IN MEMORY OF OAR ] Miguel Ongpin writes about what was once a second home

Miguel Ongpin, who is now an editor at the Manila Bulletin, wrote this story for the defunct Metro Him middle of last year. It was our glass-raising gesture to the reopening of Oarhouse, accompanied by vintage photographs from another Oar habitue, the photographer Ben Razon. Tonight, we raise our glasses, bottles, roses, for the last time in this, a place where we met new friends, flirted with boys, hung out with be-scarfed phototojournalists, and took heart that our drinks were being served by a guy who has opened bottles for us for many years. The Oar is dead. Long live Oarhouse.

Oh the fabled Oar House. It is best described in the physical sense as a tiny little wooden bar immediately next to where the legendary Hobbit House once stood. Through the years the Oar House has illuminated itself as a very rare, brilliant little jewel niched in Manila as an imagined port city. I will always remember it as a dim lighted place where myself and many others blindly gravitated toward like moths to a flame seeking cold beer and hopefully quiet and intellectual conversation in an escape from Manila’s deafening and often nonsensical mundane noise.

It’s funny how life is. Recently, I received a text message from a close friend Reg Hernandez; who now runs the Oar House full time, that Australia and Port Barton, Palawan-based painter Diokno Pasilan was at the bar. It was in fact Diokno who first took me to the Oar House in the early days of our poetry-painting collaborative years right at the beginning of the 90’s. Subsequently, much later I would be the first person ever to take Reg into The Oar House. Now he’s there running things every night the place is open. Full Circle. Neat.

Again recently I was at The Oar House nursing a cold pale pilsen in the early morning hours just past midnight when and odd lull in the conversation occurred and I heard Reg ask: “Bakit kaya tinawag na Oar House ito?”

“Hindi mo alam?” I replied.

I began to explain.

It was then that I realized that something that all along had been obvious to me; may not have been obvious to The Oar House’s Manila clientele. During the latter years of my high school in Massachusetts it seems I was recruited for my small stature (small compared to my 6 foot 5 boatmates) as a Coxswain for Varsity Crew’s 2nd Boat(The 1st Varsity Crew boat was steered by a pretty Italian-American girl even smaller than I was in those days.). The role of a Coxswain is the guy who steers the Crew Boat and rhythmically calls out the number of strokes as they row in practice or in a race. So he is not unlike the guy with the big drum in those Dragon Boat races we have here in the Far East. Part of a Coxswain’s duties are to issue the commands of lifting the boat out of the water and setting the delicate wooden hull (or in the modern era now fibreglass) onto it’s rack inside the Boat House…or as Some may term The Oar House (assuming there was a separate one exclusively for the very long oars.) A Coxswain had to issue these commands out loud like a drill-sergeant to ensure everyone acted in unison to prevent the boat from being dropped or damaged.

The Oar House’s footprint is very unusual. The area of the front door is only about four meters wide while the depth of the bar is about twelve meters. It has almost the exact dimensions of a Boat or Oar House. That was what must have been in the mind of retired US Naval Aviator Charles “Chuck” Monroe when he named and opened the place in 1977.

When that happened I was only five years old. So if the History of The Oar House in a timeline can be likened to a basketball game; I came in around the third quarter. That would be 1992.


The physical description of The Oar House is not difficult to remember. The place was built by a ship’s carpenter form Hull, England. It was about soft light and warm wooden hues. An atmosphere not dissimilar from what one would imagine the interior sub-deck quarters of a galleon might look like. There were some surrealistic aspects to the interior. I remember for instance the entire ceiling being draped by a fishnet that gradually gathered soot from the second hand smoke of the bar’s patrons’ cigarettes. Within that blackened space was a warren of strewn objects. I recall a small bouy, a plastic baby infant doll with oddly cherubic features, a fishing rod, dingy paddle, a plastic floating fish pool toy, and other strange objects with arcane nautical connotations.

The wall immediately behind the bar at eye-level had dusty front pages of newspapers from bygone eras beyond my birth date bearing headlines like…”Manila Liberated”…”Marshall Law Declared”…followed by more recent events like…”Marcos Flees”. On the walls were framed posters of productions staged by Repertory Philippines, almost all of them musicals (Given by actor-patrons, no doubt). To the right of the bar were some framed photographs taken by photojournalist friends of the resident bartender of my time, Chino Medina. One depicted Nur Misuari’s son with an M-16 equipped with an M203 rifle grenade launcher that had a extreme-modified banana clip magazine that held fifty rounds. Another had a fellow biting the sides of a pineapple-type hand grenade. Other photographs appeared to depict government troops aboard small flat-bed trucks driving into market areas of conflict-torn towns in what appeared to be Mindanao.

“Parang babaeng may amoy na hindi maintindihan.”-Pinikpikan founding member percussionist and IT professional, Butch Aldana

The Spiritual Dimesions or “The Vibe” of The Oar House is far, far more difficult to ascertain. It is maddeningly confusing. It is not unlike a modern-day Filipino trying to make sense of say… ”British (or even recently Italian) Football Hooliganism, Cricket (You know that weird Anglo game nobody here understands?) Fanaticism in India (Death Threats aimed at the National Team that lost), Neo-Nazism in Russia (Didn’t these guys fight a World War against the Nazis?), and say…Berlin’s Annual Love Parade.

You kind of had to have been there. To understand.

The Oar House is hard to understand. When I first saw it I never knew a bar could be so small. It was more like someone’s walk-in closet fitted with a wooden bar, a tiny bumper-pool table, a minute bathroom, and a few small tables. Many things about The Oar House are difficult to comprehend. A German Chef friend used to regularly hide in the bathroom following a bust-up in any one of the Honky-Tonk bars of the Pre-(Fred)Lim era. I worked with Felipe “Jun” Medina for 8 months before I figured out he was Chino’s father.

It was a psycho-spiritual Tribal Thing. Long before the advent of the internet, the film The Beach, and budget airlines The Oar House functioned like a Trading Post of sorts. Postcards and letters came in from all over the world; some waiting for foreigners living in “Far Out” rural areas to make their occasional, necessary trip to Manila and The Oar House to receive their mail. There were various cliques that often frequented The Oar House, the local neighborhood residents (many from surrounding apartments), the thespians form Repertory Philippines, various members of the Philippine Media, Artists, Writers, Sagadans and Sagadaphiles, and Strange Foreigners of all types; the Peace Corps, US Manila Embassy Staff (“The Spookies”), French Aid Workers, and global backpackers.

