Most everyone has a fan story. One of my own stories happens to be on keyboardist Joey Quirino (JQ to family and friends), who I hit some time ago on Messenger with a YouTube clip of Rickie Lee Jones live in concert, singing the June Christy standard “Something Cool,” which claimed to have the late great pianist and composer Lyle Mays on keys. 

You think we could do this some time? I asked, half-jokingly, thrilled at having stumbled on what was arguably a phenomenal pairing of singer and accompanist. I also knew that Mays was high on JQ’s essential listening list.

Sure! JQ replied, and I could almost hear the quick laugh he readily bursts into when he’s amused. 

It hadn’t been five minutes when he returned, saying, “I didn’t think it sounded like a mature Lyle. Then I looked for a copy of the whole concert, and I’m afraid that it’s not Lyle Mays. But a good version nonetheless… [Lyle] had been mistakenly credited for it. [Look for ‘Live in Amsterdam RLK.’] That’s Neil Larsen.”

That’s JQ for you—sharp, no-nonsense, ever on the ball. Which is why it’s always a joy when he’s on keyboards: Besides bringing out the choicest chords, he can, when called for, go on an extended, almost meditative improvisation that hits all the right spots. 

JQ’s versatility has put him squarely among today’s busiest musicians, playing with the AMP Big Band in all its iterations (big band, nonet, dektet); he also leads Habemus Papas with drummer Jorge San Jose and bassist Meong Pacana, which had been formed as singer-actress Bituin Escalante’s band. He is also a mainstay of Ronald Tomas’ Dixie Sheikhs and The Virtuals—basically the Papas with guitarist Janno Queyquep and led by saxophonist Lorrie Zamora. Lately he has been doing a trio with Meong and drummer Roy Mercado at Wolfgang’s Newport. 

Best of times, worst of times

While JQ remains upbeat about jazz and its apparent resurgence in the local music scene—“More popular now than in the last 20 years,” he notes—it has yet to reach the fever pitch it did in the days of Birdland and Vineyard.

“The best times really were when DZUW was still around,” he says. “This was the jazz alternative to rock then. I first heard Pat Metheny there. They even played Wayne Shorter.”

DZUW was the FM station of DZRJ at the time. Unfortunately, it was short-lived, as it didn’t stand a chance against the “easy listening jazz” played by other so-called jazz stations. 

“When we were first starting out as musicians, jazz was alive and well in Manila,” JQ says. Almost overnight in the early to mid-’80s, the live music scene turned unapologetically pop. “Tavern on the Square came along and killed [jazz]. We had to play pop to survive.” Most of the jazz players left for abroad then, he adds.

“It was such an insular-minded market then, which always collectively went for whatever was considered popular,” he continues. Headliners of the live entertainment heap included what would become the biggest names in local entertainment in the ’80s—Music and Magic, Kuh Ledesma, ZsaZsa Padilla, Gary Valenciano, and Juan Miguel Salvador.

But improvisers always improvise: Jazz musicians who stayed put rolled with the punches, lending their precious talent as backup players in live and recording sessions. Others slipped out of the country to play for six-month or yearlong stints on cruise ships and in hotels across Asia. Many also kept the jazz flame alive in smaller venues that popped up as quickly as they shut down, only to return in another shape and form elsewhere. 

It pleases JQ to see younger players today who “are more technically proficient and have a better appreciation of tradition.” Nowhere is this more evident perhaps than in the AMP Big Band, a truly multigenerational ensemble if there ever was one. The dynamic interaction among three generations at the very least innovates on conventions even as it passes on knowledge to the next set of jazz music bearers.   

A piano for your thoughts

JQ attended De La Salle for grade school and high school, and went on to the University of the Philippines College of Music under slightly unusual circumstances.

“The usual route for a pianist is to start young with piano lessons, which I did at maybe eight or nine,” he says. “When I was a high school sophomore I got to audition at the UP College of Music, thanks to [classical singer and teacher] Aurelio Estanislao, and was placed under Miss Laureola. I already had a foot in the door to college.”

JQ reminds us that nearly all the great jazz pianists have had some form of classical training. “Once you acquire a modicum of technique you then start to train on harder pieces,” he says. “I was always playing jazz and fusion mostly, even when I was training for classical music. So there really wasn’t [much of a] transition for me.”

He says he heard Bitches Brew—the highly influential and groundbreaking double album by jazz great Miles Davis widely considered a pivotal work in the development of jazz fusion—when he was in the sixth grade. “Then and there I formed the thought that this is what music should be,” he says. At the same time, JQ had a peer group of musicians that introduced him to Keith Jarrett, Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, and The Mahavishnu Orchestra—all leading lights in jazz.

In a way, too, his being part of a large and eminently musical clan (aunts Lory and Mei-ling, and uncle Jim Paredes are some of its more famous musical members; JQ’s mother is the eldest girl in the Paredes brood) may well have eased him into turning professional. 

Still, JQ says that early on he wasn’t even sure that he wanted to make a career out of music. “My sister had received a toy organ for her birthday,” he recalls. “I remember her being so incensed one day because I broke it after I’d kept playing it night and day. So, my folks decided to get a piano.”

Jazz as prayer

Though far from ideal, the jazz scene in Manila today holds a lot of promise, as technology intersects with talent and new venues deliver fresh hope for a 21st-century resurgence. 

“Access to and dissemination of information is one way to keep any art alive,” says JQ. “With jazz, I cannot stress enough the importance of live engagement.”

He is quick to admit that his best moments are when he can raise the level of playing through his engagement. But like many creatives in general, he balks at the business side of things, given the unreliability of earnings and the lack of formal structures to ensure the protection of musicians’ rights and welfare. 

To supplement income and pass on knowledge, he can teach: “I’ve taught a few people a few things, but I cannot teach from ground up. I can refine or add to your skill. [But] that’s all the teaching I do.”

Interestingly, too, his other pursuits led him to be part of a group under the tutelage of a Taoist master. As a pilgrim he has visited several temples in China, Taiwan, and Tibet. “Though I am no longer connected with the temple, I do Qigong and Tai Chi on a regular basis,” he says.

To my mind, one visual and sound of JQ on the keyboard endures. Between sets—was it in Tago or Balete@Kamias?—he started playing what I shortly recognized as Antonio Carlos Jobim’s “Inútil Paisagem,” an intriguing and lyrical piece whose harmony harbors its complexity, one that summons sophisticated chord voicings, modulations, and progressions. I recall he played it through to the end, and when I cheered wildly, alone, when he was done, he looked up, his face lighting up in genuine surprise that there was someone who’d actually listened. He completely owned the song in that quiet moment, making it sound halfway between a prayer and a poem.

So when he tells CoverStory that he hopes to “still be playing jazz and staying as healthy as I can be” in the foreseeable future, we share that hope and wish that it would be.

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Dave Harder’s moveable feast

The post Portraits in Jazz: JQ and the will to chill appeared first on CoverStory.

At 17, while enrolled at the Mapua Institute of Technology, Dave wanted badly to go pro. He searched for suitable teachers to gain the confidence needed to break into the music scene. Unable to find any, he signed up for music classes at Santa Isabel College and shortly began accepting invitations to gigs. As these increased in frequency and variety, he started missing classes, until he ultimately threw himself to playing bass full time with different groups in as many venues.

