Talk to Her

"Where words fail, music speaks," wrote Hans Christian Andersen the fairy-tale writer. "Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and which cannot remain silent," wrote Victor Hugo. Voltaire phrased it more bitterly: "Anything too stupid to be said is sung."

I've never been good at talking about my feelings, and somewhere along the way, I learned how to let other people's songs talk for me. I'd gotten rather good at it--so good, in fact, that I didn't expect to find anyone who could learn the same hidden language, and use it to such great and devastating effect. But many powerful things can come unexpected.

Forgive me for this brief foray into too-personal territory. If you know the story, well then, you know the story. If not, don't ask.

09.20.2004, 2am

1. No Ordinary Morning - Chicane
2. Eleven Eleven - Silverman
3. Beautiful - Mandalay
4. Out of Time - Blur
5. Fear - Sarah McLachlan
6. Everything in its Right Place - Radiohead
7. Drive - Bic Runga
8. In My Secret Life- Leonard Cohen
9. Fool on a Hill - The Beatles
10. Heaven - Lamb
11. Shri Krishna
12. Laughing as I Pray - K's Choice
13. Overflowing Ashtray Heart - Silverman
14. Home - Zero 7
15. Good Girl Down- Morcheeba (featuring Bahamadia)
16. Sun Again - Kinnie Star
17. I Loved You So What - Ani DiFranco
18. (I'll Never Get to See You Sleep*) - Enya

*not the real title

"She's the one who would've taken me to my first all-ages show..."

Oh, but that was a good gig last Saturday night. I haven't had that kind of fun in a long time, and I hadn't really expected that the Admit One gig at Saquijo's (featuring Jazz Kidding, Twisted Halo, Sugarfree, Cambio, and Urbandub) was going to be the blast that it was. Everything was just right: the cozy venue, the enthusiastic audience, the bands' musician friends (Buddy Zabala, Diego Castillo, Aia de Leon) who showed up to jam--the bands just fed off this favorable confluence of events, making it a Really Good Night. At one point, you couldn't tell where the audience ended or the band began, because everyone was just dancing around, having a mess o' a good time. Margie was up on her feet and dancing with Thor, and even Milwer was pounding the table and rocking out. Which does not, in the normal universe, happen at all.

"How many gigs have you been to?" Milwer asked Margie at one point. "This is my second!" he said, proudly. (The answer to that question, if any of you are wondering, is "Don't even know how to start counting.") We're all glad to see Milwer expanding his horizons, although he may have changed his mind Sunday if he woke up with the hangover I thought he was going to have. If he doesn't, I think the Scoobies are going to the Sugarfree gig next Friday at Peligro, new gig addict Milwer in tow. We're already looking forward to the day, maybe two or three years down the line, when Zo is ready for his first gig. With any luck, I'll be standing right there, holding a candle and crying tears of joy, the ninang to this music christening.

Hello?

Got up freakishly early today (in magazine writer terms, 7:30am) when Anne Poblador called to ask if we were interested in a phone interview with Renée Olstead, the 15-year-old actress (Still Standing) who's just released her self-titled album. The phone interview was at 9:30am--not much time to prepare!--but I said yes anyway. I put myself back to sleep till 9am, and woke up just in time to greet Renée with a gruff but lovable newly woken voice.

The interview went okay, although her youth definitely shows in the way she answered the questions. Q: So you're a singer and an actress. How do you manage to do both? A: "Well, my schedule's busy, but it's fun!" Her (non-)eloquence aside, her voice on the album--covers of American songbook standards--is astonishingly mature. I really was quite impressed, although I had to bite my tongue before I blurted out the thought running through my head: "I really like your voice now, but can you imagine what it would be like when you've finally gotten a real heartbreak? Wow!" Normally, I would also say that her torch songs would improve after she'd lost her virginity, but this being LA...well.

One of my favorite interviews, but also the one I'm most ashamed of, is the one I did with Jack White of the White Stripes. I didn't know much about them then, and I'd only gotten the disc the night before. I knew they were, like, Big in Europe and America, but this was also before I heard Elephant and fell in love with it. Also, the early schedule (8:30am!) and my late nights meant that I was still groggy when I spoke to Jack. I still have the interview tape, though I'm embarrassed to listen to myself again, drawling like a drunk, eating my words like a retard. And asking questions like, "So, what is the hardest button to button?" Thankfully Jack was game.

I used to think that Tori Amos was my dream interview subject, but that was only until the record label sent over the interview disc of her talking about Scarlet's Walk, and I heard firsthand what all those other interviewers were saying, about her verbal pretzels. And, my, but she does go on and on. So passionately about everything, including places that were her friends who were gay and had AIDS and were betrayed, etc. etc. She sounded like she was on a peyote vision quest.

I think by now you've done more interviews than I have. Tell me about your memorable interviews? And who were you really thrilled to have met or spoken to?

