Category:

Most Popular

State of the Filipino Arts in the U.S. and Diaspora

by floranteaguilar

diaspora-interview

 The following post appears as part of an article on Dialogue on Philippine Dance and Culture event in San Francisco, and published by Inquirer.net. The interview was conducted by Wilfred Galila and is presented in its complete unedited version.

WG: How do you feel about being recognized as one of the outstanding artistic leaders who have significantly contributed and influenced Philippine dance and culture in the U.S. and the diaspora?

FA: I am, of course, honored. To be honest, most of the time I was merely following some very strong artistic itch that needed to be scratched. But I am honored just the same.

WG: Considering that you could have practiced any musical style or form, was the practice and craft of Filipino music a particular choice, other than the fact that you are Filipino? Has it always been that way when you first started or was there a switch in your artistic path along the way?

FA: I definitely did not set out to be playing Filipino music as my artistic calling. In fact, when I was growing up in the Philippines, I viewed traditional Filipino music as lowly and not meriting the attention of any serious musician. I was training to be a classical musician, performing works by European composers on the recital platform. I came to the US to study with the best of the best in that pursuit.

But many things had to happen and converge along the way. Having studied music at the conservatory, as well as traveled the world investigating music of other cultures, gave me a new perspective on Filipino music. That it is not lowly, that it is beautiful and traditionally rich. That my chosen instrument – the classical guitar lends itself so naturally as its delivery agent. But probably the most powerful catalyst was when my father died and I had to go back home. That’s when I truly rediscovered how much the music I grew up with was now resonating in a very deep way. That I am now in a unique position to present traditional Filipino music in a different light, in my own personal way.

WG: What is your opinion about the state of Philippine dance and culture here in the U.S. and the diaspora?

FA: Generally speaking, I think that Filipino immigrants bring a very unique perspective. Whereas Fil-Ams tend to have issues of identity growing up and assimilating in the US, first time immigrants like myself came to the US with our identities fully formed, and always the outsider looking in.

We bring with us first hand knowledge of the culture. Now that we are outside of the Philippines, it actually gives us a better appreciation of its beauty and traditions in a different filter. And here in the US, you have all the resources, tools and support to perfect your vision. And yes I am implying that you would not get this level of support and resources if we’re living in the Philippines. I mean that is the reason we all left the country, the reason for the country’s ongoing brain drain, sadly. So, I am saying that Filipino artists are doing some very interesting and progressive things in the US in a way that our Philippine counterparts cannot. The Philippine arts in the US and diaspora is thriving and in good hands.

WG: As an artistic leader and champion of Filipino music, how do you envision the future of Philippine arts and culture in the diaspora? And what are the steps to realize this vision?

FA: The Philipine culture is a jar full of inspiration that can be infinitely tapped. But you can’t do it from an armchair. If one truly were to champion Philipine arts, you have to have either grown up there or significantly visited the motherland in order to bring the knowledge. I can’t emphasize enough the importance of firsthand knowledge in order to bring traditional art in a respectful light. You can’t be deriving your art based on someone else’s interpretation. It has to come from you.

WG: Any advise on aspiring Filipino artists on being and creating, for them to be able to get to where you are now with your art?

FA: I think that being true to yourself as an artist is important. Don’t make choices based on what you think will please people. If you feel different about something, embrace that difference. If you think no one’s going to care about what your vision is, do it anyway. If you think there is no market for it, do it anyway. The important thing is that it is coming from an honest place deep within you. If you end up being recognized for it, that is secondary, even tertiary. The important thing is that you followed and executed a unique vision that only you could have.

0 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

Florante’s Interview At the NYC Harana Premiere

by floranteaguilar


Florante Aguilar’s interview at the Asian American International Film Festival’s New York premiere of HARANA. The original publication can be found here.

###

Harana is a long-abandoned Filipino courtship serenade, which originated in the Spanish colonial period. In this award-winning documentary, guitarist Florante AGUILAR returns to the Philippines from the US for the first time in twelve years to discover three of the last remaining harana masters: a farmer, a fisherman, and a tricycle driver. HARANA emotively weaves their performances to exemplify the past and present, the here and there, and the rural and urban.

CineVue: The film is first and foremost a roots-seeking story, or can be read as a confrontation/reconciliation with one’s roots. What is the importance of yearning and nostalgia of a so-called homeland in films like yours? What function does this serve in your story?

Florante Aguilar: I think this question is particularly astute because HARANA in its deepest level, is a love affair with the homeland. It is the innermost driving force of the movie. Being a musician, the only way I knew how to express that love is through music.

One of the things that we did not cover in the film is the fact that I left the Philippines in 1987 because I hated everything about my country – the politics, the rampant corruption, the over-reliance on religion, the hopelessness, etc. I felt that I could not live and belong in a culture like that. Inwardly, I renounced being a Filipino and left for the US ready to embrace the western culture.

But the death of my father forced me to return after 12 years of absence. And that’s when the reconnection happened. This time around, I saw the Phlippines in a different prism and I was suddenly in love with the Philippines. Suddenly, I felt like I belong.

So, it’s not nostalgia per se but rather the power of that transformation – from hate to love – that moved me to do it. Maybe it’s also an apology and an attempt to make amends for renouncing the homeland.

CV: Because of the power of music, the beautiful melody and the tenderness and sorrow in the voices of the singers, many would agree with the proverbial saying that “There 
are no languages required in a musical world.” How have you utilized music in your film? Could you describe how music has affected your creative processes (from preproduction to production to post-production)?

FA: During pre-production, all I had was this notion that these authentic harana practitioners or haranistas must still be around, very old, and living in far-flung provinces.

Musically, all I had were the remnants of harana music or songs I happened to know that survived through the ages. I heard them when I was growing up in the province and also through the pieces my mother played on the piano.

During my so-called transformation, I started playing harana which I arranged for classical guitar, resulting in three solo albums. But I also felt that this was just the surface, that there must be many more unheralded songs. I fantasized about unearthing a treasure trove of beautiful courtship music and forming an ensemble of authentic haranstas. Well, I wanted that fantasy to come true. And I determined to look for them in the provinces where harana was prevalent.

As we were traveling from province to province during the production shoot, there were points when I realized that I must be just fantasizing – that this search is just some romantic notion. And that if we did not find anyone, I was ready to conclude that harana was truly dead.

Then we met Celestino Aniel, a farmer from the province of Cavite. I can’t describe the first time he sang for us as I accompanied him on the guitar. I think the whole crew was in tears – he sang in such a heartfelt and humble way that could only come from being a true haranista. We all realized we were in the presence of great master. Then we were truly blessed to find two more amazing haranistas – one a fisherman, the other a tricycle driver.