This constancy would serve Dave well down the road. So that by the mid-1990s, not quite 30 and eager to dive into a fresh sound, he found himself at an open jam jazz night where a friend, drummer Mar Dizon, introduced him to admired bassist Meong Pacana, who would eventually become one of his mentors.

“This was what was then called a sink-or-swim night, or ‘sumabog’  (literally, ‘exploded’), when young musicians were called on stage to play with the seasoned ones,” says Dave. “There were many of us young ones in such one-off events, as well as the more advanced musicians. It was called ‘sumabog’ to describe those moments when all hell broke loose, and the newbies lost their way through a song. It’s a lot like when kids got lost in the mall—a moment of confusion, mayhem, a time for lessons.”

In one of those sessions, this time at the University of the Philippines, Dave was introduced to the renowned composer, arranger, and double bass player Angel Peña, now deceased, by pianist and jazz historian Richie Quirino. This encounter seemed to confirm that, indeed, the teacher(s) appear when the student is ready, as Angel himself would put Dave through his paces.

As he moved deeper into jazz territory, Dave found himself consulting with who has been described as “Asia’s best bassist,” the late Roger Herrera. “Mang Roger was so generous with his time and knowledge; one call and he readily shared his expertise,” Dave recalls. “I bought my first upright bass from him.”

The constant bassist

Today, Dave lugs his double bass—15 to 20 pounds, including the soft case—to shows or gigs with proper stages, and for recording. He has two other smaller custom-made basses, with detachable necks, ready for a plane ride.

He has also since played for a wide range of musical formats, some of which stand out more than the others: Between 2008 and 2010 he played for jazz-inflected television shows (“The Lynn Sherman Show” and “Sessions on 25th Street”).

Dave eventually got to play with the late saxophone legend Eddie Katindig, and sometime in 2013 with piano supremo Romy Posadas. In 2014 he was part of the orchestra for the musical “Chicago” in Manila. In 2024, he played the jazz bass parts for the Manila show of global sensation Laufey, with the Manila Philharmonic Orchestra (MPO).

“I enjoyed doing these—playing with the MPO, which was very new to me, and with somebody famous,” he says.

These days, Dave plays with five regular groups and then some, bringing the deep-throated joy of his bass wherever it’s needed.

With Sifu, he plays with keyboardist and arranger Elhmir Saison, drummer Rey Vinoya, and saxophonist Tots Tolentino.

With Zenfu, he plays bass with Rey and Tots, and pianist Yong Aquino, with the occasional vocals by Faye Yupano.

With Dixie Sheikhs, he’s with Rey, Tots, Joey Quirino on keys, bandleader Ronald Tomas, and trumpeter Glenn Lucero.

With Up All Night, he’s with Rey and pianist Mike Lichtenfeld.

With The Jazz Standard, he’s with Elhmir, Rey, Tots, and guitarist Daniel Ibasco. 

Dave’s the trusty constant in these moving parts, the years of dedication to his instrument placing him firmly on the roster of go-to rhythm main men.

“Playing jazz calls for the same discipline and dedication required of doctors, lawyers, engineers, or athletes,” he says. “You can’t be half-hearted about it.” 

He passes on his knowledge through individual mentorship, maintaining a virtuous cycle, and his mentees have subsequently found work as musicians, notably on cruise ships.

But to push the love for art further, Dave believes we all should find and cultivate it in everything we do—“from how we choose to spend our day and talk with people, to the food we cook, the coffee we drink, the way we do business, the books we choose to read, how we parent and nurture our most important relationships.”

Dependable Dave: Singers know he’s got their back, and friends cherish his life lessons and laughs, and reliable support—all in perfect timing.

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Simon Tan’s season of grace

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A good harvest seems to be on the horizon for original music particularly in the jazz corner, heralded early last year by new releases headlined by bassist-composer Simon Tan’s 11-track Walotao album. Walotao is also the name of the band comprising eight of our finest musicians, including Simon: Isla Antinero (trombone), Joey de Guzman (alto sax and flute), Glenn Lucero (trumpet), Tots Tolentino (tenor sax), Ronald Tomas (baritone sax), Edwin Vergara (guitar), and Rey Vinoya (drums).

Both the band and the album are the culmination of Simon’s experiments with textures of sound and takeaways from the life-altering two years in lockdown. “After the release of my first album Breach with my trio [Rey on drums and Joey on tenor sax], I started writing for a bigger group, a sextet,” says Simon. “We had already rehearsed and we were ready to go to the studios to record. This was in March 2020, hardly the best time. We put that on hold and I ended up doing an album of just me and my basses, called Solo 2020.” 

During the lockdown, Simon, like everyone else, struggled to make sense of the chaos. In processing the brittleness of life especially in the context of Covid-19 and the political turmoil, he dove deeper into writing music.  

Musical coup

Write much and well Simon did, so that when 2022 rolled in he had composed and arranged 11 originals. “I thought of going through with the recording and [this time] decided on doing an octet, which was supposed to be the next project,” he says. “I then asked Rey, Edwin, Joey, Glenn, Isla, Ronald, and Tots if they were willing to join me in this project, and Walotao was born.”

Released under his own BassHex Records, the album is a joy to listen to, elegance and maturity being its hallmark. It speaks to Simon’s artistic evolution as much as it does to the wonders of perfect timing in rounding up the choicest performers for a breakthrough project. The sleek bossa opener (“Incapable”) unleashes the glorious horn work we can expect from all the tracks, which peaks a little past halfway into the album with the spirited “Pakwan The Man.” Meanwhile, Edwin, Simon, and Rey hold down the rhythm section masterfully, taking turns at dazzling solos that prove their top caliber. 

“San Juan,” where Simon lived when he’d done much of his lockdown reflections, turns inward, almost brooding; “47” serves up noir airs, which perhaps clues in the listener on what Simon was feeling at that age when he says he composed the tune. “Fracture” has Isla’s trombone coming in strong, with the horns closing the album as compellingly as they opened it.

The bassist as composer-leader

And while Simon is convinced that he has done his best work so far with Walotao, there is so much more to learn, whether in terms of producing an album or becoming better at playing some of the best bass known in these parts and creating original music. 

Arguably the busiest bassist today, Simon, besides minding his trio, also plays regularly with the Dong Abay Music Organization, the AMP Big Band, and Bamboo. “My free time is spent mostly on writing and arranging my own compositions,” he says. 

Simon looks back to his days out of music school at the University of the Philippines in 1992, when he landed his first professional gig as a bassist with a showband that played at clubs and hotels.  “I didn’t stay long there and started playing jazz after that,” he says. He got into jazz and blues bands like Kulay and Lampano Alley, and played for artists Skarlet, Noel Cabangon, and Bob Aves. 

Ultimately, Simon joined the Witchdoctors of Underground Jazz Improvisation, or WDOUJI, with Ronald, drummer Koko Bermejo, and guitarist Aya Yuson, which came out with an all-original CD titled “Ground Zero”—”a significant study of the limitless possibilities of the jazz form, as malleable as it is disciplined,” noted journalist and music critic Juaniyo Arcellana in 2002. 

It was during his stint with WDOUJI that Simon started writing his own jazz compositions. He draws inspiration from his “main men”—all sidemen and leaders of their own groups that play originals—comprising Charlie Haden; John Patitucci (“a master in both electric and double bass”); and bassist, composer, producer, and educator Ben Allison. At the same time, he remains grateful to his mentor, premier bassist Meong Pacana, “who taught me a lot, especially when I was starting out,” he says.