The Minor Fall and the Major Lift

I stumbled on this article in today's Salon, written by a guy who was in a poetry class with Jeff Buckley. I don't know what about today or my mood, but whatever it is, the article's exacerbating it. It's just one of those days when you wake up from a long, strange dream (one of my many apocryphal dreams, a recurring theme since I was a child), with leftover emotions that I can't shake no matter how many cups of coffee I drink.

Anyway, as you know, I'm signing up for some postgraduate classes next sem. Frankly, I don't think I miss the classroom setting, especially since I've been teaching workshops for a few years now and will be unused to being the lectured instead of the lecturer. But I do think it's going to help my writing, since I feel that I've been working for so, so, so long in magazines that I'm starting to get into a writing rut. Or a career rut.

Sorry for the aimless angsting. This may or may not have something to do with the fact that I'm turning 30 in about two and a half months, or it may just be a temporary mood thing that'll go away as soon as I take another nap. Also, I'm going up to Sagada tomorrow night, and that's always meant weird mood swings for me. I don't have my copy of Jeff Buckley's Grace right now, but if I did, that's what I'd be listening to right now: the complex guitars, the fragile vocals, the strange, painful, beautiful lyrics.

Right now, the song playing in my head is Jeff Buckley singing a Leonard Cohen song:

I've heard there was a secret chord
that David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't care much for music, do you?
It goes like this:
the fourth, the fifth,
the minor fall and the major lift.
The baffled king composing 'Hallelujah'
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

So much in that song about a song. Where does music come from? Divine inspiration and ecstasy, or brokenness and despair? Or both: "I don't care if you heard the holy or the broken Hallelujah."

I had that discussion with my friends a long time ago, when I asked them if they'd rather be happy or good at their art, given that the two were mutually exclusive. For years and years, the pretentious little snots that we were said we'd rather produce good art than be happy, until we really got going on life, and finally got to taste what real unhappiness was like. Then we all decided that it wasn't all that it was cracked up to be; when I asked them the question again, years after college, everyone agreed: happiness over art.

Well. I'm counting on God not being that cruel, that good art and happiness can't be had in the same lifetime. I'm tempted to say, too, that I wouldn't care if it were a short life, just as long as it was fulfilling and happy--but, well, that's not the kind of thing you say when you're about to go on a trip.

Jeff Buckley walked into a river and disappeared when he was 30. He produced good art. I sure as hell hope he was happy.

Here's a poem that he wrote:

Lead Role

Oh, crap. Another Olympic Smoker gig missed. I'm surprised they're still talking to me, after all the broken "Yeah, I'm going to be there!" promises. I once paid P300 to go see them at a gig, which remains the highest entrance fee anyone's ever paid to go see OS, and I've been coasting along on that distinction for a long time, and my groupie rights have run out.

In any of the imaginary bands I've been in, I've always been either the enigmatic lead guitarist or the quiet drummer who holds everyone together. At best, I sang back-up, if at all. I'd melt under the limelight; it's the sidelines I'm cut out for. (This is, of course, ignoring the whole question of Well, what can you really do?)

I don't think many people know of my mysterious musical past. I mean, why do you suppose I know nearly all the lyrics to The Sound of Music by heart to this day? For one thing, my mom loved the movie, and so as children we learned to like it, too, by osmosis, along with the entire ABBA discography. But there was also those few months were I'd been named to the role of little Gretl Von Trapp in a school production that, mercifully, did not materialize. I can still sing most of the songs, though. Scary.

In real life, though, I'm pretty satisfied with my antiheroic role as music critic. You hear that, people? I'm a music critic. Hala! I'll come to your gigs, drink beer, think bad thoughts about every single aspect of your performance, and write about it. Then I'll eat your children.

Can you tell I'm trying to avoid finishing writing my reviews today? Sigh. Not too excited about anything I'm writing, except perhaps for the just-locally-released Liz Phair and Grandaddy's Sumday. Also got the new Morrissey, which is pretty good. Just not finding it easy to write about any of it.

Smokin'

For a while there, Yvette and I thought we were cursed never to see Olympic Smoker perform again. Ever. After having watched -- and enjoyed -- their set at last year's MTV Ink acoustic series, we kept making plans to watch them again, plans which never amounted to anything. I'd get sick, or she would be at work, or vice versa. Once, preposterously enough, we arrived at Freedom Bar mere minutes after their set had ended. The ever-growing amount of missed gigs began to assume somewhat ridiculous proportions, and we were slowly starting to believe that we were under some weird curse or spell.

Anyway, last night, the spell was broken. It didn't take much, in the end, although had they gone on at 10 PM as scheduled, we would have just missed them again, as we were still scarfing Japanese food around that time. Luckily their set was delayed, and just like that, the curse was lifted, and Yvette and I finally got to watch Conch and Denise and their bandmates rock out again. We had never seen them 'plugged-in' before, and it was a great experience: Denise's singing was impressive throughout, especially on one of the Skunk Anansie covers, and Conch wielded her guitar with exceptional skill and utter coolness. Their originals are good too; I particularly enjoyed something called (if I'm not mistaken) "Soul in Love."

