Rock In Peace, Karl Roy (1968-2012)

For the love of one man's undying love for his art, I cease to be an art snob this time. Will go ahead on posting on a trending topic despite hating that fact to the fullest.

At 5:30am I planned to check Gmail but apparently left myself logged-on to FB the other night. And the first feed I see was from Jun Sabayton, the letters R, I, and P with Karl's photo. Hell no.

Being neither a rockstar nor a plain musician, I settled with the simple appreciation of music that I find unique yet equally meaningful. And because my little world contained mostly of either rock or jazz, P.O.T. perfectly fit the galaxy. Or maybe there's just something about the front man that makes it all magnetic, despite being called 'adik' or 'sabog' in maybe half of his lifetime. I suddenly remembered that a shy little handshake was all I could ask from this guy when we bumped into him in one of his small gigs with Kapatid.

To rock music fans of my generation, Karl was exceptional and legendary, even when he was still alive. Vocals? Huge part of it. Personality? A big perhaps. I don't know the guy, but maybe it was just his love for his art that most compelled people to him. Musical integrity --- two words he would always emphasize.

Our sadness comes partly due to the fact that slowly, these real musicians begin to fade, commercially or literally for that matter. But as much as I want to bash all the crappy artists left living who call themselves "rockstars," it would be a violation to Karl's respect for their chosen means of expression.

Paraiso now has a full combo with Teddy and Chico on guitars, Bosyo on drums, and Karl on vocals. So I would have to revise my "Worst Deaths" entry to add Karl to the list. Or maybe I should change the title to "Greatest Filipino Rock Musicians of All Time." Whatever it is, he sure will Rock In Peace. #

photo courtesy of myspace.com

RAIN IN NEW YORK

by Ayn

Yes. The only answer you accept.

Maybes struggle for equilibrium

No matter how tight the rope on end to end

Only a yes---a rock-hard, unbroken yes.

Where do I come from?

A take-up from a cold zilch yesterday,

Or from modest heaps of nixes amassed over time?

It's still a springboard, in any case.

Expectation, Anticipation, and Optimism

Ring sounds of assent but are still understated.

Hope. Life is felt when hope is drank.

I can dream not, but hope not, I refuse.

It rained in New York that day.

The Big Noon Guy only waited from behind.

Since they're neither sweet nor saline,

I let it permeate my cover

This is not the first time.

Does it bother you knowing you know what to expect?

You know you need a yes.

A rock-hard, unbroken yes.

Here's to another interlude,

Where patience gets deducted from hope,

To a point when I ask the Big Noon Guy,

Does it even rain in New York? #

photo fr www.vinosite.com

STIMULUS

by Ayn

"Expect ingratitude."

I'm breaking the silence.

It happened because it had to.

I did it. I left home.

Home? Not a fool will believe.

A place of comfort

is not always "home."

It, too, can just be "fear."

I wanted to pull you out

From that old, grimy place

where Gold is foreshadowed with gold

And victims grow by the dozen

Don't take too much time

Get the hell out of Hell

Know that despite this pain

Truth awaits your arrival

Inciting to sedition

I hate how you never saw I was always like this.

I hate how I had to play your games.

Chinese checkers are never fun.

I am not proud.

I never was.

I never was like you.

And never will be. #

*photo by Mike of freedominteractivedesign.com

OF BREAK-UPS AND DEATHS

by Ayn

It's all part of life. Every now and then we get to experience how it feels to be down on the sidelines, being separated from someone. And sometimes, we still hope for unexpected comebacks. Just like in the Rock music industry. Sorry to disappoint you with the title.

I'm not that old to have experienced the glory days of rock and roll. Minus The Beatles, I can go only as far back as the 80's. But as far as my era is concerned, I believe there have been pretty disappointing turns over the last 30 years.

1.) Worst Band Break-Up (Foreign): THE SMASHING PUMPKINS

Technically, the Pumpkins are still alive. But the break-up I'm referring to is of the four-piece ensemble of Billy Corgan, James Iha, D'arcy Wretzky, and Jimmy Chamberlin, who immortalized "1979", "Perfect", and "Tonight, Tonight" in the mainstream. Unknown to many is the real reason of the split, but the usual vocalist-turned-mad hit the headlines in 2000. Corgan returned a couple of years fronting Zwan, but was unsuccessful. In 2007 a much-publicized comeback album was released, but to the disappointment of many. Carrying the Pumpkins' brand again, the only original member Corgan brought with him was Chamberlin, who was rumored to have later left the band because of... Corgan.