CV:”When you do harana, you rarely get turned down.” When the harana masters are singing, there always a few shots of women as audience members, who appear to be quite touched and moved by the music. How does gender figure into the musical scene?

FA: It’s interesting because I was just reading an article about the science of music and why humans play music. It concludes that men who are able to play musical instruments advertise to potential mates that they are in top physical, emotional and spiritual shape. That’s pretty Darwinian. It is the same as the peacock displaying his plummage to advertise to females what an amazing specimen he is!

So there! Music was “invented” for courtship purposes. And that is what harana is.

CV: When you were making the documentary, what was the reaction of the local audiences? In many scenes when you perform for the audience, there are genuine interactions between you and the locals. Do the general public still feel attached to the old-school melodies and performances?

FA: There is a scene in the film when I was playing at Plaza Morga in Tondo, an area in Manila known for gangs, prostituion and poverty. It’s like the favelas in Brazil. When we set up there, we just did not know what we were going to get. Our director Benito Bautista was fantastic in connecting with the locals, making them feel comfortable in the film crew’s presence and allowing us to shoot incident-free.

Placing a classical guitarist in the middle of traffic in Manila is pretty crazy but I wanted to do it because I’ve always believed it’s a more powerful experience when you bring music to the people’s elements, as opposed to a concert hall. Most people in Tondo probably never heard of a classical musician, much less see one playing in their streets.

And their reactions was deeply humbling. Gang members were asking me to play some of the old songs that they still knew. When the crowd surrounded me and started singing along, I knew we caught a very special moment. I like to think that for those few moments, they were transported to a space where they forget about their dailty grind and hardships, and were momentarily inspired and hopeful.

CV: Could you describe you interactions with the three masters during production? What was it like? What were some eye-opening things you endured, experienced and will remember forever?

FA: We were at a beach house in Ilocos Norte. We weren’t shooting that day. I was recording the haranistas on my laptop, just basically documenting their songs. I was so moved by their singing that at one point I started to well up. I guess I was too embarassed to cry in front of these men so I had to excuse myself and headed for the restroom. I cried like a baby in that dingy bathroom.

CV:Is this film raising any awareness of the legacy? What’s at stake now to preserve it?

FA: I was at a film festival screening of HARANA a few months ago. During the closing night, it was announced that HARANA had won the Audience Award. The festival organizers said a few words about HARANA. What struck me was that they talked about the harana custom like they have known it all their lives. I mean the harana tradition, prior to the movie, was just an obscure custom nobody paid attention to, and now they are talking about the harana custom in the international stage. I thought that was an important moment – that harana has arrived.

I actually didn’t set out to create the film in order to preach preservation. And I made sure that the film does not come off preachy. It was driven by my desire to discover, learn and record these beautiful yet unheralded music. And I was expressing a reconnection to the homeland the only way I knew how – through music.

###

5 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

Top 10 Misconceptions About the Custom of Harana (Filipino Serenade)

by floranteaguilar

By Florante Aguilar and Fides Enriquez


Harana is the vanished tradition of serenading prevalent in old Philippines. While most Filipinos are still familiar with this custom, it is mostly that – only a passing familiarity exists. We can hardly be blamed because there truly was no in-depth study ever done of this once-important part of Philippine social fabric. Most of what we know came from stereotypical and romanticized versions depicted in old movies and paintings. Certainly, the citadels of academia did not pay much attention to this courtship ritual perhaps because they never considered it an art form and relegated it more as plebeian endeavor of the popular culture. Thus, herewith we debunk the top ten misconceptions about harana.

10. Harana is performed by a lone suitor
The image of a lone singer/guitarist under the window at night (which I am guilty of perpetuating on the cover of my first album The Art of Harana) probably happened more often in the movies than in real life. The truth is harana was indeed a bigger social event. In fact, it was a call for an evening soiree, with the interested party bringing along his friends for moral support. And for those with the taste for extravagance, hiring the best musicians in town. It’s an instant party should they be lucky enough to be invited inside.

9. Water (or worse) is frequently thrown at unwelcome visitors
There is one thing we guarantee Filipinos will mention during any talk regarding harana – they will drop a lighthearted comment about toilet water being thrown at the haranistas during a serenade. Banish this thought forever! This notion was perpetuated and became fodder for comedy skits by bad movies and televisions shows. This image probably single-handedly devalued and prevented from surfacing the true elegance and cultural importance of the harana ritual. The image of the yellow water is stuck forever in the minds of many Filipinos. According to the harana practitioners we interviewed, in their thirty or more years of serenading, never once did this happen. In fact, they said it was unthinkable. The whole endeavor was respectful and formal, with everyone on their best behaviour observing the protocols. One haranista mentioned that if the window was not opened after a few songs, they simply proceed to sing a Pamaalam or farewell song containing a gentle apology for any inconvenience caused.

8. Men were the only ones who sang during the nocturnal ritual
It’s a little known fact that haranistas have scouting reports on which women in their town can be expected to join in the singing. This was at least true in Cavite province where we were introduced by the haranistas to an elderly lady whom they used to serenade and sing duets with.  One haranista from the same province claimed that women who can sing were more likely to be serenaded than those who cannot. In fact, when joined by the woman, the whole night becomes a ritual of call-and-response singing, with the woman choosing appropriate songs to serve as playful clues to her true sentiment. Women were indeed known to be active participants rather than passive listeners.

7. Some haranistas show up drunk and behave badly
True master haranistas follow a code of honor. The term they used was “magalang at maginoo” (respectful and gentlemanly), the epitomy of chivalry.  After all, they were representing the young men who requested their services. They come well-groomed and in their best clothes. They were also known to gently coach young suitors too shy to express themselves. As with anything, there will always be bad apples but it is more of a rare occurrence.

6. Harana is an unstructured, anything-goes event
Harana was a formally structured event with a set of protocols to observe. There are different stages with each stage containing a specific set of songs, and the master haranista leading the way based on how the evening is progressing:

  1. Panawagan (Calling or Announcement) – Haranistas sing a set of songs announcing their presence outside the house. Songs like Dungawin Mo Sana (Wishing You’d Look Out the Window), Dungawin Mo Hirang (Look Out the Window, My Beloved), Sa Gitna Ng Dilim (In the Midst of Darkness), etc.

  2. Pagtatapat (Proposal) – If  the haranistas are invited into the home, the lyrical content of the songs change. This is where the singer used songs that openly declare admiration and describe the virtues he values in a woman. Many popular love songs of the day are sung here (Ibig Kong Magtapat Sa Iyo Paraluman, (I wish to Propose to You, My Muse), Lihim Na Pagibig (My Secret Love) and Kung Ika’y May Alinlangan (If You Ever Doubt Me).

