What is Pinoy music?

I WAS “lost” last weekend in the piles of books in a local bookstore. I was hunting for a book that was recommended to me earlier by a literary friend. But fate brought me to the “entertainment section” of this bookstore. There I found two remaining copies of “Punks, Poets, Poseurs: Reportage on Pinoy Rock & Roll” by Eric Caruncho.

I checked the price. It said, “50 pesos.” Are you kidding, I told myself. This book is a steal! So I grabbed one copy (now I’m thinking I should have also grabbed the last copy, heh), and went straight to the cashier.

This is an “old” book which I read back in 1996 when it was launched. I must admit I had little knowledge of the Pinoy rock scene in the 1970s leading to the late 1980s, which was about the same time when Baguio’s The Blank became the hottest rock band in the country.

Caruncho’s honest rock journalism would certainly take you back to those days when long hair, torn jeans, and I-don’t-care-about-this-world attitude where a, er, norm among the young kids of that generation. In fact, his take, as he would admit early in his book, is really from a fan of music. So I guess it is also good to take off from the vantage and tell you how this book has changed my view of Pinoy music in general.

You see I grew up in Baguio City where Western music was revered more than local music. There were a handful of bands playing originals back then when I was in high school and in college (eventually, I became a member of a local protest band called Binhi). I immersed myself in the sounds of the 80s. But this was also about the same time when MTV made its debut worldwide and the Philippines. So whatever was playing on MTV, I listened to. And that dictated my musical influences. Or at least, that is how I vaguely remember it.

Like Caruncho, I loved music and I wanted to be part of it. So I studied it and subsequently landed a part in a band we called The Patch. We mostly played American country music. But I was insisting on playing new discoveries, such as Guns ‘N’ Roses and, okay, Bon Jovi. (It sounded country so I thought my band would like it). For a while, we had gigs mostly in parties. But I remember our band holding a “mini-concert” during a freezing night in a community plaza. We set up a little stage and for an hour or two, we launched our music career using the cheapest equipment we could get our hands on. It was our debut. Sadly, it was our last.

Reading through the chapters of Caruncho’s book brought back memories of why Pinoy music has often struggled to become mainstream. In fact, most underground bands during my time hated being labeled “mainstream.” They associated this with “selling out” and the radio-friendly bands they despised. They wanted to remain in touch with their roots, and yet they sought stardom. Yes, that’s the irony of it all. And that perhaps is what Pinoy music is all about.

Pinoy music is generally born out of our love for music, and honestly, it’s leaning towards Western or something foreign. I started out listening to foreign bands where I learned the “basics.” From there, I tried to search for my own voice, combining Western influences with my own. So does that make it Pinoy music? I guess. In fact, I would venture into the argument that there is really no Pinoy music. Each music is unique. And once we create it, we will own it. Labeling music somehow stifles it. And that is not what music is all about. If music is one universal language, then it should be free from labels.

So what is Pinoy music? I really don’t have the answer. But I would like to quote Ces Rodriguez’s 1996 introduction to Caruncho’s book:

The history of Pinoy rock should be a pretty interesting road map of our yearnings and rage, earnestness and outbursts, the inarticulate speech of the Pinoy kid’s heart.

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