Cream of the crap

You’ve heard it before: Put a hundred monkeys in a room with a typewriter and those simians would come up with a Shakespeare play, maybe not Hamlet but The Tempest at least. Well, what would happen if you put a single ape in a room and give it a word processor, some Benzedrine, nicotine and a steady aural diet of Lionel Richie and Julio Iglesias tearjerkers? That poor monkey would come up with either a couple of pages of a John Grisham novel or the lyrics of a really bad song. Hey, it’s a scientific fact. The only thing that remains a mystery to science is why a human being who considers himself superior over primates would do something as Neanderthal as penning a really crappy song or, worse, recording it. (Cases in point: Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus, Honey by Bobby Goldsboro and Brother Louie by Modern Talking, among other aural horrors.)

Now, crappy doesn’t necessarily mean mushy or mawkish. There are overly sentimental tracks that are not a scourge to the ears. (Think classics from the Carpenters, Sergio Mendes and Brazil, Dionne Warwick, America, Basil Valdez, etc.) Crappy songs simply mean shit for the ears. They give you the desire to puncture your head with a screwdriver or pray for an Attila the Hun of a toothache just to take your mind off lines like "To all the ghels I loved before, who traveled in and out my dhoor" or "Say you, say me, say it together, naturally."

Years ago, humor columnist Dave Barry came up with an article (and subsequently a book titled Dave Barry’s Book of Bad Songs) that dealt with horrible pop and rock ditties – like MacArthur Park, the ballad about a cake left out in the rain, all its sweet green icing flowing down, as well as other sonic horrors that make each of us say, "I don’t think that I can take it…Oh no!"

Allow me to rip off Barry by coming up with my own random musings on crappy songs – crappy OPM numbers to be exact, homegrown tunes with the same appeal as an Aqua butt-shaker or a Celine Dion hell-raiser. (Dion is the only singer according to SPIN magazine who could perform AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long and make Satan roll over in his lake of fire.)

But first a disclaimer: People are going to hate me for this article. I don’t mean the Young Star readers. I’m referring to the people who are pissed when a music writer voices out his opinions. (If I tell you Linkin Park and Limp Bizkit suck, that’s my opinion. Your opinion, on the other hand, is that Mike Shinoda and Fred Durst are gods. Well, my opinion is right.)

Also, this article might anger the people who have a hand in the composing, the recording and the peddling of the songs that will be put to the gallows in this write-up. Don’t get me wrong. I love Pilipino music. Some of my most favorite tunes are from acts like the Juan De La Cruz Band (Ang Himig Natin, Langit, Beep-Beep), Asin (Usok, Himig Ng Pag-Ibig, Dahon), Yano (Senti, Esem, Tsinelas), Buklod (Kanlungan), Joey Ayala (Walang Hanggang Paalam), Bazil Valdez (Tuwing Umuulan at Kapiling Ka, Kastilyong Buhangin), the APO (Tuyo Nang Damdamin) and the Eraserheads (Ang Huling El Bimbo), among other well-crafted tunes.

I can’t tell you how good these songs are. But for every Juan De La Cruz Band or Kulay, there are hordes of Lloyd Umalis and Richard Reynosos. So, let’s not be freakin’ hypocrites and acknowledge the fact that there are crap like Jolina Magdangal’s Crying Time or Rockstar 2’s I’m Sorry, My Love that co-exist with gems like Color it Red’s I Need You Here or Cynthia Alexander’s Comfort in Your Strangeness.

Now for the cream of the crap... The first song to enter the crevices of my cranium and stay there, unfortunately, is the Thinkers’ Pag Ibig Ko’y Metal. I don’t know if you have heard of this horrible heavy metal ballad with the immortal line, "Pag-ibig ko’y metal/pag-ibig ko’y magtatagal." Blame Jograd De La Torre, comedian and the Thinkers’ lead singer, for this despicable crime against humanity. He is the guy who used to be the sidekick of German Moreno in a Nora Aunor variety show. Maybe Pag-ibig Ko’y Metal is the result of Jograd overdosing on Bon Jovi’s Bed of Roses or his brain getting contaminated with radiation from Kuya Germ’s gamma-ray-colored suit.

Victor Wood came out with all sorts of aural shockers. He recorded a Christmas ballroom dancing album featuring the classic, Kahit Sa Langit May Ballroom Dancing. Wood also cut a platter with Imelda Papin, who’s in the same league as Eva Eugenio and Claire De La Fuente. (Two of these jukebox queens became public officials along with other crooners, a phenomenon that can only happen in our sad republic.) But, for me, Victor Wood’s crowning un-glory is the vasectomy anthem Inibig Ko’y Nakatali Na from the hit album, "Malupit na Pag-Ibig."

Speaking of Papin, do you recall her Isang Linggong Pag-Ibig? It has the same storyline as Sting’s Seven Days and The Cure’s Friday I’m In Love – wackier and more saccharine, of course.

Gintong Araw by Bing Rodrigo is another insipid ditty. In the chorus Rodrigo pleads, "Pababayaan mo kayang masayang na lang/Mga gintong araw natin na nagdaan/May halaga pa ba sa atin ang pag-ibig/Kung puso at gabi’y mag-sing lamig." This is one deliriously in love dude you don’t mess around with.

