Sunrise, Sunset

My niece, barely two years old then.

Got a bit misty eyed and overly sentimental when I saw a clip of my one and only niece belting out the lead parts of Bruno Mars' "Just the Way You Are" along with her co-workers on YouTube.

Yes, she's the same little girl who used to sing along with me to Paul Westerberg's "First Glimmer" and Alanis Morissette's "Ironic" all grown up now.

Reminds me of a song from the musical Fiddler on the Roof.

Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears...

Never cared for this song that much until now. Perhaps we all see things at a different perspective once we're older.

Oh, how time flies.

A Middle-aged Volleyball Fan

My wife and I enjoying the live volleyball game.

The moment Ateneo De Manila University Lady Eagles top gun Alyssa Valdez rammed that Season 76 championship clinching spike against the De La Salle University Lady Spikers, I was among the thousands in front of their TV sets to jump, fist pump, and shout as the Lady Eagles finally claimed their first ever women's volley title.

How come a middle aged guy with no affiliation whatsoever with the winning school was whooping it up?

Why would someone who once deemed the sport too unmanly in his younger years like it?

Let's go back and back and back...

As a teenager, I played hoops. I had a decent shooting touch, average passing and rebounding skills and a tremendous vertical leap. However, I couldn't utilize my left hand to the hilt and was way too slow to be a two guard.

My signature and much criticized fade away shot befuddled many defenders. I patterned it after seeing PBA legend Atoy Co's signature move hundreds of times but realized years later that it was more akin to that of Alvin Patrimonio's low post turnaround shot. No kidding, my younger brother can attest to that!

Basketball though wasn't allowed at school grounds. An old ten foot high backboard with no rim and net stood there by its lonesome as a silent witness to many fist fights among the students inside the campus.

Boys my age were then content to play "sipa" to while away their vacant periods. That too was eventually banned and I was even among those who were required to squat for an eternity as a punishment for defying the ban.

Not long after the start of my freshman year, a net was placed in the middle of the school grounds. It wasn't for tennis, not for badminton and definitely not for sepak takraw.

What's it for?

Well, what else but volleyball! The lone sport our school excelled in back in the days of side-outs, underhand serves and "balik-balik" brand of play. Our players were good enough to be champions in our town and reach the BULPRISA - the Bulacan Private Schools Association meet.

Curious to find out why the crowd was starting to swell, I craned my neck to get a glimpse of our bets. It was a mix of seniors, juniors, and sophomores. Among them is an aunt of mine who's quite tall and lanky. A perfect volleybelle specimen. The only caveat is she can't jump that high and neither were the others. Our team coached by my uncle topped the town tourneys up until my senior year.

Then there's those summer inter barrio leagues where our very own "kabarrios" played. Led by another aunt who is Mika Reyes' grandma, our girls played against the creme of our town's crop of volleybelles amidst chants of "daya" and "bunot" because we fielded in former Far Eastern University varsity players and  reserves who had seen better days. Be that as it may, they were still head and shoulders above this kind of competition. Their opponents simply didn't stand a chance.

Those were my earliest exposure to the sport that is now enjoying a huge following. That's how I came to love it even at this late stage of my life. Of course, there was a time I completely forgot about it much like my passion for basketball.

It eventually came back to my subconscious by the time a lovely Brazilian named Leila Barros hit Manila by storm. The interest was revived. Too bad, I wasn't able to watch her play in the flesh.

Fast forward to 2006. Studio 23 was showing a marathon replay of UAAP games. I was out of work and with nothing more worthwhile to watch, I was glued to the games and became familiar with players like my all-time favorites - Charo Soriano and Patti Taganas of Ateneo, the FEU troika of Maica Morada, Wendy Semana and Rachel Daquis, UP's Mela Lopez and UST's Venus Bernal, Mary Jean Balse, Angge Tabaquero and the gorgeous Denise Tan.

Again, I stopped following the games until the "Fab 5" of Ateneo came along. Their brand of play caught my eye and I instantly became a Lady Eagle supporter from then on. Why? Maybe because we Filipinos love to root for the underdogs.

As a sports enthusiast, it didn't take long for me to learn the intricacies of this discipline. I now fully understand what the various positions entail, the roles of each player on the court, the rotation, the formations, the rules and violations, etc.

Too old for volleyball?

Tell that to legendary UST coach August Santamaria and others like Roger Gorayeb, Nes Pamilar, Kit Santos or even Dulce Pante and to folks much older than me who love the sport and have recently rediscovered the game.

Greasy Beast

Presenting the Jawbreaker!

Out of curiosity, my wife and I one day decided to sink our teeth into the latest burger craze in town: Zark's extremely popular and humongous greasy beast known as the "Jawbreaker."

We arrived at the Archer's Nook a little past six in the evening. Before we could proceed to the dinning area, we were greeted by a long queue that we initially thought was for some job interview or something. It turned out these folks were also there for the burgers.

I never liked waiting and persuaded my better half to try Army Navy or Yellow Cab instead but she wouldn't listen. We approached the female crew member-cum-maitre d' and gave out our first names.