  3. Panagutan (Response) – It is at this point where the woman responds in song if she is inclined to. She may respond with “Ang tangi kong pagibig ay minsan lamang...”  as a diplomatic ‘I’m not ready’ sentiment. Or she may respond with  “O kay sarap mabuhay lalo na’t may lambingan” which can be taken as a sign of reciprocity. If it appears the woman is not interested, haranistas in turn choose their next song accordingly – songs like Ako’y Isa Na Ngayong Sawi (I am Now Brokenhearted) or Pusong Wasak (Shredded Heart).

  4. Pamaalam – Haranistas have a set of farewell songs upon the conclusion of the evening. Songs such as Winawakasan Ko (I Hereby End It) and Bakit Di Kita Maiwan (Why Do I Find it Hard to Leave You).

For more on this topic, please read The Different Stages of Harana here.

5. You can sing any song you want in a harana
During a serenade, one can pretty much sing any love song he likes, even English ones, and still get away calling it a harana. But if you are going for a truly authentic harana experience like they did in old Philippines, you have to use a particluar set of songs specifically written for the endeavor. These were harana and kundiman songs written by some of the best-known composers in the last hundred years such as Santiago Suarez, Constancio de Guzman, Nicanor Abelardo, as well as other traditional songs specific to a region.

4. The suitor is also the singer
The Philippines may be a nation of singers but not all singers are created equal. And since the success of the endeavor depends largely on the skill of the singer, men sought the services of master haranistas – the best in town. It is these master-level artists we sought after that became the heart of our documentary film HARANA.

3. Haranistas show up unannounced
While harana certainly happened unannounced perhaps more often than not, there are many instances when a suitor would ask permission from the parents to serenade in advance. This ensures the lady is home in addition to receiving advanced blessings from her parents.

2. The woman decides whether or not to invite the haranistas in
While the object of harana is certainly the maiden, it is a fact that any courtship endeavor must be under the watchful eyes of her parents in conservative old Philippines, especially so in rural settings where private meetings between men and women were frowned upon. With sentiments expressed under the guise of the songs, free of malice, and with everyone on their best behavior, harana became an outlet and a parent-sanctioned way for youngsters to meet the opposite sex.  As such, it is the parents who have the ultimate say whether to let the haranistas in or not.

1. Men used harana to declare their love for a woman
Contrary to this popular notion, the most common instance that sets a harana in motion is the arrival of a woman from a big city (like Manila) who is in the province for a vacation. Also, maidens from nearby villages who are in town for the harvest. The glimpse of a new arrival signals the men to organize themselves and bring out their guitars. Harana then was not necessarily only about the declaration of romantic love but more often a social call for young men to introduce themselves.

14 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

Harana and the Latin Rhythms

by floranteaguilar

I was once chastised for using a distinctly Latin rhythm on a popular Filipino harana song ‘Sa Gitna Ng Dilim’ on the opening scene of the Harana The Movie trailer. “Travesty!” they say, a bastardization of the noble harana rhythm. “This guy should be shot”, etc. One person even said that I used the cha-cha rhythm on a harana, never mind that the rhythm was nowhere near a cha-cha.

But one remark stood out in particular that became the seed of this blog topic – “the harana is a Filipino original and should not be treated with Latin rhythms”, proudly wrote an anonymous poster.

The rhythm I applied to “bastardize” the harana song and which caused so much consternation among “purists” is called tempo de bolero. Particularly, Cuban bolero in 2/4 (not to be confused with Spanish bolero which is in 3/4 as in Ravel’s Bolero).

Firstly, it is important to remember that the harana is and has always been Latin music derived.  In the Philippines, the harana rhythm is referred to as danza (Listen to this rhythm ). We don’t know how that started – it seems only Filipinos refer to this rhythm by that name. Outside the Philippines, the very same rhythm is called tempo de habanera from the old Spanish port of Havana, Cuba. I suspect that Filipinos came to call it danza as short for danza española.

The danza is a variation, if not an exact copy, of the Cuban habanera and the Argentine tango. Considering that all these rhythms are of Latin origin, it is therefore, not such a travesty to apply other rhythmic variations such as tempo de bolero on a harana. In fact, the haranistas themselves used it to liven things up. (Listen to master haranista Felipe Alonzo singing the Ilocano song ‘Dardarepdep’ ).

So, if Filipinos don’t own the danza rhythm at all, aren’t we just being copycats? Well, no. What Filipinos did was to take that rhythm, put their stamp on it, and made it their own. Specifically, we slowed that rhythm down to a grind and symbiotically paired it with the poetry of the Tagalog language to form courtship songs.

And it is clear the same process had been happening during Spain’s Magical Mystery Grand Colonization Tour. At each stop, the natives took the Spanish rhythms, played with it and made it their own. And the result? Argentina has tango. Cuba has son. Mexico has mariachi. And Philippines has harana.

Once, during a rehearsal for the Manila Galleon Guitar Music concert, the Latin musicians I worked with laughed when I casually remarked “lets use this rhythm, it’s more Filipino sounding”. They say there is no way that rhythm is Filipino. To which I respond, “oh yes it is ours as much as it is yours. We just put our own flavor to it the same way you put your stamp on salsa, rumba, cumbia, merengue, mambo, etc.”

I don’t think they bought it. But we had a hell of a time performing Filipino music using Latin rhythms. It worked like magic which in itself proves the point (see video below).

And to the detractors and harana “purists”, they certainly do not have to like it. But denying a clear commonality with other Latin rhythms is at best unenlightened and at worst having a misplaced sense of righteousness.

We do agree on one thing though –  that the harana is truly our own.

___________________________________________________________________________

Florante with Latin musicians playing Philippine folk dances from the Manila Galleon Guitar Music CD launch concert:

Related Links:
Harana the Movie – www.haranathemovie.com
The Manila Galleon Guitar Music – www.florante.org/galleon
The Art of Harana – www.florante.org/artofharana
The Difference Between Harana and Kundiman – www.florante.org/blog

2 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

Why do Filipinos Love Sad Pensive Songs?

by floranteaguilar

We love corny ballads!

Admit it. If you’re Filipino, you are a sucker for corny ballads. You go teary-eyed on some of the sappiest American pop songs. Even boxer Manny Pacquiao belts out an old tune from the 70s (Sometimes When We Touch by Dan Hill) on late Night with Conan.

When I was growing up in Cavite in the 70s, all the jeepneys blared slow American rock songs with sad undertones (e.g. Scorpion’s Always Somewhere, Deep Purple’s Soldier of Fortune, etc). Now these songs were never that popular in the States but Filipinos picked it up like their own. I come to Manila 20 years later, they are still playing the same songs. And don’t get me started with Barry Manilow, who to this day is considered a demigod in the Philippines.

