What we talk about when we talk about 1996

When we talk about 1996, we talk about being too young to know any better. We talk about loves that sparked and flamed and guttered out, about passions that seemed so certain then and seem nothing more than silly now. We talk about being lost, metaphorically (never knowing what course to take, in school or life) and literally (losing our way on a should-have-been-simple drive from Quezon City to the then-happening Malate).

We talk about music, about the door that the Eraserheads kicked open in 1993, and the flood that followed. We talk about the word “alternative”: a word that seems quaint and useless now, but at the time signified a real break from what we were used to, from the never-ending medley of Pinoy public transportation hits and the bathetic balladeers and the plagiarized pop. (Before alternative rock, of course, we had fallen for what was sometimes called New Wave or just simply New Music, had listened raptly to mixtapes made by overseas cousins and pored over the bits and scraps of the British musical press that we could get our hands on; but alternative rock, while not entirely alien in a musical sense, felt different because of its often ramshackle nature and its very ubiquity.) 

“Cutterpillow” by the Eraserheads had just come out late in the previous year, and was well on its way to classic status; powered by songs like Overdrive and Huwag Mo Nang Itanong and of course Ang Huling El Bimbo, it represented the height not only of the band’s popularity at the time but perhaps of the scene as a whole. It was the band we could all agree on, regardless of social status or even previously declared preferences; theirs were the songs we would all know by heart. Rivermaya had its followers, of course, and Parokya ni Edgar was just starting up, but the E-heads marked the start and the height and the end of that heady time.

We talk about the bands that we miss from that time: about watching Planet Garapata and being impressed by their funkiness and their then-uncommon mix of influences; of Sugar Hiccup and their haunting, keening, spine-tingling sound. We talk about Yano and how they harbored a fierceness and intelligence and purity that most of the other bands could not lay claim to.

We talk about radio. Specifically, we talk about NU 107, then at the height of its relevance. We talk about how Myrene Academia and “Not Radio” opened our ears to all these amazing acts that would have remained unknown to us if not for her discerning taste and deep knowledge and the sheer coolness that kept us tuning in. We talk about Francis Reyes, and how “In the Raw” would start up soon after, and give so many bands their first break. We talk about all the NU jocks and how we each had our favorites, and how we all considered trying out to be DJs ourselves because it seemed like such an awesome job at the time, even though we knew it would pay next to nothing.

We talk about how we would attend Olats Night at Club Dredd to support friends in bands that sucked.

We talk about Color it Red, and how everyone was a little bit in love with Cooky Chua; about Put3Ska and their incredible, irreverent energy; about Tropical Depression and their feel-good vibe.

We talk about Anabel Bosch and Karl Roy and Francis M: all legends of the scene in their own unique ways and all sadly gone now.

We talk about not-knowing: not knowing what our lives would turn out to be like, not knowing we would not be the creatures in our terribly vague but dearly held dreams, not knowing that the world would not care what we became and that we ourselves would often be too weary to muster the appropriate concern, not knowing that the moment is always there to be had, and that for the span of a song or a shout or a glance it is ours forever.