Last name

Morgan and Me. It was raining.

This afternoon I had my copy of The unexpected everything signed by its author, Morgan Matson. I gave her my card so she won't misspell my name and, after reading it, she said, 'Oh your name is so beautiful'.

Before I could finish my 'Thank you', thinking she found Razel quite cute, she exclaimed, 'Even Estrella (she pronounced it Es-Tre-LA)—that means "star", right?'

No one has told me that before. Razel is quite an ice breaker, but Estrella (except for that time when our Physics teacher asked us on the first day of class, as a way of getting to know each other, the origin of our names) didn't really generate any excitement.

I always tell writer friends that I don't have a writer name. Something sonorous, something resonant. This blog was, for a long period, under the pseudonym Diwata Nakpil (good times). And I've been fantasizing about marrying someone with a last name that would, when attached to my first name, make that sound that a latch makes upon locking the door. That click. That feeling that lets you know, it fits; it's safe.

Embarrassing that, no matter how old and mature you think you are, you still need another person to be your mirror and light. Convinced by her that my name is 'so beautiful', I'll look at my byline with a kinder attitude from hereon.

Morgan Matson. That rolls off the tongue. It has lots of things going for it—alliteration, assonance, consonance. Wonderful writer name. Wonderful girl.

Soaring language

Me and Paula

“The Vega Gull is peacock blue with silver wings, more splendid than any bird I’ve known…” begins the narrator, coaxing the reader to draw in his mind’s eye a feathered creature, complete with beak and claws. By the end of the sentence, however, he’ll learn that the bird being spoken of is made of steel: “…and somehow mine to fly.”

With those few words, author Paula McLain right away sets the tone of Circling the Sun. The novel — her follow-up to her best-selling debut The Paris Wife — will have adventures, twists (whether in plot or thought); and conveyed by language that soars.

This same lyrical voice manifests itself when you speak with McLain. It’s the voice that’s able to admit, “I’m never ambitious” in a gentle yet unapologetic way. “No one in my family had ever been to college. And I grew up in foster homes, and no one in those families had been to college. So no one ever said to me, ‘You should be a doctor, an astronaut, the president of the United States,’” expounded the California-born fictionist.

It wasn’t until she joined a writing program, an MFA in Poetry at the University of Michigan — where she was surrounded by other writers and professors who took notice of her talent — that McLain saw herself differently. After trying her hand at a memoir, she thought of writing from the point of view of someone who lived in history. “That was my big idea that gave me a readership,” she remarked, referring to The Paris Wife, which centers on Hadley Richardson, the first wife of Ernest Hemingway.

McLain’s work became her ticket to travel around places she wouldn’t have otherwise gone to. Last month, she was in the country for The Philippine Readers and Writers Festival, where we had the chance to meet. “We (writers) go in pretty incredible places in our imagination, but it’s also fun when we actually go into the real world and collect stories,” she said with an openness that eluded her younger self. “I was socially awkward as a kid,” she shared, “so it was easier to fall into a book and just kind of be not where I was — not on a school bus — and talk to people.” Putting up a wall made of books, McLain kept to herself and wrote poems.

She published two poetry collections at the start of her career and also penned non-fiction. Her newest opus, Circling the Sun, is another biographical novel. Here, McLain revisits the life of female aviator and racehorse trainer Beryl Markham, whom she calls “badass.” Toying with historical events sounds tricky, but McLain’s obsession with her subject and command of language make her a narrator whom you’ll trust to take you on a smooth, enjoyable ride back in time.

My copy of Circling the Sun

1. Wearing sunglasses on rainy days

After a successful LASIK surgery in 2009, my ophthalmologist prescribed the usual: eat healthy, exercise, sleep well, do not marry the computer screen. And then the unusual: wear polarized lenses.

My idea was to (technically) go under the knife, so I could once and for all do away with glasses, which are a hindrance to an active lifestyle, not to mention expensive in the long-run. But before I could object, the good doctor reasoned: they (1) reduce glare and eyestrain; (2) improve eyesight; and (3) protect the eyes from the sun, dust, and other harmful elements, natural or otherwise.

Paranoid and obsessive about my brand-new vision, I bought the best sunnies my money could afford. Since then I couldn’t leave the house without sunglasses. They’ve become apparatuses of extreme importance (along with my watch and cellphone, and former prescription glasses) that I couldn’t be bothered to take them off even upon entering a mall or when the weather turns gloomy.

The other morning, on my way to work, someone shouted, “Lakas ni ate, nakasalamin,” declaring the absurdity of wearing shades while the rain is pouring. To be fair, ten years ago, if I ran across a lady sporting Ray-Ban aviators in the middle of a windstorm, I’d be equally perplexed. But how I wanted to shout back at the rude passer-by: “Wala kang pakialam!”

2. Throwing ‘dialectic’ in casual conversation.

It doesn’t get any easier in your thirties. You’d think at this age, you’d stop feeling the need to explain yourself and conform. You’re wrong. The teenage confusion, the doubt, they don’t go away; they evolve into a new, adult form called over-thinking.

At a friend’s party, the conversation over sushi rolls took a socio-political swerve and one of the more sober participants was arguing her case. She was about to drop the term “dialectic” but instead opted for an easier-to-digest alternative that I don’t remember now.

I can smell fear of sounding too intelligent from a mile because I harbor it, too. Being told, “Wow, lalim!” after every statement you make will make you want to shut up for life — which is impossible. And this is one root of over-thinking. I can’t do that, it’s offensive… but I have to stand my ground. I can’t say that, they won’t understand… but that’s condescension. I must own my eccentricities, but I don’t want to drive people away. I hate people.

3. Approaching the cool girl.

Why was it easier to make friends in grade school? Back then my seat mate instantly became my best friend. Was it because we were stuck beside each other in the same room every day for months that we learned to bond for survival? Or was it just pure childhood innocence?

What I know so far is that my days of innocence are gone and taking its place is a crippling self-awareness. Even if I — by the grace of universe — were seated beside an interesting lady (I know because I follow her on Twitter), I couldn’t bring myself to say hi. Because other than the possibility of her being a total snob, I might say something embarrassing, or worse, bore her.

4. Failing.

And not in a grand, romantic way. Not in a way that makes for a classic graduation speech or a plot point of a blockbuster sports film; but in an everyday, “Damn another red light” kind of way.

In school they ask us, “What do you want to contribute to the world?” The question presupposes that whatever we are (and are not) doing now has no impact on our immediate environment. This framework endorses the notion that to do good (“to have succeeded”), we have to do something measurable — huge, to be precise: support a charity, write a patriotic novel, become president.