But have you ever wondered why? Is it because pensive songs befits the slow pace that the weather dictates? What is it about Filipinos that get attracted to corny ballads like moths to a flame?

If you’ve read my past blog entries, I think you know where I am going with this.

I believe there is such thing as national identity through music.  If you look at Brazil, their songs are almost the opposite – more joyous, celebratory and extroverted. While Portugal’s music almost has the same penchant for sad songs as Philippines. Of course I am not generalizing, but merely pointing out patterns of inclination and predilections (isn’t that the same thing?).

I submit that the Filipinos’ penchance for sad and pensive songs is a manifestation of the primeval kundiman sentiment. It’s a direct result of the national affinity for sad songs dating back to precolonial times. Unfortunately, it was soiled and diluted out of its original sentiment – a victim of devaluation of its own culture in exchange of adoration of the western’s.

I have discussed this topic with the pre-eminent composer and Philippine music scholar Bayani Mendoza de Leon and would like to share excerpts of our email correspondence. He writes:

“The general pensiveness and dolorous character of our music was an offshoot of our kinship with Malayan, Java, Hindu, and Arabian racial stock. The earliest, oldest manifestation of this kinship is the song form ‘Tagulaylay’, which is a lengthy melodic succession of monotonous lamentations with a theme that depicts grief over some tragic events. It might be due to this lamentable character that the song was best adapted to the ‘pabasa’ or reading of the Passion of our Lord. The word ‘tagulaylay’ might have been derived from the combination of two Tagalog words–‘taghoy’, meaning lament and ‘alaylay’, which means ‘sustain’. Portuguese songs, best exemplified in their national song form, Fado, also drew greatly from Arabic sources, hence their affinity with our own.”

So, if you’re thinking “that’s ridiculous, there is no way my love for Barry Manilow’s music stems from my ancestors appreciation for sad songs”, I say don’t be so sure!

2 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

A Case for ‘Bayan Ko’ as Philippine National Anthem

by floranteaguilar

Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo (top left) commissioned Julian Felipe (top right) the official Philippine National Anthem in 1898. Two years prior to that, Andres Bonifacio (lower left) commissioned Julio Nakpil a different national anthem titled Marangal na Dalit ng Katagalugan. Why didn't any of these men consider the kundiman song form for a national anthem?

In the late 1800s, just before independence from Spain was declared, a nationalistic fervor was approaching boiling point in the Philippines. This sentiment was manifested through the popular song form of the era – the kundiman, the traditional Filipino love song par excellence.

If you think about it, kundiman, a song of admiration and longing for a woman’s love, is naturally translatable to declarations of love to the mother country. And that precisely was what the composers of the time did. The kundiman branched out from love songs to nationalistic songs.

But this was done incognito.

This kundiman served to hide its true nature – a secret battle cry with strong anti-colonialist sentiment. It allowed Spain to continue thinking that Filipinos were just singing their miserable love songs. Some claim that there were guerilla battle codes and instructions embedded in the lyrics of the kundiman songs. One in particular stood out as the favorite among the revolutionaries of the time – Jocelynang Baliwag. Officially known as Musica del Legitimo Kundiman Procedente del Campo Insurecto, it is veiled as a love song for the beautiful Josefa ‘Pepita’ Tiongson of Baliwag, Bulacan. The first letters of each stanza spells out the woman’s nickname Pepita. Perhaps that’s some kind of a rosetta stone that allows the revolutionaries to crack a secret code (it is equally possible I’ve watched too many spy movies).

There are plenty of nationalistic kundimans that are still played today. Which brings me to the most popular kundiman of all time –  Bayan Ko (My Country). A classic kundiman in form and spirit, the music was written by Constancio de Guzman, with lyrics penned by National Artist Jose Corazon de Jesus, aka Huseng Batute.

Written in 1928 as a protest against American occupation, history shows Bayan Ko has been used time and time again whenever the country finds the need to defend herself from oppressors – foreign or otherwise. The song was also used against the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos, who immediately banned it when he declared martial law in 1972. You can be incarcerated simply by singing it. It was not widely heard again until after the assassination of the  revolutionary Benigno Aquino, Jr. in 1986. When folksinger Freddie Aguilar belted Bayan Ko in a Manila rally, it woke up the complacent Filipinos into action.

Compositionally, the genius lies in the simplicity of the melody. It is one thing to write a clever and complicated tune but it takes a genius to craft a simple melody that feels natural and uncontrived yet rich in poignancy. This is the same reason we love Mozart – his music sounds simple and unpretentious yet you’ll find plenty of richness and perfection under the hood.

Our official national anthem Lupang Hinirang (aka Bayang Magiliw) was written by Julian Felipe in 1898. It was commissioned by Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo to be used during the declaration of independence in Kawit, Cavite the same year. Performed by the San Francisco de Malabon marching band, this original version was instrumental only. There were no lyrics.

Prior to this, there was another national anthem with lyrics that was officially declared by Andres Bonifacio and the Katipuneros. It was written by Julio Nakpil with the impossibly beautiful and heroic sounding title Marangal na Dalit ng Katagalugan (Sacred Hymn of the Tagalog Republic), Katagalugan referring to the whole archipelago, not just the Tagalog region. It is unclear why Aguinaldo rejected Nakpil’s composition and preferred Felipe’s. But I would dare speculate that Aguinaldo, who is widely believed to have ordered  the execution of Bonifacio and his siblings, was not a fan of the Katipunan leader who has gone “rogue” on him. He probably wanted to give the distinction to his buddy and fellow Caviteño Julian Felipe.

But that is not the issue that this blog is griping about. It is these:

Firstly, Felipe’s Lupang Hinirang is based on European national anthems such as Spain’s La Marcha Real or France’s La Marseillaise, or even Verdi’s Marcha Triunfal from the opera Aida. This reinforces the notion that we are a nation of copycats, always looking for western validation particularly when it comes to music. Filipinos already have the reputation of providing the best cover bands in the world, and we tend to patronize all kinds of music except our own. It’s a joke that our own anthem reflects that.

Secondly, our current national anthem sounds like, well European. Nothing wrong with that, but as long as we are being nationalistic, why not use our own art form? Kundiman art form is truly ours. Predating the Spaniards, its roots goes back to the indigenous art of the kumintang from the Batangas province. Kumintang is said to be a pantomime of song and dance and is similar to those of Javanese and Balinese theaters, a style that predates the Europeans’ by several hundred years.