So I was thinking, all of the office bands are pretty good. I like Bagetsafonik, Peach is pretty amazing, and I even enjoyed Sky Church at last year's Slam. "Dapat merong sariling production night ang mga PULP bands," I texted Denise. And then I suggested that the people in the office who aren't currently performers or in bands could form a band of their own. "Pwwweede," Denise texted back. "Sama-sama kayo nila Dave at Paul, sama niyo na rin si Mon. :) Si KF vocalist, Pete Yorn lahat ng kanta. :)" (Let's not forget The Field Mice, I reminded her). I thought we could call ourselves Yorn to be Wild, or Drunken Master, in honor of Dave (and you!), but since you're the sole designated frontperson maybe we could just call ourselves K Fidelity. KF for short. Bwahahaha!

A Walk Across the Rooftops

Am taking a break from failing to get anything written. Listening to The Blue Nile while watching the night turn gradually into the morning. Songs of bittersweet love amidst "The neon and the cigarettes/ Rented rooms and rented cars/ The crowded streets, the empty bars." Paul Buchanan is far from the best vocalist in the world, but his voice carries a certain weariness tempered by optimism that fits these songs and these words so perfectly. It is the voice of someone who has had the shit kicked out of him repeatedly by love and his smoke-choked, neon-lit city, but who will never stop wandering through and appreciating both. I listen, close my eyes and imagine Makati through a rain-speckled windshield, sidewalks and lampposts, people in late-night convenience stores, car headlights like fireflies. On certain nights, in certain states of mind, you are unbothered by the sleaze and the squalor, don't mind so much how so many things in the city and in your life are made of slapdash decisions and regrets and other junk. Your heart is heedless but not ignorant, it fills with an informed yet unflinching foolishness. A quiet happiness and a quiet sadness intermingle, as the strains of distant horns and a gentle mechanical heartbeat and Buchanan's wavering croon see you through the night.


PS. Happy discovery department: while looking for links to spruce up this blog entry with, learned that The Blue Nile are releasing their first new album in eight years. If they ever release it here, Kristine (tell me which label people to threaten with defenestration to ensure that they do), I call dibs on the review. :)

Breaking Out (like prisoners, acne, and new bands)

And speaking of band competitions and judges, I got a phone call from Cait on Saturday, alerting me to the little-known fact that I was supposed to judge the finals of the Goodyear event. The screening was about three weeks ago, and it was a long night, listening to eight amateur (and I do mean amateur) bands do a cover song and an original--a song for the sponsors, something about freedom...and tires. Well, they didn't specify "tires," but you know that's what they meant. They were looking for a song they could use on the ads for their new line of tires. I was planning to subtract ten points from bands who used "Goodyear" in their lyrics, but nearly everyone did anyway.

The bands were so, so charmingly inexperienced. Cait didn't know what to make of the fact that the bands didn't even know what a "tech rider" is; one of them thought that the organizers were going to provide all the instruments. There was an all girl band (called No Boys Allowed, I believe), whose members looked like they were just out of high school and had just learned to play their instruments a week ago. They prayed before and after their performance, did a Cranberries cover, and launched into a not-bad alternative rock Goodyear composition. They must've finished dead last, though, not least because their guitar was badly grounded, and was emitting a loud droning noise throughout their set, and the lead singer looked like she was going to cry because of it.

Of the 13 bands who signed up for the competition, eight showed up, and four were picked out for the finals: Maharlika, Maryz Ark, Psywar, and Sunflower Day Camp--playing, respectively, prog/hard rock, Britpoppy indie-y music, heavy metal, and ska.

Needless to say, I wasn't too keen on going back for the finals, but there I was again, having given up a dinner-and-movie date with myself to pencil in scores into little boxes while praying that my eardrums or my brain wouldn't explode. I was an hour and a half late going to Le Pavilion, but things still hadn't started. I'd been requested to be there by 6:30, was told the bands were going to start at 7:30. They started playing at 9pm. And my low blood sugar by then probably resulted in all four finalists getting lower scores than they deserved.

To be fair, the four bands really did show some promise, and most of them showed a marked improvement from the first time I heard them play. There was a bigger crowd than expected, and before long, there was a good mosh pit going, and people were body-surfing and headbanging, even to the Britpop band. And everyone worked the crowd like they were pros. But they were amateurs, still. Maharlika mic-tested over Marc Abaya and Patty Laurel's onstage spiel, prompting Marc to ask if they were on drugs. (He should ask.) And the lyrics were sometimes so bad they were laughable and nauseating at the same time ("Let your wheels be the best one!").

Sunflower Day Camp emerged the winner, the clean, happy joy of their music defeating the testosterone vote on the panel. I'd say that they were the best band there--they got my vote, too--but personal biases aside, how do you compare bands whose music is so different from one another? Sunflower Day Camp won because their music was fun, accessible, rich, and melodic, and because their performance was so entertaining and tight. I don't know if that makes them the best, though. Each band had a different style, a different appeal, different merits.

