By: Iris P. Concepcion
I was thinking up of a weird creative escape via selling Jesus pendant.
I did not realize it is worth much until I had it appraised.
Hmmmm, I said.
They rejected Him though. It was a funny twist of the jagged edge: He got turned down.
Anyhow, the education I had under my mentors yielded these results over misplaced choices. My son was already writing about the divide even before. I was so adamant in defending my chosen musicians, providing pestilence and drought threats. I never understood him before. Now I do.
So, I am putting a disclaimer to what I had been lousily praising before but who, in upclose mundane encounters, are simple duds.
Naming names is an open area of frankness (anyhow, they had been whacking me with "we shall rape you" kind of clothed threats----them who had been singing their way to beerhouses).
I do not like the band Eraserheads anymore. Of course, this band disbanded over creative differences in the past. Homegrown: they were bred from a national university whose roots started from riding in jeepneys and lugging their guitars over sweaty shirts.
Last time I heard, they are sporting coolie cars out of their rock star status and that is admirable. Their recent individual outputs had changed the musical landscape in terms of musical progressions: they have good, quality, sound engineering and it saddened me that they lost their will to be revolutionary in a proper kind of way. Something was lost in these kids: they adored their benefactors more than their muses this time and it shows: the temerity and qualitative slants in their music had gone sour and slid, off skidding, in some slope somewhere. Also, I saw their vampire video done hastily over mug of beers I suppose and it was played over and over again amid their claims of superiority. It was an ugly realization. They have feet of clay and are not much to hear even. Check this out: Vampire song done by its guitarist I suppose and see its world class texture. Admirable. If only it did not sound and look so nubile and sub-par.
For me, I say: "Ang bilis bumaliktad sa pagkatha dahil sa broom!". I am wondering who their mentors are now. They have grown much and had grown somewhat dead in spirit. I do not like this band anymore. For the record. It has lost its lustre for me. Even their individual outputs seem lame and done by people on the block just seeking for cheap scores. In short: they sound craggy, old, used up, sold.
Some writers I had looked up to in the past had been dented too. They are so unlike the words they write. They could write women empowerment on papers but are the latent aggressors of inhumanity in real-life settings. Beneath their cloak of mountainous clinging lay hearts that actually beat for Calgary sojourns and anything snow-bound. They profess to hate the West but at the instance of travel, they head to lush springfileds and proudly smile for the Canon, perhaps, befuddled by the fact that in the country where they spray paint and create "fictional" chaos, the real suffering people do not even see their botoxed asses. You question these preferences not because of envy. You question these misplaced representations for their hypocritical leanings.
My father, of the writing demographic, has written these too. He is hated by both the right and the left for being too left of center. In the medium of visuals, he got his final say: "Woe me! Give me tears! Give me creativity! Show me your perfect talent!" over montages of slurring gatherings in red light districts and questionable hiring procedures. I think you have to get naked first for them to say you are a talent. Dads say it best. His works even got turned down, over exclusivity of principles. Damn. Libertarians on the outside, dictators on the inside. So tsu.
Of course, they will not change. They shall continue doing that because they love their country above self; they love the poor above their Lamborghinis; their hearts beat for the flooded more than their hidden houses in lucrative places; they do not beat up their wives black and blue in dazed trances when in drug zones; they open up their multi media facilities to the real struggling craftsmen of the country.
Now that the government is giving these marginalized artists the necessary push and support, of better alternatives even, of course, we welcome it like breezes of wind. What ought to be public must remain in public. It is not a privatized privilege.
That was given back for a cause, not for maintaining mediocrity.
Word.
What happened to these people? They do this to save their lifestyles. It is worth emulating. It is a principled choice. It is a productive way to earn a place in a decaying universe.
Sorry is not a word. It is an action. It pains me to know sons of illustruous people paying off their fathers' legacies and foundations for excellence over secretive dalliances for the bilked ones.
You chew on and you chew more: what drove them to greed?
Scriptwriters: there's YOUR story.
I once read that the evilness of some industry people (entertainment, politics) are fit for the boondocks but I never believed that before. Now, I know.
Yes, that's a better movie.