Barbie we have heard on high

Who is this captivating pixie that stands in front of us? What secrets do her eyes–both hopeful and sad–hold? What would make her frown? What would make her smile? And oh, how she smiles! We can never have too much of that. Thanks–one more please.

This Barbie Almabis girl-woman clearly has us by the heartstrings. It’s pretty much useless to resist. So we can only listen and hope we don’t become any more enchanted. But we’re just prolonging the inevitable here.

She sits Indian-style on her chair and turns towards me, this winsome waif.

With her long locks and that capoed guitar, Barbie first gave us a glimpse into her soul via Hungry Young Poets in ‘97. She was the firewoman. She was passion. She was somewhere we couldn’t believe and dared not imagine. We were hers for the taking, but she was not–like a fruit just beyond our reach.

Those were good days. Those were hard days, too.

Bassist Ricci Gurango and Barbie locked horns, if only artistically. Sure, there was a semblance of division of labor. "Lyrics me, music him," says Barbie. "But we were both dictators. Eh, dalawa lang naman kami." When you’re in a band of three, there’s not much room for two headstrong artists. The aftermath of this obvious impossibility to work together were Ricci’s Mojofly and Barbie’s Cradle.

While Ricci flexed his muscles and got down to a rock ‘n’ rollin’ heckuva good time with Mojofly, Barbie—along with bassist Rommel dela Cruz and drummer Franklin Benitez–started on an inward journey and experimented with a stew of jazz, folk and rock. Barbie’s Cradle scored big with three singles: The Dance, Goodnyt and Tabing Ilog–the latter being the theme song to an ABS-CBN weekend soap. The celebrity grew as more people became aware that "pretty", "talented" and "deep" were not mutually exclusive terms. Barbie’s sweet kolehiyala look was matched by her songwriting prowess and distinctive crooning that is best appreciated when you’re hotwired to a CD player. Barbie’s Cradle soon found itself perched in the unique position of being cool to both the avowed alternative and perfectly pop. On the side, Barbie’s good looks even warranted a print ad for Human. As if to underscore both cuteness and talent the trio appeared on the Powerpuff Girls album.

While Barbie is chief songwriter, she maintains that the band is something of a democracy, especially for the second album (Songs From the Buffet Table, released last year). "Dati, parang pintor daw ako mag-isip. Pag pintor ka mag-isa ka lang. The first album was more of me. But with the second album, it began to shift. Now, we make sure that everybody’s happy. I didn’t know before na masama pala loob nila na it was always just my ideas," she reveals. How did she take the revelation?

"Nung una na-offend ako. But later on, as we talked about it more, I realized it was because they didn’t speak up before and because it was how I used to work. But we’re all willing to change. Barbie’s Cradle is actually three lives put together. I can’t just live my life and have them live their lives around mine."

What about the notion that the best bands are dictatorships? Barbie shrugs: "I guess the important thing is the relationship–I know what you want; I know what you need. It should be give and take. It’s like there are three cooks."

Won’t too many cooks spoil the broth?

"Tatlo lang naman kami," she smiles.

That Barbie now welcomes her bandmates to the creative process is evident in Songs from the Buffet Table. The charismatic Wendell Garcia replaces Franklin and imbues a more upbeat feel to the material–even if the lyrics aren’t exactly jumping for joy. "Wendell is so awake and full of energy, even if my songs are melancholic," she says.

Barbie is a little stumped when asked what Barbie’s Cradle is about, but does offer her take on the second album. "We had simple concerns–that the songs would be playable live."

It’s easy to see though, that Barbie’s Cradle will ever be about its namesake–not as much a vanity mirror as it is a signed confession: Yes, it’s my story. Yes, it’s my life. Yes, it’s me, Barbie Almabis.

Oh, how we love the hushed whispers in the bathroom. Oh, how we love the skeletons in the closet–especially if they’re not our own. There is guilty pleasure in digging a spade into other people’s lives.

Barbie became a target of such indulgence from the rumor mill. The magnifying glass had been trained on her, and out came all sorts of stories–mainly about her gender. She supposedly had a showbiz girlfriend, and so on and so forth.

Barbie’s lyrics weren’t exactly dousing the fire, either. Take Belinda Bye Bye’s admission: "You will be my sinful secret, I can’t tell my kids about you. Though I could never lie."

We tell her that it’s terribly tempting to do a content analysis of her lyrics. We ask her about the song. "Sabi ko na nga ba," she grins. "There’s a significance lang but we don’t really talk about it. It’s basically about letting go of things that are bad for you."