Notice that many of the schmaltziest songs on the planet have the L-word as their topic. Christy Mendoza warns two-timing blokes about love’s rule number one: "Walang kaliwaan, walang kaliwaan sa pag-ibig." Uh, I guess an MMDA traffic enforcer penned this tune. There is a similar song by god-knows-who, which is a favorite of a layout artist in the Lifestyle section: "Kung ang irog mo ay dalawa, palayain ang isa... liligaya nang lubos."

The self-proclaimed "Old School" rap artist Carlos Agassi has an irritating number called Boracay Baby, which has these poignant lines: "Boracay Baby, take a swim with me/Boracay Baby, sa isang tabi." The only thing more annoying than the song is the video with that goddamn dance. If every kid starts doing that shimmying step, it will be the end of civilization as we know it. (Other songs in Agassi’s album – "C.A.R.L.O.S." or "Can Agassi Rap Like Old School?" – are Ya So Hot and Wherz Da Party At? Talk about being a really vhad sfeller.)

Then there are the vanity projects – you know, actors and actresses scoring a record deal, waxing their own albums and perpetrating unspeakable tortures upon our ears. In the States, would you believe that Star Trek’s William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy each recorded an album? Captain Kirk even did a rendition of the Beatles’ Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and Bob Dylan’s Mr. Tamborine Man, while Dr. Spock sang Proud Mary by CCR. Not even one Vulcan tried to stop them.

Other celebrities who went into the studio and went medieval on our ears include Eddie Murphy, Kim Basinger, Bruce Willis, Traci Lords (I swear I am not making this up), David Hasselhoff (true, true – I don’t have Tom Robbins’ imagination to make this up), Richard Harris (two words that put a smear on the career of the great actor: MacArthur Park), Jennifer Love-Hewitt (we know what she did last summer), Brian Austin Green (Beverly Hills 92010 actor copying Vanilla Ice – ‘nuff said), Terri Garr (which prompted this immortal comment from a critic, "If a rock could sing, it would sound like Terri Garr!"), the list goes on and on and on…

Here in our sad republic, showbiz stars have also fondled a microphone and dished out really horrendous music. There is Ara Mina who copped Mariah Carey’s My All by doing a song titled "Ay, Ay, Ay Pag-ibig." In this song, the sultry Ara sings as if her underwear were on fire. Haaay yaaa yaay, pag-ibig. It would make the hair on the back of your neck stand, just like the kid in The Sixth Sense whenever he sees dead people.

Remember Pip’s song for Guy? About that blasted doll named…. "Mareeeaaa Le-oh-nowra The-re-saaaa." Or what about Bot’s lament for the elusive Vi? "My pledge of love can not be broken." I saw a title of a song in a jukebox, along with some cha cha tunes by the great Anastacio Mamaril, and it cracked me up no end: Rosita Cha Cha by Esperanza Fabon.

Arnold Gamboa of Apat na Sikat fame came up with a single titled Jackpot, Jackpot Ka – supposed to be about a guy in love with a slut, er, slot machine. Yata. Donna Cruz has a really profound song called Nyeh, Nyeh, Nyeh, Nyeh, Nyeh. She also has a song called YRU So Baduy? Hmm…I wonder who she is addressing.

Nikki Valdez also snagged a recording contract, and came up with songs like Huwag Mo Akong Kulitin (Baka Kita Mahalin) and Chuwariwap. Vina Morales was responsible for Perslab. For the lab of Gad!

Manilyn Reynes explores the sensuous nature of Eros with Feel Na Feel. Another Triplet member, Sheryl Cruz, recorded Mr. Dreamboy, probably her ode to Romnick Sarmenta. Ah…that really f*cked up Eighties.

There are other songs that piss the hell out of me, but I don’t know who’s responsible for such abominations – Christmas Bonus, Badaf, Dear Diary, etc. Add to the list Renz Verano’s Remember Me; the Sexbomb Dancers’ Bakit Papa, RJ Jacinto’s Philippines, My Philippines (cloying Elvis-meets-Ventures nationalistic pap); Ayaw ni Papa ng Rock by Mystica (a song that would make you do splits and pick a fight with Madame Auring), the April Boys’ Sana Ay Mahalin Mo Rin Ako (it’s hard to expect something good from a guy named "Vhingo"); and Jolina Magdangal’s Chuva Choo Choo from the album "Panaginip Platinum Hits Collection."

That last song takes the cake (yes, that cake left out in the rain). For someone who loves great music, his version of hell would probably be this: to be chained inside a soundproofed, egg-shelled room with state-of-the-art Pioneer CD player, Pioneer graphic equalizer and stacks upon stacks of BOSE speakers – and Jolina Magdangal’s Chuva Choo Choo playing for all eternity, until the twelfth of f*cking never. "Chuva Choo Choo, oh babe in love ako with you/Chuva Choo Choo, tumataba ang puso ko."

If that were hell, we would all aim for nothing less than sainthood.

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For comments, suggestions, curses and invocations, e-mail iganja@hotmail.com.