People were arriving but very few were leaving the now popular joint. I was getting very impatient, really. Five, ten, fifteen minutes, how long should we wait? A little over the twenty minute mark, our names were finally called. Now, we'll know what the fuzz is all about.

Zark's it turned out is never about aesthetics as the inside's almost bereft of any decorations. There's a flat screen showing an NBA game and some pictures and that was it. I couldn't care less because we didn't go there for the decors anyway.

Luckily, we found a corner table as I disliked those in the middle. A young gentleman handed us the menu. I browsed through it but we've already made up our minds. It's gonna be the "Jawbreaker" for dinner!

After ten minutes, give or take a few, it arrived. Three generous burger patties with lettuce, tomatoes, melted cheese, bacon and two slices of Spam on top. I dismantled the layer and feasted on the two burger patties first and then sliced the rest in four parts.

I've had my share of large meals in my life but this one's really something else. I was sweating profusely while eating. A combination of the taste and the not so cool surroundings. After finally slaying the beast, it felt like I won't be having another bite of burger in another month or so.

Don't get me wrong, it was good but what made the craving go away was the sudden attack of dizziness the moment we stepped out of Zark's. Was it the heat? No. I knew it but was still in a state of denial. Plain and simple, I had too much. An old man with stage one hypertension should've known better.

We had a minor detour on the way home and stopped at the nearest drug store to buy Catapres tablets. I put in underneath my tongue to dissolve and help lower my blood pressure.

This would be the first and last time for us to binge on the greasy beast a.k.a. the "Jawbreaker." A second serving specially for me might lead to hospital confinement and the result of which is gonna be one hell of a bank breaker!

Kung-Fu Kid

Bruce Lee

My dad and I used to follow Grasshopper's exploits in the western world via the immortal 70's television series Kung-Fu. It starred the late David Carradine. Yes, the same guy who'd resurface almost three decades later as Bill in Quentin Tarantino's fourth film.

Inside the dark Times theater in Quiapo, Manila, I sat still for almost five hours watching Bruce Lee's triple feature - The Big Boss, Fist of Fury and Enter the Dragon. Upon leaving the movie house, I can't help but imitate Lee's moves.

One late evening, my aunt and I watched The Prodigal Boxer starring Meng Fei on RPN 9 if my memory serves me right. It was way past my bedtime yet I was right in front of the boob tube cheering the lead character to beat the hell out of his tormentor played by Shoji Karada.

I was awed by the kicking mastery exhibited by Delon Tam in The Boxer's Adventure and from then on, I became biased to the northern leg style. Tam's student, John Liu also caught my fancy in The Invincible Armour as well as in The Dragon, The Hero.

I used to take long walks after school along Rizal and Claro M. Recto Avenue where you have this endless rows of movie houses like Cinerama, Roben, Main, Podmon, Hollywood and Avenue to check out movie stills and watch the trailers in those black and white television sets just outside the lobby.

I was that passionate with kung-fu during my elementary days.

But by the time Jackie Chan and Jet Li hit the big time, I was already a teenager and completely lost interest in this Chinese form of martial arts as music and basketball became my favorite pastime.

Through the years, I'd like to believe that my taste in cinema has profoundly improved but even up to now, whenever Jean Claude Van Damme's Bloodsport and Ralph Macchio's Karate Kid are on, I still watch them. Come on guys, wouldn't you?

Hiyaa!

Alanis

Alanis Morissette

I went to Alanis Morissette's Can't Not Tour Live in Manila gig as a favor to a reviewer friend. It was also for free so why not? But upon noticing the predominantly young people outside the venue, I had an afterthought. Honestly, I could've backed-out right there and then. I think we're out of place.

It was the 90's. It was the decade of grunge, Lilith Fair and angst ridden songs. My kind of music is already passe if we were to base it on the poorly attended A Spanner in the Works tour by Rod Stewart held just a few months earlier.

Needless to say, I stayed and it turned out to be the right decision. Besides, I didn't want to deprive my friend of his concert review.

Inside the big dome, it was hot and humid. The audience bristling in anticipation. And when the Canadian lass came out to almost no fanfare with locks swirling clad simply in shirts and denims on a sparse stage, the crowd erupted!

I felt the ground shook as the fans stomped in unison to the intro of "Hand in My Pocket," fist pumped to "You Ought to Know," (surprisingly even the males) turned somber singing along to "Ironic" and reflective all throughout "Head Over Feet."

Everyone it seems, except me, knew the words to all of her songs even that so-called hidden track in her album sung acapella.

When Alanis broke into the Beatles' "Happiness is a Warm Gun" for the encore, I smiled sheepishly like a young boy and said "She's an old soul after all!"

The following day after work, I went straight to the nearest record bar to snag a copy of Jagged Little Pill.

Talk about hang-over or to be more precise, impact.

No, Alanis Morissette didn't possess the elegance of Stevie Nicks, the towering presence of Chrissie Hynde, the iconic stature of fellow Canadian Joni Mitchell and the mystic of Grace Slick but at the height of her popularity, she was nearly as good as the aforementioned legendary rock goddesses.