We ask how much of the words on the liner notes are based on personal experience.

"One hundred percent," she reveals. "Lahat ng issues na nilalabanan ko like depression are there. Actually, the songs are so specific. I read somewhere that the more specific you write, the deeper it hits people and the more universal it becomes."

But despite her very personal lyrics, Barbie says she doesn’t mind the interpretations. "You don’t ask a painter about his painting, di ba?" True, but aren’t words always much clearer, especially if only a thin veneer separates the obvious from the metaphors?

"Yung binili mo naman hindi yung buhay nung artist, but the music," she replies.

Wendell says, "What’s important is how relevant it is to you."

Barbie speaks up, "From my point of view, I’m not hiding. It’s like a thin veil –how I use nursery rhymes. It’s so see-through, I’m not hiding at all."

Does she mind all this peering into her soul?

"It’s okay. You can’t hide. The thing you can control is you make yourself clean, so you don’t need to hide anything. I don’t care if you put a flashlight over me because I have nothing to hide."

Barbie shares that the interim spent writing songs for the second album were among her darkest moments. "Like a lot of people, I’m a self-diagnosed manic depressive. Bi-polar. Ang saya-saya ko tapos babagsak," she confesses.

"I was about to become a Christian, or Born-Again. I’d see things and I’d go crazy. I couldn’t sleep the whole day and I’d see things and hear voices. It was so weird because it was like I was on drugs but I was not. Parang praning."

It was during these moments of confusion that she snipped off her locks. Wendell remembers, "We had a rehearsal. Then she came down like that. Uka-uka pa! Parang hagdan."

That was when Barbie decided to turn to God to get her out of the deep funk she found herself in. "It was when I started crying out to Jesus and started reading the Bible. I was living in sin. I had relationships that were bad. Ang daming mga mali sa buhay ko na ginagawa ko. There were lies. It’s very personal, but when I started reading the Bible, I realized why there was so much sadness in my life," she relates. "Ang dami ko palang ginagawa that I was not supposed to. Yung laws ni God, parang law of gravity. Whether you believe them or not, they apply to you. You’d still fall from a building if you jumped–whether you believe it or not."

With that clarity came salvation. "As I started to eradicate the things that were wrong in my life, it started to get brighter and brighter."

But what about the image of the troubled artist? Don’t artists thrive on misery? Doesn’t the musician wear his badge of pain proudly? Angst makes beautiful music doesn’t it?

"For me it’s a big misconception," Barbie says, "that you’re happy when you’re sad because you get to write. It was a big step to find out that I don’t have to be sad to write. Mas okay magsulat ng things that are good. And they’re not less artistic, either. If you think about it, God is our Creator. Everything comes from Him. Now you’re connected to Him–the source of all creation."

The sun is returning; the weatherman is here.

When we ask if she goes on dates, Barbie chirps, "No. Kissed dating goodbye." "Yeah!" band co-manager Corinne Ching claps. What’s this all about? "When one is a dating, the first thought is that if the date would make a good partner–not ‘I’m gonna love this person in a pure way,’" Barbie continues. "It’s like you pretend to be something you’re not. It’s not natural."

"Ano yan? Best foot forward?" Rommel arrives in a huff.

We ask Rommel if he believes in dating. "Kailangan eh! But I’m celibate."

By choice? "Hindi naman," he smiles and we laugh. "Celestine prophecy."

Wendell, for his part, says he already has a special someone.

When the bough breaks the cradle won’t fall.

It’s a packed Padi’s Point Mindave that greets Barbie’s Cradle. The band’s one-set appearance is launched with Belinda Bye Bye. Barbie wears a Che Guevarra shirt and looks like a frail boy with her short haircut. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters tonight except Barbie, Rommel and Wendell. Never mind that the sound system goes a little awry. Never mind that Barbie’s effects box conks out.

Barbie is electric. She has us all in the palm of her hand. She dances with her guitar. We see nothing else. We shut everything out.

When she sings Goodnyt, the change in lyrics is apparent.

"Goodbye to the sun. Goodnight. All pain will be gone… FOR GOOD." Substituting "for good" for "for a while" is only one change. She later recites a mantra in the end, in her soothing voice as defiantly calm as it could be: "Goodbye beer, goodbye same…"

There’s no cryptic message for us here. The sentiments are pretty clear. We only need to see through the thin veil this beautiful girl drapes over her heart.