TYBS # 20 (APRIL 2007)
I picked up a guitar again in 2004, after a hiatus of several years, in an effort to revitalize myself from the trauma of a particularly long relationship -- the break-up of which was no less scathing either.
It was a cheap classical guitar that probably cost no more than Php2, 000 and, in retrospect, I probably should have detected that it wasn’t intonated and that the frets buzzed in places. While my guitar buying skills have since improved, back then I just wanted something with six strings that would play.
At about the same time I enrolled in a basic drum class, having entertained rockstar thoughts of pounding the skins for a long time. I finished the course with my sense of groove improved but my coordination and drumming still dismal. My pathetic attempts at rolls, diddles, paradiddles and syncopation were met with howls of protest from our dogs. Okay, so practice at home was a bummer.
I contended myself with improving my guitar skills and was satisfied to see that I was getting better, bit by bit. I was content learning songs and just singing to myself. I never once thought I’d actually be able to play in a band.
In 2006 I got work at the marketing arm of a major TV network and got to hang out once again with an old friend, multi-awarded writer and all around rogue Iwa Wilwayco. Iwa also played bass for avante-punk band The Brockas. It was he who suggested we form a band. I was going to be the drummer; despite my protests, despite my protestations that my skills were totally basic.
I’d tried it out with another set of friends previously, also as a three-piece, and results were so dreadful that the bassist never wanted to jam with us again. Still, Iwa can be pretty convincing when he wants to so I agreed. We tried it out with the same guitarist and it was still appalling. A few weeks later we tried it out with another guitarist, our officemate Oji.
Here’s the twist: Oji and I arrived early at the practice studio and decided to noodle around while we waited. Then we decided to switch instruments just for fun. He at the drums, me with his guitar. Oji, it turns out, after a few quick runs and blazing hits, was a pretty amazing drummer. So we decided to stay in our positions until Iwa arrived.
That jam felt like we weren’t thinking, or thinking effortlessly. What poured out of us unthinking sounded very much like punk rock. It was undemanding, fierce and immensely enjoyable.
“Punk is musical freedom. It’s saying, doing and playing what you want,” said Kurt Cobain in his Journals. So we decided to be a punk band. Due to our busy schedules we couldn’t do another practice session. But a month later we got our first gig.
Okay, so I still didn’t have my own guitar. No worries, our drummer would lend me his axe. In 2003, at an interview with Radioactive Sago, frontman Lourd De Veyra asked me: ‘Why aren’t you in a band?” I quickly answered: “Because I have real bad stage fright.” Hmmm, hot to deal with my paralysis in front of a crowd at my first live performance? Our bassist squeezed my shoulder. He’d help me through it. He had just the thing, he said. No worries.
I wanted to say, whoa, wait wait, can we slow things down? This hobby is turning out to be more than I bargained for. And I knew that from my bedroom to the stage (albeit a very small and cozy stage) was the distance of light years.
Several days after the show, this is what I wrote in my journal. Forgive the gut-spilling sentimentality:
“I can only remember my first gig, the first time I played live, in fragments. The reflection of cymbals on translucent glass, the concrete sidewalk, the bemused and confused expression on Tanya’s face, the humid air and the texture of drizzle at my shoulders.
“We were at a gallery called Pablo at Cubao’s Marikina Shoe Expo. The event was the opening of a one-man exhibit by our drummer’s friend. His art combined the techno, the erotic and the grotesque. Hours previous to this our bassist had helped soothe my colossal stage fright by giving me a pep talk and infusing me with tons of, ehem, medicinal herbs.
“Afterwards, I was half-stoned and half-agitated, light years better than nervous. We had no singer that night but, at the last moment, Iwa’s bandmate from The Brockas, Earl, showed up to help us with synths, sound design and just general noise.
“I remember feeling an elation -- unexplainable, exhilarating and undeniable -- welling up from somewhere in my gut. I could only ride it. The chemicals and the decision not to let the crowd get to me had an incredibly freeing effect, especially on my playing.