Neil

One night, dad arrived with some new cassette tapes.

"For you," he proudly said as he handed over a shrink wrapped audio cassette tape.

Holy cow, Neil Diamond's 20 Golden Greats!

There's our man clutching the microphone, his right arm raised up to the heavens like some TV evangelist!

I said "What?"

Back then, I considered the guy a "baduy" crooner who appealed mostly to bored housewives and widows a la Barry Manilow.

That awful duet of his with Barbra Streisand? It still makes me cringe after all these years.

But I have to admit, the guy's a born showman. Like Elvis, he's got that deep baritone, sideburns, jumpsuits and flair for the dramatics. No wonder dad dug him instantly.

My favorite Neil Diamond tune? If you've seen Pulp Fiction, you'll know it right away.

Smokin'

I can quit you baby!

I started to smoke at the tender age of seventeen. Yup, I was barely out of high school and puberty.

Back then, a stick of my brand can be had for a measly twenty five centavos.

It was 1983.

Together with my grandparents, we moved in to an unfinished duplex house in the middle of that same year.

An uncle who grew up in Manila and just a few years older than me detested the fact that he'll be living in some barrio from then on. Maybe for many years or maybe for the rest of his life. Who knows?

The same barrio where you have the streets practically deserted by nine o'clock in the evening.

Aside from a handful of "barangay tanods" chatting while patrolling the streets, all you could hear are the chirping of crickets and the roar of motorcycles passing by intermittently. 

My uncle and I would reminisce and talk about a lot of things just to kill time because the days seemed longer and the nights endless.

He was also the one who taught me how to be a cowboy. If you're familiar with a particular commercial in the 80's, you'll catch my drift. The first time I dragged those fumes, there was a head rush. "Don't worry, it'll wear out later." he said.

But I never blamed him for introducing me to this vice. It's a rite of passage.

Back in my college days, cigarette vendors were allowed inside the campus. I mean they were practically everywhere - the catwalks, beside the cafeteria, in the front gates and along the corridors.

Times were different then. Smoking was still cool. Malls, movie houses and joints like McDonald's and Dunkin' Donuts used to have smoking sections.

As the years passed, the coolness that was once associated with this vice steadily dissipated. The medical profession became more aggressive in their anti-smoking drive and bombarded the media, both print and broadcast the dangers and perils of lighting it up.

Soon, the advertising community would also join the fray. Business establishments such as malls and restaurants gradually banned smoking inside their premises.

If you want to take a puff, you have to step outside. Well, it's not really humiliating but you somehow feel isolated, like you're stricken with some kind of a contagious disease or something.

In 2013, the sin tax measure was approved. The result? Unprecedented price increase on all cigarette brands.

The way things stand, it ain't gonna get cheaper. The vice will literally burn a hole in my pocket in the days to come.

Health wise, it's a no-brainer. The many years inhaling all those harmful smoke surely must have taken a toll now on this aging body.

Time to quit.

That's the hardest part.

Phenom Out

Alyssa Valdez

Every little thing she does is magical in the eyes of her many followers or even detractors.

Whenever she's on the service line, there's this unmistakable roar of the crowd reverberating in the confines of the playing venue.

Every time she would soar for a hit, the crowd goes wild in anticipation more so if it's a successful spike.

One time, she wiped her sweat off with her jersey accidentally revealing those abs and the crowd went nuts.

She's mobbed every time she's headed to the dugout, the team bus or her car.

That's how popular the young Batangueña wearing Ateneo De Manila University Lady Eagles' jersey number 2 is. She's undoubtedly the face of Philippine volleyball today.

Perhaps it's the demeanor inside and outside the court that has endeared her more to her countless fans.

Perhaps it's her quiet and unassuming ways.

Perhaps it's because of her being a clutch player. The type who won't shy away during crunch time. Like Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, Lebron James and Steph Curry in the NBA, she won't hesitate to take over during the crucial stages of a match.

Her attacking skills is unrivaled on Philippine shores. She has proven that time and again even in international competitions - the Asian Under 23 held here and the SEA Games in Singapore.

The last UAAP match she played however, was not the most fitting of finales after her school relinquished the crown to their bitter arch-rivals.

No three-peat. No championship send-off. No storybook ending.

Still, she went out swinging up to the last point like a true western gunslinger. She was in tears but didn't look defeated.

She held center court, made the rounds of the venue, did her own lap of champions, hugged the victors and waved to thousands of supporters amidst a deafening cheer.

She then gathered her teammates for what would be the last time, assured each and everyone there's nothing to be ashamed of as they gladly wore that hard-earned silver medal.

Five seasons, two championships, three runner-up finishes, three MVP plums and a host of other individual accolades later, her collegiate career is done.

Phenom out.

Take a bow Alyssa Valdez!

Reelin' in the Years

Donald Fagen

In the background, Donald Fagen asks:

Are you reelin' in the years? Stowin' away the time?