But it’s the little things, yeah? What defines us are the small, daily decisions we make when no one’s looking — sorry, documenting. I personally don’t fear failure as much as I fear the label “failure.” If we stop beating ourselves (and each other) up when things don’t work out despite all our efforts, then maybe we could do more and be more — or simply be.

—Originally published on GIST.PH

Why cosplay

It’s fun. Playing dress-up, pretending to be someone else and being admired for it is an inarguable source of joy. But when does someone cross the line between hobby and passion, between putting on a costume and becoming a character? What drives those whom we now call “cosplayers” to shell out P10,000 and spend hour after gruelling hour applying make-up to, say, be Two-Face for a day?

“I’ve been fond of video games and anime since grade school, so I felt like cosplay was the next step to being a fan,” explains writer and cosplayer Luie Magbanua. “I really got into it when I was in university and found a group of friends to cosplay with. What keeps me passionate about it is the love of the character that I want to emulate.” Cosplay, it seems, is the most blatant, flattering expression of allegiance to a pop culture treasure, and goes hand-in-hand with community formation — like how it is in Western superhero flicks, where individuals with superpower, in their perceived isolation, discover each other and band.

“Back then, cosplay wasn’t even a word!” shares Mika Fabella of The Philippine X-Men Team (FILXMEN), an organization of X-Men enthusiasts. “I was just in costume because I loved the fandom. We used to go around malls in full costume and people would look at us weirdly, like, ‘Ano’ng meron? Halloween ba?’ Nowadays, it’s so much easier. If you go to a mall in costume, people assume it’s for a cosplay convention.”

Fellow FILXMEN member Myke Dela Paz takes cosplay’s popularity as a corollary of the geek developing as the new cool. And with cosplayers having their own booths in conventions, signing autographs, posing for photos, and generally wowing audiences, it’s tempting to lump them together as another breed of celebrity. In a previous interview, Spider-Man cosplayer and former Kikomachine bassist Dan Geromo comments on this speci c allure of the practice: “Puwede pala ‘yong ganiyang klaseng buhay, ‘yong para kang pseudo-celebrity; hindi mo gamit ang totoo mong mukha.You just get into a character and automatically people will respond positively. Parang si Jollibee. Parang pagmamascot,” he says. “I thought, ang sarap siguro kung ganiyan ang trabaho mo.”

Fame can no doubt be a result of cosplaying, but Stephen Aguilar, also of FILXMEN, would rather see it as a bonus and not as an end. “Even though cosplay has become mainstream, it’s still a recent movement, so people are still confused about its role in pop culture. People think cosplayers are just hungry for attention and find it easier to dismiss us as celebrity wannabes,” he opines. “They see us at the cons and think that we’re just walking photo booths. That’s why I feel the need to emphasize the artistic side to it — the long hours, intricate craft sessions, and ambitious photo sessions. It’s like painting or playing music, but instead of a brush or a guitar, we use our bodies as instruments and the whole experience as our canvas,” he continues. “I see cosplayers as artists, and as artists they try to one-up one another. This pushes us forward and keeps things interesting.”

For these serious practitioners, the paradox is that this whole act of stepping into another’s skin is in fact their great means of self-expression. “Cosplaying is an extension of how much of a geek I am,” shares Mika. “I always say that I cosplay because I’m a grown adult and I still like to play dress-up and make-believe. That’s really what it is: you’re role-playing — the same thing you used to do as a kid, except now you can do it with the facilities and resources that you have as an adult.” With adulthood, however, comes adult problems: like cash.

Luie notes that one of the most challenging aspects of cosplaying is the budget, especially if you’re a perfectionist; while Stephen remarks that finding reliable tailors and suppliers is also a cause of headache. Age is another challenge: “Lately lumalaki ang tiyan natin at bumababa ang metabolism, so I need to do cardio first,” Dan points out.

“But when they go, ‘Oh my gosh, look it’s (name of character)!’, it’s all worth it,” says Luie, and it’s a sentiment that these cosplayers share. “My favorite reactions so far have been those I’ve seen with my Weeping Angel cosplay,” says Mika. “They would scream and run away and yell out, ‘Don’t blink!’ I loved it because I had so much fun scaring people, and also instantly discovering more people who like Doctor Who!”

It’s magic. We all know it’s an illusion — that underneath this superhero (and supervillain for that matter) is an ordinary person who happens to be crazy enough to paint themselves and walk in body-distorting garments. But who could deny its wonders? ”The best part about cosplaying, I can sum up in a short story: I was dressed as Psylocke at a convention one time. We were having our photos taken and in the crowd, I saw a little boy holding a Psylocke figure, staring at me in disbelief,” narrates Mika. “He really thought I was Psylocke! It’s that feeling, that moment of being able to convince all the kids and kids-at-heart that yes, the characters and the stories you know and love can be real. And the biggest part of making them real is you.”

—Originally published on GIST

Hands-free

In The Mix. August 18, 2016.
The 1975, James Bay, Panic! At The Disco
Third Eye Blind, Elle King, Twin Pines

When Brendon Urie said, 'If you heard about my band the very first time, it was probably from this song,' I thought they were going to play Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off, because that’s the song that introduced me to Panic! At The Disco (it was my ringtone at one point in time).

*

I kind of enjoyed Panic!'s set more, even though I mainly came for The 1975. My box was dancing silly when Panic! was playing. When The 1975 came out, most of them were glued to their phones.

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Girl on our right was screaming all the lyrics to all Panic! songs. ALL.

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Girl on our left only came to life when The 1975 took the stage. She had this one-dance-move-fits-all-songs going on. ALL.

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My favorite surprise was You (which light play was poetry). Didn’t expect them to perform it. When I was just discovering the band, I'd leave their EPs on loop till I fell asleep. You's chorus—the repetition of those simple words, 'It takes a bit more', and that hurried guitar-strumming against an andante tempo—would wake me up like a gentle but scared child, asking to be held in the dark.

It is the sound and song structure that I will always associate with the band.

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It was the best concert I've been to since working in the media industry. It feels great to buy tickets to support artists you believe in and not worry about framing the experience in a sellable story.

Most of all it feels great to throw both your hands up in the air.

But you can't take the digital jungle out of the girl. I had to have some souvenirs, so I took out my phone during the performances of my least favorite songs.

A video posted by Razel Estrella (@fishpeep) on Aug 18, 2016 at 12:31pm PDT

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Tiny downer: Thought of having dinner first while waiting for my friend. Rain poured and delayed things as it often does. When we entered the arena, Third Eye Blind was already wrapping up their set. (I was also looking forward to seeing them.) Glass half-full: I heard Jumper and Semi-Charmed Life live.

