Nevergirl’s

I march to my own beat, especially where music is concerned. I can’t sing Gwen Stefani’s latest (whatever it is) but I do know the lyrics to Max Surban’s and Yoyoy Villame’s songs. I have my grandfather to thank for this. Every day, rain or shine, and at precisely 7:00 a.m, he’d have Bisdak music blaring from speakers.

In the old days, I loved the songs because I found them funny. Today, I listen to them because they bring back tons of memories.

There’s something about Bisaya and I won’t say “Bisaya, the dialect” because the hub would call me on it. He insists Bisaya is a language because from a socio-anthropological perspective, it has a syntax that’s different from all other languages (geek tip: sinebuano is a language; Binol-anon, Surigaonon, and Ilonggo are dialects). I say whatever. Whether it’s language or dialect, I’d feel the same way about Bisaya songs. They’re songs that break down time and space; and wherever I may be at any given point in time, they never fail to bring me home.

(more…)

Posted in Harking back, Wee wonderfuls | 1 Comment »

I have a confession – and it’s one that I could lose friends for. As Mariel puts it, I’m baduy – they’ve come to accept that as a given – but I’ve no business crowing about it to the world. After all, she is my best friend; that, by association alone, makes her baduy, too. Nonetheless, I really need to get this off my chest because it’s 3:29 in the morning and I’m sitting here overflowing – simply overflowing - with love for Queen.

I love Queen – that is my confession. I’ve loved them since I was 10 and I loved them so much I had the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody memorized long before I learned the wordings of Awit sa Bohol, which we had to sing every Monday and Friday in school. So what if Freddie Mercury died of Aids or that he openly admitted that he adores Liza Minelli and Cabaret? That doesn’t make him any less of an artist. If anything, it makes him even more of an artist. After all, the rock music industry is notoriously homophobic. For someone like Freddie to make it big in a testosterone-heavy arena is proof that – to borrow from Rizal – “genius knows no country, genius sprouts everywhere, genius is like light, air, the patrimony of everybody, cosmopolitan like space, like life, like God.”

Freddie was born Indian. Before there was a Freddie Mercury, there was a Farrokh Bulsara – and for Bulsara to conquer the music industry the way he did is sure evidence that sometimes, talent triumphs over clever packaging. Freddie had no machismo, no good looks, no bad boy image to sell. In fact, Spanish soprano Montserrat Caballe even said that the difference between Freddie and practically all other rock stars was that they sold their image while he sold his voice. He had to; there was nothing else he could do better or be more passionate about than making music.

Ironically, the man who is considered one of the greatest rock singers of all time never had formal voice training. I’m not sure if he had any training in songwriting, too, but with or without training, that guy sure writes well! He wrote complex harmonies and intricate melodies, used a wide range of genres, and utilized just about all types of key signatures. He was a singer, writer, musician, and performer and I would have given just about anything to see him perform live. I would have loved his flamboyance, his eccentricity, his ability to excite an indifferent audience and hold them in the palm of his hand. I would have loved the way he stuck out from other musicians like a sore thumb.

You see, I have always had the highest respect for people who dared to be different – and Freddie wasn’t only different, he was wonderfully odd, too. He took his music to the edge, drove his creativity further than the rest, and wore tights. He had gaps in his teeth and looks like he had swallowed a golf ball each time he sang. He was also – in his own words – as gay as a daffodil. How could anyone not love a man like that? And because I can’t NOT love him, I’m leaving you with one of my favorite Queen tracks, the song that best expresses what I’m feeling right now – at 3:29 in the morning. And no, I don’t mean that part about feeling like a sex machine ready to reload.

Posted in Harking back, Quietly beautiful things, Wee wonderfuls | 4 Comments »

Some things change, some things don’t. The bun will turn 33 weeks tomorrow – that’s certainly one change, but I’m still in love with ads and that’s one thing that hasn’t changed a bit.

It’s odd. Food’s supposed to make the pregnant woman’s world go round. Not mine, however. Mine evolves around ads – the short and the lengthy, the incredible and the shoddy. “I don’t want a copywriter for a daughter,” the hub tsk-tsked after I told him for the umpteenth time just how much I adore Discovery Channel’s mini-musicale.

I didn’t write about this – because I’ve been one lazy blimp and all I do is sleep, read, and watch TV all day – but really, each time I hear them sing “I love tornadoes, I love Egyptian kings,” I get goosebumps. Whoever wrote those lyrics and thought of the concept is one clever, clever cookie.

Here’s one more ad with a serious dose of awesome. It’s not commercial, but it’s pure genius. Just imagine the powerful impact a seemingly disjointed series of words make when they’re lumped together. Girl. Cow. Revolution.

I wish they would make ads like this here.

Oh, and I got this ad here. The guy dispenses fashion advice and bless his heart, took the time to transcribe the texts.

Yes, I wish they would make ads like that here; although, if they do, I’ve no doubt they’re going to use visuals rather than words. Hence, they would cast Judy Ann as the girl with the cow. Not a bad choice. Judy Ann is now glamorous enough to make the beautiful people pay attention, but she’s still so very much masa everyone would find it plausible that not only would she own a cow, she could hoist it onto her shoulders, too, if she really has to.

Posted in Quietly beautiful things, Wee wonderfuls | 1 Comment »