Then, I can't help but air guitar to Elliott Randall's famous solo.

As Steely Dan's debut album Can't Buy a Thrill progressed to track 7, "Fire in the Hole," I took a quick sip of coffee.

Caught a glimpse of my image in the mirror. I sighed and said: "Jeez..."

Hair and mustache now showing streaks of gray, face all wrinkled and a bulging midsection to boot. Worst of all, there's my failing health staring right at me i.e. impaired vision, hypertension, hemorrhoids, heartburn, back pains, spasms, etc.

Where have all the years gone?

Well, you better believe it old man, the 80's were long gone!

There was a time I detested being called "kid" by everyone. Thirty years later, everyone's calling me "sir." Good thing I haven't been offered a seat yet while standing inside a bus or a train. That'll be a hoot, oh yeah!

I'm definitely reelin' in the years but very thankful at the same time for all the blessings that have come along the way. The least I can do is say thanks and give praise to God.

Now, back to the chorus.

"Are you reelin' in the years?"

Well, Donald my man, you should know better!

Best of Friends

Kenny Loggins & Jim Messina

School year 1982-1983 was about to end.

My friends and I were on our senior year. All we had to do is pass the final exams and we're gonna be graduates.

Not so fast lads. There's another requirement to fulfill - a play for our Public Speaking class.

Instead of joining other groups, we reached a consensus to keep ours intact.

Just the six of us. Nobody else but us.

An all-male group?

Why not?

We'll base our play off a short novel from our Filipino class, translate the title and dialogues in English, task the biggest guy to play the father's role, the youngest as the black sheep and the rest as brothers.

Piece of cake. We got ourselves a play.

I came up with the initial scenes and then allowed the others to develop it further. We then retreated to a friend's house to finish and rehearse our pre Quentin Tarantino opus. For inspiration, we have Rainbow's "Temple of the King" blaring in the background.

As I was going through a stack of tapes, I noticed a few LPs on a shelf like Elton John's 17-11-70, The Jackson Browne led No Nukes and Loggins & Messina's Best of Friends.

I stopped playing the Slow Rock compilation tape and then cued up the Kenny Loggins and Jim Messina album on the turntable.

As soon as that all too familiar acoustic guitar intro of "Danny's Song" came to life, I was on cloud nine. Before the tune could fade out, I hurriedly lifted the tonearm and gently dropped the needle once more on that very same mark.

Then again, again and again.

Could've gone for hours replaying the same tune but my friends were already yelling in unison as I almost forgot about the damn play!

Pinoy Jobim

Last year, I took it upon myself to buy some CDs that have been in the backburner for the longest time.

One: Some great jazz albums. Check.

Two: OPM albums. Check.

The artist at the very top of my OPM wishlist is local jazz legend Bong Peñera. However, the hunt for his elusive album A Samba Song ended up as a mere exercise in futility.

Good thing I was able to snag his self-titled album. That's a whole lot better than being left totally empty handed, right?

To be honest, the name did ring a bell. Faintly. I can vaguely recall his tunes being played on the radio. I was even under the impression that he used to perform classical music.

The first musician that came to mind the moment I heard this album was the late Antonio Carlos Jobim. The gentle keyboards, chiming guitars and seductive bossa nova beat were almost identical to the likes of "Aguas De Marco," "Wave," and "One Note Samba."  

Copycat? Well, if Mr. Peñera openly wears his heart on his sleeves in admiration of such a great artist, who are we to complain? Who didn't turn to their contemporaries for inspiration?

Go ahead and read about how the Beatles' Rubber Soul inspired Brian Wilson to create Pet Sounds and vice versa when the Liverpool lads came out with the landmark Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. Didn't Bob Dylan echo the works of Woody Guthrie in his early recordings?

The excellent musicianship is on full display here. There's passion, soul and not just some virtuoso showing off technical skills. And if you think the album's Jobimesque tracks are the only highlights, you're sadly, sadly mistaken.

The opening track "Sa Dako pa Roon" and its reprise featuring that kid on lead vocals will give shivers down your spine. The jazzy "Love Notes" with Pat Castillo lending her pipes could very well be mistaken as a long lost Joni Mitchell song or an outtake from Court and Spark. "Sinta" and "Melancholy Dreams" are a couple more excellent tracks in this all killer no filler album.

It's quite unfortunate that the guy's music has been buried knee deep in the marshes of forgotten OPM luminaries. It's quite unfortunate that his genius will forever remain a mystery to most of our countrymen who were either too young or too naive when he first burst into the local music scene.

If by any chance you'd be able to dip your hands on this CD or LP somewhere, go ahead and you won't be disappointed. 

The Digging Duo

The two of us with a great find - Cream's Disraeli Gears.

Once in a while, my long time buddy now based in the middle east and I would catch up with one another whenever the former's back in the country vacationing.

We met way back in the early 90's. Used to work for an Aussie owned hotel in Manila but got closer during our tenure in a small hotel in Makati. Upon discovering a common passion in music, we became even tighter.

