RETURN OF THE NOT SO PRODIGAL SON
By: Iris P. Concepcion
The last time I heard, the mother's eldest, a genius retard at 14, went to Peru to escape his supernatural prominence. He also wanted to visit the Bridge of St. Luis Rey just to impress his Mom who had admired the book in the past.
David, slayer of Goliath, slept 365 days and left those whom he had known since six years old, vowing to return as a second rate stuntman.
The return of the comeback is another feather in the overburdened clown who had to battle Resident Evil, the billboard of which graced a Quiapo theater. I had laughed so hard at the exaggerated scuttlebutt of mane drawn like a man possessed.
These are not funny guys. These are latently hilarious men who know when to get mad and get madder.
Earlier, I attended a show called Kulay at Kasarinlan. I do not know where they got the title but kids on piano were featured. More than twenty performers keyed in that piano but having been honed in the ways of the knowing, I pick these performers as giving their best shots in throwing their balls out for melodies.
I choked a little bit when I heard the little girl Maria Gianina Jimenez play F. Chopin's Valse in D Flat Major OP 64 No. 1 (google this; it coould be a trick) since he looked like my niece. She was the best in that plum of kiddies trying to communicate with notes. They got it from this Mom. You question their integrity, they would hand them to you, warts and all, unblinkingly.
Among the older folks, I was spooked beyond my normal self by Lisa Zheng, a twelve year old prodigy who was trained by Ms. Cecile B. Roxas. The familiar mannerisms: she entered first in a mini skirt and silently sat in one corner. When she came to the piano, however, the dynamo unleashed a horrifically wonderful, stuntman-like approach to the piano keys. She was in flaming red and looked like a nerd but what a woman! The monster, devil attack on the notes, pitched from the blackest of moods, came alive as she played like a serpent. I got my P50,000.00 buffet plate once more. This time, I shouted some initials and from a fellow comedian to another: the better other laughed, proud perhaps that his best half recognized what is essentially obvious.
The happiest notes came from Jescha Obeta who rendered Scherzo from Mikrokosmos Vol. III. I also liked the First Arabesque, Passepied and the Two Part Invention In A Minor No. 13, BWV 784. I could no longer recorgnize if what I am attending is a car show or a major play. This is self-parody but what a beautiful rendition of the trio successive songs.
The best part of course, was the closing ceremony. No. The last piece. A raze from sky, an airplane SFX, drawn in the sky from Almond S. Ponge. He is a cherubic satan himself if ever one exists, banging the piano in wild abandon that I had to squirm on my seat. He is exceedingly good. He is pompous, obese, a riot, an outsider, a legend with a patch on his head.
Damn the reaction of the mother: she almost shouted. With these words: "Hey bastards, he is MY son!"
With enough reason. It is his time to shine after dissecting that book. The affinity is widening. I just heard children of the corn rendering a duet. This writer said: "That is a duet from two of my sons."
The Daddies nearby almost choked, teary-eyed. Such simple joys for simple men.
Indeed.