“There is still a lot to learn—for example, technique, theory, and new styles,” Simon adds. I will be a student until I take a bow.”

Good tone, a good ear, good timing, and a sound understanding of musical theory are just some of the bass-playing basics. “For sure, reading music will help land more gigs,” Simon says. “Also equally important…” he goes on, trailing off with a purposeful pause. Then: “One last thing—please do not be late for call times.”

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Isla Antinero tunes up with the best life

The post Portraits in Jazz: Simon Tan’s season of grace appeared first on CoverStory.

Something about trombonist Jose Aris “Isla” Antinero immediately suggests a solidity of spirit that goes deep beyond the full smile and firm handshake. His is a restful presence; with remarkable economy of movement, he holds the serene, thoughtful gaze of an apsara while waiting for his turn on stage. Off stage, his laughter is genuine, as one prays his signature greeting/goodbye is, as well: “Pinakamagandang buhay (the best life)!”

It does seem like Isla is living his best life, having recently released an original single titled “Mirang (Pinakamagandang Buhay),” with Wendell Garcia (drums), Kakoy Legaspi (guitar), Francis De Veyra (bass), and his partner Tonette Asprer (vocals). Isla describes “Mirang” as an “uplifting anthem” that celebrates hope, love, and connection, and features a blend of reggae rhythms and smooth swing. 

He says that in Rizal province, particularly in the municipalities of Morong and Cardona, “mirang” serves as the superlative prefix, equivalent to “pinaka” in standard Filipino. (All of Isla’s responses in this interview are in the Tagalog that he’d grown up with in Talim Island, just off Binangonan, Rizal. I hope the translation loses none of his story’s homespun charm.) 

“‘Mirang’ is a labor of love,” says Isla. “I have been hearing this melody play over and over in my head—it’s a positive and uplifting song that evokes ‘pinakamagandang buhay’. I believe this song will also help people raise their vibration.”

Calm is a superpower

His talk of “higher vibration” is not just some trendy take on the self-care zeitgeist that’s been blowing scented smoke in most every consumer space on the heels of the pandemic. In March 2019, Isla and Tonette went to Nepal to complete a Tibetan Singing Bowl Therapy and Sound Healing Course under Grand Master Shree Krishna Shahi at the Kathmandu Center of Healing’s instruction & healing arts program. In short order, the couple, already experienced yoga and meditation practitioners, explored Reiki, a Japanese technique that complements sound and energy healing. 

This would forever change their lives and their relationship with music: Last year, they opened the doors to V432 Wellness—a safe space in Quezon City where people can “reconnect and rediscover empowerment through mindfulness practices.”

Isla says their sanctuary is so named because “432 Hz is known as a healing frequency.” Many frequency healers believe that 432 Hz vibrations can significantly enhance the body’s healing capabilities, as well as slow heart rate and decrease blood pressure, reduce anxiety and stress, and enhance sleep quality.

“At V432 we combine music, meditation, and energy healing to help people reclaim their calm and restore their balance in everyday life,” he says. 

But doesn’t Isla precisely need to pack the intense energy that fuels every jazz performance? That trombone can growl like J.J. Johnson’s and Curtis Fuller’s, or resonate with the earthy warmth of Frank Rosolino’s, shifting effortlessly from mellow to powerful with breathtaking lyrical fluidity. 

Turns out the best way to channel that deep reserve of fiery spontaneity is from a still, untroubled space that hones one’s reflexes to deal with the unexpected. “Meditation is integral to my being a musician,” Isla says. “It deepens my connection to my instrument, so that I understand it better and thus help me improve my performance. Every mindfulness practice brings me toward a lighter and more open sound. Through sound healing, I help myself return to a calm place every time.”

It has taken Isla 41 years of playing, first the trumpet and clarinet in early boyhood, and then the trombone as a 10-year-old, to arrive at this clear-headed oasis. “My grandfather, father, and uncle all played the trombone,” he says. “My uncle played with the Philippine Navy Band. I played with the marching band and the school band where I fell in love with music—and the trombone, for its deep, warm sound that wraps around my heart, almost. It gives strength and body to the ensemble, rounding out the sound with depth and texture.” 

From ship to shore

Isla eventually attended the University of the Philippines College of Music, after which he played with Ugoy-Ugoy, the funk jazz-rock-R&B band, for 10 years, among other freelance gigs. “I think the ‘90s were the happiest and busiest days of live and recorded music in Manila,” he says. “Practically all genres were flourishing then—jazz, rock, funk, even fusion. The live music scene was bursting with life, hence the great many opportunities for musicians.”

In 2013, with gigs at home drying up, Isla signed up as a cruise ship musician. Initially, seeing the world while earning a living thrilled him. He recalls the early years of the 10 in total on cruise ships as being a true adventure, and learning from and playing with excellent musicians from all over the world was priceless.

But after a while the loneliness got real, with near and dear ones worlds away. “I felt my passion for playing falling off,” Isla recalls, “and playing a barely varying setlist did not help.” He adds with a laugh: “The day came when I felt I could run the ship backward and forward, and I knew it was time to come home.”  

He gradually reestablished his musical presence upon his return. Today, he plays with Brass Paspaspaspas, Route 70, AMP Big Band, Walotao, Dixie Sheikhs, 13th Boulevard, and Mabuhay Swingers. “These are my main groups now, but I also participate in other collaboration projects depending on my schedule,” he says.

Isla is also prioritizing his engagement with music education these days, particularly with youth programs in Eastern Rizal. Over the last couple of years, he and his fellow session artists, along with some college students and members of the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra, have been holding regular workshops to augment local youth music education. “This is the least we can do to help our talented youth go further on their musical journey,” he says.

He will never tire of reminding younger musicians already cutting their teeth on stages across the city of the need for flexibility (and discipline, one might add, such as making rehearsals on time and showing up prepared). “They need to be on top of emerging genres and trends without losing sight of their true roots, whatever these may be,” he says. “And, anyway, all of us should remain open to collaboration and experimentation.”

He enjoins all musicians that are able, to harness the power of social media and online platforms “to get their music across to their audiences, and keep the connection with their audiences at all times, live or online, as best they can.”

Easier said than done, to be sure, but at least the home shores are tuning up frequencies and tuning in to the music of our very own.

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Tago is Nelson Gonzales’ happy madness

The post Portraits in Jazz: Isla Antinero tunes up with the best life appeared first on CoverStory.

To be around Mel Villena—musical director, arranger, multi-instrumentalist, bandleader, and raconteur nonpareil—is to check your worries at the door. No day is too dreary that he cannot save the rest of it from crumbling, unmendable, at your feet.

At least that’s what it feels like every time he’s at the baton for the AMP Big Band, AMP being the Asosasyon ng Musikong Pilipino, and the band comprising 18 of the country’s finest (and multigenerational) session and recording artists. The lusciously layered sound of eminently danceable music crackling with energy and precision delivers a double-shot of dopamine: The audience is fired up to sing or move along, in situ, transported either way to a happier time and place.

Between songs Mel will talk a bit about the piece they just played or are about to, making sure to pack the spiel with information for the benefit of the younger people in the audience. Eight times out of ten this would send these younger people Googling links to the song, and Mel and the band will have sparked a fresh musical connection across generations.