I started down the perfect sound forever path first and then bugged the poor guy endlessly about the wonders of this thing called compact discs.

A month or two later, he bought a boombox. And from then on, just like me, he was doomed. The never-ending search for all those elusive and essential recordings was on.

Even though our salaries were just a tad above minimum wage, we were able to buy all those discs and would scour every record bar in sight like CD Warehouse, Landmark, Odyssey, Music Nook, Radio City, SM, M1, Tower Records and even those stalls in Quiapo.

Back in the days when the then Polycosmic Records had clearance sales in the parking lot, we were always there. At Save A Lot's buy one take one sale, we were there as well. Name the record bar or bargain jaunt and chances are great that we've been there before.

There are times when one of us had to draw faster than the other because a particular album could be the last one in stock. I can still remember that Emerson, Lake & Palmer compilation in an Odyssey bargain bin that he plucked out the moment he laid his eyes on it while I was looking some place else. Deep inside I felt bad and cursing but luckily, there's another copy lying idle in the stockroom.

Our respective collections grew considerably through the years. We switched career paths. Both of us transferred to other companies. His family got bigger. I tied the knot. Our hunts became less and  less frequent, few and far in between but everytime we had the chance, we'd set aside an hour or two just to be able to roam around CDlandia again.

By the time the new millennium beckoned, he was able to secure a beat-up turntable and that signaled the start of his analog journey. I followed suit but had to give it up not long after. Why? I destroyed my turntable that was only supposed to be tweaked. Well, so much for my DIY skills or rather the lack of it!

One time, we went to the Cubao Expo for the "Kagatan" which is a quarterly meet for vinyl lovers to check out some records. Even though I'm still officially out of the vinyl loop, I had a whale of a good time crate digging.

Among the many rows of records for sale, we decided to check out the hundred peso crates first. Yes, we're cheap but we take pride in finding gems hidden in one of those God forsaken bins. And there it was, Genesis' Abacab and Jeff Lorber's minty looking In the Heat of the Night.

When we moved to another crate, there was Rickie Lee Jones' eponymous debut album and Seals & Crofts' Summer Breeze. Told ya, seek and ye shall find!

A sudden attack of nostalgia hit me upon seeing Billy Squier's long out of print 1984 album Signs of Life. The sleeve was still in very good condition but I didn't bother to check out the grooves. There's no use since I don't have a freaking turntable (yet).

More than a couple of hours later, we decided to call it a day and headed off to the nearest mall for a quick bite. I jokingly said: "Let's find dear old French Baker and we've gone full circle."

I'm referring of course to the popular bakeshop that we used to frequent once we're done with our CD hunting. It was the only place we can afford then after emptying our pockets.

Needless to say, he didn't oblige and instead yanked me to a nearby burger joint.

Farewell JDV

JDV in his prime.

My Pioneer S-D33 speakers fondly called Joe De Venecia is now 19 years old.

Actually, it was my brother who coined the name because the then speaker of the house of representatives was getting ready and primed for the 1998 presidential elections. Speaker Joe lost but the name stuck. Well, I didn't want to call my speakers Erap, Raul, Monching or Fred anyway. JDV's just fine and dandy. 

These large three way bookshelves have provided me immense joy through the years. I could still vividly recall the day I unpacked it to replace a hand me down antiquated pair of Nationals. The moment it rendered previously unheard details of Bob Seger's "Hollywood Nights," I was delirious to say the least.

From then on JDV and I would spend countless hours together.

But age has finally caught up with my longtime buddy.

The wear and tear has taken its toll specially on the woofers. Both channels are now riddled with holes and are obviously shot. They can no longer withstand bass heavy recordings such as the Charlie Haden and Pat Metheny collaboration Beyond the Missouri Sky and Bill Evans' Moon Beams. The tweeters and midrange are surprisingly in good shape. The innards? I have no idea. For all I know, the voice coils and spiders may have degraded through the passage of time.

Reconing is a plausible solution but getting a spanking new pair would be great. There's quite a few bang for the buck bookshelf type speakers out in the market right now like the Wharfedale 122, the Q Acoustics 2020i and the PSB Image B6.

Another option is to try out those full range variants most notably the Markaudio Alpair 10 and the Audio Nirvana Classic 8.

I ended up ordering the Titus Gold bookshelf, a locally manufactured speaker made by Anthony Leuterio of Anthony Audio. The jury's still out whether it could fill the void about to be left by JDV.

Parting ways with good old Joe would be quite difficult to say the least. I could only imagine how our last conversation is going to be like.

JDV: Are you sure about this?
Me: You better believe it.

JDV: Will you miss me?
Me: Definitely.

JDV: How long has it been?
Me: Almost two decades.

JDV: That long huh?
Me: It was a blast.

JDV: Why now?
Me: I have to try others you know.

JDV: But I'm the best sounding speaker you've ever owned!
Me: The new one could be better.

JDV: Could be? You might regret it.
Me: Maybe.

JDV: Okay, just don't throw me away like some worthless piece of junk.
Me: I wont, I'd leave you in good hands.