Commonalties in this instance are hard to identify. But let me shed light on one very obvious thing.

Sadly, the very European concept of “The Pub” is lost on the majority of Filipinos. A good pub is not about having fake antiques, Irish cultural reference icons, scripted service bartender-waiter pick-up lines, and the Super-Sized portions of menu items.

It’s more about knowing what the client drinks, making them feel genuinely carefree and at home; and hell, maybe the occasional free drink.

Older people have often been asked “Where were you when President Kennedy was shot?” or more recently many others have been asked. “Where were you when 9-11 happened?”

I was a Fly-On-The-Wall that accursed night when the Infamous Oar House Bust Up occurred…and event that ultimately caused the demise of The Oar House’s Medina Era. It was the beginning of the end of one Truly Good Thing. It was utter chaos. I did not and could not understand what was happening. Two guys came in and beat up Chino and his friend Lyle and busted the place up. One guy was a Fil-Am more than six feet tall. I wanted it all to stop. I wanted to intervene. I didn’t want this to happen. But it wasn’t my fight and I had no idea whatsoever of what was going on. Even now looking back I would certainly have been beaten up very badly if I got involved. That night I had to drive Lyle to the hospital to get his eyelid stitched up.

Gone was the Good Time. I remember those tender early pre-dawn hours of an unimaginably blissful moments of quiet conversations with Chino, “Manong”, and a few others and then being greeted moments later by the stark callousness of Manila’s after-midnight traffic bustle on Mabini Street once I exited the front door to hail a taxi.

The Oar House then entered The Undead Period; a kind of Dark Age period in the bar’s history. The Medinas had left the place and The Oar House had “Gone Bamboo”. Anything related to wood and true character was viciously ripped out in a tasteless and atrocious aesthetic crime. The place resembled a 24-hour roadside cigarette/betel nut kiosk in Taiwan. The name was changed to The Ore House. Die-Hard characters led by the likes photographers Ben Razon, Mon Acasio, The Sepe Brothers, Tim Alipalo, and Derek Soriano and a few other stubborn stragglers still showed up in beer-fueled denial. For the memory of what the place used to be.

Many people with related sympathies as the aforementioned would years later lose the legendary Jesus Armas of Casa Armas fame. He was a generous man and an eternal friend to many. But to people like myself and the mentioned extended clique; we are in an emotional denial of Jesus’ and The Old Oar House’s absence. We consciously know they physically are gone…but they continue to live in our hearts every day.

When the abhorrent Ore House closed doors The Oar House Location suffered further insult to injury and became a roast duck restaurant with headache-inducing pink flourescent lights.

“Oo nga e maraming dumarating dito na naghahanap ng beer,” the then proprietor told me.

Until finally even that closed; and The Oar House was just gone.

A few years back logistics expert Nonoy Tan endeavoured the heroic and reopened The Oar House. It half-worked for a while but time would prove that the place hungered for full-time attention. Eventually this is where Reg Hernandez and Redgie Cinco came in. At the start of the year these two veterans of years of running bars took over The Oar House and now steer the place the way it was meant to be; by people with heart and soul who were once patrons.

Printed with permission from the writer.
...Read more

IN MEMORY OF ALEXIS ] And his wishes for Philippine Cinema

Photograph by Nika Bohinc, Italy, November 2007

I wish that the Film Development Council of the Philippines would understand the value of the money they’re given and consider going to Paris and spending P5 million of their P25 million allotment for a showcase given by a young festival an investment, and not just a vacation.

They support filmmakers with finished films to go abroad to festivals for the pride they bring their country—I wish instead they would support their films locally, and help them get seen by a larger Filipino audience.

I cry for the loss of Manuel Conde’s Juan Tamad films.

I cry for a country that can’t convince that one Filipino-American who owns the only known print of Conde’s Genghis Khan in its original language to return (i.e. sell) the film back to his mother country.

I cry for the generations of Filipinos, myself included, that can no longer see Gerry De Leon’s Daigdig ng Mga Api, and instead have scans of movie ads to admire on the internet (with sincere thanks to Simon Santos and James De la Rosa).

I mourn a heritage that has allowed through neglect the prints of Mario O’Hara’s Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos and Peque Gallaga’s Oro, Plata, Mata to turn flush sepia.

I cry for a Union Bank and University of the Philippines that conspire in apathy to let the master negatives of treasures produced by Bancom Audiovision rot in rooms only air-conditioned half the day and in cans untouched for years and years.

I pray for a city government or even enterprising and concerned theater owners to consider setting aside 50 centavos or a peso of a ticket for the preservation of our national audiovisual heritage. There have been flood taxes siphoned from movie tickets for crying out loud—this should be easy!

I wish Cinemalaya, which, thanks to the media and the government’s press mileage behind it, has a great festive excitement, would actually put their efforts in the service of Philippine cinema, and not their own self-involved attempt to start a micro-industry.

I wish filmmakers would stop listening to Robbie Tan.

I wish Cinema One, which takes more risks, gives more money and often produces better films than Cinemalaya, would actually give filmmakers some rights to their work and stop swindling them.

I wish Cinemanila, which has introduced to the country more great films than any other institution, doesn’t stop showing them on 35mm.

I wish Cinemanila would publish their full schedule in advance: it’s difficult to plot what films to watch when you don’t know which ones will show again.

I wish the Goethe- initiated Silent Film Festival, with live scores by Filipino musicians, would continue annually, and that one year they get to show a Chaplin, a Griffith, a Dreyer, and maybe a Vertov or Medvedkin.

I wish Lav Diaz would have larger budgets to maneuver and shoot with. And would work with the ace production designer Cesar Hernando once again.

I wish more people saw Lav Diaz’s films rather than just respecting his stance, and using him as a symbol.

I wish Raymond Red would get to make Makapili and/or return to making fantastic shorts in the experimental mode.

I wish Raymond Red would still get to shoot on celluloid.

I wish John Torres would sacrifice the image quality of his HDV camera for the special intimacy and spontaneity he is able to achieve with his 1ccd camera. Or get a smaller HDV camera.

I wish Mike De Leon would make another movie… please.

I wish Roxlee would get enough money to buy the time necessary to make an animated feature.

I wish everyone would buy a copy of Nicanor Tiongson and Cesar Hernando’s richly illustrated The Cinema of Manuel Conde.

I wish there were more books on Philippine cinema.

I wish a book series was started that published classic screenplays.