Thirdly, and this is not a joke, the first ever lyrics of our official national anthem was in Spanish. How patriotic can you get when your national anthem uses the oppressors’ mother tongue? Whose harebrained idea was that? Apparently, it was one Jose Palma whose poem Filipinas was adopted as official lyrics in 1899. It gets worse. In the 1920s, the American colonial government ordered the lyrics to be translated from Spanish to English. In fact, there are more than one English versions. So, our national anthem consistently used foreign languages, while Tagalog was never once considered. I dread to research for a Japanese version for fear of actually finding one.

It wasn’t until the 1950s when President Magsaysay salvaged the situation by commissioning poets Julian Cruz Balmaceda and Ildefonso Santos for the official and current Tagalog version. And it was as late as 1998 with the Flag and Heraldic Code that the government declared “The National Anthem shall always be sung in the national language within or without the country”. It also specifies fine and imprisonment for violations (can we imprison Martin Nievera anyway for that horrendous version of Bayang Magiliw in a Pacquiao fight?).

Bayan Ko‘s composer Constancio de Guzman was very prolific and left behind numerous immortal kundiman and harana songs. He is himself a national treasure. The only thing of note Julian Felipe ever wrote was Bayang Magiliw, a foreign rip-off, commissioned by a friend who was a military president with blood on his hands.

Bayan Ko‘s melody and poetry never fails to stir the nationalist in our collective soul. There is no doubt that this kundiman song not only summoned our bravery but carried the Philippines towards her most triumphant moments in history.

This country rose from the shoulders of the revolutionaries. Undermanned though they may be, they have consistently fought anyone who dares to transgress the motherland.  It is only fitting that we use their chosen form of battle cry – the kundiman.

——————————————————————————————————–
Music Samples

Because of the popularity of Bayan Ko, it became difficult to find a dignified version worthy of a national anthem. Most of the versions you’ll encounter in the internet are overly orchestrated and heavily arranged, with the majority ranging from bad to horrific. I am not able to get hold of De Guzman’s original score but like much of the published sheet music in the 1920s, I suspect it was originally written for voice and piano. If any readers have information on the original score, please illuminate us in the comment section at the bottom.

This is Freddie Aguilar’s version (no relations) that spurred the People Power revolution in 1986 that toppled the Marcos regime:

My own tribute to the song from the album Tipanan – A Celebration of the Philippine Guitar. It is, I’m afraid, also heavily European-influenced in style and guitar technique:
Click here to listen to Bayan Ko – Music by Constancio de Guzman

10 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

Searching For Sylvia – The Last Surviving Practitioner of the Kundiman Art Song

by floranteaguilar

Sylvia la Torre, the grand dame of Philippine cinema and the kundiman art song, flanked by myself and co-producer Fides Enriquez

Many older Filipinos know Sylvia La Torre as the grand dame of Philippine cinema and television. She is known as a comedian notably starring as Sebya with fellow comic Pugo (Mariano Contreras) in a series of popular films. She is also known as a co-host in the daily noon time show Oras ng Ligaya in the 1960s. Her long illustrious career also includes many recordings of American-infused Tagalog novelty songs.

But few people are aware that Sylvia La Torre was a conservatory-trained soprano who worked with the greatest composers of the kundiman genre. Ms. La Torre was so successful in crossing over to the popular genre – a feat few of us musicians can ever match – that it overshadowed her true love for and skill in kundiman singing.

In 2008, I was presented with an opportunity to produce a show featuring practitioners of kundiman art songs in a major venue in San Francisco. Immediately, I thought of Ms. La Torre. One could not get a bigger name than “Sebya” herself. She is in fact, one of the last surviving practitioners of the kundiman art song.

Armed with this purpose, my partner and fellow adventurer Fides Enriquez and I set about tracking down her whereabouts in the hope of convincing her to come out and perform for a big crowd in San Francisco. We were also interested to see if Ms. La Torre might consider appearing in our Harana documentary film.

Preliminary investigations yielded the fact that at 75 (at the time), she still had the singing chops and was practicing daily to keep her voicebox in great shape. This was very exciting piece of information!

We obtained a tip that a personal friend and acting liaison for Ms. La Torre was going to be at a big community event in Daly City. It was a long shot but we decided to brave the fog. To be invited to this event, I had to offer my services as a musician. I brought along singer Danny Harana to perform some harana and kundiman songs. We thought this might strengthen our case to Ms. La Torre’s friend.

To make a long story short, we met with the liaison and she was very excited about our idea. But we had to be vetted first before she would talk to Ms. La Torre. We needed to provide the scope of the project and discuss the business side of things, etc. After several weeks of going back and forth, we arrived at last to a very fine moment –  a date and location was set to meet with Ms. Sylvia La Torre!

With the intention of filming the encounter, we had in tow a film crew of 10 led by director Benito Bautista as we set out and drove 2 hours to our rendezvous with a legend.

The world simply stopped when Ms. La Torre entered the room. We felt we were in the presence of greatness. Even the film crew members who were not Filipinos were in awe. At 75, Ms. La Torre is vibrant, exuding the luminous elegance and giant personality that translated beautifully into the television sets of the past era.  Her signature comic timing intact, she is ready for a show.

It occurred to us that it is a travesty Ms. La Torre is seen less and less when in reality, she is very much ready for the limelight and adoration of millions of fans. Furthermore, not many Filipinos seem cognizant of the fact that she is a direct source of cultural wealth and information when it comes to the kundiman. She is a true master and among the last of a vanishing breed.

And I want to tell you that Ms. La Torre truly knows Filipino music when it comes to the correct forms and structures. In fact, she wondered aloud why we would want her in our harana film when she is in fact a kundiman singer, not a harana singer. I thought that’s fantastic! What’s unclear to us commonfolk is a difference between night and day to the masters (Read about the difference between harana and kundiman).

I had the honor and pleasure of accompanying Ms. La Torre in one of her signature songs – Sa Kabukiran. It was a blast! I was also impressed by the difference of her character behind and in front of the camera. Behind camera, she is a professional at work, very business-like, addressing Benito as ‘direk’. In front of it, she is once again the vivacious comedian of the noon time TV show “Oras ng Ligaya”. The switch was a little jarring. I believe this is called professionalism.

Now, Ms. La Torre and her husband/acting manager Dr. Celso Perez de Tagle are very sensitive to doling out permissions to publish any of her music or personal appearances. This is rightly so. And since we respect their wishes, I am sorry to say that I can show you neither the clip nor the sound bites from the film shoot. This will remain so until the Harana producers secure funding for licensing and both parties come to a mutual agreement to proceed. And more importantly, if the footage serves the narrative of the film.

