Songs for the world to sing
In the mid-’70s, I was invited to speak to a group of students in a very casual get-together. In my presentation, I asked them to rate the likeability of the musical excerpt that I would play to them (via a cassette recorder). Most of them responded very well to Western classical music. When I played back Filipino ethnic music recorded from field research, the reactions ranged from “funny to threatening,” and the ratings were extremely low. Clearly, they did not like the music. It was only after I described what the music was about, and what it was for did they immediately change their impressions. Not surprisingly, Western popular music from the different decades scored highly with them, with many of them singing along. They also enjoyed the sampling of popular Filipino songs.
I asked a group of Asian students in the audience why they scored low the Western popular music samples, the answer came like a pail of bricks thrown my way: “We never heard them, we only know our music.” For so long, many Filipinos listened to American Top 40 played on the radio and it brainwashed us to accept that this was the pop music we like.
Joining Asean Popular Music festivals and exchanges in the early ‘80s, I met songwriters from the original Asean nations who presented music from their countries. Readily identifiable were the popular music of Malaysia and Indonesia, which shared dang-dut, a typical musical genre that is widespread in both countries. Songwriters from Thailand presented a Thai classical music ensemble, the piphat, consisting of winds and percussion, and also performed their contemporary pop-rock music. Singapore shares a deep relationship with Malaysia but presented a more modern genre of music.
We presented our usual folk songs and music from our folk dances, and our pop music, which we secretly bandied and tacitly and smugly considered as “the closest to American Top 40.” The eye-opener for me was the fact that in most of these countries, local music sold much, much more than imported music, although the rhythmic and chord patterns in their pop music were all too-familiar Western. Note: during this time, the Philippines remitted approximately over 80 percent of music performance royalties outside of our country. Obviously, we preferred imported pop music over local music.
In song competitions during the ‘80s and the ‘90s participated in by East Asian countries, we Filipinos always prided ourselves as leaders in the industry, which our neighboring countries looked up to. Or maybe that’s what we thought. Probably because we almost always won in the competitions, we spoke English better, and we always regarded our music as very
American. And we actually liked to think that we wrote songs in the American style.
1986 was a banner year for Filipino popular music and songwriters. After the People Power revolution, the Organisasyon ng mga Pilipinong Mangaawit (OPM) was established. Not long after, Katha, the songwriters’ guild, was born.
In Katha, the topic that got us all heated up was — where is the Filipino in Filipino songs? What was the Philippines’ answer to Brazil’s samba/bossa-nova and Jamaica’s reggae? Somebody even averred, “If there was black music, why can’t there be brown music?”
The organization gave me the task to do research on ethnic music, and to present a prototype, which we would call “brown music.” I did my research. But the movement fizzled out.
However, in 1989, brown music found its outlet via a campaign for a soft drink comeback. I presented the prototype under the helm of ad man Nonoy Gallardo. “Sarsi Angat sa Iba” brought to the mainstream bagong tunog, and was awarded not only locally but also in the New York Film and Television Awards in 1991. Brown music also found its way into the first album recording of the Smokey Mountain. There was a parallel movement of performers writing and performing ethnic/world music, with artists led by Joey Ayala, Grace Nono, Bayang Barrios, Edru Abraham and his Kontra-Gapi, and many others. This, I thought, was the direction that we should take.
But brown music lost steam and we were back to square one with the search for that “tatak Pinoy” in music.
A close colleague who lived with his family in Brazil for about three years returned home to Manila. Leo Rialp, a stage actor and director, told me a story that will forever be etched on my mind, and which I have adapted as a guiding principle, as I do my advocacy work in promoting Filipino music by helping train and build a formidable army of young Filipino songwriters all over the country. In his story, he told me that one time he invited Brazilian friends over for dinner. He turned on his sound system and played his cassettes of Filipino-made music, like my all-a cappella album One, and a couple of music produced by Jem Records. His Brazilian guests were visibly impressed with the music and totally liked what they heard. Leo asked them, “Does it not sound too Western, too American?” They answered, “No, definitely not American, it’s quite unique.” The sound was so different from theirs!
Ending our conversation, Leo said, “Ryan, we definitely have our own music, our own unique sound, it is only us who deny that we do.”
We must accept that the Filipino identity is deeply ingrained in us; and fast forward to the present times, we have to adapt to the many changes around us especially the constant evolution and advancement of technology. We have to learn to be more aggressive and use our creative musical talents to compete in the global stage. The first step must be to acquire music literacy and proficiency. The second is to be aware of and use technology that is available. And the third is to learn the basic principles that drive the creative industry. For so long our singers have been regarded as great cover artists, it is now time that we start writing the songs that the world will sing!
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Ryan Cayabyab is a National Artist for Music. He leads a group of professional songwriters providing training and sharing valuable techniques.