What did I miss? Did they perform How's It Going To Be, Losing A Whole Year, Deep Inside Of You, Never Let You Go, and other hits?

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My original companion had to cancel at the last minute. I was stressed out a bit because that might mean one wasted ticket (I could always sell it to scalpers or be a hero and give it to a desperate fan, but those were the last options).

Long boring story short, I managed to tag Nicole along. It didn't take much convincing on my part because she's a big fan of The 1975 and Panic! as well—and now a James Bay fan.

Classic case of things falling into place.

If I may quote her: 'Yesterday was just a blur of good surprises. The kind of day that just shakes everything up and reminds me a lot of good things happen, too.'

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Do you wanna dance, do you wanna dance, do you wanna dance, dance

Road to Justice

1. The press release landed in my inbox May last year. “In 2007, Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay — better known together as Justice — released the single, D.A.N.C.E., which infectious beats captured a multitude of music fans… On May 14, 2015 the Parisian dance production duo will drop by the Philippines to heat up the Valkyrie dance floor,” it read. Why have these infectious beats not captured this music fan yet? I asked myself. So I searched for the song, which turned out to be catchy as fu…advertised (all those nods to Michael Jackson adding to its charm). I saved D.A.N.C.E. to my music bank then moved on with life.

2. The trailer for DJ film, We Are Your Friends, starring Zach Efron, came out in the same summer. Included in the motion picture soundtrack was Justice’s remix of Simian’s Never Be Alone. Despite Efron’s good looks and my inclination towards EDM, other forms of distraction won my attention at the time. I neither saw the movie nor heard the OST.

3. YouTube recommended that I watch this Zedd interview, so I did. One of the questions was what got him into electronic music (he was a drummer for a metal band before becoming Zedd). His response: he bought Justice’s album, “Cross” and figured he wanted to make music like that. While metaphorically throwing my hands up, I thought, That’s it, I need to sit down with Justice.

4. Played “Cross.” TTHHEE PPAARRTTYY, with its relaxed, almost-bored cadence, instantly appealed to me. But it was the vocalist’s affectation of coolness and tongue-in-cheek lyrics that sold the song. Imagine Paris Hilton playing dumb blonde — it’s so easy to be annoyed by it if you take it seriously; but take it as an act and you’ll enjoy the ride. DVNO also stood out as a sing- and bop-along tune that has a sense of humor about it (part of the hook goes, “No need to ask my name to figure out how cool I am”).

5. Went on a stalking spree. What are Justice up to now? Are they touring? Do they have new music? Research led me to this Euro 2016 ad, which features Genesis, the first track on “Cross.” Maybe it was the setting of the video, but watching it made me realize what I liked about Justice: theirs is the kind of music I would leave in the background — not overbearing, not boring — and before it could fade in the subconscious, a soaring phrase will suddenly grab you by the collar, demand that you return to listening. Like classical music, only electronic.

6. Played “Cross” again. Tracks sans lyrics highlight how rhythmically engaging Gaspard and Xavier are, and how thoughtful their musical decisions are. Let There Be Light is particularly rewarding. It opens with fast drum beats, then by the fourth bar a distorted sound drills through and grows coarser every eight measures. At the three-minute mark your grandma might already condemn the noise; but let it run for a few more seconds and the notes shall gracefully fall into a quiet, pleasant version of the distortion — there’s the light and we discern the supple skeleton of the song.



7. I wanted more. Listening to their discography was imperative. Listening to what they listen to was sheer pleasure. I checked out every available mix they made and stumbled upon Jamelia’s Something About You and The Paradise’s In Love With You — songs I just knew I’d play for ever but wouldn’t have discovered if it weren’t for the French duo.

8. Justice released Safe And Sound last month. For some reason the single reminds me of Karl Jenkins’ Adiemus — perhaps due to the choir singing, the dream-like vibe, and the fact that I can’t immediately make out the lyrics. Jenkins is said to have utilized the human voice purely as a musical instrument and thus created “words” integral to the sonic experience. I’m not one to read much into a song’s lyrics, but I think Safe and Sound’s work both on the sonic and, however cryptic, semantic levels. In short, I like it.

9. I regret not catching their show when I had the chance (the pain is aggravated each time I listen to their live album, “Access All Arenas”). But I’m not too late a fan. Justice confirmed that they’ll soon release another studio album. I’ll be waiting, stalking, and — negative reviews aside — watching We Are Your Friends till that moment arrives.

—Originally published on GIST.PH

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Read Part 2 and Part 3.

Influences

Art by Sean Eidder

A trip to the bookstore during my high school years entailed a good stretch of time hunching over a shelf at the poetry section. Not because I enjoyed reading poems but because I didn’t know how to.

My long-standing love affair with poetry began as how love affairs often do: visually and with a dose of ignorance. That the lines didn’t reach the other end of the margin made me think of the poet as a rebel, defying the rules of writing we were taught to venerate. More so when I saw text arranged in unusual ways, whether syntactically or spatially on the page.

“Why cut a phrase in specific places?” I would ask myself. “How are these decisions made?” When William Carlos Williams declared, “so much depends upon a red wheelbarrow,” why had he not plainly put it in a straight line but instead delivered it as such: “so much depends / upon // a red wheel / barrow”? And, while at it, where were the punctuation marks and what the hell were these things that were so dependent upon a red — not blue or white or green — wheelbarrow?

There was something about this strange order and sparseness that made me want to dive deeper both into the words and into the spaces between and around them. The poem, though it may not fill up the paper, can make it weigh more than any novel out there. A few English composition and World Literature classes later, I had a glimpse of the poem’s inner workings and, armed with new knowledge plus my friends’ and professors’ recommended titles, the trip to the bookstores (and the library, of course) became occasions to look forward to.

Somewhere, somehow, another curious but confused reader may not know where to start. I’d be the first to say I’m no expert to make a definitive guide, but here are verses from the poems that unlocked in me a passion for the craft when I first read them (and they’re best read out loud). Ezra Pound famously says literature is “news that stays news.” Each time I recall these poems (as I do now), the same sensations run through me: the shock of recognition, the rush of current in my body, and the tinge of envy right after (Wish I wrote that—).

1.

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.

— “Like This” by Rumi (Book: The Essential Rumi)

2.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

— “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop (Book: The Complete Poems 1927-1979)

3.

It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

— “Love is Not All (Sonnet XXX)” by Edna St. Vincent Millay (Book: Collected Poems)

4.

