Twenty-third of a series

Summer’s here, and with it the tautening grip of Fernweh — the German “farsickness” that describes a bone-deep yearning for exploring places elsewhere. Unfortunately, the war triggered by the US-Israel attack on Iran has stranded many of us at the “weh” station: that uniquely Filipino intersection of disbelief and skepticism and, ultimately, resignation. In the wake of sticker shock at the pumps, grounded flights, and the spiraling costs of living, our wanderlust has given way to a collective “Weh, not happening.”

Before the madness was loosed, Filipino fans had some brief windows to enjoy foreign jazz acts and limited engagements with Filipino artists based overseas. And we’re still lucky: Streaming grants us access to jazz old and new, and the stubborn creative spirit will always find a way to make music, often in defiance of the surrounding chaos. 

There are, however, artists we want to see and hear more frequently — those we wish could visit the country at least once annually. Two of our Japan-based singers, Lorna Cifra and Charito Vergara, have managed to do just that; and until recently, US-based pianist and composer Winston Raval held yearly gigs in Manila and his hometown in the Ilocos. These shows are always must-sees precisely because the artists bring fresh perspectives to their performances shaped by their lives abroad. 

Our wish list of shows featuring overseas Filipino jazz artists is long, headlined by such talents as the LA-based vocalists Mon David and Charmaine Clamor, instrumentalist-bandleaders Tateng and Boy Katindig, and the legendary Chicago-based pianist, composer, and arranger Bong Peñera.

Bobby at Silungan

High on this list is the jazz guitarist Bobby Basa, a dear friend based in California. He played regularly at Silungan, the only spot on the University of the Philippines Diliman campus that hosted Friday jazz nights, during his annual visits in the 2000s. While he gigged at other jazz venues across the city, his schedule was always tightly packed, leaving him no more than three weeks in Manila at a time.

Silungan was cozy — the kind of place where someone as reserved as Bobby felt right at home. The music was never too loud, and neither was the conversation. More importantly, along with the good food came some of the finest jazz musicians of the day — pianist Jun Cadiz, bassist Joe Corbita, and saxophonist Rollie Rodriguez. 

Singers like Skarlet (aka Myra Ruaro), who was then shifting toward jazz from her reggae and ska roots, the late songwriter-activist Susan Fernandez, and editor Celin Cristóbal would drop in on any given Friday. The following week might find the former Executives Band vocalist Ricky Quiogue or the late percussionist and harmonica player Marcy Estrella in the musical mix. The regulars included educator and feminist Princess Nemenzo (herself a delightful singer); her late husband, Francisco “Ka Dodong” Nemenzo, UP president from 1999 to 2005; and a merry band of artists and academics who shared a deep love for the music.

While Bobby jammed comfortably with the ensemble and played magnificently as a soloist, the singers at Silungan especially looked forward to his accompaniment. He has a gift for making every vocalist sound better. By listening closely, his sixth sense would kick in at just the right moments to spark a warm musical conversation. He knows instinctively when to surge ahead and when to pull back to let the silence breathe — often anticipating a change in direction before it even happens, subtly adjusting his chords to catch the soloist and make every transition seamless.  

Bobby has the iconic tone of his main inspiration, jazz guitarist Jim Hall — a dark and warm sound that shuns flashy electronic effects and focuses instead on the pure, acoustic-leaning resonance of the instrument.

All that sensitivity from a musician who started out playing drums in a college rock band at the Ateneo de Manila University, and then disco with a band in Chicago where he lived in the mid-‘70s. But while here he got his jazz fix at the Thomas Jefferson Library; “and through the United States Information Service (USIS) library I learned that you could listen to jazz on the radio at midnight by tuning in to Willis Conover’s Jazz Hour,” he recalls.

Before he left for the United States in 1975, Bobby hung out for the music at the Hyatt where the Filipino jazz masters Angel Peña, Piding Alava, and Tony Velarde played. 

In Chicago he met a Filipino jazz aficionado (the son of his mother’s close friend who lived there). “Oscar did not play any instrument but had a big collection of jazz records,” he says. “Whenever my mom visited her friend, Oscar and I would go to another room and listen to jazz records. He introduced me to jazz artists I did not know of.”

‘Anyone I wanted to be’

Bobby recalls the exhilaration of seeing Chicago for the first time: “I was so happy because no one there knew me. I had zero identity; I could be anyone that I wanted to be.”