That said, if there's anything I'd like to hear from the amateur band scene these days, it's something original. I don't mind if it's not too good yet. I'd just like to hear something new.



==========
And in other news...when did other people start reading this blog and posting comments? Holy shit!

Because They Got High

Two questions were burning in my mind as yesterday's RX Band Breakout came to a close. One, what drugs were the judges on, and two, where could I get some? Personal biases aside, I do honestly believe that of the six bands that made it to the finals, Matilda rocked the hardest -- and they didn't even place. Their new song is good, as good as anything on their EP if not better, and their sound -- thunderous drumming, occasionally razorlike guitar, keening violin and all -- delivers a real kick, unlike most of the other acts. It was weird seeing them decked out in Bobson-sponsored clothes, though, and not their usual mix of goth/grunge/glam gear.

I still can't believe Pop Clinic and Menaya took third and second place, respectively. The former band, while not lacking in enthusiasm, was somewhat diction-challenged (as a friend pointed out), and diction-challeged is not something you want to be when you're covering "Semi-Charmed Life." Besides which, their original song sounded like something by Ang Tunay na Amo. If they were going to give out prizes for unabashed 80s-flavored kabaduyan, they should have honored Bluecheese instead, who at least displayed more power and chops. Second-placer Menaya, on the other hand, displayed a tragic Sting/The Police fixation -- tragic because their lead singer can't quite pull off that essential lead singer duty of singing passably well.

As I write this, something scrabbling at the back of my head is telling me to get back to work. Of course, lately my 'work' has consisted mostly of staring at a blank screen until I can feel my brain committing slow hara-kiri. I think I needed to put together a brief blog entry just to reassure myself that my ability to write was not something I had somehow misplaced, like house keys or my sanity. It's been a week since the last entry, a week that -- aside from some bright spots for which I am immensely, eternally grateful -- has been mostly unrelenting dull aggravation, occasionally relieved by outright confusion or sadness. Don't worry, I haven't completely lost my perspective; I realize that things could be much, much worse (and that, for some of my friends, they are). Here's hoping things look up this week.

PS. Just in time for the US election season, the Presidents of the United States of America are back. I was never a rabid fan of theirs, but this review makes the new release seem worth checking out, at least.

Dear Me

Got a letter from myself today -- "like a morse code message was sent/ from me to me". Actually, it must have popped up in my Inbox last Monday, but I haven't been checking that address very regularly. Apparently sometime near the end of last April, I was distracting myself from the things I should have been doing, as usual, and I ended up giving this a try.

(this message was composed on Wed, Apr 28, 2004)

Dear Me,

Happy Birthday! While it may seem mind-manglingly pathetic to be greeting your own damn self on your own damn birthday, I'm pretty sure that by now, you have already been greeted by a veritable plethora of friends and family members. If not, it is time to kill yourself. Thirty years is a pretty good run, anyway.

Ha ha! Just kidding. Hope you didn't follow those instructions before reading this second paragraph. If you did, you're even stupider than I am now.

Cheers,
Me

The tone of mocking contempt disturbs me. Now I want to go back in time and kick my own ass.

Lots of good stuff coming up, musicwise. Yvette will be glad to know that kd lang has a new album out, a concept-type thingie that's a tribute to Canadian songwriters. And while that sounds slightly painful, it must be noted that said Canadian songwriters include Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, and Jane Siberry. Joni Mitchell herself has just released another anthology, Bjork is coming out with her Medulla, and Tears For Fears, suddenly realizing that they're mostly useless without each other, have reformed and completed their new album, Everybody Loves a Happy Ending. I loved Seeds of Love so I'm looking forward to that one.

Am wondering whether to drop by this Deadpan Society gig later. Bagetsafonik, Boldstar, The Late Isabel and, um, Stonefree are playing. Still don't know how to tackle the Stonefree article... which is already a week late, according to our new schedule. Perhaps going to BSM later will help me sort it out. Or just choke me with cigarette smoke 'til I relapse. ;p

PS. Noticed the new Morrissey album on your desk. Excitement! Let's all do the Morrissey dance!

Whiskey Tango Ghosts

Tanya Donelly's new album is out today.

Oh my God.

Please stand by for further announcements.

Turning

Thanks, Kristine! And thanks to you and Margie for everything else: the visit, the late-night nachos, the music, your company, and of course, all the fish. :) The occasional suicide attempt aside, Inky, Blinky and Clyde seem to be doing fine. They don't eat much though; the slice of pizza I left in their bowl yesterday is still there. On the other hand, they love tequila.

(For the benefit of any members of the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Fishies who may be reading this: I'm kidding).

Oh, and thanks for the link! When I first discovered the Hitchhiker's "trilogy," So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish was my favorite. I've lent out all those books so much that I don't even know where my copy is anymore; good to be able to reread it online.