As for the planned kundiman concert in San Francisco, it became apparent that funding for this project, which was from the San Francisco Arts Commission, was not sufficient to cover the licensing, talent fee plus expenses of Ms. La Torre’s entourage, and a host of other expenses necessary to present the show. It was indeed a learning process for myself and co-producer Fides Enriquez. Maybe it was a case of newbies with more ambition and good intent than wherewithal. Or perhaps the liason overestimated our capacity. Probably a combination of both.

But I have nothing but deep respect for Ms. La Torre’s decision. As a professional, she knows what she wants. Her legacy secured in the annals of Philippine music and cinema, there is no need to perform every time she is asked to. The world must be on her terms.

I also learned a lesson from Ms. La Torre – that whether people value your music or not, you must protect your product from copyright infringement. Even if it means obscurity to a newer generation of audience, you simply cannot publish without the owner’s permission. You will be hard-pressed to find film footage of Ms. La Torre in action on YouTube or anywhere else. When I mentioned that I found an old comedy footage of her performance on YouTube, they were alarmed. About a week later, it was gone.

Personally, the meeting turned out to be consequential for out of the ashes was born “Lalawigan – A Tagalog Song Cycle”, the show that replaced the original concept. An original composition, it is also intent on highlighting the kundiman (among other Filipino art forms) but in a more exploratory and contemporary direction.

It is not often that one has the opportunity to brush with greatness. Director Akira Kurosawa once said that the reward is not always in the result, but in the journey itself. We may not have been successful in presenting the original concept of a kundiman show, but meeting the grand dame herself, accompanying her in song, is definitely one for the books (or blogs).

————————————————————————————————————————–
(Note: Samples below are truncated to 60 seconds to prevent copyright infringement.)

Sylvia la Torre’s recording output include kundimans, balitaws, folk songs, dances and novelty songs. Some samples below:

Kundiman Art Song
Nasaan Ka Irog (Music by Nicanor Abelardo, Lyrics by José Corazon de Jesus)
Ibong Sawi (Music by Juan Buncamino, Lyrics byJosé Corazon de Jesus)

Balitaw
Sa Kabukiran (Music by Manuel Velez)
Ako’y Kampupot (Music by Manuel Velez, Lyrics by D. Santiago)

Novelty Songs
Pampahimbing (Music by O. Pales, Lyrics by Levi Celerio)
Anak ni Waray (Music by Juan Silos, Jr, Lyrics by Levi Celerio)

————————————————————————————————————————–
Relevant links:
Harana Documentary Film (currently in production)
Lalawigan – A Tagalog Song Cycle

3 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

The Portuguese Fado, the Philipine Kundiman and How an Artist Arrived at an Idea

by floranteaguilar
Fado singer and guitarists. “Fado Azul” by Marcio Melo

One of the defining moments in the direction of my musical career happened, of all places, in Portugal. It was the first time I encountered fado performed live in a cafe in Lisbon in the late ’90s. Sipping port in a smoky room, I found myself completely transfixed by this strange but familiar music. I loved everything about the performance – the Portuguese guitars, the virtuosity and the pained look of the female singer dressed in all black, like she was mourning.

I had no idea what she was suffering from but whatever it was, it was a compelling expression of it. I found myself inspired.

It reminded me of kundiman, the traditional Philippine art song of yearning and unrequited love. Although fado and kundiman are different in style, they both are singing about passionate longings – the Portuguese for their loved ones who perished in the sea during a voyage, and the Filipinos about their unrequited love, who were very poor and had nothing to offer except their undying devotion.

Now, I don’t consider myself an extensive kundiman practitioner (I only play some of them in my recordings arranged for solo guitar). I am more interested in attempting to get Filipinos to appreciate and respect it today much in the same way the Portuguese love their fado and who are very proud of it.

Both the Portuguese fado and Filipino kundiman are traditional art songs that demand very high level of skills and musicianship. And both art forms are tied to their national identities.

Yet fado is known around the world and its practitioners have evolved which resulted not only in the preservation of a traditional art form but a thriving modern iteration, while kundiman is largely forgotten and remains a relic of the past, with no presence at all in the mainstream media, not even in the Philippines. As to why that is, or if you disagree, feel free to offer your thoughts in the Comments section below.

One thing for sure, it has to start at the local level. The world music market is not going to suddenly pick up on it if there is no thriving scene and widespread movement in the mother land. Local artists have to lead the way in practicing, respecting, popularizing and redefining the genre.

Fado intrigued me because even though these songs are centuries old, it evolved into something that is very much alive today, music that a modern singer would choose to perform or a contemporary composer writing it. It is also a medium that measures the greatness of an artist. The great Amalia Rodrigues comes to mind.

Fado practitioners are also unafraid to modify it to suit their modern taste, to push the boundary or to create something loosely based on it. Now this idea of iterating a traditional art form into something new intrigued me.

I had this grand idea of doing that to the kundiman, and to other Philippine art forms like harana, for that matter. In fact, all my recordings reflect this – they are not exactly your grandma’s kundiman and harana. My most ambitious attempt is writing Lalawigan – A Tagalog Song Cycle. Among the twelve-song collection, I wrote a modern harana, an inverted kundiman, a take on the virtuosity of kutyapi players, and used archaic Tagalog. All with a very modern sound (see video below).

Successful or not, I love that I can do this. It is a creative framework that resonates, inspires and is meaningful to me. Best of all, it is a chance to arrive at a new iteration.

Thinking back to that moment in a Lisbon cafe, the irony is not lost on me – that I needed to go to a foreign land to truly appreciate my own country’s art. As a very eloquent friend and supporter of my musical endeavors Dennis Normandy wrote:

“I traveled the world in search of my muse only to find her waiting at home”.

________________________________________________________
For more information on Fado and Kundiman, see below:

About Fado (from Wikipedia)
Listen to Amalia Rodrigues (fado)
Listen to Madredeus (modern iteration or loosely based on fado)
Listen to Sylvia la Torre (Nasaan Ka Irog, a formalized kundiman sung by Sylvia La Torre)

Listen to a modern iterations of harana and kundiman from LALAWIGAN – A Tagalog Song Cycle:

  • (0:59 – 2:07) Sa Talipapa is a modern take on a kundiman and kundimanin (sung by Kristine Sinajon, mezzo-soprano)
  • (2:08 – 2:52) Harana ni Isagani is a modern harana composition. This footage only includes the instrumental section but you can hear the harana rhythm behind contemporary harmonies.
  • (3:53 – 4:56) Didang is a song that attempts to push the boundary of what a kundiman can be. The tempo is free-flowing with harmonies not usually utilized in kundiman. The dramatic element is amped up. Although it is still a love song, it is a longing that peers into the darkness of a human soul.