I hope Noel Vera gets to write his book on Mario O’Hara.

I wish a close study of the entire oeuvre of Ishmael Bernal were made.

I wish older commentators would understand: Lino Brocka is dead.

I wish younger filmmakers would understand: Lino Brocka compromised when he had to because he had to, and perhaps even, at times, too much. You are living in a different time. The excuse that Brocka made more than 60 films therefore you can afford your own mediocre ones does not hold water.

I wish we had less tourist cinema.

I wish we had less formula cinema—“real-time” anyone?

I wish Cinefilipino had put out Maalaala Mo Kaya with the reels in the proper order.

I wish Cinefilipino would have put our their Brocka titles with just a little bit of care and affection, providing some writing on the film or special features to contextualize them rather than just throw them out their bare to earn.

I wish Nestor Torre would open his eyes…

I wish the Manunuri books on Philippine cinema in the’70s and’80s would go back in print.

I wish the Manunuri actually cared about Philippine cinema today.

I wish more of the Manunuri actually reviewed films instead of just giving out awards.

I wish the Young Critics Circle were actually young.

I wish the Young Critics Circle were actually critics.

I wish Francis ‘Oggs’ Cruz, Richard Bolisay, and Dodo Dayao would get space in the broadsheets, because they’re far more interesting than anyone writing there regularly.

I wish we didn’t have a cinema of the press (more on this soon).

I wish Noel Vera would move back.

I wish Hammy Sotto were still alive.

I wish Hammy Sotto’s manuscripts would get published.

I wish film preservation activist Jo Atienza was still in Manila.

I wish we had a fully supported Film Museum.

I wish we had a Cinematheque.

I wish the UP Film Center had better seats, and more important, showed better films.

I wish more non-filmmakers from the Philippines would get to travel to festivals.

I wish film were taught in high schools.

I wish we had more film lovers and less bureaucrats in important positions in the field of cinema.

I wish Teddy Co would get the recognition that he deserves for his selfless work.

I wish Teddy Co would write more as his ideas deserve to be recorded.

I wish co-ops would co-operate.

I wish Khavn De La Cruz would get to make his musical EDSA XXX.

I wish the Max Santiago feature would get made, and that shorts would finally come to my hands on DVD (Hi Marla!).

I hope Tad Ermitano never stops writing and playing in his cave.

I wish Lourd De Veyra would continue writing on actors and cinema.

I wish Raymond Lee’s UFO success.

I wish Albert Banzon would get more credit.

I wish we had more regional feature films, and more support for regional filmmakers.

I wish everyone would watch When Timawa Meets Delgado.

I wish someone would lower MTRCB rates for screening fees, especially for festivals.

I wish someone, anyone, would make a good, thought-provoking film about the Philippine upper class.

I wish Ketchup Eusebio would get more leading roles.

I wish Elijah Castillo would appear in a lot more films. Soon.

I wish Cesar Hernando would get to make a video transfer of his experimental short Botika, Bituka.

I wish filmmakers had some integrity and told Viva to screw themselves when offered another exploitation film.

I wish more people could see the film Bontoc Eulogy by Marlon Fuentes.

I wish Vic Del Rosario wasn’t presidential adviser on Entertainment, given the shlock they produce, and yes, that includes the films that starred First-Son Mikey Arroyo.

I wish Star Cinema would stop—just stop.

I wish there was a film library that people could go to in order to read books on cinema.

I wish the MMFF were not in the hands of the same people who install public urinals (admittedly useful).

I wish the MMDA didn’t call those circles and boxes Art.

I wish that MMDA Art wasn’t so much better than every MMFF film.

I wish a certain festival in December didn’t consider box office as a criteria for its main prize (which comes with rewards). We don’t give cultural awards to Wowowee, do we? Well, not yet…

I wish I could see how “commercial viability” was computed.

I wish Mother Lily didn’t have a monopoly on the Metro Manila Film Festival.

I wish Mother Lily took better care, or rather took care at all, of the good films she unwittingly produced in the past.

I wish Mother Lily would get to see Raya’s Long Live Philippine Cinema! …or maybe not.

I wish the Hammy Sotto-led Philippine Cinema in the ’90s book, with excellent interviews and a complete filmography of the decade, and which has been completed for several years, would finally get printed.

I wish all the old Mowelfund shorts—including the works of Regiben Romana, the Alcazaren Brothers, Louie Quirino and Donna Sales, Raymond Red and Noel Lim—would come out on DVD.

I wish a book would be written about all the Mowelfund shorts.

I wish a book on Philippine poster art would be released.

I always look forward to the rest of Nick Deocampo’s projected four-to-five volume history on Philippine cinema—at least someone is writing it.

I wish there were a pure film studies course available in the Philippines.

I wish that venues that are censorship (and therefore MTRCB fee) exempt would understand the vital role they play and take more responsibility.

I wish we had a regular film journal. Why don’t we? We have enough critics groups and awarding bodies.

I wish more film teachers were approaching cinema from cinema.

I wish R.A. Rivera would get to make his first feature soon.

I wish Quark Henares refrains from selling out again, because if he doesn’t, he has the potential to be one of the important ones.

I wish more people would get to see In Da Red Korner. It deserves to be reconsidered.

I wish Rogue Magazine would cut down their featuring of foreign films in the gallery section when there is so much to write about locally that doesn’t get covered in other media beyond sloppy journalism.

I wish the government would sponsor DVD releases of the surviving films of Lamberto Avellana, Gerardo De Leon and all other classics that still exist.

I wish FPJ Productions would again screen the footage of Gerry De Leon’s unfinished Juan de la Cruz (the icon, by the way, that was invented by this magazine).

I wish less filmmakers compromised.

I wish more filmmakers admitted when they did.

I wish we focused our attention more on audience education, development and literacy, than on dumbing down films to pander to them.

I wish Philippine cinema all the success in the world. . .

---Alexis Tioseco, Wishful Thinking for Philippine Cinema

From Alexis' Criticine. Shorter version originally published as an addendum to an article in Rogue Magazine, extended final version (above) published in Philippines Free Press week of December 13, 2008.

...Read more

CANNES THIS BE LOVE? ] Senedy Que reports from the French Riviera

Alessandra de Rossi and Piolo Pascual pay homage to Brocka's Jaguar in the twinbill Manila.