“The Jesus Mafia’s sound was raw, forceful and awkward in places. It was also full of energy and barely contained mayhem with just a hint of pretentious avante-gardeism (thanks to Earl’s earsplitting feedback).
“Though I had strapped on a borrowed guitar, the effects box sounded like a mess of peas rattling inside a tin can and I couldn’t hear myself half the time, I think that first gig was, for me, what Zen disciples called the experience of `a koan unfolding in your mind.’
“I couldn’t believe I was a part of such a product. I could barely believe I was making it. When the last chord sounded and the crowd clapped I understood why the electric church espoused its brand of enlightenment as matchless. Such unrivalled shamanic ecstasy.”
The distance from the bedroom to the stage turned out closer than I thought. I loved the fact that music is now so expansive and vast that even making controlled noise is welcome and even valued as a sign of aural vision. Thank you, Sonic Youth. Thank you, Velvet Underground.
I am thankful that despite the drama and the personality skirmishes that seem to come with the territory, the musical scene appears to be a generally congenial and friendly one (not the industry, though).
What was once just a means to therapy for me has led to my overcoming stage fright, learning to function in a musical unit, enjoyed trying to make songs, converging with bandmates at shared musical influences and generally just gaining a whole new field of creative space. Music is an immediate medium, writing, on the other hand, flourishes in the aftermath of comprehension.
I have since learned to use an electric guitar and a few pedals to boot. I now play in two bands, the punk band Jesus Mafia and the metaltronica band Tabloid Lite. I have no expectation, hopes or ambitions with my music or these bands except that we get to play together whether live or in a studio. Though I would prefer to play live when possible – it’s just more exhilarating, as if every gig is a minor crisis situation you must learn to thrive in.
As I write this my new electric guitar (a black PRS Tremonti SE) is about five days old. I have named her Loviatar. I have since put up my old electric guitar (a fire red RJ imitation of an SG `61 Reissue) for sale. Her name was Siva.
Tomorrow Tabloid Lite will have its second band practice. I would like to see how Loviatar fares with an actual stack of amps. I would love to see what kind of music we produce. Here’s to the sound and fury. Here’s to thrills of the electric church.
It was a cheap classical guitar that probably cost no more than Php2, 000 and, in retrospect, I probably should have detected that it wasn’t intonated and that the frets buzzed in places. While my guitar buying skills have since improved, back then I just wanted something with six strings that would play.
At about the same time I enrolled in a basic drum class, having entertained rockstar thoughts of pounding the skins for a long time. I finished the course with my sense of groove improved but my coordination and drumming still dismal. My pathetic attempts at rolls, diddles, paradiddles and syncopation were met with howls of protest from our dogs. Okay, so practice at home was a bummer.
I contended myself with improving my guitar skills and was satisfied to see that I was getting better, bit by bit. I was content learning songs and just singing to myself. I never once thought I’d actually be able to play in a band.
In 2006 I got work at the marketing arm of a major TV network and got to hang out once again with an old friend, multi-awarded writer and all around rogue Iwa Wilwayco. Iwa also played bass for avante-punk band The Brockas. It was he who suggested we form a band. I was going to be the drummer; despite my protests, despite my protestations that my skills were totally basic.
I’d tried it out with another set of friends previously, also as a three-piece, and results were so dreadful that the bassist never wanted to jam with us again. Still, Iwa can be pretty convincing when he wants to so I agreed. We tried it out with the same guitarist and it was still appalling. A few weeks later we tried it out with another guitarist, our officemate Oji.
Here’s the twist: Oji and I arrived early at the practice studio and decided to noodle around while we waited. Then we decided to switch instruments just for fun. He at the drums, me with his guitar. Oji, it turns out, after a few quick runs and blazing hits, was a pretty amazing drummer. So we decided to stay in our positions until Iwa arrived.
That jam felt like we weren’t thinking, or thinking effortlessly. What poured out of us unthinking sounded very much like punk rock. It was undemanding, fierce and immensely enjoyable.
“Punk is musical freedom. It’s saying, doing and playing what you want,” said Kurt Cobain in his Journals. So we decided to be a punk band. Due to our busy schedules we couldn’t do another practice session. But a month later we got our first gig.