3 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

The Difference Between Harana and Kundiman

by floranteaguilar

Harana or Kundiman?

If you are one of the Filipinos having a hard time distinguishing between harana and kundiman music, don’t be ashamed – you are not alone! It is very easy to confuse the two.

It is common to hear people refer to ANY old Tagalog love song as kundiman or harana. Though I cringe every time, I often don’t bother to correct them because I’m in no mood to start a dissertation type of explanation. But a blog, now there’s the perfect soapbox to indulge.

So, herewith is my attempt to correct some fallacies. To Philippine music scholars out there, feel free to chip in at the Comments section below.

Harana

During a serenade, one can pretty much sing any love song he likes, even English ones, and still get away calling it a harana. But if you are going for a truly authentic harana experience like they did in old Philippines, you have to use a particluar set of songs specifically written for the endeavor. These songs were written by some of the better-known composers in the last 75 years such as Santiago Suarez, Constancio de Guzman and Antonio Molina, to name a few.

Harana music has its very own distinctive style and a clear stamp of authenticity. In musical terms, the rhythm is habanera which is in 2/4 time. Interestingly, none of the haranistas I met knew what a habanera was. That term is used mostly in western classical music. Instead, the haranistas refer to this rhythm as danza. To hear a sample of this rhythm, click here.

The arrangement is simple and straight forward. It always starts with an introduction of solo guitar, then verse 1 followed by verse 2, then a little bit of solo guitar in the middle, then back to verse 2 until the end. Occasionally, there are short exchanges between the guitar and voice in the middle, like they do here.

Another area to look for signs of authenticity is in the lyrics. True harana songs place the singer in the act of serenading such as when he implores “Dungawin mo hirang” (Look out the window, my beloved), “Natutulog ka na ba, sinta” (Are you asleep, my love) or “O Ilaw, sa gabing madilim” (Oh light, in a night so dark).

My favorite aspect of the harana lyrics is its use of pure, unadulterated and archaic Tagalog. They use words you and I will never hear in a daily conversation in Manila. Words such as idampulay (to offer or give), tanglaw (luminous or luminosity), or pagkagupiling (a light sleep). You will also never encounter even a hint of Spanish word – a characteristic shared by kundiman songs. Harana and kundiman may be the last refuge of the ancient Tagalog language.

Instrument-wise, the guitar is the most trusted companion. Though other instruments were known to be used such as the violin and banduria most recordings of harana from the 1940s to 1960s featured only a guitar (or two) accompanying the vocals.

There are many popular Filipino love songs that don’t meet these requirements but nevertheless were used in harana. Songs such as the popular Dahil Sa Iyo by Miguel Velarde, Jr. or Dahil Sa Isang Bulaklak by Leopoldo Silos. Stylistically, the haranistas never refer to them as harana, instead they just call them ‘love songs’.

Things to look for: when you hear the danza rhythm played on guitar combined with lyrics that place the haranista in the act, using archaic Tagalog, that’s a dead giveaway that you are listening to a true harana.

Kundiman

One of the main reasons kundiman is mistaken for a harana is because haranistas would oftentimes sing kundiman songs during a harana. See how easy it is to get confused? But make no mistake, harana and kundiman are stylistically different.

Whereas harana is in 2/4/ time, kundiman is in 3/4. The formula is verse 1 on minor key (e.g. C Minor) followed by verse 2 on parallel major key (C Major) midway through. This is intractable. Stray from this formula, and you no longer have a kundiman.

As mentioned, the language is also in archaic Tagalog but the theme subject is different from harana. Kundiman songs have a fatalistic woe-is-me streak to it. He is always heartbroken, very poor with nothing to offer other than his undying love, and willing to suffer, even die, to prove his love. In fact, the word kundiman is said to be the contraction of the phrase “kung hindi man” (if not, or if not meant to be).

If there is a single art form that captures the Filipino character, kundiman would be it for it is said that the Filipino’s humble nature and willingness to be trampled on is the main reason we allowed years of colonization and oppression from Spain, America and Japan. Even a fellow Filipino dictator was in on the flogging. Perhaps a controversial statement if not an exaggeration.

Whereas harana were sung exclusively by men, the history of recordings might give you the impression that kundiman were more often sang by women. This is attested to by recordings and accounts of luminaries such as Conching Rosal, Atang dela Rama and Sylvia la Torre. This is because it happened during the advent of recording in the early 1900s as well as the rise of the formalization of kundiman art form championed by Nicanor Abelardo, Bonifacio Abdon, et al. These composers were trained in the west and were very successful in integrating the operatic aria style into the kundiman. It is sung by a soprano and accompanied by full orchestra or the piano. This is the kundiman most of us know today (samples below).

However, there was a more basic form of kundiman that existed prior to that. They were songs the commonfolk could sing, and not operatic in style. This is the kundiman that existed long before the Abelardos and the Abdons. It uses just the guitar and voice and often sung by men. These were the kundimans sung by the haranistas during a harana.

It is based on the kumintang, a true indigenous (pre-colonial) style of song and pantomime that originated in the Tagalog region, probably Batangas. The guitar was later incorporated upon the arrival of Spain. The kumintang is a whole different subject that warrants an extensive research.

Things to look for: the kundiman is in 3/4 time, starting in minor key, switching to major key in the middle, uses archaic Tagalog, with the subject matter that revolves around being heartbroken.

Chances are, you probably won’t hear true harana or kundiman in our daily lives because they are not played (or seldom played) on the radio, television, internet or live performances. And if you hear one, chances are it is kundimanin (pseudo-kundiman) and treated more like cheap ditties rather than art form.

On top of distinguishing between the two genres, I also want us to make a clear distinction between authentic harana and kundiman. There are many versions out there, including some of my own recordings, that do not exactly meet these requirements. I am not saying that other versions are not valid, in fact, I encourage evolution and modern iteration of these genres as long as they are done well and they retain the spirit. I castigate them not for being inauthentic but for being truly horrific. But that’s another topic.

So, the next time you hear an old Tagalog song, try not to automatically categorize them as harana or kundiman. Chances are they are neither because true ones are hard to come by. But should you encounter one, you may now consider yourself armed with the knowledge to distinguish between the two.

Music Samples
(Note: To avoid copyright infringement, all music samples below are truncated to about 60 seconds)

Hear an example of a true harana song:
Kay Lungkot Nitong Hatinggabi (written by Santiago Suarez and sung by Ruben Tagalog from the album ‘Harana ni Ruben Tagalog’)

Hear an example of formalized kundiman as championed by Nicanor Abelardo, et al. This example uses a string orchestra accompanying a soprano:
Nasaan Ka Irog (written by Nicanor Abelardo, sung by Sylvia la Torre from the album ‘Kundiman’)

Hear an example of kundiman in its most basic form of guitar and male voice:
Bituing Walang Ningning (composer unknown, sung by the haranista Romeo Bergunio from the upcoming documentary film Harana)

24 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail

The Different Stages of Harana (Serenading)

by floranteaguilar

The Philippine courtship tradition of harana (serenading)

There are several stages in the Philippine courtship tradition of harana (serenading).