“The challenge [had been] to reintroduce to the entertainment scene the real big-band sound, repertoire, and show that people my age were so used to listening to and watching on [the former] Dewey Boulevard, TV, radio, and the so-called Extravaganza Concerts that were available in vinyl format [33/45 rpm] that were for sale in our favorite local record outlets,” Mel says, adding with a laugh: “[Which] also doubled as musical instruments and sporting goods shops.”

Burnishing a golden age

At around the time the AMP Big Band was formed in 2008 and officially launched in 2009, not too many people were familiar with the sound of a traditional big band. “I talked to some young bands and production people [who] thought that ‘big band’ meant more guitars and synthesizers,” says Mel. “Big horn bands were simply no longer uso—and that’s understandable. Producers and network productions were not too keen on hiring such bands because of the obvious economic implications.”

So, yes, the struggle in the early days was real, but the AMP Big Band was poised to ride the crest of the resurgence on local radio of younger and jazz-oriented, if suave, crooners like Michael Bublé and Harry Connick Jr., who were usually backed by big bands. The old had become new again, in keeping with the cyclical nature of things, and younger audiences cared to dip their toes in their elders’ music.

Fifteen years hence, the AMP Big Band, collapsible to the AMP Dektet when necessary, is arguably among the busiest acts on the live music stage (with a regular monthly schedule at 19 East in Sucat) and in private and corporate events. Says Mel: “The feature shows we do at 19 East are where we get to play the music that we love doing, which is the Big Band jazz repertoire. This means traditional [1930s-‘60s] and contemporary stuff, and everything else in between and beyond. It’s most fulfilling for us.”

On the other hand, the AMP Big Band’s “magical, bombastic, and humbling” moments include playing at a dinner during then US President Barack Obama’s state visit to Manila, and performing for the Asean Summit with then US President Donald Trump as main guest. They were also the backup band for the 2015 concert of the American jazz singer Diane Schuur at the Theater at Solaire.

Mel is hopeful that audiences are busy recalibrating their listening compasses. “[They] are starting to be more exploratory again,” he says, “which I believe is due to what the internet makes available.” While there’s certainly a downside to that, Mel prefers to give credence to the constructive possibilities that technology offers to music and its performance.

“More people today are hearing [and seeing] prodigious talent and music performances globally,” he observes. “They are exposed to the good, the excellent, [and the bad] out there. That freedom keeps the business on its toes. That freedom is important for both musicians and audiences.”

Sense of community

It was a corner sari-sari store in the San Juan community in which Mel grew up that kindled his fascination with music as an eight-year-old. A bunch of teenagers hung out there, one of whom expertly coaxed Beatles songs out of a hollow body guitar. Mel kept coming back for more: “I just had to be the annoying small boy who tried to get him to teach me at least one tune on his guitar,” he recalls.

The music never left him, and he never let it go. In high school at La Salle Green Hills (LSGH) he was the arranger and bandleader of the renowned music ministry Kundirana. The LSGH Marching Band room became his second home as he tried out every musical instrument he could get his hands on. He eventually enrolled at the University of the Philippines’ College of Music where he would major in composition.

Moving about the live entertainment circuit before graduation he met his future wife, Nori Perez, at a gig in Wells Fargo on Roxas Boulevard. At the time Nori was a backup singer, along with Cecile Azarcon and Elise Cortez, while Mel was in a boy band called Haraya. The latter opened the show of the singer that Nori and company were backing up. Later that night Mel and Nori found out that they were both enrolled at the UP College of Music. They have never spent longer than a week apart since then.

Mel’s remarkable four-decade-long career as musical director for television and concert stages of the best Filipino singers and artists has won him a slew of prestigious awards. But his most cherished memories and moments are those that continue to bring him joy at the thought or as they unfold, even if for the nth time, as he and the band play their music. 

He will never forget the night of their inaugural performance as AMP Big Band at Ten 02, a small jazz bar on Scout Ybardolaza owned by singer Skarlet Brown (who was also then the band’s vocalist): After their first song the audience broke into wild cheer and applause. “To me that meant we were on to something important and exciting,” says Mel.

From 2013 until the pandemic shut down businesses in 2020, the AMP Big Band played on Monday nights at Balete@Kamias, a sprawling art-deco house turned live music venue.

For Mel, nothing compares to “the camaraderie, friendship, professional interaction, exchange of technical expertise, ideological conversations, community [akin to family] bonding, the joy of music, love, and respect… Almost fifteen years of that and I still feel as excited as when we first started.”

Most important, and without irony, Mel declares that if Nori pronounces him good, so it is: “Pag sinabi ni Nori ang galing ko raw…’yun na mismo!”

Broader social values

The sense of togetherness and shared endeavor within the big band—beyond the sheer musical possibilities—is highly appealing to Mel, who is also chair and president of AMP, the musicians’ guild. The AMP addresses session musicians’ concerns, establishes protocols to safeguard their workplace rights, and sets minimum rates for them and backup singers.

“We also extend medical and financial assistance to our members or their families,” he says. “Likewise, we conduct community music workshops every now and then.”

The use of big band in education is particularly effective because it teaches a musician to be a team player, and compels students to socialize and communicate with each other. For Mel, the big band is more than just an ensemble; it is a reflection of broader social values. When it’s working correctly, everyone feels like they play an important role, and they feel good about others’ success.

AMP Big Band, take a bow for jobs exceptionally done: Michael Guevarra (tenor sax 1/flute/clarinet), Nicole Reluya (alto sax 2/clarinet/flute), Ronald Tomas (tenor sax 1/flute), Joey de Guzman (tenor sax 2/clarinet), Roxy Modesto (baritone sax/bass clarinet), Lester Sorilla (trumpet 2), James Ryan Mixto (trumpet 3), EJ Celestial (trumpet 1), Glenn Lucero (trumpet 4), Ronnie Marqueses (trombone 1), Isla Antinero (trombone 2), Vanessa Celestial (trombone 3), Chok Dela Cruz (bass trombone), Joey Quirino (piano), Noel Santiago (guitar), Simon Tan (bass), Jun Austria Jr. (drums), and Jojo Luz (percussion), with Gail Blanco-Viduya (vocals).

Read more: All that Jazz: The music lives here

The post Portraits in Jazz: For Mel Villena, the swing’s the thing appeared first on CoverStory.

On Saturday night at the hospital where Gary was being treated for dehydration, his wife, Angeli Pangilinan-Valenciano, updated media friends: The family would decide by 9 a.m. on Sunday if the second concert scheduled that night would push through. Making the decision was far from easy.

Hours before the concert, Angeli posted a heartfelt message on Facebook: “On the way to the Smart Araneta Coliseum … Here we go Lord Jesus. We focus on you, not the wind and the waves, so we will walk on the water tonight holding your hand.”

A post on Gary’s official FB page by Team Genesis assured his fans that the show would go on: “No weapon formed against me will prosper. – Gary”

The message continued: “Thank you everyone for your prayers, especially our Dec. 22 ticket buyers for your patience and understanding. The decision of Gary came with much prayer. We will see you later tonight 8 p.m. …”

Dynamic entrance

Opening the concert with “Shout for Joy,” Gary made a dynamic entrance, jumping from a pit in the stage. He slipped slightly upon his arrival, but he quickly recovered and powered through the number. The audience erupted in cheers, captivated by his boundless energy.

