Weave and song, farewell to Susan FM

It’s been a sad year so far for Filipino musicians, with four of them gone too soon since January. Barely into 2009 the singer and analog mistress Anabel Bosch bid goodbye, taken away by aneurism, her work with the alternative band Elektrik Kool Aid a cipher for the ’90s post-Tom Wolfe; in February it was the bassist Dondie Ledesma’s turn to take leave, his CDs “Nova” and “Die Black Rat” now collector’s items like his session work with the greats that made him a great himself; in March it was master rapper Francis M who wrote 30, exiting the kaleidoscope world leaving a hip-hop generation feeling orphaned.

Then on July 2, Thursday, the folksinger Susan Fernandez Magno passed away, silencing a veteran voice of protest during the turbulent years before the turn of the last century. She died at nearly 2 p.m. at the Medical City in Pasig of cancer, and as text messages say, shortly after her friend and colleague and fellow folksinger Lester Demetillo sang her favorite song to her at bedside, she must have felt a chariot swinging low coming to take her away.

She was a regular face at gatherings during the difficult Marcos years, at rallies and book launchings providing the intermission breaks, her voice soaring above the din of raised fists that dreamed of a better democratic world, her ever- smiling face a counterpoint to the spiteful murals and grotesque effigies.

Yet though she protested social injustice, the despararecidos and the massacre of farmers, there was no hatred in her tone, a calming influence that reined in the hardliners. Her activism wasn’t that of the frothing rabble-rouser, but that didn’t make it less involved. She found out early enough that the best way to fight fire was not with fire but with song.

Her lone album, “Habi at Himig” was released in 1990 in cassette form, but it recently came out in CD during benefit concerts to help defray medical expenses, first at the Conspiracy Garden Café late last year, then just a couple of weeks ago at Ten02 bar.

Even the analog version has held up well, and re-listening to it hours after Susan’s death made us better appreciate the art of folksinging, and the sobering effect she had on the demagogues and ideologues.

It’s easy to dismiss “Habi at Himig” as dated and exclusive to the Marcos and post-dictatorship era, but listen to it again and you get to understand why it is called folksinging — songs for the common folk, mostly just a voice and acoustic guitar, and the determination to win against the odds — poverty, an oppressive system, the feudal setup.

The songs take on an added meaning now with talk of no-elections and self-perpetuating power trippers, what more with ex-President Cory Aquino on her very sick bed.

In 1991 a reviewer wrote that the best songs in “Habi at Himig” were Nais Ko and Kung Ibig Mo Akong Makilala, and this could still hold true today. Nais Ko opens the album on a catchy beat described as Lumad-inspired ethnic syncopation, while Kung Ibig Mo Akong Makilala has the poet Elynia Mabanglo writing the lyrics. Both songs have no trouble sticking to the memory, and can be played either at full volume or slightly above a whisper and their power would not be diminished.

Jocelynang Baliwag has Susan and her sisters singing a capella almost like a choir of angels, notwithstanding the title which makes us hanker for litson manok. In the human rights compilation Karapatang Pantao Susan opens the double album also with an a capella number, a lullaby belying a simmering uprising of the masses and protracted people’s war of the next cuts.

Kalapating Lansangan has her singing the blues, the theme a sequel to urban squalor. She was also an advocate of the women’s movement, but her brand of feminism was never overbearing, at least not to these ears.

Her CD also includes the rally staples Babae Ka and Ayaw Namin ng Nukleyar, originals by Inang Laya and Patatag, respectively, like her both UP Diliman-based.

The Midweek reviewer wrote: “When her voice picks herself up off the ground, there is a sheen glimmering around the rough edges, giving ‘Habi at Himig’ then its character: a delicate interweaving of words and music by a folksinger who basks in the shared communal light of her performance.”

We can only wish that we had known her better, save for all-too-brief encounters at book launchings and poetry readings or gallery openings. There was hardly any time either to catch her in her “three divas” concert with Cynthia Alexander and Girl Valencia a couple of years ago, which is probably where the four divas got their idea.

But there was a way she cradled her guitar that made her not so much diva as girl woman out on her first date or gig, full of guarded excitement and great expectations. Never underestimate her influence on the younger musicians either, as traces of her vocal phrasing can be heard in Cooky Chua.

Wonder what it was that Lester sang Thursday, strains of which accompanied Susan as she crossed over. The little I know of her is that she was the gentlest of persons, not a mean bone in her body, now ash and dust and nether song.