So maybe the headlines were right. It was a vocalist-turned-mad case after all. But still, Corgan will never cease to be my all time favorite lyricist. I do not know Pumpkins past 2000. It was in 1998 with the song "Perfect" when I discovered this permanent love affair for alternative music. It was with the classic Pumpkins' albums where I learned my first guitar lessons, strumming "1979" and plucking "Stumbleine" and "Galapogos." Their music was addicting, with clean guitars and labyrinth-like verses. Despite keeping the band name alive, the Pumpkins that I knew has long been dead. And it's the worst in 30 years.

* Others in the list - Soundgarden, New Radicals, White Stripes, Goo Goo Dolls, Jars of Clay

2.) Worst Band Break-Up (Local): THE ERASERHEADS

And it's not because I celebrate the same birthdate with Ely Buendia. Claim number one: E-HEADS is NOT Ely Buendia. I know, I know, I could have picked someone not-so-mainstream and not-so-known by posseurs. But still, their music is a celebration of modern (and tamed) Filipino rock. Melodies were simple, lyrics were sometimes lame, but all in all, E-heads defined the Filipino alternative music of the 90s. But again, rumors say it was yet another vocalist-turned-mad case. 'Twas in early 2000s when Raimund Marasigan, Buddy Zabala, and Markus Adoro tried reviving with a lady frontman, Kris Dancel of the The Fatal Posporos. But everybody thought it weird, because everybody associated E-heads with Ely. I can't even blame kids if they thought the E in E-heads meant Ely. Claim number two: E-HEADS IS NOT ELY BUENDIA. Good Lord. But all members are now on separate ways in their respective careers, still within the local rock industry. I just hated it when they did this reunion concert, and TWICE at that. Come on. When you say REUNION, you do it permanently, a la Wolfgang!

*Others in the list - Twisted Halo, Sugarfree

3.) Worst Death (Foreign): JEFF BUCKLEY

No need for words. Just listen to his music. Or refer to my blogpost last Nov. 17. :) No, but seriously, I just hated why this guy had to die before his mile-long vocal range hit the airwaves. Just so frustrating I didn't even get to hear him live. He drowned in the Mississippi in 1997. He was 30. Reincarnation, please? Everybody here wants you. Me and Karla on top of the list. :)

*Others in the list - Kurt Cobain (Nirvana), Hillel Slovak (Red Hot Chili Peppers), John Lennon

4.) Worst Death (Local): TEDDY DIAZ

"And even back then The Dawn was never your band. It was Teddy's." This emotional line from Cinemalaya's Tulad ng Dati briefly expresses how influential Diaz of The Dawn has been especially in the rise of the 80's New Wave, uh, wave. Though I wasn't born yet to have witnessed him do "Salamat" and "Enveloped Ideas" in the flesh, I just know he was the guitarist who set the standards for most modern lead guitarists today. I mean, I love Francis Brew, as in hands down to the little guy. But seeing Teddy play that electric lead using a violin's bow? Man, I would have paid anything to go to a freaking Storm Concert! Teddy was stabbed by a petty thief in 1988. He was 25. Little did that robber know he hit a vital artery in the local rock scene.

*Others in the list - Chico Molina (Kapatid), Francis Magalona

Despite these deaths I would like to believe this industry will still continue to keep the love alive, especially with the comeback of STP, Fuel, and Wolfgang, and with the perpetual commitment of Pearl Jam, Razorback, and other oldies to musical ingenuity and integrity. Deaths and break-ups are all part of it, and comebacks are just pleasant surprises. But whether or not these people stay, the music definitely will. #

WILLINGLY WEIRD

by Ayn

People sometimes call me an art snob. Or at least my friend Sharon always does. That's not at all true, if I may contest. I may openly hate the pop culture, but I'm definitely open to all avenues of creativity. It's just that I hate the pop culture. Okay, so maybe she's right.

The word 'weird' was something that has always been dear to me. I may not dress in a strange manner, use odd palettes for my face, or go to joints full of eerie people, but I wanted to be weird by simply NOT doing the things most people do. I never read or watched a single Potter or Twilight. The only movies I watch in theaters each year are Cinemalaya entries. No Bieber, Gaga, Perry, or Rihanna could be found on my playlist. I stopped listening to radio after NU 107 got defunct. Never wanted to get ANY Apple product. Never dreamed of a Ferrari but a vintage little yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Not to mention I stopped blogging when I noticed everyone else was doing it! The nerve. That's why advertisements never worked for me.

But since I have a Facebook account and my Blogspot went live again, sometimes I ask myself whether I'm really not into pop culture, or I'm just too plain indolent to try out some things. I try, but I have to find myself a really, really good reason, or an excusable excuse. And I must admit this laziness can really become a hindrance to human relationships, especially when I feel like I'm pushing people away by telling them indirectly that "We're not the same."