Yesterday I put together a mix CD -- to mark the occasion, I suppose, and also because I've been meaning to put together a nice feelgood set of songs for July for a while now. July's almost over, of course, but am hoping this mix carries over and becomes a good soundtrack for future days of hanging out, catching up, accomplishing things, and so forth. Am pretty happy with it so far; tried to put songs that I'm not overly familiar with, but that make me feel good nonetheless. It's got Built to Spill, Boldstar, Magnet, The Decemberists, Teenage Fanclub, and so on. Not relentlessly cheery, but mostly upbeat. Will make copies for you guys. :)

Worst musical moment on my birthday: Stonefree mangling one of my favorite U2 songs, "All I Want Is You," live at Tapika. Sorry, guys. But it's just wrong.

Best musical moment on my birthday: Sitting in your car with you and Margie, parked in front of my house, listening to the last strains of REM's "At My Most Beautiful" and all of "Nightswimming." :)


Somewhere tonight the stars still shine
somehow I've got to re-align
fuelled by the promise of the sun
pulled by the charm this night has spun
-- "Near You," Teenage Fanclub

..and now, a special message from your sponsors

~

Happy Birthday, Luis!
There's a party in the fishbowl, and everyone's invited.

~

Dreams of Purplechickens

You and me, both. I've been thinking a lot--well, okay, some--about my life and career lately, not least because I'd been invited by an old friend to come speak during Career Week at the school where he's serving as principal. I've also invited K2 to come along, by the way, and you should see the amount of work she's put into preparing for tomorrow's 15-minute speech. Two solid days of work, reams of research, and even handouts. Me, I haven't even pinned down what I should say to these kids, so they wouldn't tune out and/or start pelting me with their shoes.

I suppose I could just talk about A Career In Writing, which I should be qualified to give, but how many of those 60-70 kids are actually going to want to go into our line of work? Two years ago, when I showed up at the same school to talk to that batch of high school about-to-be-graduates, I ended up talking about Doing What You Love and How it Could (Possibly) Make You a Good Amount of Money. My point was simply that it does no harm to dream. And besides, the people who make scads of money at their job tend to be very good at what they do, and you have a better shot at being very good at something you love doing.

I don't think I'm going to come in there this year and hand them the same line. It's not original, first of all, and it's harder to tell people about dreams when times are so tough and the kids who're using their college degrees to answer phones in call centers are the ones making tons o' cash. And it's not like I love everything that I do, these days. My wings feel a little cramped, even here at the luxurious quarters we call our office.

There's something Neil Gaiman wrote on his journal that I like, though, the bit from his speech at the Harvey Awards where he gives advice to other comic book writers. He says:

I've learned over the years that everything is more or less the same amount of work, so you may as well set your sights high and try and do something really cool.

There are other people around who can do the mediocre, meat-and-potatoes work that anybody can do. So let them do that. You make the art that only you can make. You tell the stories only you can tell.

As a solution to various problems you may encounter upon the way, let me suggest this: Make Good Art.

Right now, I'm listening to your Purplechickens CD, Luis (stolen from your desk again--sorry!), thoroughly enjoying the music and, yes, wondering what the hell is up with that lead singer. Why persist in taking the mic when, um, you might not be the best vocalist out there? For the first time since I heard this band, now I think I know why Aldus is singing: because he's making the art only he can make. Granted, it's sometimes off-key, sometimes annoying, not-so-pretty vocal art, but hey, it's his. Besides, his band's doing great behind him--it sounds like they're doing what they like best, too.

Anyway, that's my thought for the day. Maybe one day, I'll find fulfillment doing something else, and I can balance the account only I can balance, make the business plan only I can make, answer the phone query only I can answer, or even flip the burger only I can flip. But right now I'm listening to music and writing the thoughts only I have, and it's okay. I'm hoping to improve at this, of course, because there's always room for improvement, even in the things we're uniquely suited to. But the important thing is to do it.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Oh, great. Now whenever someone searches for 'Purplechickens' on Google, our blog's going to come up."

"To all those people who believe in crazy, stupid ideas"

July mixes? Count me in. I think I need to listen to, and compile, some hopeful music. I do hope the Long Dark February of the Soul really is coming to a close now.

Been thinking a lot, lately, about the kind of life I'm leading and the kind of life I really want, about all these unfinished bits of business and loose ends and persistent regrets, not to mention quasi-plans that I haven't quite gotten off the ground yet. I love writing about music for a music magazine, obviously, but I always feel like there's more I want to be doing, both within my job description and outside of it. Am always putting things off, it seems -- getting buried in the everyday. Going along with stuff. Watching episodes of CSI. Not that I plan to stop doing the latter.

It was nice to learn about someone who doesn't seem capable of distracting or second-guessing herself into inaction. Of course, she's young yet. ;p

Remember R.K. Millholland and how he managed to get his Something Positive readers to "employ" him to create comics for a year? Pia's story is kind of like that. For various good reasons, she really really wants to go to this World Youth Festival in Barcelona. Trouble is, she had no money. But she figured: if only 200 people gave me only P300 each, that would be P60,000 -- and I'd have enough for airfare, registration, etcetera. So she posted her offer on her blog: for P300, she will do a good deed of your choice (plant a tree, donate books, help the aged, etc). In two days, 80+ people had pledged about P25,000. Gasp! Now, if only I could get people to give me money for a not-so-worthy cause. Like so that I could buy CDs. Or comics.