Kung ibig mo akong kilalanin,
Sisirin mo ako hanggang buto,
Liparin mo ako hanggang utak,
Umilanglang ka hanggang kaluluwa—
Hubad ako room mula ulo hanggang paa.

— “Kung Ibig Mo Akong Makilala” by Elynia S. Mabanglo (Book: Mesa Para sa Isa)

5.

Akala ko, para nang piyanong
Nasusian ang iyong kalooban
At naihagis ang susi kung saan,
Hindi na matitipa ng sino at alinman
Ang mga tekladong tuklap, naninilaw.

— “Akala Ko” by Rolando S. Tinio (Book: A Trick of Mirrors)

6.

Six planets in her horoscope
augur well for this, her tryst:
in her hand, a glass of vin de table
(a steal at the local supermart),
her head befuddled by hope
and love, preferably a la carte.

— “Ms. Lulu Syntax at the Sexual Oyster Cafe” by Eric Gamalinda (Book: Lyrics from a Dead Language)

7.

Only the young can be alone freely.
The time is shorter now for company,
And sitting by a lamp more often brings
Not peace, but other things.

— “Vers de Société” by Philip Larkin (Book: High Windows)

8.

So much of the city
is our bodies. Places in us
old light still slants through to.
Places that no longer exist but are full of feeling,
like phantom limbs.
Even the city carries ruins in its heart.
Longs to be touched in places
only it remembers.

— “Phantom Limbs” by Anne Michaels (Book: The Weight of Oranges / Miner’s Pond)

9.

[…] He
“gives his opinion and then rests on it”;
he renders service when there is
no reward, and is too reclusive for
some things to seem to touch
him, not because he
has no feeling but because he has so much.

— “The Student” by Marianne Moore (Book: Complete Poems)

10.

we’re anything brighter than even the sun
(we’re everything greater
than books
might mean)
we’re everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we’re alive)
we’re wonderful one times one

— “if everything happens that can’t be done” by E.E. Cummings (Book: One Times One)

11.

As they took him from the cross
I, the centurion, took him in my arms—
the tough lean body
of a man no longer young,
beardless, breathless,
but well hung.
He was still warm.
While they prepared the tomb
I kept guard over him.
His mother and the Magdalen
had gone to fetch clean linen
to shroud his nakedness.

— “The love that dares to speak its name” by James Kirkup (Published in Gay News in 1976)

12.

These are amazing: each
Joining a neighbor, as though speech
Were a still performance.
Arranging by chance

— “Some trees” by John Ashbery (Book: Some Trees)

13.

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

— “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by Wallace Stevens (Book: The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens)

—Originally published on GIST

I love your work so, so much

After years of underlining bits of text I deem too beautiful to forget from whatever reading material I get my hands on, this particular year proves the utility of the practice.

The internet and the nature of my job increase the likelihood of me interacting with people whose works I admire. Visual artists, musicians, writers. Just last week, I probably had the biggest small exchange of my life.

I posted Alice Fulton's 'What I like' on my Twitter, and she thanked me — and even said my name [EXCLAMATION POINT]

@fishpeep Thanks for posting my poem, Razel!

— Alice Fulton (@RiffSublime) June 23, 2016

So I had to say something in return, it was my chance to, not out of the blue, tell her what I've always wanted to tell her, how brilliant I think she is, but of course in a very dignified manner. And, but, all I came up with was:

@fishpeep Thanks so much. It's lovely to hear this at the start of the day. I hope to read your work, too.

— Alice Fulton (@RiffSublime) June 24, 2016

Since then this passage about what we truly mean when we say we love an artwork, that we think it's beautiful, was floating in my head. I knew I've highlighted that in one of those theory books and I knew it was either Ann Lauterbach or another female writer (Anais Nin, maybe; or Jeanette Winterson; hardly Sontag, coz I remember the prose being very lyrical and, um, kind). So I picked up 'The night sky' and saw that it was mildly annotated.

But there it was. What a pleasure to know exactly what you're looking for and then finding it, and then finding out you're getting more than what you expected. Rereading the lines plus the entire argument behind it lent me a new clarity.

A young poet friend remarks, "The divine part of humanity is its capacity to see the interconnectedness between all things. To be that interconnectedness." If this is so, then the Divinity we wish to resemble is testing us in subtle new ways, asking us to worship at the Temple of Information, whose Disembodied Oracular Source (who is speaking?) is lost in a thousand transcripts flying through the stratosphere, like pixilated ghosts, each with its particle of fact. To see connections in this, to find in it the syntax of the heart, to invent compelling stories and stunning images: to impose on this astounding influx form?

Form, after all, is chosen limit.

Limit, as a formal characteristic, is the expression of choice in the service of the possible.

The possible is the indeterminate futurity of meaning.

Form posits the optimum conditions for meaning to occur.

. . . .

When limits, or choices, are displayed in the service of the possiblity of meaning, in the making of art objects, we call the result beautiful. That is, we stand before a painting by Vermeer, or we read a poem by Paul Celan, or we listen to Shostakovich's Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues for piano, and we say this is beautiful. But what we are really announcing is our pleasure and gratitude in the fact of the choices the artist has made [emphasis mine]. We recognize something in how one stroke of the brush brushes up against another stroke of the brush; how one note moves toward and away from the next in an astounding sequence; how one word attaches itself to another and to another and to another until something that has to do with all the words separately—the history of their meaning—gathers into a nexus which allows us, which invites us, to experience something like the meaning of meaning.

. . . .

Art is not entertainment, and it is not decor. It is one of the rude fallacies of our time to want to reduce all art forms, and in particular literary arts, to their most facile and elemental role, and so deny their potential to awaken, provoke, and elicit our glee at being agents in the construction of meaning.

So the next time I meet one of my creative heroes, I'll show my appreciation by slapping them with Ann Lauterbach's 'The night sky'. Kidding. Will tell them, Thank you for making these creative decisions.

Keep creating

There is a scene in Richard Linklater’s Boyhood where divorcée Olivia tells her college-bound son Mason that it is the worst day of her life. Asked why, she replies, “You know what I’m realizing? My life is just going to go. Like that. This series of milestones — getting married, having kids, getting divorced… getting my masters degree, finally getting the job I wanted, sending Samantha off to college, sending you off to college. You know what’s next? It’s my fucking funeral! Just go and leave my picture!” Confused, Mason tells her she’s jumping way ahead, to which she answers back with resignation: “I just thought there would be more.”