Nevertheless, I know I'm not alone, or maybe I'm just on the other side of the plane. Maybe people who love Gaga thinks everybody loves Kurt Cobain or that Eddie Vedder's vocals are just so ordinary. Or that The Dawn is just a local rip-off of Western New Wave culture, and it's high time Joey Ayala gets a haircut. Well he already did. So now I'm starting to accept that everyone's just finding ways to belong, at the same time express--- and by that I mean owning a certain personality that is ours, and only ours.

I suddenly remembered this acquaintance of mine who most, if not some, consider 'weird.' Perhaps it's just with how she carries and expresses herself. She might wear off-season layers and (not) give you 'the look', but as for me I never saw her as the strange fella everybody thinks she is. In fact I think she's one of the coolest kids I've known, aside from the fact that she also has this knack for creative writing. We were out of town then and people thought she was being emo, staying on the cabana by herself. Didn't tell them I wanted to do that, too (but she was there so I have to strut a different stuff, haha). That was also when we had a first and last real conversation and man, did we never ran out of subject matters. She wasn't trying to be deep, opening up topics like pointillism, realism, and all sorts of -isms, but was rather just being truthful to the craft she can best express herself with.

Maybe that was what I think pop culture has snatched from a lot of us. Everybody loves it, so how now can I see YOUR personality apart from the trends that 85% of the planet follow? I just wished people will think of and own their unique avenues to express their creativity, because believe me or not, we all have artists in all of us. As for me I wish I am able to express myself better instead of coming across as an art snob. As for everybody, I wish we would someday stand up for a cause we love or a craft we enjoy, as beings who would willingly be weird as we are. #

GRACEFUL EXIT

by Ayn

Huffing my last four puffs,

I sit back and look yonder

The rabbit's cage has swung open

It's time to let go

The first moon was of hope,

the last, of forgiveness

Yet I can't bring myself to muster

What ensued in between

Uproot, I hear them bellow

In my spot, a soundless cry

One eye inside the tunnel

Leaves me no choice but to Die

The Moral Fiber of my youth

Strummed the strings of my dream

Where every echo resonates

There shall I commence

Farewell, little rabbits

Your duties are fulfilled

From this fulcrum I witnessed

No luck is greater than Faith. #

"There’s a trick to the 'graceful exit.' It begins with the vision to recognize when a job, a life stage, or a relationship is over — and let it go. It means leaving what’s over without denying its validity or its past importance to our lives. It involves a sense of future, a belief that every exit line is an entry, that we are moving up, rather than out." — Ellen Goodman

THE WORLD IS BIG

by Ayn

First post for the merry month. Supposedly MERRY month.

Contrary to my previous route where I can just conveniently take the shuttle bus to and from work, now I have to take three rides to go to my new destination. Pretty inconvenient, but after 5 days, I'm getting the hang of it. After all, I missed UP. (No I'm not a Maroon, we just used to go to church and jog there) The static Sunken Garden hasn't changed much, and the dynamic Ikots and Tokis still relentlessly travel the loop that has been there for more than a hundred years.

I have been quite hesitant to write about how I've been these past few days. With all due honesty, I can't exactly define how an emotional mess I've been, constantly having nostalgia attacks in the middle of everything. Right. Everything. But one thing pushed me to finally let it all out --- a fateful jeepney ride.

As I sat on the half-filled Katipunan-bound jeep in front of the Business Ad building around 8pm the other night I got pissed off by a couple of college students. Noise is one of my weaknesses, you know. The girl next to me was laughing really hard like she was talking to someone from the college of Engineering when in fact she was plainly conversing with the guy RIGHT in front of her. Anyways, the four of them were reminiscing and reenacting some electoral campaign hullabaloos (is it the time of the year, I dunno. As I said I'm not a Maroon). There was nothing wrong with the whole scene, besides that eardrum-shattering "jeje" noise. But what caught me was that despite how innocent these young kids still looked, their auras exude a certain kind of confidence that speaks "I own the world." Perhaps election is a big thing, and I definitely felt the same hype back in college. But little do these kids know what awaits them after stepping out of State U. Can't blame 'em, though; didn't know it back then either.

It's been years since I stepped out off college, and the years we count after that will be collectively termed as "experience." And they say experience is the best teacher; but sometimes, most of us learn things the hard way. True. We never really realize what we're getting into until we get there. Some people go to far places, some switch jobs, and some just stay. I wouldn't want to delve deeper into what I'm going through, because some people might not be ready to know just yet. All I can say is, I never really used the words "I MISS YOU" the way I'm using them now.