CANNES, FRANCE -- The scheduled screening was not until 8:15pm but as early as 6:30, the Philippine delegation representing Manila has gathered near the Grand Theatre Lumiere to prepare for the “marches rouges." Directors Adolfo Alix, Jr. and Raya Martin, together with producer Arleen Cuevas and producer-actor Piolo Pascual were positioned on a corner to wait for their turn as crowds gathered by the entrance to witness celebrities like Michelle Yeoh, David Kross (of The Reader) and director Ang Lee make their way to the gala screening of Pedro Almodovar’s Los Abrazos Rotos (Broken Embraces) which was due to premiere the same night.

A few minutes later, Alix and co. were instructed to walk to the center of the red carpet. Behind Adolf, Raya, Arleen, and Piolo are the film’s production designer Digo Ricio, assistant director Armi Cacanindin, and Independencia actor Sid Lucero, together with Film Development Council of the Philippines’ Digna Santiago and Manet Dayrit. Cameras flashed as our fellow countrymen walked up the stairs. At the entrance door, they were warmly welcomed by the executive directors of the 2009 Cannes International Film Festival.

Cocktails were served in a special room overlooking the setting sun at the French Riviera, while we watched the live feed announcing the arrival of Almodovar with his star, Penelope Cruz.

Inside the theatre at Salle Bunuel, the audience applauded the entrance of the creative team behind Manila. After a brief introduction, the special screening promptly started at 8.15pm. The film was met with loud applause as the closing credits flashed on the screen.































Senedy Que is the writer and director of Dose which will be shown at the Galleria IndieSine from July 1 to 7.
...Read more

COSTANTINO ZICARELLI ] This mind is a terrible thing to taste

Photograph by Tatong Recheta Torres

Nothing in Costantino Zicarelli’s shy, unaffected demeanor would tell you he used to devour a plate of spaghetti with a masking taped mouth during his days as a performance artist. Nothing would hint at the dark, creepy subjects the guy tends to favor in his, uhm, less controversial work. In his last show, for example, held at Art Informal in Connecticut Street, the work most people huddle around in was his installation called “Like Rats, It Returns to Its True Form,” a glass encased image of a couple hundred plastic rats swarming on what looks like an abandoned old building. It was the only installation in a show composed mostly of paintings and framed postcard drawings, and it took the longest to finish. But true to form, the 25-year old artist only remembers that it was a pain in the ass to mount because of the scale, and that he had to run around Manila looking for materials.

"Like Rats, It Returns to Its Form"

Of course the work looks to be more complex than that, howelse to explain the presence of a five-foot long philosophical text in size 12 font by the entrance? The rest of the works continue the subject of death and destruction: postcard size watercolors of distinguished-looking dead men framed in wood and encased in glass, much like those one sees in musty academe hallways; a seemingly innocent portrait of birds by a lake (they are stuffed birds, Art Informal’s Tina Herrera, uhm, informs us); a huge fire scene which seem to almost singlehandedly heat up the airconditioned gallery (it’s that or the inebriated souls going around); and the unsettling coolness of a Hitler portrait with a British flag.

"The Great Dictator"

"Lifeless Ordinary"

Most of the images are based on photographs. But while in the past he employed his father’s collection of images taken in Italy (where Cos lived for awhile), he explored the idea of the “still life” this time. “I find that most pictures that I take have subjects that have something really eerie but beautiful in it's own way. Because I mostly deal with destruction, death, personal experience and how most objects have another purpose in life. Like the painting of the taxidermies birds. I took this shot in a museum in Sydney. It was fascinating how this birds look so alive but they where all stuffed and dead to be forever inside a glass case.”

"For The Love That We Admire"

Cos seemed like a fish out of water the entire night of the show, pressed to talk to collectors in his blue gingham shirt, welcoming friends, holding a bottle of San Miguel Pale perhaps to calm his hands, when all he wanted to do really was to talk to his girl in New York, the photographer Wawi Navarrozza who was there, virtually, at the opening—on the computer monitor, via Skype, watching her boyfriend’s party.

All images from the show "The Mind is a Terrible Thing To Taste" held last April at Art Informal, Connecticut Street, Greenhills.

...Read more

UPDATED! THE DON'T LIST ] You know you're still living in the '90s when...

Of all the decades to be trapped in, I told my friend after visiting an architect's house whose interiors were designed by his wife, why choose to be trapped in the '90s? Admit it, we were all victimized by all that wellness hoopla. We all wanted to go to spas and our Ivy Almarios thought we also might want to live in them. Hence, our rooms had to smell of eucalyptus wafting from a ceramic burner. Hence, these remnants from our Oriental meets minimalist meets spa obsession which, sadly, still lurks in our wenge console tables these days. You know you're still living in the '90s when you have...

1) Candles, especially when arranged in the manner pictured.

2) Potpourri on the breakfast counter, the coffeetable, the bath. Oh how people got carried away with the bath, especially when rose petals floated in them.

3) Sepak takraw balls, arranged on a wide shallow bowl.

4) Huge rattan-lined plate on a stand, especially when beside a phaelenopsis.

5) An Ivan Acuna painting, or some orangey abstract.

6) Wenge all over

7) Silk shantung throw pillows

8) Tassels everywhere

9) Wind chimes

10) And this one takes the cake: The picture frame divider.

And finally, the vinegar-infused fruit bottles.

Of course we are as toxic as we've ever been after all that spa and spa-like experience but don't we all love the '90s?

Next week, the early 2000s, when magazines told us to put shells just beside where we shit.

...Read more

THE BAGETS ISSUE ] Here's to the old times (and 25 years of growing up)

Cover design Neil Agonoy

"Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we are creating?” sabi ni George Orwell nu'ng 1949 sa librong 1984. “A world of fear and treachery and torment, a world of trampling and being trampled upon, a world which will grow not less but more merciless as it refines itself. Progress in our world will be progress toward more pain.” Obviously, hindi na-imagine ni Orwell na ipapalabas ng Viva Films ang Bagets ng taong ‘yun.