This scene hits a chord and resonates with me until now, for it highlights my suspicions about success — our definitions of it (an accumulation of goals being one) and if it, as we seem to believe, enables happiness. Because I’ve been there and heard the same confession from others: getting what you want and still feel lacking.

What I do know is when people recall their happy stories and assert their identity, they rarely speak of “getting” but rather of “doing.” At least this job reveals to me as much. Interviewing artists, writers, and musicians — picking their brains about their craft — affirms the pleasures of creation (an occasion to be truly in-the-moment). It’s the one constant source of joy for them.

—Full story on GIST.PH

'You're a man'

And of all the capitulations in his life, this was the one that seemed most like a victory. Never before had elation welled more powerfully inside him; never had beauty grown more purely out of truth; never in taking his wife had he tirumphed more completely over time and space. The past could dissolve at his will and so could the future; so could the walls of this house and the whole imprisioning wasteland beyond it, towns and trees. He had taken command of the universe because he was a man, and because the marvelous creature who opened and moved for him, tender and strong, was a woman.

—Richard Yates. Revolutionary Road. New York: Vintage Contemporaries, 2008.

I like stories where I can relate with all the characters. I am both Frank and April. I am even Maureen.

Gateway theater

I.

On the car ride home, right after watching a stage production of Green Day’s American Idiot, I thought of cats — the musical: on the one hand lambasted for its nonsense, if non-existent plot and sheer silliness (cats dancing and singing and fighting for a place in The Heavyside what?); and on the other hand loved by many, including me, for the playful poetry set to catchy tunes that can put today’s Top 40 to shame. American Idiot is quite the same: it’s less of a musical; more of a musical event.

Where the two shows dissociate is in tone, setting, intention, and everything else. The former is built in a fantastical world where you’re invited to have fun, while the latter is anchored in real life, in the now, and asks that you take it seriously.

Right off the bat it makes a statement. News reels and advertising clips flash on TV screens. The cast open their mouths and express aversion: “Don’t wanna be an American idiot.” Then we’re acquainted with lead characters Johnny, Will, and Tunny, who seem to be in their late 20s and are frustrated with the state of the nation, as well as their own lives, that they opt to leave for another city. Because maybe things will be better from thereon.

The first 15 minutes of American Idiot set up an expectation for a riveting story, as if telling the audience, Listen, we will discuss important matters — the personal, the political, love and war — it will be visceral. When Johnny and Tunny (Will has to stay behind after learning his girlfriend is pregnant) take the bus ride to The City, we hop along. But once they alight, their stories proceed in unclear directions, and we’re lost.

This gap in narration — or perhaps finding out in the end that it’s a simplistic narrative we’re following after all — weakens the emotional parts of the performances. Storytelling-wise, the characters haven’t gone through enough to earn their anger. It’s up to the actors, the creative team, and Green Day’s music to elicit sympathy from the audience.

II.

Theater advocates in the past few years have been on a crusade to develop the theater community — to produce diverse and quality shows, establish new outfits, and most of all attract more theater-goers. 9 Works Theatrical and Globe try a different approach by bringing theater to the people. The two companies are staging American Idiot to christen the Globe Iconic Store at Bonificaio High Street in Taguig City and showcase the strengths of the venue — huge HD billboards, impeccable sound and light systems, and accessibility.

The Globe Iconic Store is right at the BHS Amphitheater, flanked by rows of stores and restaurants. As an open area, passers-by and non-ticket holders can catch the show — something that both 9 Works Theatrical and Globe encourage. Because the goal is to engage the unengaged and keep them hooked. The ambition recalls the concept of gateways in popular culture (gateway bands, book gateways): that which lured you into diving into the unknown.

Despite its shortcomings, American Idiot is the piece that can do the job for theater. Who wouldn’t stop upon hearing the impassioned drum beats of Are we the waiting? And linger because even though it’s been overplayed on the radio (and over-memed on the internet), they’d like to hear Wake me up when September ends once more. I won’t dare call it an attempt at nostalgia, for that’s a cheap trick and American Idiot is not pulling it. Instead, the show reminds everyone the genius of Green Day.

To listen to the band’s music is to ride a horse on a run: it’s fast, proud, and wild; but somehow you know you won’t fall and you’ll gladly go wherever it goes. Where it slows down and gaits, it proves that punk rock is no stranger to elegant melody — something that the stage adaptation has successfully brought out.

The different voices and arrangements reveal a whole new dimension to the Green Day songs. It must help that the cast is composed of professional actors and musicians. Wolfgang frontman Basti Artadi fit the bill as the charismatic but dangerous St. Jimmy, the alter-ego of Johnny (played by former Rivermaya frontman Jason Fernandez). Also in the mix is Chicosci lead vocalist Miggy Chavez, who plays Will and sings with clarity and pathos.

A clear standout, though, is Yanah Laurel, who — and I will be crucified for this — steals the rockstar crown from Artadi. With her voice and stage presence, she powers through the loud instruments and cacophony of lights. When she inquires, “Where have all the bastards gone?” you feel like scrambling for answers.


III.

Before the show started, Globe presented a short film communicating its foray into live entertainment. Sounds blasted, digital images swim in the billboard screens on each side of the stage, and laser lights danced in the dark (did I just describe the last EDM party you attended?). All this technology was employed in American Idiot.

The mood was festive and for a time I was convinced that I was in fact watching a concert; and that’s enough to keep someone like me arrested. Director Robbie Guevara and the actors admit that performing outdoors — exposed to the elements and a hesitant crowd — is a challenge. But they’re on a mission to win audiences and they won’t have it any other way.

If there’s one thing 9 Works Theatrical and Globe are truly pioneering in this production, it’s undermining the snobbishness associated with theater. Here, theater is just among the visitors’ many distractions, outright competing for attention. It’s funny when you think about it, but that’s the reality, and we can rest easy knowing how distractions can escalate into passions.

—Originally published on GIST.PH

Built to last

Collage by Sean Eidder

Everyone, at least on social media, seems to ask if everlasting love still exists. The question has become so repetitive that it no longer is a question but a dictum: Walang forever.

I think otherwise. Happiness doesn’t get a lot of press, and if it does, it only tells the treacly portion of the story. What we fail to see in every well-lighted photograph of a couple locked in an embrace are the long fights they had just days before, the doubts in their head, and the arduous path they took to know and rediscover each other.

It’s a shame that our schools don’t teach us about making a relationship work — that it takes actual hard work, that love doesn’t simply fall on our laps and stay on fire just because we will it to. That’s why I’m going to stop here, because my knowledge on the matter is suspect. Instead allow me to send a salute to all the married and about-to-be-married couples out there by way of a playlist.