The world is big. That's what I wanted to tell those kids. But I can only paint a smile on my face, sit back, and just wait till they see it for themselves. And me? Hell, do I want to see for myself how enormous it really is. But for the meantime, I can get used to some harder blows as dry run. After all, I'm still on schedule. Right, Ducky? #

WALK TO FREEDOM

by Ayn

Only today, I quit.

I quit a life spelled with nothing

but blue trays stacked with paper heaps,

Filled with vague sketches in pencil.

It took me quite a while.

Once I stood in belief.

But waiting has purloined from me

That youthful hope I held on to.

Now I'm nothing but pragmatic.

Age corrupts us, at times.

Just yesterday, I dreamed.

I yearned for a life of Freedom,

Filled with pride in every sunrise.

I woke up and this isn't it.

Vastly deplorable.

You do not understand.

You don't know life outside your rock,

the Wars We wage each fleeting day.

You're not a fellow Countryman.

I thus cease to explain.

Sitting on my front porch,

I gawp at the Walk to Freedom.

I wait for the rain to subside.

The first rung looks quite rickety.

I take it anyway.

Tomorrow, I wonder.

Will the colors of the sunset

Be as magnificent as how

it awes the forlorn soul at dawn?

I sit, pray, and wonder. #

JEFF WHO?: BIRTHDAY CHEERS TO THE LATE JEFF BUCKLEY

by Ayn

Did I ever wish I was born a little earlier? Definitely. Besides the less complicated life and people back then, I wish I had experienced seeing Jeff Buckley perform live in the flesh even once at least before he died. Ok, I just heard someone say, "Jeff who?"

I remember having heard of Jeff Buckley the first time way back 2002, while listening to NU 107 playing some of his well-known hits "Forget Her", "Everybody Here Wants You", and "Last Goodbye". His voice was one of the most unique I've ever heard, with an unusually wide range that can go from acoustic (in "Best of Me") to heavy (in "Grace"). His music, too, was just memorably and poignantly distinct. I got more interested whenever the DJ referred to this artist as 'the late Jeff Buckely.' I reduced to thinking it must have been of drug OD, like Kurt Cobain, Hillel Slovak, or his very own father Tim Buckley, a legendary Folk musician. An artery ruptured in me when I learned that it was the Mississippi that took him back to nature--- not mysterious, simply accidental. He drowned in the middle of writing songs for his second album.

That was in 1997. He was 30. And I hated myself for not having been born a little earlier, around the 70s, to at least have had the chance to get a copy of his first album or a draft of his unfinished second.

A lot of you might not totally dig me making a big fuss out of this dead guy who didn't even stick around long enough after signing with Sony BMG to taste the full glory of being an international rock artist. I also don't, sometimes. But thinking about it, Jeff Buckley was the rock musician I always thought never existed. He never took drugs, never got hooked on alcohol, never got linked with several women, and never used hate as a tool to express the deepest emotions he wanted the world to hear. He drew on a sad childhood as a leverage to create music that inspired a thousand souls, and it definitely included mine. In short, he showed me it was possible --- in a world where rock artists are stereotyped as black disciples of Satan, I'm proud to contest there once existed a Jeff Buckley amongst them. Sadly, God probably took him that early to prevent unnecessary influence and further pollution.

On his 45th birthday today, it won't hurt listening to at least one Jeff Buckley song. I'm sure you have his rendition of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" in your iPods, but try his originals. There's a lot you can download, from Limewire, 4Shared, iTunes, wherever. "Grace" is a personal favorite --- it's of hope that's loud enough to awaken that person in you cast by the shadows of fear and doubt. "We All Fall In Love Sometimes" is a classic; and "Morning Theft" is just beautiful, beautiful.

I don't want to die as early as Jeff did, but I sure hope I could have shared a piece of me to many by then. #

www.jeffbuckley.com

ARRYTHMIA

It's those unwarranted instances where your heartbeat skips (or seems to skip).

Fifty-five beats this minute reduces to forty-three the next.

The momentary skips dilate time and give you space to think ---

Is it a physiological phenomena that's a cause for alarm? Go see a doctor.

Did you just forget to breathe? Lord knows how stupid that sounds.

But it's painful.

And each day it recurs like the irregular rhythm becomes your regular heartbeat.

You've been through a lot lately. Or so you thought.

Surprises and suppresses go up and down together in spiral staircases.

Human instinct permits you to hate, feel stronger, and pick yourself up again.

That's always the sequence. Or so you thought.

Because in the middle of everything, arrythmia suddenly holds you up.

You have a choice. You can choose the sequence.

Patterns are the most beautiful symbols in this great Architecture.

Lines, Curves, Numbers, Sounds, even Emotions.

Heartbeats are but one part of the unfathomable human and non-human abyss.

Do you choose and dare to break your Pattern?

Thank God for arrythmia, I get the chance to read divine signals. #