From 1975 until the close of the decade he played in a disco band, and at some point met some jazz musicians who told him he could very well play jazz. In 1980 he drove to California, signed up for a certificate course at the Guitar Institute of Technology in Hollywood — and never looked back.

He eventually settled in Santa Cruz, and held down his longest gig (10 years) at Pebble Beach where he played with a Brazilian pianist. His friendship with the organizer and director of the California Brazil Camp brought him, at least until Covid-19 struck, to the yearly gathering in Cazadero, California, of professional performers, teachers, and passionate enthusiasts for immersion into Brazilian performing arts and culture.

Bobby recalls attending two-week camps to learn from Guinga, who is widely considered one of Brazil’s national treasures — an unparalleled composer, guitarist, and songwriter whose work defies easy categorization. “Listening to him has brought me to tears a few times,” Bobby says.

His Manila breaks have been no less memorable. In his last visit in 2019, he attended the Cebu International Guitar Festival headlined by such classical guitarists as Jose H. Valdez, Michael Dadap, the late Ruben F. Reyes, Monching Carpio, and Phil Valdez. 

“Classical guitarists are in a different situation from their jazz counterparts,” says Bobby. “Classical guitarists are trained to play instructions; they’re not supposed to improvise. So of course I was the oddball there. I played jazz tunes, so the main thing I did was to show the improvisation part of guitar playing.”

Wherever he landed at home there was always a gig to play and a lesson to either learn or share. “Once in Manila I was asked to sit in with Romy Posadas, with Roger Herrera and Romy Katindig on the bandstand. I don’t recall how that happened!” he says. Another time, also in Manila, he got to play with the famous Bading Tuazon, a Filipino jazz pianist celebrated for his significant contributions to the music scene in Hong Kong, particularly during the ‘60s.

Bobby recalls once playing to a near-empty jazz bar — a posh one at a Makati penthouse — and yet finding it cool because he enjoyed interacting with excellent musicians: singer Eileen Sison-Gomez, saxophonist Dix Lucero, and keyboardist Joey Casal. 

That ear, them eyes

Bobby hasn’t been back in Manila since the pandemic, and he no longer plays regular gigs. These days, he says, he takes long walks with his dog, reads, and meticulously goes through a physical copy of The New York Times. Every evening, he mixes himself a G&T and rolls the occasional organic tobacco leaf cigarette. He still spends hours with his guitar — tooling around with arrangements of jazz standards or any other melody that happens to catch his fancy.

He also teaches a few students: “Three of them, but they each have a different set of problems. One does not know how to improvise and just reads off of a piece of paper. The other one is tone-deaf.  The third is studious, but he has a lot of years ahead of him.” 

He recalls a student who played flamenco and wanted to learn Brazilian music. “That’s hard,” he says. “You have to find your groove, always. And so, you can’t play Brazilian if you’re playing, say, Cuban music.”

For his part, he admits to being a “bad reader” after all these years. “Guitar players are notoriously bad readers,” he says. “It’s hard to explain this, but in the guitar, there are three different places where you could play C or D.” 

Oido — playing it by ear, as many a musician goes about intuitively learning tunes — is good, but to be better, one needs a good set of eyes that can read music, too.   

Ears also play a crucial role in creating the ideal playing volume in a given venue. Interestingly, many observers have noted that live music, including jazz, seems to be played more loudly in our bars than it should be. One suspects this is because some members of the audience, to maintain a specific signal-to-noise ratio for them to be heard above the music, are not really there to listen. 

“Jazz is chamber music, meant to be listened to,” says Bobby, who recalls a college reunion he attended in Spain years ago, in which an eager classmate tagged along on his late-night jazz excursion. “This jazz club in a little alley opened only at 10 in the evening,” he says, “and my classmate, obviously not used to being in a jazz club, started chattering animatedly even as the music started. It didn’t take long for the locals to turn around and shush him.”   

When people get noisy, the musicians tend to play above the crowd, which is never a good thing. “We’re not in Vegas,” Bobby notes.

Of course, things would be different if you’re playing in a hotel lobby where people normally gather to talk. He says: “In such an industrial gig, one for the money, I tune out and just keep playing. I figure, if you’re not listening, I’m not listening to you either.”  CS

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: One Night with the Lisa Sung Trio