Here’s to those of you who dare commit to a lifetime with someone who was once (and still is) a stranger, and in doing so make immeasurable, and previously unimaginable, sacrifices. You are the true radicals.



—Originally published on GIST

Thinking inside the black box

It’s very exciting for artists to see an empty space,” said Ed Lacson Jr. after recounting the diverse, if not divergent productions that came to life at the barely one-year-old Power Mac Center Spotlight, where he serves as theater manager.

The 400-sqm. black box theater was built to complete Ayala Land’s hip lifestyle and entertainment district Circuit Makati and complement the 1,500-seater performing arts theater soon to rise within the development. “A black box is basically an empty space that any artist can use, whether for performing or visual arts. It’s a canvas that they can transform however they want to,” explained Lacson. “Its difference from a proscenium type of theater is the seating, which can be adjusted in whatever configuration you want.”

And like the blank page, the limits of which are defined by the writer, Power Mac Center Spotlight has been utilized by creative minds in various disciplines. Other than the expected plays and musicals, the venue has hosted talks, product launches, even Christmas parties in the past. Power Mac Center Spotlight has seen artist Christina Dy celebrate her birthday with a live performance; poet Juan Miguel Severo recite verses to an army of spoken word and OTWOL fanatics; and the Manila Symphony Orchestra play unplugged.

“There’s no limit to the type of event; we even had a graduation,” added Lacson. Small and flexible, a black box theater inspires freedom while allowing intimacy — something that both performer and audience relish. Its very structure invites experimentation and forces attention that even Filipino rock band The Black Vomits chose to stage their modern rock opera The Gray Ground here.

At The Gray Ground rehearsals

Created by writer, artist and The Black Vomits bassist Igan D’Bayan, The Gray Ground follows Jan, who’s in the throes of writer’s block while desperately writing a literary masterpiece; and features a song cycle described by D’Bayan as “the band members’ love letter to the rock opera and the concept album.”

“To be honest, I wanted to stage The Gray Ground in a bar or in a small dingy space — with beer, eerie green lights, and patient ears. The play, for lack of a better word, is more dialogue-­driven and our music moves the story forward. But once I started developing the protagonist Jan and rethinking the Kafkaesque, Lynchian, Black Mirror-­like world that he lives in, we decided to stage the play in a proper black box theater, a decision that led us to Circuit Makati,” shared D’Bayan.

“The venue is a tabula rasa,” he continued. “It’s up to director Bianka Bernabe, stage designer Marco Ortiga of The Crucible, Ruel Caasi of TWA (The Working Animals), and the students of the College of Saint Benilde (CSB) School of Design and Arts to transform Power Mac Center Spotlight into Jan’s weird and wonky world. Ayala Land and Circuit Makati were very open to our ideas and have been really supportive.”

“We’re supporting The Gray Ground because it’s a unique project,” said Mel Ignacio of Ayala Land. “And we also like it when the students are involved. CSB is very near; it’s the community that we want to cater to. We want the people to stay, live, work, and play in Makati. We want the people in the area to know about the venue and that’s what Igan’s show can do.”

How the team behind The Gray Ground will make the workings of a writer’s (blank) mind a compelling drama and at the same time bring rock opera into the local audience’ consciousness, we have yet to find out. But Lacson couldn’t wait for the ride: “I was looking at their designs. It was very forward, very avant-garde. They have a mosh pit together with the regular seats. I think it’s an exciting way to use the space.” he said.

“If we had a proper budget, we’d aim for something like Faust (2006) — something ordinary infringed by something gothic with lots of shadows, masked figures and supernatural reds,” shared D’Bayan. “Now, it’s more of an ‘imagined space.’ If we do our jobs, the audience­ members would really be transformed into the Gray Ground, with an area code between everywhere and nowhere.”

It’s easy to say the opposite of Lacson’s previous statement and still be right: It’s very scary — frustrating? unappetizing? — for artists to see an empty space. And this dichotomy between emptiness and creation, sharing (if not coming from) the same space is what makes Power Mac Center Spotlight and The Gray Ground quite a match. As D’Bayan explained, “What The Black Vomits will present in The Gray Ground is just one story swimming in a sea of stories. But in our tale, the devil is a blank computer screen for a man suffering from writer’s block — and space is where the next story is coming from.”

—Originally published in The Philippine STAR

Ataska

My elementary life was a period in history I’d rather not go back to and attending the press launch of Annie the Musical at Resorts World Manila reminded me of all those years spent with a confusing mix of girls — the shy ones, the quiet but not exactly timid ones, the loud but harmless ones, the loud and annoying ones, the bullies, and everything in between. I wasn’t looking at my former school mates, I was observing the cast of Full House Theater Company’s production of Annie.

Now a little older, you’d think I’d know how to handle myself. But children and teens will forever be a mysterious and surprising species. I had no idea what to expect being among them, and they always manage to catch me off-guard.

Case in point: Ataska Mercado, who, forgive me for the stereotype, would probably be sitting at the cool table in high school. The 14-year-old has done several stage plays in the past with Kids Acts Philippines (The Wizard of Oz, Hansel and Gretel, Peter Pan), but her early claim to fame must be through singing competition The Voice Kids, where she joined and got a three-chair turn — meaning all coaches found something special about her. She’s currently a model and has landed a recording deal with Viva Entertainment, Inc.

Good looks and talent are already a given in that room, but Ataska carried herself with a certain spunk. No wonder she snagged the role of Pepper in the musical. Make no mistake, though, she didn’t go all bossy and know-it-all on me. In fact she was as sweet and warm as can be. What converted me into a fan, though, was her intelligence and social awareness.

Here she is talking about her role, and then some.

GIST: How did you prepare for the auditions?

ATASKA MERCADO: Lots of vocalizing and stretching. We learned all four songs from Annie: Maybe, Tomorrow, You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile, and Hard Knocked Life.

What is it about Annie that makes you want to be a part of it?

I like the music and the script’s amazing. The story’s great because it talks a lot about the government during the Great Depression in America. Even if it was the Great Depression, Annie was still optimistic and positive that she will find her parents. That energy — Annie’s energy influences everyone.

How much of Pepper do you resonate with?

I’ve always wanted to be in Annie the Musical since I was younger and I wanted to play Annie. But as I grew older, I wanted to play Pepper, because she’s the cool one, the though one. And I’m really tough. But she’s a bully, so I don’t relate to that. I love everyone in real life (laughs).

Who was the first person you called when you learned you got the part?

