TO ME, the golden era of Filipino music was the ‘70s, at the height of the Marcos dictatorship. While the media were stifled, unable to report fully and freely, Filipino music was in flight. This decade marked the birth of the “Manila sound.” This was the era of the likes of Hotdogs, Boyfriends, and Cinderella, plus Apo. Their music remains with us, a staple during those videoke nights. This was also the decade of Pinoy rock, when we had bands like Maria Cafra, and not to forget, Juan de la Cruz, which was composed of now rock legends Joey ‘Pepe’ Smith, Mike Hanopol, and Wally Gonzales.

But what also set the music of the ‘70s apart was that it was heavy with social commentary. This was, after all, the era of the Vietnam War, and with music from the likes of Joan Baez and Bob Dylan. With the stifling local environment, songs spoke of freedom, peace, and social justice. Our composers responded with music that provided contexts of our own, through folk music that talked about civil liberties, the lives of people, about peace, in a manner that was so poetic. In times of despair, artists often come out with their best works. When there are no major upheavals, societies relax and artists look for other sources of creativity.

So sure, the ‘70s had the usual love songs, but these spoke of love with passion with deep angst and emotion. Who could forget, for instance, love songs like George Canseco’s “Kapantay ay Langit (As High as Heaven),” “Kailangan Kita (I Need You),” “Kung Ako’y Iiwan Mo (If You Leave Me),” “Kastilyong Buhangin (Sand Castle),” or “Ngayon at Kailanman (Now and Forever)?” Other love songs contained social commentaries, like Asin’s “Himig ng Pag-ibig (Love’s Hymn).” These talked about love, but they made people think, they made people reflect, not just about how they felt, but also about events that were happening around them.

This continued up to the days of Edsa 1. While the ‘80s music was heavily pop, there was an alternative music scene that was being held up by the likes of Joey Ayala, Inang Laya, Asin, Paul Galang, and yes, even Apo with its socio-political songs.

There was “Karaniwang Tao (Ordinary People)” and “Tayo’y Mga Pinoy (We Are Pinoys),” which talked about nationalism. While these were sung by an older generation, the lyrics speak of a sentiment that remains true to this day. Asin also came out with “Masdan Mo ang Kapaligiran (Gaze All Around You),” decades before global warming became a buzzword.

	THE secret to Bayan Ko's longevity, Cabangon thinks, is the purity and universality of its message. Its melody is so Filipino. It embodies the laments of a people longing to be free, of love of country. [photo by Jaileen Jimeno]

If there was one good thing the Marcoses did, it was probably the Metro Manila Popular Music Festival or Metropop, which started in the late 1970s. This contest enabled writers and composers to be heard, to have a venue. It was a forum that celebrated the talents of the likes of Ryan Cayabyab, George Canseco, Freddie Aguilar, Nonong Pedero, Willy Cruz, Nonoy Gallardo, Jose Mari Chan, Louie Ocampo, Gary Granada, and a lot more.

The first Metropop even produced “Anak (Child)” by Freddie Aguilar — the biggest hit to come out of the ‘70s. It didn’t win first prize, by the way, but it became a monster hit worldwide. To some it may sound Celtic, to some, Japanese. But if you listen to its melodic pattern or structure, it is a bit Western.

It really has everything to make people listen to it. The vocals, the lyrics, the language, the melancholy it evokes, once combined, were what made it a universal hit. It is still being played around the world, in various languages and genre, although I doubt if they all know it is Filipino music, that it was written and sung by a Filipino.

WHICH BRINGS me to one of my points: there is nothing today to distinguish our music as singularly Filipino. Our colonial past has made us vulnerable to Western influence, and its imprint will remain with us. We are also a very young nation, and this makes us vulnerable to the influx of other, more modern culture.

For example, the ‘60s produced instrumental bands like RJ and the Riots and the Hi-jacks, but their music and style were mostly influenced by the Beatles, the Ventures, and other similar foreign bands. By that time, too, some bands were beginning to hone their skills in Olongapo, providing entertainment for U.S. servicemen. They began by singing American songs, but later, original Filipino music emerged from Olongapo, and bands also catered to local audience. Freddie Aguilar is one of the artists who began his career there.

The music of our forefathers, if sung, often means a chorale rendition for the culturati, at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. Which is sad, in a way. Our indigenous music, our old songs, which are part of our culture, are not promoted the way we do current music. In countries like Indonesia, you will sense the way they continue to hold on to their traditional music. The composers blend it with their modern music.

Should we blame record companies for this? Well, they invest in any music that sells, and that’s that. Culture and social values — those aren’t part of their consciousness. They’re not there to push an agenda like nation-building or promoting Filipino culture. They are there to sell more records and improve their bottom line. They value music based on its commercial appeal, and not much else. That is why you hear a cacophony of sounds that are alien to many listeners. We continue to borrow, re-arrange, and modify music from other countries, whatever will sell.

Still, one of the few songs that have survived the changing of the times (and a fickle market) is “Bayan Ko,” which was composed in 1928, during the continuing struggle against the Americans. It was revived in the late ‘70s and sung all the way up to Edsa 1; today I hear it being sung again. The secret to its longevity I think is the purity and universality of its message. Its melody is so Filipino. It embodies the laments of a people longing to be free, of love of country. It has proven to be more versatile than other songs of its kind, even those written after the first Edsa revolution.

Some of our artists are fighting to keep our old music alive, or at least the “Filipino-ness” of our music, by fusing Western music with our local and indigenous music. Credit here should go to Grace Nono, Bob Aves, Edru Abraham, Joey Ayala.

Then again, some music styles are not eternal. What man would tell a girl these days, “Mamahalin kita maging hanggang sa dulo ng walang hanggan (I’ll love you until the end of endless time)?” You’d think twice before using that as a pick-up line, and most probably you’d soon drop the idea. That is also one reason why the kundiman (traditional love songs) has been relegated to chorale groups and cultural presentations. They are past their time, music has evolved, and will continue to evolve. Even our traditional Filipino clothes are gone, and resurface only during events that call for Filipino “costumes.”