Lumad at large

Occasionally, you run into Joey Ayala’s silly grin in obscure spots in the city, such as the pre-planning for progressive new schools or the launch of a watering hole and folkhouse by the Pasig, or even on a given Tuesday writer’s night in Quezon City at Conspiracy Garden Cafe, a stone’s throw away from his old digs on Lands Street.

For some years now the silly grin has gone solo, went back to acoustic among other basics of voice and guitar and/or kulintang. He can oblige you with a song or two at an impromptu gig if so requested, just to remind listeners of the ways how the edge can be kept sharp as ever.

In fact you might already have heard about Joey Ayala’s dual effort (as in dual taxi?) late last year with ex-Buklod Noel Cabangon in an NGO-produced CD called Gitara, Lapis, atbp., a collection of their respective old chestnuts actually performed halinhinan (alternately) style, representing perhaps the apex of the singer-songwriter genre on local shores.

We’re not sure if these are recordings culled from the original masters, or if the versions were reworked for more contemporary feel. Whatever, the songs survive the too fluid test of posterity in that they still sound as fresh and urgent as when we first heard them.

Tutubing Bakal, with its ominous jew’s harp prefigures any scorched earth operation, these days of Balikatan notwithstanding. Maglakad still jazzy and rambling, recalling brisk walks around the village of our youth. Mindanao captures the matrix of the island, ever shifting with a luminous beauty. Bata-batuta could well be used as a soundtrack for the Ditsi Carolino documentary, Bunso.

If there could be a title song for the CD, then Ayala’s Classroom 101 could be it: Full of foreboding and droll humor, it all the more drives home the point why purchase of Gitara, Lapis, atbp. would help improve schools or the building of them in depressed communities in the south. Certainly the music here is the right antidote to Kurakot 101, and we should thank our lucky NGOs for serving as watchdog and conscience.

Cabangon for his part, is not merely confined to supporting role, rather comes through as full-fledged partner in crime with such songs as Dalampasigan ng Puso and Pagkatapos ng Digma, the words as melodic as we’ve come to know him in the singer’s various incarnations and incantations, from MTV hero to Jesuit-produced socially concerned projects.

Admittedly it’s quite a ways from Kanlungan, the song that goes pana-panahon, though not really that far-fetched. The alternate format of the CD works well in terms of counterpoint, Cabangon’s fine melodic sense smoothing out Ayala’s rough, grim and determined edges.

Not to be outdone either is another Lumad apart, the Ayala band’s former lead woman vocalist, Bayang Barrios, who also late last year released her latest (2nd? 3rd?) CD, Alon, in the hub of things beyond the simply alternative. Who was it that said her voice is meant for love songs, so that Alon is indeed chockfull of them, songs of love for one’s partner, the environment, one’s fellow man and roots.

The setting is basically pop-rock, given a simmering finish by Barrios’ bana the guitarist Mike Villegas, both of them veterans of the music and romantic wars of varying scales and time signatures.

The title song begins and ends the collection, by far the artist’s most mature work to date. Alon the electric opens with a plea to a tricycle driver to race like hell to catch a loved one who might be lost forever; Alon the acoustic fades out in semi-Brazilian mode, Bayang hitting the high notes like a cartwheel lost in the wind.

Another highlight is the song that won for her the grand prize in the Metro pop songfest, Malayo Man Malapit Din, about worlds that never quite meet but forever tilting on the axis bold as love. Certainly it is more optimistic than, say, Joni Mitchell’s Coyote, in this case Villegas’ ringing guitar supplanting Jaco Pastorious’ brooding bass.

More where that came from: Asa ka ng Asa with its positively reggae vibe; Nagiisang Mundo an impassioned plea to save the environment for future generations, Bayang’s voice with an irresistible catch in her throat.

On a given night maybe you can catch Bayang at the 70s Bistro rousing the crowd of beer drinkers and NGO workers, and Villegas playing session to bring the house down, and Villegas’ twin Angelo possibly obliging too with a cameo on bass.

Even now as I write this she may be handing to you an autographed copy of the CD, complete with cell number, in between sips of red wine. And wasn’t it only yesterday when we were lost on Mahusay Street, in an apartment waiting for Bayang or a glimpse of her with the rest of the tropa from the south, nursing our beers and the songs of our youth?