JDV: This is it then.
Me: I'll visit you once in a while.

JDV: Promise?
Me: Scout's honor (I then held up three fingers)

JDV: Bye!
Me: So long buddy!

One Rainy Jazzy Sunday

Is there something wrong with my hearing?

Am I too old to rock n' roll?

Have I, in the words of Olivia Newton John, gone mellow?

The answer my friends is a big NO.

It's just that I've been hankering for a handful of great jazz recordings for quite some time now and finally, Miles Davis, Julian "Cannonball" Adderley, John Coltrane, Stan Getz, Bill Evans et al are in the house!

A jazz marathon is in order I reckoned and I decided to hold it on this lazy, wet, and rain drenched Sunday morning.
 
The first to kick off the festivities was Julian "Cannonball" Adderley's Somethin' Else. Is this hard bop or simply bop? Whatever it is, it sounded great. I've seen the cover of this particular CD for many years now in various audio publications. Mobile Fidelity if I'm not mistaken issued a gold disc back in the day. The album has achieved legendary status and is considered as an essential jazz album.

Next up was the Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time Out. Another classic and upon reading the liner notes, I found out that this was such a departure from traditional jazz recordings due to its unconventional time signatures. Well no matter how unconventional "Blue Rondo Ala Turk," "Kathy's Waltz" and "Take Five" are, they're gonna be in my playlist for a long long time.

It was Miles Davis' turn and let me tell you, this album's a real gem. It's none other than Kind of Blue, the biggest selling and perhaps the greatest jazz album ever. As I listened to one horn solo after another, the more I get immersed in the world of jazz. Never mind if I'm unable to distinguish if it was Miles' trumpet, Cannonball's alto sax or Coltrane's tenor. To me, that's the beauty of it. Indeed, ignorance is bliss!

As I looked out the window, the rain started to pour again. No heavy downpours, just a drizzle and the skies were a bit gloomy. Perfect for a cup of coffee and yeah, another CD.

Is it bossa nova? Maybe it's still jazz? Call it whatever you like, even experts are not in unison when discussing Antonio Carlos Jobim's Stone Flower - a dark and moody album and in a way, his own Kind of Blue I dare say.

Two hours went by unnoticed and I was in a bit of a quandary as to what would be the last disc of the day.

To complement señor Jobim, I decided to put on Paul Desmond's seductive Bossa Antigua to wrap things up. Though not as famous as the other recordings, Antigua had its own charms.

A few minutes later my wife arrived.

That's the cue to stop listening and have lunch.

While my head's still full of these wonderful tunes, I can't wait to hear some more jazz. Perhaps some Monk or Tyner? How about Rollins and Parker? Man, the list could be endless. A whole new dimension just opened up for this rock junkie.

He's My Brother

My younger brother

People said we're poles apart, my brother and I. Complete opposites and heck, we hardly resemble each other.

We were born just a couple of years apart so you could just imagine the tremendous sibling rivalry in the offing and that's how it was during our younger years.

When we were in elementary, there were plenty of fisticuffs. Dad even bought a pair of gloves and allowed us to spar for a round or two but after it's done, we'd play tag, football, "teks," jolens," "tumbang preso," and "sipa" with other kids.

When our family moved to the province, we had those long walks whenever mom would send us on errands. We shared laundry duties and other household chores. At times, we gathered firewood and picked unripe mangoes for mom much to the consternation of the lot/tree owners.

When we reached our teens, that's when the serious rivalry started.

Sometimes, a mere shoving match during a basketball pick-up game would escalate into a mano a mano. A tease would be taken as a serious insult, a slight would progress further until we're set apart. We've had some serious scuffles merely because of some snide remarks or jokes taken out of context. In retrospect, I guess it's all part of growing up.

The one interest that we have in common is music. I'm glad to have introduced him to the music of the 80's particularly Billy Joel and who else but Rick Springfield. Man, he sure had that Success Hasn't Spoiled Me Yet cassette tape worn out!

By the time we were old enough, we left the comforts of home and started to work for a living. Things have changed by then, for the better of course.

I used to frequent that burger joint where he used to be a supervisor to kill time after a day of job hunting. When I was a waiter at a folk house, I'll never forget the night he unexpectedly showed up. I forced him to have a drink. Truth was I just wanted him to stay a bit longer.

When he tied the knot, I was among the groomsmen, veil if not mistaken.

When his first born came to this world, my parents and I were there with him to celebrate that momentous occasion. Finally there's a baby girl in the family!

When our house was sold, we were forced to live in a single roof with our parents and the two of us never had any arguments or disagreements.

Then, he left the country to work overseas. 

When he returned home ten years ago, mom passed away and I thought he'd stay for good but again, he had to leave.

Thanks for everything bro. Now that we're continents apart, all the more I cherish those moments we had as kids, teenagers and adults.

Just Another Format Casualty

The CD is still my preferred format.

Is the era of physical media drawing near to a close now that more and more people are into streaming and downloading contents on the internet?

How about the younger generation? Do they still care about album artworks, liner notes and last but not the least, superior audio quality?