During the filming of Harana the movie in late 2008, I had the opportunity to travel to remote provinces of the Philippines in search of master haranistas – the vanishing breed of expert singers skilled in the art of serenading.

Serenading was particularly popular in the Philippine provinces from early to mid 1900s, even as late as 1970s. Contrary to the common notion, serenading in rural Philippines was less about a man’s declaration of love and more about the simple desire to introduce himself to a woman in a gentlemanly fashion. The image of a lone singer/guitarist under the window at night (which I am guilty of perpetuating by using this cover for my first album The Art of Harana) probably happened more often in the movies than in real life. The truth is harana was indeed a bigger social event. It was a call for an evening soiree.

The most common instance that sets a harana in motion is the arrival of a woman from a big city (like Manila) who is in the province for a vacation. Like Pavlovian dogs, men were conditioned to organize and bring out their guitars upon getting a glimpse of a beautiful new arrival.

Another common notion is that any man interested in serenading can do the singing himself. We may be a nation of singers but not all singers are created equal. And since the success of the endeavor depends largely on the skill of the singer, men sought the services of master haranistas – the best in town.

These were the men we sought after for the Harana film. And I am happy to say that we found three very colorful characters who are amazing singers in their 60s and 70s. These men definitely have something that is rarely bestowed on typical singers – the gift of straight-to-the-heart communication, earnestness and sincerity in their songs. A poignancy borne only from their humble existence and shy nature. Oftentimes, the mere sight of these leathery-faced men singing beautiful melodies is enough to have the whole Harana film crew in bawling fits.

I learned a lot from these men. Not only of new songs but insights on the harana custom itself. I was fascinated to learn that there are several stages to the endeavor along with adherence to certain disciplines. Whenever I ask for a song, they would often ask back ” Ano ba sir, panawagan ba o pagtatapat?” (Sir, do you want Announcement or Proposal?). To which I reply “Ano po?” (I’m sorry, what?”)

So herewith are the different stages of harana as they did in the province of Cavite:

Panawagan (Calling out or Announcement)
As the term suggests, it is the stage where men are outside the window announcing their presence. It comes with a specific set of songs. These songs often place them in the act of serenading from the outside, politely imploring the woman to open the window. Examples of these songs are Dungawin Mo Hirang (Open the Window, Beloved), Natutulog Ka Na Ba, Sinta? (Are you Asleep, My Love?), Sa Gitna ng Dilim (In the Midst of Darkness) and Kay Lungkot Nitong Hatinggabi (How Sad This Midnight Is) to name a few.

One of my favorite titles is Umaga na Pala, Sinta (I Just Realized It Is Morning Now, My Love). It implies that the poor soul has been singing the whole night without the woman opening the window. Talk about tenacity.

Pagtatapat (Proposal)
Panawagan (1st base) is deemed successful if the woman opens the window and you are invited inside the house (2nd base). Once situated in the living room, under the watchful eyes of the parents, another round of singing ensues. It calls for another subset of songs called Pagtatapat or Proposal. This is the stage where men unabashedly declare their admiration for the woman’s beauty and presumed virtues.

Examples of these songs are Ibig Kong Magtapat Sa Iyo Paraluman, (I wish to Propose to You, My Muse), Lihim Na Pagibig (My Secret Love) and Kung Ika’y May Alinlangan (If You Ever Doubt Me).

Panagutan (Response)
I was surprised to learn that after two or three Pagtatapat songs, the lady being serenaded is encouraged to respond through, well, a song. In fact, one haranista told me that in his province, women who were known to sing well tend to get serenaded more often.

The haranistas in Maragondon, Cavite introduced me to an elder lady known for her singing during serenades. When I asked her which song she would respond with, she said “It depends. If I like the fellow, there are some songs for that. If I am not that interested or if I am unsure, it’s a whole different set of songs”.

If she is unsure, she may choose to sing Constancio de Guzman’s Ang Tangi Kong Pagibig (My Only True Love), a song where the first line declares “Ang tangi kong pagibig ay minsan lamang” (True love for me is rare). Very poetic, not to mention diplomatic.

If the answer is affirmative, she cited the song Maala-ala Mo Kaya by the same composer, a joyous song that declares O kay sarap mabuhay, lalo na’t may lambingan (Oh how sweet it is to live, more so in the presence of love and affection).

The haranistas, in turn, have a song handy depending on the lady’s response. If unrequited, the haranista could choose a song titled Kay Hirap Mawalay sa Piling (How Painful to be Away from You), Ako’y Isa Na Ngayong Sawi (I am Now Brokenhearted), Pusong Wasak (Shredded Heart) and my favorite Laot Ng Dusa (Open Sea of Suffering).

If victorious, he would simply join the woman in singing say, the  Maala-ala Mo Kaya song which was actually written as a duet between lovers.

The singing apparently would go on late into the night. It was not lost to me that harana probably had that quality of enjoyment one might feel in a karaoke setting. In fact, I dare suggest that harana singing could be the prototype of the now famous (or infamous) karaoke where a group of friends take turns singing well into the night. But I digress.

Pamaalam (Farewell)
No one ever gets a home run in a harana (if you know what I mean). First of all the parents are right there with you in the living room, making sure the kabataan behaves. Philippines back then was even more conservative in behavior especially in the province. Shyness is considered a virtue, no touching is allowed, and abrupt and rude behavior was not tolerated.

The night ends using another set of songs called Pamaalam. The style of these songs are a little different, mostly happy with a faster tempo. Interestingly, where most of harana songs are in 4/4, Pamaalam songs tend to be in 3/4 tempo and sounds more like folk songs than love songs. Songs with titles like Winawakasan Ko (I Hereby End It) and Bakit Di Kita Maiwan (Why Do I Find it Hard to Leave You) are good examples. The haranistas then disappear into the night.

You see, everything they did that night was cloaked under the songs, which is more powerful and probably a whole lot of fun. It’s full of pent-up feelings that society dictated cannot be expressed outwardly. But if you sing it, not only is it acceptable but quite elegant and meaningful. It also follows a tradition handed down from generation to generation. In fact, if you ask your lola (grandma), chances are your mother or father is a harana baby – born and flowered through a seed called the harana.

To see and hear the haranistas, please view the Harana movie trailer:

7 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail