By: Iris P. Concepcion
Underneath the old, oak tree are malunggay leaves. How they got there, living with tombstones, I could not exactly fathom.
Today, a church that looks like a prison cell of Jose Rizal is hosting an aria. Yes, this church where "talahibs" grow out of its seams looking every inch like an exceptional setting to The Secret Garden reprise is hosting it. Men do not exist here. Souls of the vineyards do.
I had a taste of Chili's burger or its variation thereabouts: I got stuffed. The child Jesus is in a tabernacle flashing a Laban sign, although unintentionally. It begs for attention.
St. Vincent de Paul is holding a bread with a curly baby who looks like a ward I am teaching spelling to.
The featured composers are Bach, Vivaldi, Handel, Schubert, Mussogorsky, Rossini, (these names are getting better and better without the Wikipedia) Arceo and so on and so forth.
These times, the usually maligned people of the past who could not explain themselves because they do not pay for blackmail ploys are slowly, patiently and without a tinge of upfront meanness, finally emerging with their own "real" stories. Their arena is no longer in print but the living theater.
I can commiserate with these beautiful voices and their perennial silence before. I was once a target of this mob and still is. Luckily for me,I have manifold parents now who likewise put out their brave faces in front of those who lack decorum. They never shame the perpetrators of bad habits. They, instead, grapple with those feisty words: "conscience" and "guilt" in addressing the gallery crowd.
In this aria, foreign languages speak the laments of those who were wrongfully spinned. I love this personification of the mix. Like the previous performer of gamut emotions written here, the vocalist was not indicting. The lipstick repetition of gruesome prank (it debases) was repeatedly chanted in a Vivaldi number. He was teary-eyed as he was explaining.
Giving him a superior, superior musical accompaniment is the incredibly adept pianist Gregorio Zuniega. This musician does not overpower. He brought forth the wishes of the singer. He does take the backseat for the melody confession to shine. Always, these performers remind me that mainstream opinion shapers who pooh at these projects need to get reminded also: we do not lack funding nor does the public lack interest in what we do. We are not just buzzed about. I guess that is in my job description.
Perhaps, some people are occupying themselves with conceptualizing oversized spaces that do not appreciate maximization.
Yes, it is a humbling experience but we can get past through that. I tasted a gorgeous hotdog for less than ten pesos. I am not expecting to get jailed for this manna from heaven. It is an art by itself, lying without a package in a beautifully arranged space. Do you see the connection?
Deliverance signs are everywhere. I see it as everyone winning this war. When they are dirtied, they shall be picked along the way. Repetitive and tedious but credit these guys for persisting. I ask: How do you educate people for things that do not promote digression? It is an ongoing process.
The President is definitely doing the right thing even if the beneficial outputs are undermined by mere propaganda. Beckon not the harbingers of doom, the real shindig is out in the streets. There is a very long way to go. I can see this conductor becoming his own man in building this affinity without going to cocktail parties and backdoor dealings. He is enlisting the proper people who, like him, shun spotlights. I see him watching things from afar though. Perhaps, he is likewise meditating for improvements.
Last night, I even wondered: who is David? Did he have a hand in what is otherwise a supernatural twist to the musical bonanza that had people re-examine their ways of cultural "fund" use?
It was my only time to heckle. The only thing that I could manage, dear father, is this: "Di nyo kinaya ang pobre." And the impervious "Go Green guy!!"
An orchestra was lent to render songs of the variety program types. There was shock, there was awe, there was an invitation to re-awakening. Again, the guy in a beautiful organ did not overpower the somewhat struggling bassist. The violinist helped him and so did the flutist and keyboardist. These guys rendered hymnal narratives even in their monotone touch keys.
Cinema Paradiso was excellent. It was improved by the participation of the keyboardist. Coming from the fantastic "Rocky" brass band, I know what is exceptional right now and what is not. This group did not overpower. They were accompanying them, ready to finetune what is certainly lacking and not working in this beautiful blend of music.
On a bigger look at things: this is an assent to correction from the divine. This insistence to enunciate aesthetically that some people can do it better; just allow them to innovate for fresher and newer things.
The posters have improved; the front stage was pruned. And the arena? Filled to the seams, bursting like my previous fats.
They are improving the lights very soon, perhaps in astounding monochromes. This arena is filled. Even the food stalls now serve "real" food.
Who is David? "THIS" is David.