In this, the second issue of TheSwankStyle, we celebrate the 25th anniversary of 1984. Those days before another Marcos-for-President campaign went full throttle, isang taon pa bago mag Edsa Revolution at mayanig ang mundo. Anong ginagawa mo no’n? Ako, sumayaw sa field demo ng “Always Something There To Remind Me” nakasuot ng canary yellow shorts, nandaya sa school spelling bee (at nanalo!), at nanood ng pelikula. Ng maraming pelikula. Sakay ng Kawasaking motor, dinala kami ng tatay ko sa Maristel Theater sa Valenzuela para manood ng Bagets. “Say something!” inis na sabi ni Rosemarie Gil sa anak niyang si Raymond Lauchenco, na forever deadma sa kanya. Sagot ni Raymond: “Something.” Hindi na pa-tweetums si Sharon Cuneta sa Dapat Ka Bang Mahalin? “Kung saan, kelan at papano ang labanan, magpasabi ka lang, hindi kita uurungan,” hamon niya kay Chanda Romero. Nag-liplock at nag-brush moustaches sina Ronaldo Valdez at Mark Gil sa Apoy sa Iyong Kandungan. Ominous ang car accident sequence sa Sinner or Saint sa buhay--at pagkamatay--ni Claudia Zobel. May carinderia sila Tito, Vic and Joey sa Goodah! Hindi pa pinaghihinalaang bading ang mga thirtysomething na lalaking walang asawa nang gampanan ni Jay Ilagan ang geeky bachelor sa Soltero. Hindi makagat-kagat ni Eddie Garcia and mala-labanos sa puting si Lyka Ugarte dahil nakabantay si Gloria Diaz sa May Lamok sa Loob ng Kulambo. Laging naka-wet kamison ang mga softdrink beauties--Pepsi Paloma at Sarsi Emanuelle at Coca Nicolas--sa Naked Island. Pa’no naman kasi, naligaw si Al Tantay searching for the meaning of life.


“Hindi mo na ‘ko ikakahiya ngayon,” sabi ni Gina Pareno kay Raul Leuterio (Tommy Abuel) sa Working Girls, “I’m a Makati girl now. I can speak English already. Ansafaflu, ansafafla!” “Sabeeeel! This must be love!” pahayag naman ni Carmi Martin. Matapos mag-brief lang sa swimming pool ni Baby Delgado sa Bagets, walang pagod namang nag-layer si Aga Muhlach complete with MJ gloves sa Campus Beat. “Ayoko ng masikip,” sabi ni Maricel Soriano sa Kaya Kong Abutin ang Langit, “Ayoko ng mainit. Ayoko ng putik,” habang naka-finger comb with gel ang kanyang hair from the sides to the back. “Pinapangako ko inay,” sabi ni Sharon Cuneta habang naka-daster at nakatingin sa langit, “Bukas luluhod ang mga tala.”

That year alone, we made 142 movies. 53 action. 35 na drama. 25 na bold. Anim na youth-oriented. 22 comedies. At isang horror. Pili ka lang kung anong gusto mo. “Kung hindi tayo ang kikilos, sino ang kikilos? Kung hindi ngayon, kailan?” sabi ni Vilma Santos sa Sister Stella L. Hindi ako natulog sa image ni Julie Vegang possessed sa taas ng aparador sa Lovingly Yours. Nakakatakot din in a different way si Ace Vergel sa Basag Na Pula. Larawan si Lenny Thantoth at PJ Abellana ng misunderstood youth sa klasikong coming-of-age film, The Punks. “Hindi mo kami maiintindihan, Ma. Punks kami.” "I'm standing on the shadow of time," sabi ni Raymond Lauchenco sa Hotshots. Ang hebigat nila Cookie at Albert, Maricel at Yam sa Teenage Marriage. Tinupad ni Vivian Velez ang pantasya ng sangkabaklaan nang maligaw siya sa isang island with ten robust young men all vying for her attention sa Sampung Ahas ni Eba. Nanggagaya lang ng designer patterns noon si Gretchen Barretto sa 14 Going Steady. How kawawa naman the kids in Mga Batang Yagit. Hindi pa natatapos ang taon, may sequel na ang Bagets. “So this is how it feels to be in love, I feel like I’m floating in the skies above,” kanta ni Ramon Christopher kay Claudette Khan, anak ni Odette. “Do you feel the same way, too, when you hold my hand? You don’t have to say a word, I understand.” Quiet lang si Ate Guy sa ‘Merika. May special wedding footages sa The Best of Sharon and Gabby. Nag-boxing match si Maricel at Snooky sa Anak ni Biday vs. Anak ni Waray. Lumabas tuloy hindi talaga marunong mag-Waray si Nida Blanca.

Naka China-chop si Ate Vi sa Alyas Baby Tsina. Nakapangingilabot si Gloria Romero sa Condemned. Kung Harot si Anna Marie Guttierez early in the year, Charot naman si Roderick Paulate. The beginning of the end of the Gabby-Sharon sizzle ang Sa Hirap at Ginhawa. Puwedeng pang On The Lot ang pitch ni Abbo dela Cruz para sa Misteryo sa Tuwa: Anong gagawin mo pag nasa gubat ka’t may nag-crash na eroplanong punong-puno ng pera? Assuming hindi sa'yo nag-crash 'yung eroplano. Pero walang nanood. Is it the title kaya? At nagtapos ang taon with a Regal shocker: the first of a franchise that haunts us hanggang ngayon: Shake, Rattle and Roll. The original, sabi nga ni Ate Luds, is always the best. Biruin mo, a deranged William Martinez getting off on watching Janice de Belen getting it off with a possessed refrigerator? Why not naman? There was something for everyone noong 1984.

I recently saw Bagets again sa relatively big screen ng Mogwai. And to see it again, at 35, hindi ko na inexpect that I will still like it. Pero tumawa pa rin ako, na-charm, goosebumps ng konti. Ang saya-saya ng pelikulang 'to. Siguro sila Maryo J, Bernal, Zialcita, Brocka, Gallaga etc. they made so many good things then dahil naisip nila that we won't be doing quite as good in the decades that will follow. So that in the '90s and the 2000s, wala na tayong gagawin kundi mag-revive at mag-tribute at mag-retrospective. They gave us the most fun, well-made films so that we can just keep looking back. Obviously, pag dating sa prediction-prediction, mas magaling sila kay Orwell.

Photograph from the personal collection of Cesar Hernando.
...Read more

YELLOW WRISTBANDS, ORANGE CHUCKS ] Butch Garcia on creating the Bagets world

Collage by JR Agra

I have done other films with Maryo J. De los Reyes before Bagets. I was kind of part of his team. We worked on the concept of Bagets together with the writer Jake Tordesillas and the producer William Leary. We never knew of course that what we were working on was going to be phenomenal. All we wanted to do was to make a really good youth film.

