of an erstwhile "alternative" band, the
Eraserheads; and the Bistro sa Amoranto concert in
which record company executives realized the
potential market for this newfangled "alternative"
thing.
The rest is a matter of record.
Now, of course, "alternative" is nothing more than a
marketing tool. You can actually go to a record
store and find discs that bear the sticker
"alternative music." Ariel Rivera's joke has come
true; nowadays, he's the alternative.
The point of all this, I guess is that much of the
vitality of rock 'n' roll -- Pinoy or otherwise --
lies in its rebellious spirit. To be "alternative"
means to violate conventions.
When rock 'n' roll was in its infancy and pop music
means easy listening, it was all alternative. By the
'70s, when rock was past its prime and had become
big business, punk rock itself evolved into
"alternative rock", and musicians are continuously
trying to violate its hegemony over the airwaves and
the record business by embracing new forms at an
ever-accelerating rate -- dance, trance, ambient --
that fly in the face of convention.
But given the realities of the marketplace, where
music is above all product, yesterday's alternative
is today's mainstream. New trends are continuously
emerging in reaction to the old, but the music
business is so huge and powerful that it can co-opt,
package and market these trends as fast as they
emerge, and the cutting edge is only one step ahead
of the mainstream, no matter how far out it may seem
at first.
I recently had the opportunity to hold a discussion
with students of the College of Mass Communication
as part of a course called Music in Broadcasting, in
which they proposed a model for "alternative" music.
The main opposed to "mainstream" music. The main
characteristic of alternative music, according to
this model, was that it existed to question the
status quo -- not just the norms of the mainstream
music industry, but of society at large as well.
The main problem with such a model, I argued, was
that the norms of the mainstream were constantly
shifting. The music industry was like a giant amoeba
-- it was so big that it could absorb an independent
movement outside it with very little effort. An
example of this is the phenomenon of small
"independent" labels is being distributed by giant
music conglomerates, an arrangement which is
currently perceived to be mutually beneficial.
As an example, the Eraserheads might have been
perceived at one point as subverting the norms of
the music industry, through their use of putang ina
in one song, their rejection of slick production
values, their adherence to the do-it-yourself ethos
and their refusal to follow the rules of
self-promotion, i.e., lip-synching on TV variety
shows, etc.. Now, of course, these very qualities
have been shown to be the large part of their appeal
and their record company, which knows better to mess
with a good thing, lets them do pretty much what
they want. All of which begs the question: Who is
now subverting who?
The dilemma of rock 'n' roll, then, is basically the
same as the dilemma of the revolutionary. Once you
succeed in overthrowing the establishment, you
become the establishments, and it is only a matter
of time before a new generation of rebels emerges.
"Tigbak Rak"
Speaking of rebellion, an interesting sidelight in
the history of Pinoy rock 'n' roll would be when
activists first learned to dance.
Nowadays, of course, it is not all surprising to
find a gaggle of workers belonging to the more
bohemian fringe of the NGO world -- with their batik
clothing, ethnic accessories and Mojo sandals --
doing the reggae to the music of Grupong Pendong at
70's Bistro. Horrifying, maybe, but not surprising.
But there was a time when the more doctrinaire among
the young Left considered rock ' n' roll to be
bourgeois, decadent, imperialist music, churned out
by the capitalist music industry to erode the
resolve of the proletariat.
There was a time when folk music was the only
acceptable revolutionary music, coming as it did
from the masses. Bob Dylan was booed by folk purists
at the Newport Music Festival in 1965 because they
thought he had "sold out" by playing rock 'n' roll
with an electric band.
At one point, I could tell a friend's political
inclinations by whether he preferred Blowin' in the
Wind to Like a Rolling Stone.
I don't really know when activists first learned to
dance. One scholar figures that it was during one of
the street protest in the '80s when Buklod played
their anthem, Tumindig Ka.
In any case, it would certainly counts as one of the
turning points in the history of Pinoy rock 'n'
roll.
Where is all of this leading?
For one thing, the "message" of rock 'n' roll -- and
before its meaning -- isn't only in lyrics.
Un the early days, for instance, what the old fogies
found most disturbing wasn't the lyrics -- most of
which were admittedly thinly-veiled references to
sex. The term "rock 'n' roll" is after all derived
from a euphemism for sexual intercourse.
The music itself was aimed directly at the nether
regions: syncopation, distortion, volume, the use of
microtonal "blue notes" -- all of these combined to
bring out the darker, more instinctual urges of the
listener.
Rock 'n' roll was Dionysian where classical music
was Apollonian. It celebrated the body through its
invitation to dance. No wander the conservatives
called it "jungle music". It would take a while
before this would be considered a compliment.
We have been talking about "alternative" music as
that which questions the status quo, i.e., "protest"
music in its broadest sense. Unfortunately, most
musicians who set out to do this type of music
concerns themselves almost entirely with the lyrics.
There is a school of protest music, running from
Joey Ayala, Bulod, Grupong Pendong and Gary Granada
back to Asin, Jess Santiago, Heber Bartolome bands
in order pioneers of "politically-correct" music
making.
All of them have been successful in composing lyrics
decrying social injustices and economic inequities,
they have not been equally successful in setting
this lyrics to music. This is a concern, since in
order to work as protest, "protest music" first of
all has to work as music.
The Uses of Pop
Another question that frequently crops up in
connection with the new music, is whether kids from
bands in order to voice their alleged angst and
alienation from mainstream society.
The whole "Generation X" thing has by now become a
chicken-and-egg question: is alternative music angry
and nihilistic became the kids making it are, or
because they think music -- in order to be
"alternative" -- has to be angry and nihilistic?
Who can tell? As with "alternative" music, the media
and the marketing conglomerates routinely
cannibalize the youth culture to such a degree that
"Generation X" and all the attitudes it supposedly
represents are today little more than a gimmick for
selling Pepsi and Levi's jeans. Today's angry rant
is tomorrow's commercial jingle. The supposed
generational rift between "baby boomers" and
"slackers" is little more than a tool for niche
marketing.
In any case, the reasons we listen to pop music are
far more complex than any of the preceding "rockcrit"
celebrations might suggest.
The uses of pop are various as a subcultural badge
reinforcing one's allegiances to a particular group
and world-view; as a springboard for motional
response; as noise for drowning out some other
noise; as pressure valve for adolescent or adult
anxieties; as background muzak.
Any or all of these might come into play in
explaining why we like a particular song.
Rock 'n' roll, in particular, invites a visceral
response in which all sorts of non-verbal and
non-rational processes come into play.
One critic, Dave Marsh, once defined rock 'n' roll
as the expression of a truth. Another critic, whose
name escapes me now, held that the underlying theme
of all rock 'n' roll is freedom.
Truth and freedom. Things we all aspire to. Which
perhaps explains the continuing vitality of pop
music, even in the face of the concerted efforts by
the media and entertainment conglomerates to reduce
it to a marketing formula.
*From Ani 1997, a publication of the Cultural Center
of the Philippines
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