Okay, so I still didn’t have my own guitar. No worries, our drummer would lend me his axe. In 2003, at an interview with Radioactive Sago, frontman Lourd De Veyra asked me: ‘Why aren’t you in a band?” I quickly answered: “Because I have real bad stage fright.” Hmmm, hot to deal with my paralysis in front of a crowd at my first live performance? Our bassist squeezed my shoulder. He’d help me through it. He had just the thing, he said. No worries.
I wanted to say, whoa, wait wait, can we slow things down? This hobby is turning out to be more than I bargained for. And I knew that from my bedroom to the stage (albeit a very small and cozy stage) was the distance of light years.
Several days after the show, this is what I wrote in my journal. Forgive the gut-spilling sentimentality:
“I can only remember my first gig, the first time I played live, in fragments. The reflection of cymbals on translucent glass, the concrete sidewalk, the bemused and confused expression on Tanya’s face, the humid air and the texture of drizzle at my shoulders.
“We were at a gallery called Pablo at Cubao’s Marikina Shoe Expo. The event was the opening of a one-man exhibit by our drummer’s friend. His art combined the techno, the erotic and the grotesque. Hours previous to this our bassist had helped soothe my colossal stage fright by giving me a pep talk and infusing me with tons of, ehem, medicinal herbs.
“Afterwards, I was half-stoned and half-agitated, light years better than nervous. We had no singer that night but, at the last moment, Iwa’s bandmate from The Brockas, Earl, showed up to help us with synths, sound design and just general noise.
“I remember feeling an elation -- unexplainable, exhilarating and undeniable -- welling up from somewhere in my gut. I could only ride it. The chemicals and the decision not to let the crowd get to me had an incredibly freeing effect, especially on my playing.
“The Jesus Mafia’s sound was raw, forceful and awkward in places. It was also full of energy and barely contained mayhem with just a hint of pretentious avante-gardeism (thanks to Earl’s earsplitting feedback).
“Though I had strapped on a borrowed guitar, the effects box sounded like a mess of peas rattling inside a tin can and I couldn’t hear myself half the time, I think that first gig was, for me, what Zen disciples called the experience of `a koan unfolding in your mind.’
“I couldn’t believe I was a part of such a product. I could barely believe I was making it. When the last chord sounded and the crowd clapped I understood why the electric church espoused its brand of enlightenment as matchless. Such unrivalled shamanic ecstasy.”
The distance from the bedroom to the stage turned out closer than I thought. I loved the fact that music is now so expansive and vast that even making controlled noise is welcome and even valued as a sign of aural vision. Thank you, Sonic Youth. Thank you, Velvet Underground.
I am thankful that despite the drama and the personality skirmishes that seem to come with the territory, the musical scene appears to be a generally congenial and friendly one (not the industry, though).
What was once just a means to therapy for me has led to my overcoming stage fright, learning to function in a musical unit, enjoyed trying to make songs, converging with bandmates at shared musical influences and generally just gaining a whole new field of creative space. Music is an immediate medium, writing, on the other hand, flourishes in the aftermath of comprehension.
I have since learned to use an electric guitar and a few pedals to boot. I now play in two bands, the punk band Jesus Mafia and the metaltronica band Tabloid Lite. I have no expectation, hopes or ambitions with my music or these bands except that we get to play together whether live or in a studio. Though I would prefer to play live when possible – it’s just more exhilarating, as if every gig is a minor crisis situation you must learn to thrive in.
As I write this my new electric guitar (a black PRS Tremonti SE) is about five days old. I have named her Loviatar. I have since put up my old electric guitar (a fire red RJ imitation of an SG `61 Reissue) for sale. Her name was Siva.
Tomorrow Tabloid Lite will have its second band practice. I would like to see how Loviatar fares with an actual stack of amps. I would love to see what kind of music we produce. Here’s to the sound and fury. Here’s to thrills of the electric church.
2 comments:
hot-wallpapers
rqsj d ! kk 74
wasak na wasak!
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