Do i-Tunes, Spotify and Pandora really have that niche in the market, so big that it is predicted to soon displace CD as the most dominant format in the music industry?

These are some of the questions I can think of in the wake of declining sales of physical media, most notably compact discs or CDs as we have all known through the years.

Yes, the shiny platters that came out in the early 80's that dislodged vinyl as the favored medium by record companies much to the dismay of vinyl lovers who'd go to great lengths arguing the latter's superiority both sonically and visually.

Thirty years later, the CD faces the specter of being wiped out by another format that's bereft of physical appearance, shape and size - digital downloads and online streaming.

Well, nothing lasts forever.

For all its imperfections, it's amazing that CDs lasted this long. From its much criticized infant stages to the loudness wars years up to its evolution spawning the SACD and DVA-A, these 4.75 x 4.75 inch platters did enjoy massive support from music lovers worldwide. The CD for the better part of two and a half decades was the acknowledged dominant format.

What record execs didn't anticipate was that they were bound to lose when first, CD recordables came out, then MP3/MP4, then downloaded music files and now, streaming.

Today's generation of music fans won't be caught dead clutching those huge cardboard sleeves or jewel cases. In its place are tiny phones, gadgets and those hideously overpriced "Beats" headphone hanging over their heads.

If they see a rack full of LPs and CDs, they are likely to shrug their shoulders and say they can have as many by simply downloading or streaming. They might even offer their services to have your LPs or CDs cleaned for a fee!

Times have indeed changed.

An autographed LP or CD of our favorite artist don't mean anything to them. The days of digging and rummaging through the bargain bins are now just a distant memory. The anecdotes associated with our album purchases are nothing but cliche and overt sentimentality to them.

Still, I'd hold on to my modest CD collection and won't be joining the download and streaming revolution anytime soon. Heck, I'm still ordering from Amazon and recently bought a CD player. Much like the vinyl lovers of yesteryear, it's our turn now to defend the superiority of our generation's format to the young ones.

That is, if anyone would care to listen.

CDs are on the way out no doubt but folks like me will still be here to support it till record bars cease to exist. We're seeing the death rattle, the last gasp before its eventual demise.

To quote lead character William Miller in Cameron Crowe's semi autobiographical 2000 flick Almost Famous: "Well, at least, I'm still here for that!"

Mom

Mom in the USA

The past has it's own way of sneaking into you at the most unexpected moment.

The past did sneak in when an uncle from Canada posted a bunch pictures on one of those social media sites. The photos of him together with my late mother in New Jersey some time in the early 80's made me all choked up.

I was fifteen years old when mom flew to the land of milk and honey in search of the American dream. She made it via the backdoor, the Mexico-California borders and by simply saying "I'm an American citizen" to immigration officials.

Mom looked great and fit back then. She enjoyed all the comforts only uncle Sam could provide although deep inside, I knew that she sorely missed dad. That's the main reason why she decided to go home after staying there for more or less a couple of years. 

Oh yes, mom was at the prime of her life as you can see in this pic and for her upcoming death anniversary, I'm more than proud to publish it for all the world to see.

She passed away ten years ago on a day she had keenly awaited. It was the scheduled return of my brother after years of working in Taiwan but it wasn't meant to be. She was already unconscious early in the morning and never regained consciousness that day.

Seeing her helpless and in a coma was simply too much for me to bear and I just broke down.

We haven't seen each other for more than three months at the time. A rarity considering that she and my father lived with me for so long.

Remembering her sadly encompasses some parts of my early life that I really don't find worth revisiting. She was very strict and a disciplinarian. She might have gone overboard countless times but it's over and done with so I just have leave it at that.

I know she was far from perfect and ideal but if there's one thing I can't deny is the fact that she carried me in her womb for nine arduous months. She also spent all those sleepless nights whenever I'm sick, took care of me until I was strong enough.

She has raised a responsible and God fearing man. I am a failure in terms of acquiring material wealth but a success in leading an honest and principled way of life.

I'm a middle-aged man now, fully aware of mortality. Sooner or later, I'd also be joining my creator. When that day comes and if I'd be given the chance to see her in the afterlife, all I'd say to her is:

"Thanks for everything mom, love you!"

Noisy Neighbor

Imagine a neighbor alternately belting out Air Supply, Survivor and Bryan Adams tunes on videoke and playing his very own CD at max volume for hours.

Unfortunately, we used to reside next to this dick of a neighbor and all we could do is shut our doors and windows. Thank God we have moved to a new place early this year.

Oh man, the bass output emanating from this guy's stereo would make your chest ache and your ears bleed! I guess to some people, as long as it's loud, the better. Hello distortion and clipping?

But if by any chance I'd end up as a neighbor of say... Daryl Hall, of course, I wouldn't mind the glorious noise he and his guests would be making. I won't complain even if their amps are turned all the way up to 11. No, not one bit!

From Daryl's House here he is with Todd Rundgren.

Listen to the Music

It's the music that counts!