Media personality Kata Inocencio marvelled at Gary’s 

resilience in an FB post: “He is Mr. Pure Energy indeed! No trace of illness and emergency hospitalization the other day… Yahoo! Yahweh!”

Gary told his audience about the challenge he had to overcome, how close he came to cancelling. “At 8:15 a.m., my wife Angeli came up to me and said, ‘You’re going to be great, Gary.’ I told her, ‘I cannot do this concert, I cannot.’ But she believed that while I couldn’t do it, God could,” he said.

The concert featured a stellar lineup of collaborators. SB19 joined Gary for a heartfelt rendition of “Babalik Ka Rin.” Gloc-9, Jay Durias, and Gary’s daughter, Kiana Valenciano-Tolentino, added their unique artistry to the show. The Maneuvers, A-Team, AC Bonifacio, Darren Espanto, and Gary’s son Gabriel added energy to upbeat hits like “Hataw Na” and “Sa Yahweh.”

The night was also highlighted by Gary’s eldest son, Paolo, who directed the concert. In an emotional tribute, Gary told Paolo: “To say that I am proud of you is too much of an understatement, son. I love you so dearly. You are such an example to your brother and your sister.”

The concert lasted over two hours, with Gary pausing periodically to rest, hydrate, and monitor his condition.

Near the end, he delivered a moving 10-minute speech, emphasizing that the concert is not a farewell but a step toward a new chapter. Fans were treated to a teaser of his upcoming documentary, “Pure Energy.” 

“I know that God said, ‘You’re gonna step on that stage tonight, Gary, and you’re gonna shine for me,’” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.

Unforgettable show 

The Friday-night concert may have been shortened, but it was still an unforgettable show, earning standing ovations from Gary’s fans and friends.

In posts to a group chat with media friends, Angeli and close family friend Bobby Quitain narrated the dramatic events leading up to and during the abbreviated concert.

According to Angeli, Gary’s condition was critical hours before the show. “My cousin, nephrologist Dr. Chad Hizon, was already scheduled to attend the concert, but I asked him to come earlier for a pre-concert consultation,” she said. 

“Together with endocrinologist Dr. Michael Villa and cardiologists Dr. Rod Castro and Dr. Enrique Posas, they monitored Gary’s health closely. Dr. Villa even warned, ‘He cannot do this concert unless he has a drip that would balance his electrolytes. He could go into diabetic ketoacidosis.’”

Hizon found it difficult to find a vein for the IV drip due to Gary’s dehydration, but after a prayer from Pastor Ed de Guzman, the situation turned around.

“Five minutes after the prayer, Dr. Chad found the vein, and Gary was stabilized. Thirty minutes later, he was on stage performing,” Angeli recounted.

8 songs

Gary managed to sing eight songs, including such crowd favorites as “Shout for Joy,” “Di na Natuto,” “Take Me Out of the Dark,” and “The Warrior Is a Child.”

“Imagine that,” Angeli said. “Eight songs. I’m awake in the hospital thanking God.”

Quitain, a lawyer and longtime admirer of Gary, posted in awe: “Yes, Gary V. cut short a two-hour concert into an hour, but this was perhaps his most moving and awe-inspiring concert ever. Drenched in sweat and with an IV [drip] attached to his hand, Gary gave his best with every song he sang. He occasionally caught his breath, but his passion and faith shone through.”

The emotional highlight of the night was Gary’s testimony of God’s grace and his performance of “The Warrior Is a Child” and “Take Me Out of the Dark.” The crowd was moved to tears, many raising their hands in prayer and gratitude for the artist.

“He wears his faith on his sleeve,” Quitain said. “Tonight, we saw not just Gary Valenciano, the artist, but Gary Valenciano, the man. Lord, of all the nights we could have attended, thank you for bringing us to this one.”

Gary was immediately taken to hospital after the show. Support poured in, with family and friends such as Cory Vidanes, Gina Tabuena Godinez, and Gary’s sister Gina Martinez rushing to check on him.

His perseverance and unwavering faith left a lasting impact on the audience, reinforcing his status as an artist of not only immense talent but also deep spirituality.

For the thousands who witnessed the unforgettable evening, Gary Valenciano’s performance was a testament to grace under pressure, the power of faith, and the indomitable spirit of a true warrior.

Read more: A little night of music

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Singer Lorna Cifra’s surname may have sealed her fate, but as any musician that’s ever had to make their own way in the gnarly terrain of music-making quickly finds out, a sound musical career is built on good and bad choices, a smidge of luck, and diligence of the sort that leaves little room for much else.     

But Lorna had a leg up: She was raised by jazz-loving parents, and it was almost certain that she would pursue a life singing jazz. She is convinced that she’s an old soul. “The ear and the love for jazz [standards], according to my mom, [appeared] when I was two,” she says. “I sang before I talked. That song was ‘The Nearness of You,’ my mom’s favorite.”

But if she had to sing that same standard today, her audience would likely struggle to recognize the insanely popular tune even well into the first several notes because Lorna, like the best improvisers, has reimagined it as her own. Initially it may sound anything but the original—until it does, because all songs eventually find their way home. 

As Lorna always does, too, shuttling between Osaka in Japan, where she lives most of the year running a music school while gigging in Kobe, Japan’s jazz capital, and Manila, where she also manages a vocal studio. The visits to Manila have become more frequent in the last couple of years, she says, after she won the Aliw award for Best Jazz Artist Based Abroad two years in a row, in 2022 and 2023.

Turning point

“That was a turning point for me,” Lorna says. “I felt it was time to give back. We have a lot of excellent singers here with the potential to become great jazz vocalists, and if I can contribute to that, I will. These days I find myself in Manila at least four times a year, running the music school and doing some gigs on the side. And I’m having a blast.”

It does seem like the thrill of the open road has not waned for Lorna since she first left the country to sing at Hyatt Busan, through one of her mentors, Rudy Francisco, Hyatt Manila’s resident pianist and entertainment director.  Busan was, in fact, her jump-off point for the Hilton chain across Japan, performing with an all-Filipino band called Nostalgia—the first foreign band, she says, to play at the Hilton hotels in Japan. 

“When you’re young, you think you’ll be forever young,” she says, adding that the late 1980s through to the early 2000s were simply her best years. “Six nights a week, three sets a night, playing with the same people—the perfect recipe for both fun and stress.” A venue might also hire only her, in which case she’d play with local musicians, as what happened for a spell in Singapore. 

Jazz, after all, is a universal language. 

Lorna eventually married in Japan, but she says she insisted that her Japanese husband let her work. The early days of adjusting to the culture were challenging, but the couple received ample support from both sides, which allowed Lorna to carry on performing and presently run her own vocal studio that grew out of a request from a Kobe-based school for her to teach jazz vocals. 

“I guess we all go through a lot before reaping the harvest,” she says. “Japan has a wide jazz audience, which inspired me to go on further studies. I also learned a lot while teaching.” 

So off she went to New York City where she attended workshops run by jazz musicians like Peter Martin (Dianne Reeves’ pianist) and the late Trudi Mann, vocalist and percussionist. For 20 years, between trips to Osaka and New York, she squeezed in performances in the Philippines, Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong, Seoul, and the United States at top local hotels and jazz venues. In 2008 she earned her US Jazz Artist visa. 

