Love Letters’: A Masterclass in Romance
Last year, I wrote that on Valentine’s Day, my wife and I usually just stay home with our grown-up kids. I don’t know what came over me when I impulsively scored tickets to the concert “Love Letters” so that we could go on a V-Day date night this year.
Maybe it’s because the title appealed to me: “Love Letters.” For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing love letters. The ones I wrote for my ex-girlfriend have since evolved into poems, which I know she continues to appreciate now that she’s my wife, probably more than the gifts they accompany.
It could also be that Ryan Cayabyab brought out the romantic in me again, with the help of Basil Valdez, Celeste Legaspi and Ogie Alcasid, and JMielle — the Sidlak Bisdak Duo of Marielle Montellano and JM Dela Cerna, who were the first grand champions of the “Tawag ng Tanghalan Duets” last year. Their songs and voices unlocked memories of a more civilized time (like lightsabers).
“Love Letters,” the second chapter of the “MaestroClass Concert Series” and staged at The Proscenium for a three-night show, was National Artist Ryan Cayabyab’s carefully planned correspondence between composers and listeners, past and present, lovers who once were and lovers who still are.
Mr. C, as always, was a storyteller, piano man and singer rolled into one. But, first and foremost, he is a professor — after all, he taught at the UP College of Music for decades — so he was able to entertain his “class” with a short lesson on verse-refrain and verse-chorus.
JMielle kicked off the Valentine evening with voices that seemed to make the long-stemmed roses given to the ladies at the theater entrance bloom just a little bit more. It was as if they were asking the audience — most of whom were old enough to be their parents, or even grandparents — to hold on their seats (and their bladders) as the show traced the many seasons of love: first stirrings, longing, devotion, heartbreak and the quiet spirit that comes with choosing to love every day.
Drawing from a treasure chest of Filipino love songs popularized by George Canseco, Willy Cruz and Jose Mari Chan, as well as other artists including Levi Celerio, the Maestro made sure that nothing felt rushed. Each song was allowed to breathe, like a letter carefully opened, unfolded and read line by line, page by page.
Celeste — elegant, assured, witty and still quite the rebel — reminded us that her voice could still soar above “Pepe’s kite” (Saranggola ni Pepe) as she sang of timeless love, sparrows and ice cream men.
Basil crooned as if time itself had softened its grip on him. My wife and I were still in law school the last time we heard him perform live; the rasp, however, managed to carry that unmistakable ache, the kind that makes you remember where you were the first time you heard Kastilyong Buhangin.
Then, there’s Ogie, who may be younger than the legends but whose old soul has brought him closer to their hallowed stature in OPM. On this Valentine’s evening of letters, Ogie’s songs felt exactly like a kundirana — a portmanteau of kundiman (romantic Filipino love song) and harana (serenade). Kundirana happens to be his singing group at La Salle Green Hills that also bred the likes of Gary Valenciano, Randy Santiago, Wency Cornejo, Dingdong Avanzado and Louie Ocampo.
Watching them together, I held my wife’s hand like I always do, but the moment made the gesture warmer, lovelier. She even teared up during the performances. I wasn’t exactly transported back to a bygone era, but rather reminded of the 2013 film “About Time,” while How Long Will I Love You played in the background.
Pop culture has trained us to think of romance in cinematic shorthand: like the dialogue in the “Before” trilogy, montages from “La La Land” and even the slow burn of K-dramas that endlessly tease in every episode.
“Love Letters” offered a similar emotional continuity where there’s no climax, just a never-ending foreplay.
What can I say? We, Filipinos, are hopeless romantics. The artists who serenaded us on V-Day — when music becomes a communal language of affection — naturally played on our emotions as we sang along not just with our voices but with memory; lyrics flashed on screen weren’t really necessary but were appreciated. They’re kept, revisited and passed on, just like letters.
At The Proscenium that night, the audience consisted mostly of Boomers and Xers, a fact that provided the stars enough material to keep everyone entertained. A photo of a Valentine bouquet of Katinko, Salonpas, White Flower and Efficascent Oil was an effective punchline to one of Ogie’s quips.
It was truly heartwarming to realize that every lolo and lola, tito and tita, and a smattering of hijos y hijas, seemed to know the songs and understand their subtexts. When familiar melodies filled the air, they sounded more like enduring anthems than oldies.
Maybe that’s what pushed me to buy those tickets in the first place.
Or, perhaps, it’s just that my wife and I haven’t gone on a decent date for a while. This night was my way of telling her, without quite saying it, that the fire is very much alive. That I still believe in handwritten feelings, in shared songs and in sitting side-by-side with music filling the air and space around us.
More than nostalgia, listening to the music of our time, performed by the voices that shaped it, was a gentle nudge that love — like letters and songs — survives because we nourish it and return to it, again and again.
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