The look of Bagets was not influenced by any local or foreign film before it, nor was it influenced by what was going on in the fashion scene here or abroad. I was inspired by a Beatles poster done by the famous graphic artist Peter Max. He was very popular in the ‘60s, and I wanted that type of coloring. I wanted lots and lots of colors, different color pants for a different color shirt layered on another colored shirt. The kids will love it, I thought.



Apart from the Beatles poster, I spent time walking around the university belt, downtown Manila, and watched the kids, what they were wearing, what they were doing with their clothes. I took note of the little nuances: the open shirts, the sneakers, the way they tied their scarves. I adapted all of these but rehashed them by splashing it with lots of color. It was the early ‘80s, and people seemed to have tired from the color explosion of the past decade. So when I was looking around the department stores, from SM and Plaza Fair, all they had were beige and brown. Beige and brown! And the rest was just drab maroon.

So together with my brothers who were part of my production team, we bought a lot of shirts and dyed them. We bought those roundneck Crispa shirts—they were the ones that were really nice--bought our own stencils and printed away. We put pockets where there were none. We spray-painted fabrics. We made our own trinkets and accessories, put safety pins together, etc. We had a budget of P150,000 for the production design and costume. That was a lot of money during that time but clearly not enough for what I wanted to do. I wanted almost every scene to be big. Maglilipat lang ng bahay si Liza Lorena, people had to be playing with fireworks in the background. Mag-eexcursion lang sa beach kailangan may jeep driving through the shore.

The money was certainly not enough to dress up five boys, their girlfriends, their classmates and their mothers. We couldn’t just have people wear their own clothes because the look we were going for, in the clothes and in the sets, were mostly non-existent during that time. We were creating our own world, and we were dressing up its characters the way no one else was dressing up in real life. We had to resort to rehashing old clothes, or going to the department stores. We wanted the look to be different but not alienating to the young audience. I told Maryo that the look has to be reachable and affordable so that the kids will accept it.

Our guinea pigs, of course, were the five boys. They all somehow had similar outfits but you could see that some were a little bit nerdier than the others. At the start of the filming, I had already warned them: ‘Boys, paglalaruan ko kayo, paglalaruan natin ang mga damit niyo.’ Can you imagine any other young gym buff then wearing what JC was wearing: all those colorful shorts and yellow wristbands made of terry cloth? Making Aga Muhlach wear orange shoes was a big fight. And then there was that bowtie in the dance sequence. After awhile, they had began to accept that idea that we were doing something new. They would volunteer their own clothes but we would still rehash them, make them wear a different color undershirt, and then roll the sleeves with the undershirt peeking. That was a signature Bagets look.

They were wearing all these colourful outfits in a very colourful world. Because that was how I thought the kids saw their world, parang ‘70s, like some wonderful acid trip.

Bagets is really my claim to fame. Nobody here can claim that they made a film that changed the way people dressed up. I was nominated in the award-giving bodies the following year, but I never won. I don't even remember anymore who won, or for which movie. But, apparently, everybody seems to remember Bagets.As told to Jerome Gomez

Butch Garcia is the production designer for Bagets. His last film was the underrated Star Cinema project First Day High which tried to recreate a colorful youth world in the mold of Bagets.
...Read more

LOMO ARIGATO ] At Maculangan's view of the world

Page design Neil Agonoy. All photographs property of At Maculangan.


...Read more

THE PRACTICAL PALANCA ] Nick Pichay on how to be the smart literary hopeful

Marne Kilates' snapshot of his MacBook from which was born his last Palanca-winning poetry collection.

Palanca season is upon us. Every year, the pa-serious writer from every barangay gears up for the annual ritual of joining a literary contest sponsored by the country's leading manufacturer of rum.

It has long been the literary contest of choice for those who want to announce their entry into the literary space or those who, after winning a string of awards, merely wish to re-assert their literary superiority. The number of entries keep increasing each year.

This literary competition holds a special place in every Pinoy writers’ heart for four reasons. First, it offers the most number of categories to join. Also, the come-one-come-all tenor of the competition is irresistible and works as magnet for all types—from the talent-less to the talented. (More on that below.) Second, the annual event, which was started in 1951, is the longest-running literary competition in the Philippines. Every year’s top prize winners are afforded a respectable status akin to wearing a literary halo for a year until the next set of winners are announced).

Third, the winners of the competition—-like the Bar Topnotchers in recent years—-has sprung many surprises. The contest has been seen as the Tawag ng Tanghalan of the literary world; a democratic venue where the throng are given a chance to compete with the acknowledged. Ask anyone who has judged in any category and they will confirm that the quality of each year’s entries are as uneven as the steps of the rice terraces.

Finally, the chance to be invited to a grand reception at the awards ceremonies is an enticing proposition too good to be missed.

Preparing for the Palanca is, thus, one of the most revered annual activities of writers here. When people start making excuses for not being able to go to the mall with you during this month, they’re probably secretly preparing their entries to the Palanca.

Following are some tips to soften the stress of beating the Palanca deadline. I’ll be the first to admit that these strategies will not ensure one the top prize, but it will definitely make you less frazzled as you type away, what you think is, the winning entry.

1.Finish your entry earlier than the midnight deadline. Pace yourself way in advance so you need not be on the verge of a nervous breakdown because you have no ending to your short story on the 11th hour. Don’t rely on inspiration. Often, the muse, like true love, escapes us. Be a boy scout and set your deadline way in advance of the Palanca’s real deadline.

2.Follow the rules. Read them on the website or the announcements. Use the font and the margins suggested by the organizers of the competition. Comply with the minimum number of pages for a category. Don’t think that the judges will bend the rules because you think your work is fabulous. I’ve known judges who threw away entries that didn’t comply with the margin requirements, without even reading the first line. What I’m saying is don’t risk losing on technical grounds.

3.Be honest. Don’t submit an entry that you didn’t write; or claim as your own a work one that was co-written with another. Nah-ah. If it wins, the truth will out and your prize will be withdrawn. Don’t place yourself in a major embarrassment.

4.Choose a really cool pseudonym. Something hip, cool, lucky-sounding and original. Choose something that has a pop appeal and which you think will amuse the judges even if only for 5 seconds. It may not make you win on that basis alone. But at least, it will give you and your friends something to hoot about if you lose. Which brings me to…

5.If you win, be glamorous when you attend the awards night. Every year, the invite to the winners implore everyone to come in formal attire. Still, some winners attend dressed up like they came straight from 12-hours of soccer practice. Come on, people. Give the respect that the ceremonies deserve. And don’t think that we don’t know that you're excited to attend the ceremonies. Besides, you're a starving artist. You need to eat. The buffet is pretty good.