The first ones I called were my Dadsie Vehnee, my manager and composer and my Momsie Ladine, his wife and my voice coach. I also auditioned with my best friend, so I also told her that I got the role. Then I told my grandparents, whom I love very much; my ninongs, my ninangs; my titos, my titas…

Is this your biggest role yet?

Yes, because Annie is such a big thing, it’s such a loved musical by everyone, worldwide.

Who’s your idol when it comes to acting?

Coach Lea Salonga. And I love Ms. Menchu (Lauchengco-Yulo), she really inspires us. And Direk Michael (Williams). They’re just so inspiring. They help us be the best actors that we can.

What kind of music do you listen to?

I listen to a lot of indie music.

—Originally published on GIST

*

Update: January 23, 2017

Meeting this girl is definitely a 2016 highlight. She's proof that age doesn't matter when it comes to human connection.

2 minutes into our conversation and I'm in love with this girl. @a.taska giving a sample of her favorite Pepper line. #AnnieTheMusical

A video posted by Razel Estrella (@fishpeep) on May 30, 2016 at 10:39pm PDT

Designated jazzmaster

Rave was — and to some extent remains — an unfamiliar ground to me, and that’s because my participation in activities involving one has always been at a minimal. I first encountered the term in college, circa 1999, when Malate could practically be named Street Party District. My curiosity (and outgoing friends) led me to the “in” clubs and “it” crowds, but my inner homebody found no reason to stay.

Fast forward to 2012: EDM artist Zedd came out with Spectrum and Find You, two mainstream ear worms that had a “feat. Matthew Koma” appended to their titles. Later on I’d see the same name featured in dance tracks I would play on repeat. It turns out the man is a singer, songwriter, producer — and a DJ to boot — who gives soulful acoustic performances.

Matthew Koma served as a Northern Star when it came to negotiating my way through the loud and variegated world of electronic dance music, leading me to more interesting artists and soundscapes that made me want to linger. His songs, whether he sang, wrote or produced them, made clubbing at first a tolerable and eventually an exciting experience. It became similar to watching a concert — there’s the music to look forward to.

Thanks to Gerard Lopez for capturing this moment with Matthew Koma.
(This can be an inadvertent advert for the Vivo V3 Max. Ha.)

“I think it’s always been a huge genre. Commercially it’s become viable, especially in America in the context of radio, because it’s evolved into something that is song-driven, and the production has become super interesting as well,” offered Matthew when asked why EDM has flourished over the past half-decade.

As to whether or not the genre gets the respect along with the attention it deserves (EDM is often associated with mindless beats), Matthew said, “It’s always hard to talk about music or art in relation to respect. They all deserve respect. It’s people pouring their hearts into whatever it is they do, whether it’s painting or making music.”

Speaking of heart, his own creative process is a sort of romance — at least that’s how I’d like to interpret it. I’ve always wanted to know if singer-songwriters are ever jealous of their songs and for Matthew, the answer is no. “You fall in love with every song during the process of creating it. It’s not until a week or three years later that you realize your relationship with it, whether you love it eternally or you hate it eternally, or you’re indifferent,” he explained. “So I never feel very precious about it. They all kind of have lives of their own. It’s a ‘what will be will be’ sort of mentality. Let some songs go and fly with other people, and let some be yours.”

Matthew has worked with a diverse group of artists (a collaboration with Shania Twain is next on his list) and if there’s one thing he learned from them, it’s openness. “The coolest thing I’ve seen in artists who have the most integrity, the most sense of self, is that they’re always students. They’re always open to challenging what they do or know, and it’s not in a way that makes them inauthentic but in a way that allows them to grow,” he shared. “That’s a cool thing to remember, that it’s okay to try different things, and that it’s okay to succeed in some of them and not succeed in some of them.”



The 29-year-old musician has been in the industry for quite a while, but he only decided to release his own record early next year. “It kind of decides itself when it’s ready and when it’s done. A record is a snapshot of time. When there’s a body of message to deliver, you’ll know when you have to put that out and move on to the next chapter,” he said, adding that his presence in the scene is a blessing and a curse. “I have a lot of songs out that people have this perception of who I am and what I do,” he continued. “‘Does it live up to that? Does it feel like a continuation of that? Is it separated enough?’ There are so many things that go through people’s minds before even hearing the album. You have to take the extra step of having to overcome that.”

He reminded us how it felt to get high on music and dance when he returned to Manila on May 27 to spin at the Chaos Nightclub, City of Dreams. It was almost 2 a.m. and while I still had the stamina of a 20-year-old, I was anxious to see him perform. When I was no longer conscious of waiting, he came. There were no introductions, no dramatic darkness, no long, tormenting silence. Next thing I knew, Find You was playing and I — we — lost it.

That collective dizziness once the DJ drops that song — here you are among strangers, for a brief moment speaking the same language, surrendering to the same force — nothing beats that. From thereon he labored as if desperate to please (or was it to possess?) his audience. If we didn’t know the song, he made us like it.

He brought the house down, and did so with neither the fancy light works nor the mind-blowing graphics — the impressive productions Matthew spoke of — which define current EDM parties. Hours before his show, I asked him out of fun what “DJ” stands for and he retorted rather quickly, “Designated Jazzmaster.” That night, he might have shown me what he meant.

—Originally published in a different version on GIST.PH

Little paintings

LA-based painter Nate Frizzell and I share something in common: last year saw our introduction to murals — him making it and me seeing (not looking at) it. The experience was courtesy of LeBasse Projects, Honeycomb Communities and Bonifacio Arts Foundation, Inc., who initiated the ArtBGC Mural Festival.

To me, creating murals is putting life to an otherwise dull wall, adding any form of emotion to the cold concrete that makes a city. If they should say anything more that, I have no idea. And neither do Nate. “I worry about that,” he replied when I asked what makes a mural work — if it should suit its environment and if it should leave comment. “If there were more time, I’d love to shoot local kids running and playing in the city, so that I’d have that kind of reference. But other than that, I think it’s good to have something completely outside of the area. If this keeps going, if the city gets covered with more art from around the world, it’s going to be amazing in the next few years and it’ll be totally different from anywhere else around the world.”

Nate is among the group of international artists invited to lend their talents and paint the walls of BGC’s skyscrapers and quiet nooks. Because he had always been confined to the galleries, he hesitated to paint a mural at first. What convinced him to become part of ArtBGC? “Just a trip to the Philippines made me say yes,” he shared.