In one audio/video forum, there's this long and seemingly endless debate on sound quality against musical preference.

Which is more important?

Those on the side of sound quality insist that as long as you have a great sounding system, the music won't matter. Never mind if it's the saccharine and syrupy ballads of Barry Manilow and Air Supply or the nothing but oh so smooth jazz by Kenny G.

They went on and on blabbing to great lengths the joys of listening to the "right" system. Everyone threw in their respective take on the matter. Some were pretty objective, others subjective while a few bordered on the absurd.

I happen to be a member of the said forum and along with like minded and true blue music fans, we rallied and argued:

Aren't we all in this hobby because of the music?

Here are my thoughts on the topic:

It'll always be musical preference for me. 

They (preferred albums and songs) are not only my favorites, they also have stories to tell that go way back since I was a kid.

So, whenever I play America's badly mastered History CD, it reminds me of a 6th grader asking his uncle's then girlfriend about the songs of Dewey Bunnell, Gerry Beckley and Dan Peek. Whenever I play Bruce Springsteen's The River, I can still recall the days CBS, Sony, Columbia records not having a local distributor until Octo Arts thankfully came to the rescue.

There's pleasure when one listens to audiophile recordings being played on esoteric stereo equipments - I agree. That music though won't reach out to me. But if by any chance an AM station out there would play Neil Young's "Powderfinger," static and interference included, I'll still listen to it and by the end of the song say "YEAH"!

But that's just me bros, peace!

***

Well, I'm not an expert on audio that's why I don't post as often as others. The reason I chose musical preference is obviously because of my being more of a music lover.

I admit to having  a very cheap system. Sorry, but it's all I can afford. Now, is my enjoyment being curtailed by my very cheap system? 

Guess not.

I still get goosebumps listening to Jeff Buckley's cover of "Hallelujah," contemplate on my mortality to the tune of Steely Dan's "Any World (That I'm Welcome To)", imagine vividly a scene from a Nazi concentration camp whenever I hear Rush's "Red Sector A" and roar with the crowd while Peter Frampton's doing his extended solo on "Do You Feel Like We Do."

To me, that's musical bliss and I already consider myself blessed no matter how bad sounding my system may be.

***

Enough said.

Spin It Again

Put the needle on the record!

When I was just about six, seven years old, I used to spin 45s and LPs a lot at my grandparents' house. The living room was my imaginary DJ's booth. There, I'd play Elvis, Santana and Deodato records and listen to them to my heart's content. It didn't matter if some tracks were unfamiliar to my ears. I didn't care, it was all right.

My parents on the other hand couldn't afford a stereo system so I had to be contented with our AM transistor radio. When dad flew to the middle east in the 80's, things got a little bit better and he was able to bring home a Pioneer boombox. 

Back in those days, I used to frequent record bars along the university belt area during my vacant periods. National Bookstore, Orient Pearl, MWF, and Ever Gotesco to name a few. The LPs on display there were a source of joy to me. I oggled at the artworks endlessly and listened to the new releases being played by the sales ladies. I could only sigh and wish that we have a turntable. 

Little did I know that a new format was about to come out. CDs of course. It was 1995 when I bought a CD player. Quite late you might say but it was still expensive at the time.

Perfect sound forever...

That's the CD's promise and I was once a believer until I befriended a regular hotel guest of ours at Inn Suites. Out of the blue, I asked if he could help me find some hard to find albums. He asked in return if it's in vinyl or CD. When I said it was the latter, it kickstarted a discussion that would span a decade at the very least.

Yes, the guy happened to be a certified vinyl aficionado. He gave me and another buddy of mine a crash course on Vinyl 101. On his many return trips to Manila, he didn't forget to bring old copies of Stereophile, The Absolute Sound and Audio Advisor. Through these highly esteemed publications, I got enlightened, learned the finer points of analog and became familiar with the likes of Jon Atkinson, Sam Tellig, the late Harry Pearson and of course, the most popular analog advocate of them all, Michael Fremer.

How come I never got into it?

First and foremost is the cost. This is undeniably a very expensive hobby. An ordinary average working guy like me can't afford any of those high-end audio systems.

Aside from the hardware, there are the essentials e.g. phono preamps, tonearms and cartridges as well as analog survival kits like anti static brushes, cleaning solutions, inner/outer sleeves, etc.

I was able to steer clear of the analog itch until the day I bought the hot rod Sakura AV-200T tube amp at Hyperaudio - home to many audio hobbyists and owned by the venerable audio guru and vintage equipment restorer Rene Rivo.

My visit coincided with the first ever holding of Vinyl ATBP, an all analog bazaar that has now become a quarterly meet for all black polyurethane lovers. It was still relatively early when I arrived but the store's premises was already abuzz teeming with people digging through crates and crates of records like crazy! 

A patron then played Al Jarreau's popular 1983 album Jarreau. I was stunned to say the least upon hearing familiar songs like  "Boogie Down," "Mornin'" and "Save Me." There's that unmistakable analog sound I said softly to myself.

Suddenly, there's this insatiable urge within to spin them records once again.