Found out about her through Kidlat; we're thinking about documenting the whole thing, and maybe making a short film out of it. Which is nice, because it would be like one dream leading to another -- I've always wanted to work on a film with Kidlat, we just never came across the appropriate subject matter.

Got a printer cartridge yesterday, will finally be able to print covers for my mix CDs again, yay! Found some nice graphics that will go well with the compilations I'm making for my brother's store. Theme music for today: "Everyone Says Hi" by David Bowie, "My Best Friend" by the Incredible Moses Leroy, "In the Afternoon" by Narda. Happy, hopeful stuff. For all its doubts and questions and insane hectic-ness so far, here's hoping July turns out well for us all.

The Mix You Make

I'm sorry for not posting in a while. I was caught up by your thoughts re: "Music to Shop By," and I got paralyzed, having much too much to say on the topic of mix tapes.
 
The first mix tape I got was from my friend Bob, who had, back when we were new friends early in college, promised to make a cassette copy of a Pearl Jam b-sides CD he'd gotten. I badgered him for weeks about the copy--dude, how long does it take to copy the EP?--until he finally said, "You can't hurry these things! Making tapes is an art."
 
I must've gotten mix tapes from other people prior to that, but I just thought of them as samplers. As in, "Here's some music that you might like. I put it all on one tape for your convenience." But Bob made me rethink mix tapes. There was an art to it? Cool.
 
That first mix tape is still in my shelves somewhere, but I have to say that Bob has made many, many cool mix tapes since then. We were inseparable friends throughout college, so he made tapes that I've come to think as soundtracks playing over the mild dramas of those years. When he moved back with his family after college (his dad was working in Vietnam), we would send tapes to each other along with our letters, and the mixes were partly music he'd discovered and wanted me to hear, partly songs that were "Well, this is what's happening to me now," and partly "So this is what I think you must feel like, so here's a song for you."
 
Bob's since moved back to the Philippines, and we haven't traded mixes in a while. But I've made mix tapes (and CDs) for other people since then, some of whom were mix virgins before then, and who have since taken it up as a full-blown preoccupation. ;) If there's something I hate about my job, though, it's the way it intimidates people from making mixes for me. I'd make a CD for a new friend, then I'd hear how much s/he likes it, but when I ask when I should expect mine, they beg off. If I had a peso for every time I've heard, "I can't--you're a music guru! It's intimidating!"well...I'd have four or five pesos. But still. (Wow, I'm a music guru!)
 
Thankfully, it doesn't take people too long to figure out that I'm really not intimidating, or that I'm not too much of a music guru, either,  so they eventually get over it and hand me their homemade CDs, sometimes complete with their own cover art. Recently, I've had an extraordinary run of good mixes, due largely to the fact that my friends and I went through a period of personal upheavals that began last February. Mostly turbulence of the romantic sort, which as you know, always makes for good mixes.
 
Different people, different styles. Conch's mix was a mostly calm, intuitive compilation of songs, with one or two blades hidden in the middle to rend your heart when you least expect it. Thor gave me a narrative mix that was sad, emotional, and also--because that's how we deal with things in real life--with a lot of wry humor. Margie's was fun, which is a weird thing to say about something that dealt with some difficult times. But her mix was a good jumble of musical styles and moods; it felt, I guess, not like the other mixes where I felt I was sitting down with my friends and hearing them tell me about their lives, but I felt like I was watching a movie of her life, and this was the soundtrack to it.
 
All of the mixes were cathartic for us; the difference in styles is just our different ways of dealing with personal crises. We're all in recovery now, thank God,  if not completely there yet. February was a long month that lasted all the way to June, and despite all the good music it's given us, I don't feel any regret saying goodbye to it. We're now working on our July mixes, which if nothing else, will be full of hopeful songs.

One-Hit Wonderland

Last Sunday was a good day, a day of flying kites, tossing frisbees, eating sandwiches and muffins, and hanging out with wonderful friends. You know this, of course; you were there. :) And as you know, I ended up asking ten year-old Zo what his favorite band is. "Weezer," he said. (Whoa, I thought). What about your second favorite band? "Manic Street Preachers," he answered. And the third? He thought for a moment, then decided: "The Beatles."

I was impressed. If someone had asked me the same question when I was ten, I probably would have answered: General Public, maybe Spandau Ballet, and finally, probably A-ha (bands that, as we all know, have had a deep and lasting influence on popular music and are still extremely relevant today -- har har). Not half as nice a list. Of course, Zo has the advantage of having a mom with cool listening habits. :) Or, to put it another way, he has a great tour guide.