6.Take pics. Submitting to the Palanca is part of the writer’s summer ritual. It’s like going to the beach or flying to an exotic place. So relax, take a pic of yourself submitting your entry and post it in Facebook—-after the announcemnt that you’ve won. (See number 8 below.)

7.Give yourself a treat after submitting your entry. Go straight to the nearest bar and get yourself the coolest beer in the house. You deserve it.

8.Keep it a secret. Your victory will soon be news come announcemnt-of-the- winners time. Till then, mum is the word because you don’t want everyone to know that you joined, if in September you are not invited to the ball.

9.Wait patiently. Don’t sniff for the names of the judges in your category and spend sleepless nights figuring out whether or not they will like your work well enough to fight for it in case there are differences of opinion among the judges. Praying your favorite novena might be a better alternative. And finally…

10.Don’t take the Palanca thing too seriously. It’s a game. It’s the Bingo socials of the literary world. It should be fun and wholesome. Winning is an honor. Losing is not the end of the world; nor does it reflect your true worth as a writer. So get over it. Move on. Join again next year.








Nicolas Pichay can say these now because he is already a Hall-of-Famer (in 2007)--which means he's won five Palanca awards and therefore will not be qualified to join anymore. He is, of course, welcome to attend the yearly drinking binge at the Pen. Nick is a lawyer. He wrote this list exclusively for TheSwankStyle.com
...Read more

THE READ ] Some truths and a load of BS on what a man is

Tom Chiarella muses on what is a man in the current issue of Esquire, one of our fave reads here at TheSwankStyle. It's a pretty tall order, if you want to subscribe to his definitions. I mean how many men do you know who even comes close? But it's a good read. Just pick your own truths. Here, excerpts.

"A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one.

"A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.

"A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not.

"Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.

"A man doesn't point out that he did the dishes.

"A man knows how to bust balls.

"A man has had liquor enough in his life that he can order a drink without sounding breathless, clueless, or obtuse. When he doesn't want to think, he orders bourbon or something on tap.

"Never the sauvignon blanc.

"A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.

"Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his ass.

"A man gets the door. Without thinking.

"He stops traffic when he must.

"A man knows his tools and how to use them — just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails.

"A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Drinking, playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool.

"He knows how to lose a month, also.

"A man listens, and that's how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It's not that he must. It's that he can.

"A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps.

"Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.

"A man loves driving alone most of all.

"Style — a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It's a set of rules.

"A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.

"A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering.

"No one taught him this — to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn't. The hell if you know what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next."

The entire essay here.
...Read more

SUMMER WORKSHOP ] An invitation from Pen Medina

He won't be teaching you muro-ami but you may be allowed to ask for swimming lessons once you've broken down those imaginary walls. For sure, however, tomorrow, as Pen takes on the acting guru cap for his "ReINTRODUCTION: A Different Approach To Film And TV Acting," he will help you, uhm, dive into the deeper recesses of human emotions. "Acting is standing up naked and turning around very slowly," he quotes Rosalind Russell. The 59-year old actor will be teaching acting for auditions, subtext, acting truth, building a character, relaxation and improvisation. Existing film scripts, written by his son Ping, will be used as acting exercises. The exercises will be shot to produce a short film for the students to take home at the end of the program. Pen's friends Joel Torre, Ronnie Lazaro and Willie Nepomuceno will drop by for additional acting insights.


Here, the schedules:
16 yrs old & above:
MON-WED-FRI (1pm - 6pm) April 20 - May 22
SAT-SUN (9am - 4pm) April 18 - May 24
* Fee: P8,000. (full, installment or deferred payment)

8-15 yrs old:
T-TH (1pm - 6pm) April 21 - May 21
* Fee: P6,000

Maximum of ten (10) students per class.

Venue: Nuevo Mundo Innovative Learning Center (Katipunan-Xavierville area). For inquiries, please call 996-1907 or 0917-5347464.
...Read more

DEFENSE MECHANISM ] What is the scent of a male chauvinist pig?

Hanging by a thread. One of the projects at the UPFA thesis defense for the 2009 graduating batch.
Photographs by Devi Madrid

According to Goldie Poblador, a strong musky scent, perhaps reminiscent of your no-good uncle's Charlie. And what is the scent of squalor? It smells of a three-day-old man's urine. And the scent of government? It smells of, well, shit.


Perfumed nightmares. Glass-blown bottles and strangely familiar scents from Poblador.

It's hard to imagine a perfumery in the milieu of the UP Fine Arts Department but last Saturday a roomful of different scents--from the fragrance of Baguio to the smell of Requiem--contained in fragile-looking glass-blown bottles were on display at the UPFA for the thesis defense of the 2009 graduating class. Goldie's installation was easily the most popular of the 14 or so students defending their art that day. It was a major production: from the glass cubes that held each bottle, the store-ready boxes next to it containing the name of each scent, and even the instructions on how to smell.




The presence/absence of color. From topmost, a tunnel-like installation of plastic tubes filled with colored liquid; Liv Vinluan's large works.

Elsewhere in the compound, from a student named Kathleen, a tunnel-like installation with hundreds of colored plastic tubes perfect for the kids gallivanting on the lawn, from Corpse Corpuz multi-layered images of historical icons, and then there was Liv Vinluan's large-scale paintings of eerie images (i.e., a girl holding another girl's cut-off head). This early Liv is already scheduled for a show at Finale late this year, and most of her previous paintings are already in the homes of collectors. Are we seeing the faces of tomorrow's AAP prizewinners? Are we smelling the scent of early success? Go ask Goldie Poblador. Maybe she's already bottled that one.













...Read more

THE THREE-HANKY READ* ] 10 heartbreaking blog posts on The Final Set

Photographs by Idris Miraflor

1
"With Ely healthy again, take two of the concert was scheduled. The day before the show the band’s friend and guest star Francis Magalona died of leukemia. Farewells piled on farewells; if the reunion were a work of fiction it would be rejected for lack of plausibility. But this isn’t just their story anymore. The Eheads have written themselves into our story, and really, who cares about plausibility at a time like this? The gates are open. It’s time for your last goodbye.--The End, jessicarulestheuniverse.com

2
"The crowd was sometimes silent because everyone was listening as if it was a dream hearing the 4 boys play their songs live again. Although we were watching in the big screen most of the time, it was worth it because just the feeling of being in that concert was phenomenal, it was stellar and dream-like.—The Final Set?, Extreme Symphony, flipbizkit

3
"So, whenever the guys played at Club Dredd or Mayric’s or some school fair, they did not need to put on a show. Their songs did it for them. These tunes played themselves in your head and you were drawn back into your life. Their songs became your songs. The boys conveniently snuck themselves in the background, amidst the din of the rock joint and your own drunken stupor.