Where his companions filled up meters upon daunting meters of walls with colors, Nate let space be space. “I didn’t know what I was doing,” he said, recalling his debut in the festival and the art form. “Everyone had this giant wall and it was going to be impressive, and I was just going to do these little paintings.” These little paintings called to the crowd, though, as if telling them, Share this space with me. “When I kept going, I saw the people’s reactions and how intimate they could be. You actually have to go to the wall and interact with. Unlike the giant walls where you have to go across the street just to see what’s going on. And I liked how personal it became.”

Since then he was hooked, did a couple of murals in LA and now he’s back to do more at BGC for the festival’s sophomore run. “In the art gallery, it’s sterilized. There’s no touching. Here I like that you can go touch it, interact and play with it. It’s a lot more fun,” he said.

One of his most photographed works is that of the young boy standing in front of a bear. “When you go look at the bear with the kid, the kid has his leg up on the wall. And if you look at the wall, it’s completely dirty because everyone goes up and puts their foot up on the wall,” Nate said, amused by how the artwork pulls people in.

And why wouldn’t they be drawn? Whether it’s our innate fascination with animals, or our beastly core responding to the sight of the undomesticated hanging about in the civilized world, Nate’s pawed, clawed, and fanged friends easily become ours as well.

Nate has used animal heads as masks in many of his works. “When I first started, I liked painting figures but I thought it was odd for people to have these strangers in their house,” he explained. “At first I used masks so that people can connect with it more instead of just painting a stranger — so they can put themselves in the painting.”

This high regard for inspiring intimacy must’ve made him and his murals a favorite among onlookers. It’s not only passers-by who get curious about his works, but people from faraway cities looking at photos of his paintings. Many of them ask the exact location of a certain mural — and we’re not telling. Because it’s a nice surprise if you find it on your own.

Nate has hidden gems all over BGC. If you happen to bump into a young girl in a floral dress or a bird perching atop a spray paint can, and you feel something inside you stir, thank Nate.

—Originally published on GIST.PH

I made a mixtape

To remember the weekend we met.

Deeper the second time around

My new — newfound to be exact and I shall explain later — musical obsession is Hurts.

I miss the way I discovered their music: radio's on, songs play in the background, my mind, elsewhere when a sweet passage jumped out and called my attention.

I can't remember though if it was the chorus or the verses that made me stop what I was doing to figure out the words being sung, that I may commit it to memory and later on research the lyrics, title and artist, in case the DJ wouldn't say it.

No, it was the verses. The almost glacially slow-rap by which the singer tells an intriguing story about some girl named Susie. —And it was the percussions. The song was Wonderful Life, the artist was Hurts.



Bought the album, listened to it, didn't buy the rest of the tracks.

What year this was, I forgot.

But there definitely was no Instagram yet at the time (or I haven't been on it yet), because it was through this medium that I rediscovered Hurts. I stumbled upon Theo Hutchcraft's account and followed. If I may — this is my blog — I'd usually have a sexual attraction to someone I find beautiful. But there's something about Theo that I haven't fantasized ripping his clothes off. He's so — ethereal, unreal.

Aside from artistic shots of himself, there was a steady stream of concert photos. Hurts was performing in packed arenas. A surprise to me who thought of them as one-hit-wonders.

If they're touring, that means they have fresh music. The next step I took led me to fall in love with the band the way I didn't but should have when I first heard them.



Surrender makes me dance (Lights), weep (Wish, Wings), hope (Perfect Timing). I don't want to be in bed in Theo, I yearn to be in a stadium where Hurts is playing and I am bumping bodies with strangers (Some Kind of Heaven).

Sexy 3

You're so sexy, and I'm not just talking about your brain.

Missteps

For every undergraduate who dies a little when the alarm clock says it’s time to go to school, there is a student who jumps out of the bed, looking forward to another day in class. The classroom, for them, is a place to be inspired, challenged — and be themselves.

This isn’t high school or college we’re talking about, but a kind of schooling that only involves the most willing participants. These are the guitar lessons taken over the weekend by a once-aspiring musician now playing for his own pleasure; the graphic design tutorials attended by a publisher expanding his horizons; the summer acting workshops where the timid blooms into a captivating actor.

In this classroom is an intriguing mix of people, whose common denominator is a passion for the same subject. They have divergent backgrounds and distinct motivations for being there. One is painfully shy, the other boisterous. One is full of dreams, the other, of regrets. Somewhere, unbeknownst to everyone else, a secret alliance — or perhaps a romance — is forming. Outside, the teacher becomes a friend and the students extend their lessons.

These nuances are laid out in Richard Harris’ 1984 musical comedy Stepping Out, with music by Denis King and lyrics by Mary Stewart-David. Seven ladies and one gentleman meet every Thursday for a tap dance class under former Broadway star Mavis. There is no big plot here. Instead, we see an interweaving of the students’ and their teacher’s lives inside and outside of the dance hall. It’s a musical that runs on melodious, feel-good songs with words that hit home and characters that you recognize and root for.

 To close its 79th season, Repertory Philippines stages Stepping Out, directed by Jaime del Mundo and choreographed by Rose Borromeo. Leading the cast is veteran Joy Virata. Those who’ve been following her would delight in her role as the eccentric Englishwoman, wearing skimpy outfits (yes she does!) and blurting out the most honest, and therefore funniest, lines. “That’s what I like about you, you don’t try.”

She’s joined by Bituin Escalante, who’s practically pitch-perfect in everything she does onstage. But her role as the vivacious Rose is a personal favorite so far. Aside from Escalante’s impeccable comedic timing and stage presence, her lower register lends the songs a whole new dimension, especially the early showstopper Don’t Ask Me and the coquettish What Do Men Think.

I often hear colleagues wishing to go back to school or develop a new skill, and Stepping Out reminds me of this desire not only to learn but to do something entirely for oneself — and how sad it is to feel trapped. In a way, the musical mimics — almost to a heartbreaking degree — the realities of this dance called life.

The characters are colorful, yes, but are also ordinary. They worry about the usual things: love (“I want love, I need love, much too much”), success (“Chasing the glitter I never had”); change (“I would love to change but maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s too late”). Even the class’s dance numbers don’t aspire to excellence (spoiler: the students won’t turn into master tap dancers as you may predict). What they offer is a promise that they’ll work as a unit and give their darn best to their performances.

Stepping Out is a welcome alternative to the massive productions running this month. Here is a show that’s deceptively simple and light-hearted on the surface. It is a poignant story charged with dry humor, awkward dancing, memorable music, and piercing dialogues. Trust me, their conversations are our conversations. Their missteps, no different than yours.

—Originally published on GIST.PH