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The enlightened never figure out who is teacher and who is student. I invent a new quest for every country I visit to bypass routine. My third roam through the Philippines, Southeast Asia’s only Christian country, vowed to answer the question: why is the Philippines Asia’s rock and roll engine? From China to Indonesia, and from Singapore to Japan, if there’s a skilled band on stage, they’re likely Filipino. Tuning into an enduring soundtrack that reproduces every Western musical style, both on a remote island and in their thriving metropolis, forced me to challenge Emerson’s declaration that imitation cannot go beyond its model. Memo: their infectious beat is heading our way.
The 333-year Spanish colonial era that began in 1565 introduced guitars, choirs and the art of serenading. This pioneering Eurasian energy — a link to the Renaissance — set the stage for a hybrid music phenomenon. Historically, Filipinos have a song for every occasion, i.e., rice planting, night fishing, birthdays, and sung courtship bids. The Filipino word for serenade, harana, parallels the old-style Spanish romantic tradition: guy shows up with his guitar, solo or accompanied by melodic mates, outside his dreamgirl’s home and croons a love song. If she opens her window to listen, and hopefully sings a song in response, he’s en route to cuddling. If the window doesn’t budge, it’s off to voice lessons or to another house to pursue a new gal. Nearly every Filipino man I met born before 1960 had vivid, wide-grinning recollections of serenading their eventual wives — or being shot down in flames. A formal notice for this public display of affection was typical, but she didn’t always know it was coming. The melody mission first led me to the east coast of jungle-fringed Palawan, a narrow, 250-mile long island paradise (same size as Baja California) bisected by an imposing spine of limestone karst peaks and flanked by white-sand beaches. Situated in the southwest corner of Philippines’ 7017 islands, Puerto Princessa is Palawan’s main port, and where Bing, a charming mother of five, was serenaded at 2am; 7pm is typical. Her tentative window appearance was hampered because her face was encrusted by talcum powder. A test of true love, she bared that labor of beautification to her eventual husband and still swears that, in love, persistence pays. However, music cultivated its way into the Philippine heart long before the Spanish towed in stone cannonballs, religion, and government. Palawan’s indigenous lowland aboriginals, the Tagbanuas, expressed love feelings in singing poems inspired by the inexhaustible variety of sounds in nature. The Tagbanuas imitated the singing of insects and birds and created a “bird scale”. That birdlore vocabulary continues to bond men and women of the jungle. I discovered that classic serenading still occurs in all of the remote, outlying provinces. In the late 80’s karaoke — invented by a Filipino man and then sold to a Japanese investor — proliferated all over the Philippines, changing the modern Filipinos’ style of serenading. Today, the urban Filipino swoon has moved yet again, this time inside Videoke (Karaoke with TV screens flashing the song’s lyrics) and sing-along joints, but the simple, unreserved passion still burns. Jukebox-style Videoke booms from crowded street corners to dimly-lit bars to Asia’s biggest malls — as common as horn-honking in New York. Meanwhile, American style serenading plays out as ornate gifts, horse-drawn carriage rides, or sports stadium scoreboard proposals. Whereas it seems American men sing to their women only to humor them, Filipinos sing to their women as if their lives and happiness depended on it. Published with permission from
Bruce Northam
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