“Jazz in NYC is unbeatable,” says Lorna. “[At the time] the pressure of being Asian doing jazz was tremendous. But I was determined [to carve out my space]—a character trait that I got from my grandfather who, back in the day, had worked as an apple picker by day and saxophone player by night. I got to play with the locals, built a little niche, and eventually started teaching jazz in a school called Musika, an online American music school.” 

Her romance

Lorna scats, a love for scat syllables blossoming early as she listened to her parents’ record collection. Of course, scatting did not figure in her first, if furtive, stint as a singer of Joni Mitchell and Carole King covers in a famous pizza joint as a college student at the University of Santo Tomas. But she had to start somewhere, following piano and guitar lessons, and eventually playing an Electone organ when, at 15, she was put in charge of the church choir.

She continues to listen to the younger generation of vocal scatters like Veronica Swift and Cecile McLorin Salvant. This keeps her limber, she says: “Having [a] strong ear is key to better improvisation. It’s good for practice especially when I look forward to a jazz gig or festival.” 

Besides, there will always be new notes to explore. As the classical pianist Glenn Gould said, “The nature of the contrapuntal experience is that every note has to have a past and a future on the horizontal plane.” And because Lorna loves bebop, she tunes in closely to Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, and Thelonius Monk, among others, “to learn some of their licks, phrases, and cadenzas that I might be able to infuse in my materials.” 

Lorna adds: “One thing going for the Manila jazz audience is that it’s getting younger. Thus, we are more interactive, such as the audiences at Tago.”

She constantly reminds her students to keep their eyes on the ball: It’s not enough to love singing; they must create and own their songs. “Listen to the jazz legends,” she says. “Imitate, assimilate, then innovate. Learn an instrument; read notes to enhance creativity. Get a mentor. Listen, listen, listen. Practice, practice, practice. Learn as many standards as you can. It’s paradise when you absorb the behaviors in jazz performance. Jazz sets you free, and it’s a good community to be in. Jazz is good for your heart and soul.”

I know it does Lorna’s heart and soul wonders. In September I caught her last show at Tago, which had in the audience some of her students who jammed in the open-mic segment. I felt breathless all night, keeping up with Lorna’s dizzying hotfoot journey through jazz standards and bebop classics. 

After physical and mental preparations for a show, Lorna says, “I treat my stage like a prayer. You can’t go wrong if you give honor and glory to the Creator, with whom I partner every day on and off stage.”   

She goes on that sacred stage again on Dec. 16 at the University Hotel in UP Diliman, in a yearend show for the benefit of Seniors on the Move, with her unit band in Manila comprising our finest jazz musicians—Tots Tolentino, Yong Aquino, Dave Harder, and Rey Vinoya. Part of the evening’s repertoire will include some “Salinawit” songs (or Filipino translations of The Great American Songbook standards) by our dearly beloved poet and journalist Pete Lacaba. 

“For me it’s all about creating, sharing, and performing till I drop,” says Lorna.

Oh boy, does she mean it.

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Tago is Nelson Gonzales’ happy madness

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“…Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. 
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply…” 

To those lines of Huxley’s poetry from his novel Island, one readily conjures up the image of Lynn Sherman—singer, actor, animal rights activist, and, in her words, “frustrated model”—seamlessly gliding into any of those incarnations. She always exalts a moment: Lynn is easy on the eye, and every performance she’s ever turned in has always been from a heart at play with possibilities.

“But I don’t sing just jazz, ha,” she quickly tells me, a detail that would be obvious to anyone who’s been tracking 20th-century Pinoy jazz and Original Pilipino Music (OPM). 

From 1993 to 2001 Lynn was lead singer for the 10-piece band Ugoy Ugoy, comprising five horns and a full rhythm section, which fused elements of big-band jazz, funk, and Filipino pop and rock. Those were heady days for local jazz, to be sure, and especially OPM, as some groundbreaking bands emerging at the time would forever alter the Filipino musicscape, such as the Eraserheads, Hayp, and Yano, among others.

“Being in the band expanded my world of music,” she says. “I learned songs by Blood Sweat & Tears, Tower of Power, Count Basie, Chicago, KC & The Sunshine Band, to name just a few.” For eight years Ugoy Ugoy played in both jazz and alternative music bars across the metro, in hotels and special venues; they toured the country and several cities in the United States. The band’s long and successful run ended when some of its members had to leave for abroad.

They hadn’t always been known as Ugoy Ugoy, though. The core group of the UP Jazz Ensemble, for whom Lynn sometimes sang—”In college I took voice lessons at the UP College of Music, and that’s where I would hang out, despite being a humanities major,” she recalls—would be called “The Big Band” when it was formed by talent manager Wyngard Tracy in 1993. On their own a few months later, “The Big Band” morphed into “The Bourbon St. Big Band,” until their new managers in 1994 suggested the name “Ugoy Ugoy,” referencing the swinging action one does when rocking a cradle. 

“I thought it captured the essence of the group because it signified our jazz funk roots; at the same time, it sounded Pinoy,” says Lynn. In 1996 Ugoy Ugoy recorded the jazz crossover album Step into the Rhythm, featuring Latinized versions of OPM classics. 

Into her rhythm

Lynn’s audacious style and diverse musical taste reflect the vocalists on her playlist that reaches wide across the jazz, R&B, and pop spectrum (“Sarah Vaughan, Chaka Khan, Betty Carter, Diane Schuur, Meshell Ndegeocello, Joni Mitchell, Kevyn Lettau, Joni Mitchell, Olivia Newton John, and Sting,” she offers up in one breath). 

Her local musical inspiration roster is equally impressive. “I am a fan of so many Filipino artists, too,” she says. “I guess it helps that I am also friends with many of them. But I have to say that APO Hiking Society must top this list, as I will never tire of listening to their music or watching their shows.”

In two trips to the United States in 1996 and 1997 and to Singapore in 1999, Ugoy Ugoy performed as the front act and backing band for APO Hiking Society. In Palmdale and Oxnard, California, Ugoy Ugoy also had its own solo shows; in Oxnard the band even held a workshop for music students.  

Lynn and her husband, arranger and composer Bond Samson, are currently on a US tour with APO (for which Bond is the musical director)—a life on the road that she’s taken to with grace and gratitude. It must be wonderful being married to your musical partner and counting decades of togetherness partly in terms of creative collaborations and largely celebrating a friendship that has been going on for the longest time.   

“Bond and I are actually from the same high school although he is from a different batch,” says Lynn. “We started going out when we were in college—I was a voice student at the UP College of Music where we met and started to hang out. It’s lots of fun being in the same band as your partner. In the case of Ugoy Ugoy … we were friends before we ever were a band, so we always had fun as a group.” 

Because all of the Ugoy members had their own activities, be these playing with other musicians, backing up other artists, or, in Lynn’s case, performing in a play, their times together as a band were particularly special.  She says, “Making music and lyrics also with my hubby is definitely a plus. I always appreciate his insight.”

Most memorable moments

Lynn’s return to theater and pivot to television as producer and host, and film, would yield some of the most memorable moments on stage and TV. She performed in the local musical productions of Rent, The Sound of Music, Falsettos, Cabaret, The Bluebird of Happiness, The Little Mermaid, The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe, and in the Singapore production of Beauty and the Beast.

She produced and hosted the Lynn Sherman Show on RJTV in 2006-2007, and was host and writer for an episode of the Lifestyle TV show Living Asia. 