I remember that when I first started buying music on my own (or rather, when I first started telling my parents what I wanted -- I was not earning my own money then), I had this sense, of music having a geography of sorts. There were fairly well-defined areas, and places to visit. My brother and I lived in Pop City, where all the music of the moment was broadcast, all of the 80s cheese and glory, from Madonna to Michael Jackson. Over there was Beatles-land: a very popular location, almost a tourist trap, but no less a must-see for that. (Kuya and I eventually traveled there via Beatles Ballads, not a proper album but still containing enough good songs to make us staunch admirers). Our parents lived in the Old Music, a place we would visit by listening to their tapes of Frank Sinatra and Manhattan Transfer and the Ray Coniff singers when they were at work. In the distance were islands belonging to the Doors, Led Zeppelin, The Who, the Rolling Stones. I always meant to explore those places more thoroughly, but I ended up spending more time hanging out in the realms of Queen and David Bowie.

The Music World, as far as my young self could see (and hear), was, ultimately, manageable. I think I believed that I would eventually get around to hearing everything worthwhile. As I got older, though, listening to music -- along with everything else -- got a little more complicated. Bands came and went. Different genres and subgenres (and their attendant subcultures) reared their heads. Not everything good led to an island or city or state, sometimes a captivating tune just led to barren wastelands. (One started to define a personal One-Hit Wonderland, where one could confine all those misleading songs). I was probably in college when I figured, what the hell, it was no use mapping the world of music any longer. I would never see (or hear) all of it in my lifetime. I just had to trust that my travel guides -- music magazines, music video shows, friends' recommendations -- would keep me informed of any areas that deserved my attention. I had to accept that it would always be a world of fragments, and not the neat consistent landscape I once imagined.

Anyway, speaking of my bro, I've been putting together some mix CDs, for his store. It'll probably be a series instead of just one disc... KYCSmix.one will contain upbeat indie-pop stuff (Death Cab for Cutie, Stars, Shelleyan Orphan, Narda, Boldstar, etc), the second will have a soul/hip-hop selection (The Roots, India.Arie, Common, Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, etc), the third will have dancey, happy stuff (B-15 Project, Daft Punk, The Avalanches, Basement Jaxx, etc), and I'm still thinking of what the fourth CD should have. Four or five CDs total should be good enough. I'm not sure if the music will induce massive spree purchasing amongst customers, but maybe at the very least it'll cause them to linger a little longer in the store. :)

Music to Shop By

"Hey, can you make a CD of music to shop by?"

That was what my brother asked me, via text. He needed background music, for the fun funky clothing shop he co-owns with his wife Sarah, KYCS (plug plug). I was only too happy to agree to do so, but since I was losing my mind all last week with preparations for Pilipinas, I only got around to starting on my "shopping mix" now. "Sige. Anong gusto mo?" I texted back. "Britpoppy stuff, American alt-rock, synth-based pop stuff, hip-hop flava, chillout?" "Kahit ano!" he texted. "Lahat!"

Ah, a challenge. I thought about the kind of clothes Kuya Che and Sarah offer: colorful, fun, young stuff, from bikinis and board shorts to bags and patterned sandals and baggadocious pants. I miss their line of Hawaiian shirts for guys -- I had about three or four of those, and wore them to death. They tend not to repeat designs though, as they're always following their fashionable noses in whatever new direction they find interesting. So I'm thinking: happy, accessible, not-so-mainstream. Maybe Cibo Matto, Luscious Jackson. Maybe Ladytron, at a stretch. Or something from Erykah Badu's Worldwide Underground. Or even Stereolab! Emperor Tomato Ketchup might make for pretty good music to shop by (and may Stereolab and their fans forgive me for just writing that). Suggestions? :)

It's fun, to be thinking of a CD mix with a theme again. I used to be part of a group that would meet every month, to exchange mixes, and decide on the topic of the next mix. We did "Happy Wake-up" CDs, and "Great Cover Versions," and we were about to do "Deadly Sins" when the whole thing kind of bogged down. I think perhaps we took on too many members. We should have kept it to ten or less. :p Anyway, that's something I always thought we should do, at the office. And Kidlat and G have been wanting to do something like that too. Of course, if we do end up doing that -- what with our jobs, this blog, and everything -- we may finally make ourselves well and truly sick of music, or at least of thinking about music, once and for all. Then we will have to go and get jobs in the meat packing industry.

Playing Favorites

Today has been a day for favorites, old and new-ish. On the way to Ortigas, I was listening to Sugarfree, Yeah Yeah Yeahs (“Maps” and “Date with the Night” remain my favorites, but am really getting a kick out of “Y Control” and “Pin” now, as well), and Thrice (I never thought I’d be so into a “Joey band,” but “The Artist in the Ambulance” and “All That’s Left” are excellent). Listening to Thrice is a slightly dangerous proposition when you’re walking around, not just because it’s noisy enough to block out a lot of the background noises that help us navigate ourselves, but because sometimes it makes you want to punch someone -- not out of hatred, you understand, but out of sheer energetic glee, if that makes any sense.