"The following Sunday, Buddy sent out this text message to some of us:
'The experience was overwhelmingly magical for us too. Wishing everyone a safe weekend. And thanks for making it happen!'

"I told him: 'It was an awesome show. Beyond words…We hope that sometime, somehow, you guys get to play again. And we get to scream our hearts out once more.'
We will never be over them.-–The Eheads and Why We Can’t Get enough of Them, The Dark Side Jake Yrastorza




4
"It probably was meant to be just that… a momentary glimpse into the legend, like the ghost of a loved one flashing by from time to time. It’s not enough yet it’s enough."--The Eraserheads Reunion, The Ricelander’s Blog

5
"Ely threw his Levi’s Denim jacket towards our direction and guess what? The 6 of us were literally holding on to the jacket. This is how we literally fought over Ely’s jacket. I wasn’t on the picture because I was dragged on the ground. Haha. The bouncer (without the cap) was already saying that the jacket should be given to the girls (i.e. MINE and the other girl!). Of course, the men wouldn’t allow it because their hands grabbed it also. And so this bouncer (with the cap) confiscated the jacket. The 6 of us were worried that he might not give it back to us. He came back to us after the first set and was asking for a bribe (pang-merienda lang daw). WOW. Of course we didn’t give in to his demands (ano ito, ransom???) and so the 6 of us decided to just divide the jacket among us just to compromise. We might be reprimanded with unruly behavior (and the concert might be stopped because of us) that’s why just to get over it, we decided to cut the jacket into parts after the concert since scissors were not allowed in the venue. The jacket became a ’sacred object’, you know in the religious sense? It was so immature of me but what the hell, this would be the last time that i’ll be doing this. Haha.

"They were finally able to sing the final song “Ang Huling El Bimbo”. To tell you honestly, I cried in the middle of the song. I didn’t anticipate the tears but it just fell down my cheeks. I think Buddy saw me crying. It’s really unexplainable. I know that I have already moved on. Maybe I cried because I finally saw that Ely is back. All throughout the show, he was enjoying himself and didn’t seem to be forced on doing something that he didn’t like. This was the Eraserheads that I saw way back when they were still together: joking around, didn’t care if they made a mistake on a certain part, etc. If i will be comparing it to the first, I like this one better because I know they were all enjoying."—-This is The Last El Bimbo-My Eraserheads Final Set Experience, Slip Inside the Eye of My Mind, Sharlyne Ang

6
"I GOT RAIMUND MARASIGAN's drumstick!!!!!!, when he threw it on the last encore songs, he threw it on my far left and i ddnt have hope of getting it, and for some reason, it bounced and fell on my foot. YAHOOO!! i grabbed it and held it infront of me, and paused for a good 5 seconds. thanking the gods of rock. amen."-–Eraserheads Final Set Experience: 03.07.2009, Chasing Lights, zarathrustralf



7
"Presently, the car parks in a special area. It is easy to find my slot. It’s got my name in front of it. Some lady herds my crew and me to my own tent. There’s food. And booze. And it’s got A/C too. Damn, we never had it this good before.
And this gets me thinking. Were we ever this big? Were we even close to it when we released Circus? Or Cutterpillow? Or Sticker Happy? Or right after our Asian and U.S. tours?

"Hell no. We’re way bigger now that the band’s dead than it ever was when it was still alive.

"To this day, I am asked why we ended all this. A fan once said how she felt orphaned, that she wished her “parents” would get back in each other’s arms. I don’t know. I think we were a group with an expiration date. I guess we weren’t meant to live our lives gigging together forever. Did we write songs designed to stay longer than we did? Of course not. But we’re all glad, maybe even lucky, it’s turning out that way.

"And then Ely sets his piano in flames. What the…I somehow had a sense that he’d do that but to actually witness it on stage is a totally different story. I mean, this is THE Sticker Happy piano. Sure, it no longer works but it’s always been pretty symbolic for the band. Soon after, Ely kicks it over and stomps on it. Now, that’s a symbol.

"If memory serves me right, that’s probably the most theatrical thing Ely ever did at a gig. I mean, this is one guy who knows he is a rock god but refuses to acknowledge it. Have you ever seen him at interviews? He’s got the “Let’s-get-this-over-with” and “I-don’t-give-a-damn” look. And it’s not put on. It’s because he just doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to make music. I think. And how. There’s the deft turn of phrase, the word play, and an ear for simply what sounds right. Most of the songs he wrote are autobiographical but when you hear them, you believe that he really wrote about you and your world. Yet you never knew a girl who answered to the name, “Julie Tearjerky.”--If I Were an Eraserhead, The Dark Side, Jake Yrastorza

8
"Closure can't get sweeter than this."—Another One of Those Eraserheads: The Final Set Blog Entries, Multiply Mo Mukha Mo!, iampugeda

9
"it was bittersweet. to hear your youth played like that and to share it with 100,000people. i'm guessing a lot of us are in our thirties by now and are COMPLETELY different from the people we were when we heard those songs for the first time, and also in a way exactly the same...

fuck people, we're ancient.

it's 3pm in the afternoon on a sunday and all i want right now is a vodka double on the rocks.

not that any of you will ever read my blog, but right now i am compelled to say THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU. for overcoming whatever shit you guys have between you for one night. for playing for more or less 3 hours. for looking like, at least for a few minutes, you actually enjoyed playing together. for making it through the night without ely needing another open heart surgery. for dressing up for the part. for playing even the stupid songs. for giving a shout out to francis m. for saying a proper goodbye. for writing all of that kick ass music.

"because my life as a movie is better with your songs in the soundtrack."--Ito Na Ang Huling El Bimbo, anonymous



10
“guys, pag lettermen na ang eraserheads at maisipan nilang ituloy ang concert, manunuod pa rin tayong magkakasama ha…”-Some kind of fairytale, cecille


*If you're an Eraserheads fan. Compiled by Cristina Gomez-Verano who missed the show because she was seven months pregnant. Her story on the first set here. 211 more photos from The Final Set here. ...Read more