She also acted in local and international movies, notably Santa Mesa (2008) directed by the New York-based Ron Morales, and which won the Best Dramatic Narrative Feature Award at the San Diego American Film Festival. It was also given the Special Jury Award at the San Francisco Asian American Film Festival in 2008.

Between 2010 and 2011, Lynn performed on the international cruise ship Nippon Maru with a repertoire of Japanese, English and Filipino music. 

In 2019 Ugoy Ugoy had a much-awaited, if unplanned, reunion concert in 19 East, titled Ugoy Ugoy 25, which celebrated the band’s 25th founding anniversary, no matter that they hadn’t played as Ugoy for years. It was a sentimental and joyful show, with three of its former members in town, serendipitously, from overseas. “It was also the last time we performed and hung out with Tito Hilario, our good friend; he was also our sax and flute player,” says Lynn. “Tito passed on in October 2023.”

PAWS and striking a pose

Followers of Lynn on social media (Facebook, Tiktok, and YouTube @lynnsherman) will know that she is an animal rights champion and a volunteer for the Philippine Animal Welfare Society (PAWS). 

“I truly appreciate what they are doing to help [raise the level of care for] our aspins and puspins,” she says. “Currently I have seven cats, two dogs, and one horse, all of whom are rescues. The horse is a rescue from the Taal Volcano eruption and PAWS in fact helped me learn about [these horses’] plight. She now lives in Iba, Zambales, with some of her rescued horse siblings at the Artana Eco Farm.”

Her whimsical side also gets its play on social media—and in real life—where she wears and effectively models creations by her good friend Odit Sarte. “She has made me a number of outfits … and over the years, to keep track of what they are, I decided to make videos of myself wearing them, set to music,” Lynn says, breaking into a laugh. “So yes, I could well be a frustrated model.”  

But she is not quite done trying out what fits and wears well in the public spaces afforded by the arts and even technology—an instinct that speaks to Lynn’s lightness of being. A few months ago, she created leaf prints, inspired by her sister who teaches the course in Madison, Wisconsin, and promptly presented it in a group exhibit at Pinto Museum. 

And, no, she clearly isn’t done with singing either, these days performing regularly in hotels and venues around Manila as a soloist and as a guest singer for the Colby Dela Calzada Jazz Quartet, which won the Aliw Award for the best jazz group in 2023.

By her count Lynn has featured in more than 100 concerts around the Philippines and in key cities across the world. From where I sit, that sounds like she is truly “treading lightly, on tiptoes and no luggage…completely unencumbered.”

Read more: All that Jazz: The music lives here

The post Portraits in Jazz: At play with Lynn Sherman appeared first on CoverStory.

When this series started in March, drummer Rey Vinoya put himself at a distance from deadline in a mix of hesitation and bemusement. Without declining outright to be profiled, he proposed what he believed was the farthest possible date from March: “September!” he said, beaming, when I asked him in April when he thought he’d be ready to share his story.

Well, here we are. Turns out Rey’s call had been prescient. I’ve spent the last few months catching as many of his gigs as possible—he’s among the constantly in-demand drummers today—in an attempt to come to grips with his highly personal playing language. This is the slippery slope on the way to becoming a groupie, I thought to myself while watching him on some nights, marvelling at his intense bursts of supreme athleticism one moment and then his pulling back to a near-total hush to let those brushes do their swishy, barely-there thing the next. 

Here we are, and I am none the wiser. What exactly makes Rey’s time-keeping feel just ever so slightly beyond the reach of words? As do the finest jazz drummers, he more than merely sustains a steady rhythmic pulse. He supports and boosts the soloists, creates tension and drama, splashes percussive color, and helps invoke the mood or atmosphere—the proverbial tasteful rug that ties the room together, as it were. 

But that barely captures the entirety of what Rey brings to every performance—on top of the ready smile and his singular competence on the drum kit. He’s not just plugged into the sound of his co-players; he’s wired to the entire room. He weaves effortlessly between hard and soft focus: Without missing a beat on the main stage he can quick-scan his surroundings and signal to the seating area up-to-the-minute adjustments that might need to be made. 

As one of Rey’s longtime collaborators, keyboardist Butch Saulog, observes, “Apart from the obvious skillset, there’s [his] feel and sensitivity. This may sound cliché, but he plays in service of the song and sees no need to impose his will and display his chops. And he’s very diligent in studying the repertoire given to him.”

Best seen and heard

What was lost to the guitar (his first musical instrument at an early age) and the piano (his minor in university) has borne a wondrous gift to percussion. Rey had also explored the musical terrain, playing drums for rock bands when he wasn’t even 20, before being introduced to bebop and straight-ahead jazz via jazz fusion.

“I became curious about the drum set and its key role in the development of jazz,” says Rey. “They evolved together, each contributing to the other’s growth. I have been playing jazz for the last 20 years and I’m still learning how to play it.”

While he still gets roped in to play at the occasional blues or rock gig, he is always happy and grateful that he is able to play the music that he wants to play and get paid for it. “I wouldn’t change a thing,” he says. 

And here’s the thing: Seeing and hearing Rey play is always a notable moment because of the protean quality of his approach. He constantly reinvents his comping, continually shifting the rhythmic center of gravity across his kit. Sometimes it’s almost as if he’s perpetually soloing, even as a solid pulsing foundation always undergirds his explosive technique. He doesn’t just play the drums in his own distinctive fashion; he also perceives them in a completely different way.

“One of my biggest turning points was when I studied [briefly] with [now-US-based jazz drummer] Koko Bermejo,” says Rey. “I learned enough from him to help me shape not just my drumming but also my musical concepts. Koko had told me to find a concept, find a sound, and be musically coherent instead of being a jack of all trades and master of none.”

Playing the music

The legendary American jazz drummer Elvin Jones, one of Rey’s heroes, was known to emphasize in drum clinics that the drum set should be used to “play the music.” Musical intention is key; a solid drummer understands the composition thoroughly and avoids excessive fills that can distract from the musical flow. 

That understanding helps them build and compose a musical drum part with substance and shape—the perfect starting point for Rey to “establish a good ‘time feel’ that the other musicians can comfortably play with.” He says that the rest is fun, especially in the company of the best jazz musicians, with whom he often shares stages these days: “I then just respond to what is happening, sometimes taking the lead, sometimes following, just letting it unfold.”

As such, he doesn’t believe in bad nights. “To be playing jazz on stage every night is always a good one,” says Rey. “Minor mistakes do not make a bad night. I am very lucky that I get to play with good musicians, so if there’s a lapse that’s probably on me!”

A good night, however, is almost always contingent on an attentive audience. A study published some years back, “The reciprocal relationship between jazz musicians and audiences in live performances” by scholars from the Guildhall School of Music & Drama in London, underscores the dynamic interplay between performers and audience members. While the performers’ appearance, gestures, and interactions with the shared space, as well as their music, can all influence the listeners, the latter can also have an effect on each other and even the performers, shaping the overall experience. Listeners become active participants who significantly contribute to the outcome of the performance.

“I appreciate audiences that are quiet, listening, and interacting,” says Rey, who’s not shy about responding to disruptive noises by subtly signalling his disapproval and turning up his volume to emphasize his point.   

No rush, no drag

Resisting the lure of getting snug in a limited range of tempos, Rey would much prefer to take on the challenge of new territory. “I will find my way in any tempo,” he says. “It’s too easy to slide into a tempo comfort zone, which I find to be the reason for either rushing or dragging.”