At the office, aside from of course attending to my work (har har), I ended up playing a game of sorts with Joey, Dave, Denise and Cait. It started when Joey wondered out loud, who’s better looking, Barbie Almalbis or Kitchie Nadal? A real stumper, that one; I’m still stuck on it. Kitchie is Joey’s choice, unless, he specifies, we’re talking about the Hungry Young Poets-era Barbie with long hair. She was at her peak then, he says. Denise and I disagree, and say that short-haired Barbie is way cuter. This led to a rapid succession of other compare-and-contrast questions, some less shallow than others. Which is the better band, Bamboo or Rivermaya? “Are we talking about Rivermaya with Bamboo, or what?” Cait asked. Because otherwise, she and Denise vote for Bamboo, whereas the boys opted for Rivermaya (without Bamboo), as long as we’re not talking about the most recent album.

Masta Plann or Sun Valley Crew? Dave and Joey turned out to be big Plann fans -- am not familiar with MP’s stuff, so I will reserve judgment (though I do like SVC’s new CD). Avril Lavigne or Nelly Furtado? Nelly took most of the votes, with one vote for Avril (from Yvette, who had joined in via phone). What about the Eraserheads? We couldn’t think of a single Pinoy rock band that the Eraserheads would not completely blow away, at first, until I thought of bygone decades and suggested Juan dela Cruz versus E-heads. Joey voted for Juan dela Cruz. I think the rest of us remained undecided.

It soon degenerated into the merrily ridiculous (Voltes V versus Voltron, Superman versus MacGyver, Jack the Ripper versus the Headless Horseman), but no matter what two entities were being compared, relevant qualities were discussed with as much, er, intellectual rigor as possible. (“Voltes V is better because they didn’t have a stupid love angle,” Yvette insisted, while Joey rated Voltron higher based on a vaguely politically incorrect U.S. versus Japanese rationale). “Tom Cruise or Ira Cruz?” Joey queried. “Ira,” sighed Denise and Cait.

Later, inspired by our E-heads comparisons and a nice memory of the ride home after the Ink anniversary, I ended up playing most of Disc 2 of the Eraserheads Anthology, including “Huwag Kang Matakot” several times. What a great song, Dave and I agreed, nodding our heads in appreciation. It makes me happy just to hear it.

I also ended up trawling through the mp3s on my Mac, and reacquainting myself with stuff that I’ve loved for years: Teenage Fanclub (“The Concept,” “Alcoholiday,” etc), The Waterboys (“Fisherman’s Blues” and “World Party”), and, of course, The Sundays. I didn’t really get much work done tonight, but it’s always good to just wallow in audio bliss for an hour or two or more, to remind oneself why music is one of the best things ever, and why we’ve got a pretty good gig going, for the most part (payment and management issues aside).

Joey’s playing Masta Plann now. Hey, it’s pretty good. :)

The After After-Party

While you were having fun at the Megastrip stage, I was stuck at the Podium with--crap, what were those bands? I'd like not to speak ill of those who were gracious enough to accept our invitation to play at the MTV Ink anniversary party, but being at the "for the sponsors" party with the "for the sponsors" bands (i.e., the show bands, the acoustic acts, and our foreign-act headliner, Bellefire), I had to console myself with lots of whiskey.

As it turns out, the bits in the script that I wrote had to be excised, because Ate Glow had a personal emergency and left Marc Abaya with solo hosting duties on the Megastrip. He did rather well, I thought, and after a slow start (Pasig Day, just our luck our party had to be on a non-working holiday) he got the crowd going. Patty Laurel, hosting the Podium event, was such trooper, too: this is the second time we've worked with her, and I've yet to meet a more professional, more gracious events host.

I'll skip over the various nightmares that went on backstage, since they're far too painful to relive--let's just tip our hats to Conch, Caitlin, and Denise, who took the brunt of it so that we could all have a good time--and let's just say that I'm glad that it's all over. Whew. Now on to the business of actually running and producing the magazine.

Saturday night, I went with Conch to a thank-you dinner with guys from Warner Music and MTV, along with various friends, hangers-on...and Bellefire! I got to sit next to Ciara, the youngest of the lot, and their manager Kirsty. And oh, they're so unbelievably nice. It almost kills me that their music doesn't do much for me, either, because they're just so lovely and enthusiastic and sincere. They'd just come from taping shout-outs (well, whatever the technical term is for when people get in front of the cameras and yell, "Hi! This is ! And you're watching MTV Pilipinas!"), and they were jacked up from that experience.

Well, at least I don't hate their music as much as I do 6cyclemind's. Yes, I hear they're also great people to work with and talk to, but something about their music just turns me off, and something about their video actually repulses me. Bellefire, I don't have anything against their music--their voices are good, their originals are pleasant enough, and their choices of covers are tasteful--but they haven't done anything great so far. Maybe it has something to do with age; maybe they just have to live some more to get that edge to their music.

I hope they make it, though, like I wish 6cyclemind would, too. Good luck! I like it when good guys finish first. I mean, they don't all have to be Billy Corgan-like prima donna geniuses, do they?