And furthermore...
A few points haven't been touched on yet.
Views vis a vis "respect" have been shared.
Your humble servant is all for respect for musicians past and present. All hail all musikos -- past, present and future.
But let us also remember respect for the equation's other half.
Respect for the audience is equally important.
To say that Pinoy consciousness deserves no more than crass commercial crud is disrespectful to the Pinoy.
Feed the Pinoy a daily diet of Love Radio (kailangan pa bang i-memorize yen... kadyot lang! kadyot lang! eh-hehehehehe... tagos ba?)...
... and the Pinoy is slowly brainwashed into thinking he/she enjoys being an idiot.
But look deeper.
Walk the streets.
Observe carefully.
Peer into people's homes.
Listen keenly.
Look into the mind's recesses, both dark and light.
Be aware.
Perhaps you'll see, as i do, that something in our soul cries out for more.
Something in the soul weeps at the absence of...
Home.
Heart.
Spirit.
The friendly neighbourhood tulak yells at her kids, blithely mouthing "eh, p_t_ngina ka pala, eh!".
Calloused by crass, commercial crud, she's oblivious to the obvious -- striking out with that epithet, she brands herself a slut, a whore, a pokpok.
Her soul knows there should be more than this. Her pain makes her strike out blindly. The real target is --- should be --- those who would keep her deaf, dumb, blind and clueless. The targets struck are young, impressionable kids --- flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood.
Calloused by the metallic twang of Pinoy DJ's infatuated with their glib mimicry of the West Covina accent, the Pinoy jeepney driver is inured to his own kakupalan. Fellow vehicles are nudged aside as he stitches the streets with his delusions of macho grandeur, stains the streets with his methampheta-flamed consciousness.
There may be those who would brand this little missive a rambling, high-faluting non sequitur tangent.
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Perhaps a silver thread connects all to all else.
Though i bleed to believe this, i believe in love.
A love which respects all creation.
A love which respects creation itself.
The tragi-comic bottom line is...
We're all on the same side.
We...
... the neighbourhood tulak, the jeepney driver, the cono in his brand new Mazda 6...
... the poseur wannabe rocker, the clad-in-black disciple of heavy music, the rocker grrrll, the bossa nova nymphet...
... the hip-hop b-boy, the "pankz-not-dead-i'm-back-to-kill-you-hip-hop!" graffiti artist...
... the young amateur musiko who seeks his place under the sun...
... the young veteran of showbands and sessions...
... even the lonely, stalwart starfighter...
... are all one.
We are all one.
If we all saw that, perhaps this whole thread... and all others like it... would be moot.
Pasasa-ambat.
Nawa'y pag-ibig lamang.
c",)