He has also been finding his way in life without social media, and living unplugged likely accounts for his even-keeled manner. “When social media platforms first appeared in the late ‘90s I really thought they were passing trends,” he says, laughing. 

He doesn’t seem to have changed his mind since, despite the unstoppable deluge of shiny new tech thrills. While people frantically upgraded to the latest smartphones every couple of years, he lived with and cherished his Ericsson flip phone until it gave up the ghost.

Living untethered to “the latest” has allowed him to focus on his closest relationships, reduce distractions, and nurture a quiet mind. However, he remains connected to fellow musicians and music enthusiasts via online groups and forums, and enjoys the occasional online jazz concert or recording. 

Will he one day be a teacher or bandleader himself, as many jazz drummers have become? The first, maybe not really. Rey’s relishing “the warmth of human interaction” afforded by live gigs without having to explain what just went down to a roomful of kids. The second looms as a possibility down a long road. “Band leadership calls for an entirely different skillset, and it’s a big responsibility,” he says. 

For now, Rey is sticking close to home, “tooling around with some rhythmic ideas and melodies.” He’s having too much fun being exactly where he needs to be, and he’s not about to put a rush on that.

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Faye and Bergan in Project Yazz

The post Portraits in Jazz: Everybody loves Rey Vinoya appeared first on CoverStory.

It was typhoon season in 2012 when we found ourselves at the newly opened Tago waiting for the downpour to subside after an ill-timed meetup with a handful of friends ran well into the night. Two things stood out in that flash from the past: how serene the reunion had been despite ample rounds of beer because we had enjoyed the performance of senior and upcoming jazz musicians having a blast duking it out, and when time came for that cigarette break al fresco, we beheld insane white-cap floodwaters surging right past the doorstep.

Nelson Gonzales, Tago owner and musician, watched the spectacle unfazed as he took a deep puff and said there was nothing like having jazz right where you could enjoy a watersport: “Saan ka pa—may jazz na, may resort pa!”

Several storms both metaphorical and literal have since rocked Tago and in the meantime, Nelson has become the incarnation of equanimity, ushering Tago into its 13th year. People of lesser stuff would have dropped the mic and cut their losses much sooner: Even the novelist Haruki Murakami folded up his cherished jazz bar Peter Cat (named in honor of his pet cat)—“the culmination of everything Murakami loved”—after seven years because running it had been a formidable challenge.  

But Nelson likes being known as “the crazy guy with a jazz bar” nearly as much as he enjoys walking the talk. Never mind that when he’s not on the drums on stage, he is also cook, dishwasher, and occasional janitor, on top of being Tago’s talent booker. Exactly as Murakami had had to “wash dishes, mix drinks, sweep, and book musicians.” 

For the love of people, music

“I love the people I’m with; I love the business to which I remain deeply committed,” Nelson says. He breaks out into a small laugh at my suggestion that he might yet pursue a career in creative writing should he choose to close shop for whatever reason: “I’m no Murakami—although at Tago, mura kami (we’re not expensive).”

That could well be true: Tago has competitive gate prices for thrice-weekly (Friday-Sunday) shows featuring top-tier jazz groups and artists. The menu is basic but hearty, the drink list spartan. But that’s not a knock on Nelson, who almost magically manages to make everything work to everyone’s satisfaction. He’s had tons of practice juggling the needful and the whimsical. He carved a space for Tago in 2010-11 with some (now former) business partners out of family property in a quiet residential area in Cubao, Quezon City, and opened the bar with the bare minimum of amenities for 20 people max—25 if you’re feeling chummy. Nelson called it “Tago” because “it’s in the middle of nowhere and nothing,” he explained in a recent online interview with an independent news outlet.

Well, until Waze came along, getting there had been a bit like playing the ultimate urban hide-and-seek. And while an address on 14 Main Avenue in Cubao is hardly “the middle of nowhere,” as a friend noted wryly, and especially since people kept being drawn to what was on offer—an increasingly diverse talent and audience pool that connected in exponentially unforeseen ways—the neighborhood bar eventually needed refurbishing. No one, least of all Nelson, thought that Tago would breach the four-year mark to become something of a jazz sanctuary. 

In April 2015, 14-time Grammy winner and jazz luminary Herbie Hancock, Unesco goodwill ambassador, acknowledged Tago’s untiring efforts to propagate the “universal jazz message of peace and harmony” in a letter addressed to Nelson. A writeup in the website for Unesco International Jazz Day (celebrated yearly across the world on April 30 since 2011) cited Tago for its dedication to “rebuild a healthy and viable jazz scene in the Philippines and provide an affordable venue for young audiences.” 

By this time Tago seemed to have its momentum on track, hosting open jam sessions that attracted even international jazz musicians passing through the country. The pressure to provide an improved space had gone up a notch and by early 2019, Tago was up for a much-needed makeover for which Nelson launched a crowdfunding campaign.

“Those times taught tough lessons,” he says, but if you were invested in it the way he was, it was just a matter of rolling with the punches without giving in to the urge to roll over. He never lost sight of why he’d taken the plunge in the first place: No other venue offered jazz the way he envisioned it should be on tap, and there was so much brilliance from both local and foreign talent that it would be a shame to let them go without a regular stage. 

Mission not quite impossible

One could even set aside the fact that Nelson is himself a musician, having played with indie rock bands from the ‘90s into the 2000s until he leaned deeper into jazz for its profoundly satisfying emotional and artistic returns. “Tago is [t]here to inspire people to lead meaningful and worthwhile lives through music,” he says, and to blow wide open “opportunities for learning, discipline, and passion.”  

The revamped Tago reopened in December 2019. In a few months, however, the Covid-19 pandemic would upend lives and livelihoods across the world, and like most other businesses, Tago bore the brunt of the lockdown. “Everything that I built and stood up for came to a halt,” he recalls. “Despite my efforts to keep the jazz scene alive through some livestreaming from Tago, the pandemic’s challenges understandably dampened enthusiasm and sapped everyone’s energy.”

Yet again, Nelson summoned his superpower—grin and bear it, because “fires either break or make us, and as long as you’re on your feet and able to do something to improve your situation, carrying on is the only option.” 

When asked by the online interviewer about Tago’s milestones, Nelson responded without hesitation: “Simply surviving from day to day has been a significant achievement.” This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s shelving long-term plans for the growing Tago jazz community, which include a Tago branch maybe south of Manila and setting up an institution that would offer jazz education and artist development programs. 

Nelson says he has spent nearly six years knocking on big music companies’ doors for some form of support, and the only one that’s come through so far is Yupangco Music, which provides Tago with pro-grade equipment. Working alongside him attending to back-office stuff and social media collaterals is his partner-in-crime Katherine. Nelson runs a tight ship, which is exactly how he likes things. 

There’s quite a way to go, but for now, Tago is doing better than good, with the variety in its talent lineup flourishing alongside its younger and curiouser audiences.

And yes, both Nelson and Hancock regard jazz as a powerful tool for living truthfully and honestly, and both believe it should be accessible to more people. As Hancock said in a recent interview with Eastside Radio 89.7 FM, a community radio station based in Paddington, Sydney, “Jazz has values; it teaches us to live in the moment, to work together and, above all, to respect the neighbor. When musicians get together to play together, you need to respect and understand what the other person is doing… Jazz makes people feel good about themselves.”

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Alvin Cornista’s different worlds

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