Late last August I received a Viber message stating (although it was phrased as a question) that I was to host something: “Ikaw ang host nito, ha?”
“Host” actually meant emcee. “Nito” referred to the planned fundraising for Jose “Pete” Lacaba. The “nito” was no longer a surprise. The planning had been an endless exchange of Viber messages between and among a motley group of friends I call Jo-Ann Maglipon’s “goonies”—Joyce Sierra, Tesa de Vela and Cooky Chua. Rey Abella and myself were present at that dinner on July 30 when the irrepressible Jo-Ann brought up the idea following a suggestion of her friend who was publisher of the magazine where Pete served as copy editor.
Pete is not in the best of health. And when an artist, especially of his caliber, needs support, the multitude gathers (or should).
The initial brainstorming happened there and then at that dinner, fleshed out in the following days’ exchange of messages. It was to focus on salinawit, Pete’s translation/adaptation of popular ballad and old classic. Possible venues were lined up, a list of artists was drawn. Then the ticketing prices: How much do we charge?
But there’s Murphy’s Law. As the group moved to a roll, the unexpected happened: the passing of Marra PL. Lanot, Pete’s wife and collaborator, on Aug. 16. Marra was herself a multilingual poet and the founding chair of the Women’s Desk of the Concerned Artists of the Philippines.
Her passing somewhat dampened the spirit of the group. But we’re activists. We turn grief into revolutionary action. In this case, that meant the show must go on.
On Sept. 6, over puto bumbong and bibingka, the couple Chikoy and Monet Pura jumped in. The venue would be My Brother’s Mustache, a folk bar in Quezon City. Cooky locked the lineup of performers—among them Leah Navarro, Pat Castillo, Bayang Barrios, Joey Ayala, Noel Cabangon and Mitch Valdes. Jackielou Blanco would interpret monologues from Pete’s screenplay “Sister Stella L” while Atom Araullo would read excerpts from Pete’s book of reportage “Days of Disquiet, Nights of Rage.”
Then there was a change in the call. “Fundraising” was dropped. The event would henceforth be called a tribute. And rightly so.
Calls were made to inform people and invite their support. The multitude was called.
And they came.
A hundred or so people is far from a multitude, yes. But days before DDay, all seats had been sold out. Not a few had to be turned away.
At 5 p.m. of Oct. 10, they started to arrive at My Brother’s Mustache, many in groups. Jo-Ann was frantic: There was not enough seats and tables and chairs had to be added. Joyce and Tesa spoke with the guests, explaining the seating arrangements. When I came at 5:30 p.m., I immediately sensed the tension among the goonies. Jo-Ann’s furrowed brow was a giveaway. Understandably so. The audience was largely composed of people on varying doses of maintenance meds.
It’s a good problem, I told myself. It meant raising more funds. All we needed was a good show, and the discomfort of a cramped space would be forgiven.
I had earlier planned on backing out as emcee. It was a concert-type of show in a bar. An emcee might make it look like a variety show. I was not sure how to conduct myself. I unilaterally decided to limit myself to reading a poem or two from Pete’s works. Earlier that day, I chose from his collection “Kung Baga sa Bigas.”
But I forgot to bring the book with me when I left home.
Then I saw the people seated at the bar. Writers, journalists, activists. People who did not just cross paths with Pete but walked and marched alongside him in his various journeys. After all, Pete is the ultimate multi-hyphenate: writer, journalist, editor, popular culture archivist, song translator, his works definitely leaving a mark in the national literature. More than enough for him to be elevated to the Order of National Artists of the Philippines, and that should be soon.
After Nathan Abella and Waki Ignacio were done with their curtain-raiser of an act, I took the mic: “Good evening, everyone…”
And a good evening it was—from Leah Navarro’s confusion as to the meaning and pronunciation of the word “naliliyo” when she sang Pete’s salinawit of “Love Me Tender,” to Pat Castillo waxing nostalgic with “Sangandaan,” the theme music of the film “Sister Stella L,” and Cooky’s “La Vie en Rose” and Bayang Barrios’ “Imagine,” all the way to Mitch Valdes’ declaration of having come from the school of activists St. Scholastica’s College before her show-stopping numbers of “That’s All” and “Try a Little Tenderness.” And more.
Jackielou Blanco commanded silent attention with her mere presence as she interpreted two monologues from “Sister Stella L.” Atom Araullo charmed the crowd as he read Pete’s account of the First Quarter Storm from “Days of Disquiet, Nights of Rage.”
It was Noel Cabangon, a favorite crooner of the progressive circle, who capped the night’s tribute.
(Before the jamming part, there was a little tribute to Joyce, who had dismissed any birthday celebration that day to do her part for Pete. A cake was offered as the crowd led by Cooky sang the “Happy Birthday” song to her.)
The open mic session became more than just jamming, thanks to Bobbet Bernadas on keyboard and Ferdie Borja, Pete’s longtime partner in popularizing salinawit. At one point Pete gamely took the mic, flanked by friends and comrades, and crooned (or something like it).
By then everything was turning into a blur for me. I heard melody, I heard voices, I heard laughter. “There was love all around,” as the Beatles would sing.
It was around 1 a.m. when I fully got my senses back again. By then, Chikoy Pura with Rey Abella was ending his set almost in a whisper: “I’ll be seeing you/ in all the old familiar places…” CS
