(Twentieth of a series)

On a dreary November evening last year, I sent a message to composer-guitarist Riki Gonzales, who was then performing aboard a cruise ship. I asked him to send me a short video clip of wherever he was at that moment, hoping that a glimpse of the world beyond my walls—whether night or day, at sea or ashore, and blessedly real rather than AI-generated—might lift my drooping spirits.

Cabin fever had taken hold: Two weeks of relentless deadlines had kept me bound to my desk, and my life had narrowed into one unbroken stretch of night that refused to yield even a sliver of light.

Riki, ever reliable, replied after a few minutes with a video attachment. I eagerly tapped Play, looking forward to a glimmering party in full swing with live music at some club in the top deck or a sun-drenched day at a bustling port.

What unreeled felt like the opening scene of a high-seas thriller: a long, softly lit promenade deck, utterly deserted. The camera panned to the sea—endless and glinting black—then back to the empty expanse. There was hardly any sound, nothing much to see. Riki hadn’t bothered to explain the view, and then it occurred to me: We were probably stuck in the middle of nowhere at that very moment, together.

But at least, I thought, wherever Riki finds himself, there will always be music. Even on that forlorn night he could pick up his guitar and coax a song or two out of it. He has never been without music since he started playing piano at age nine when he was in third grade. 

“That’s why I can read music,” says Riki. “But then, much later, I met someone who could play like Eric Clapton, Duane Allman, and Jeff Beck note for note—that’s how it really started. I wanted to be like him.”

He admits that while his first love was fine arts—he discovered a talent for drawing as early as in first grade, which in time led him to pursue a degree in industrial design—music proved compelling enough to change his career path entirely.

From garage to big stage

“I think the most exciting part of my musical career is that there’s always a new challenge,” says Riki. His first group in the early ’80s, comprising three neighborhood friends—Lito Naoe, Glodel Dimaano, and Robert Ceballos—started playing in their garage before moving on to Shakey’s stages. These gigs he describes as truly unforgettable, including a stint at Hobbit House’s jazz club. From there they played in hotels as a show band, eventually landing engagements abroad.

In 1985 he made the leap to Pinoy rock, joining Sampaguita’s band for a series of gigs. The stint pushed his blues sensibilities in new directions and doubtless sparked his dream to write his own music.

From 1988 to 1992 Riki took a break from gigging to become choir director for the Park Baptist Church and Missions. There he learned how to use the Digital Audio Workstation, which facilitated midi arranging. This would prove a highly useful skill for his adventures in film scoring years later.

By 1993 he was ready to return to the swing of jazz, blues, and fusion. That year he joined Parliament Syndicate, an acid jazz band that played a mix of acid jazz, funk, dance, hip-hop, rap, R&B and OPM. “I spent the longest time with them—twenty years,” he says. “We recorded two albums together.” Parliament Syndicate was one of the country’s most popular music bands throughout the decade, whose members have discussed reunion projects in recent years.

Sometime in the late ’90s Riki formed a blues group he called Baloos, with Koko Marbella on guitar and vocals, Frank Benitez on drums, and Rommel de la Cruz on bass. When he began composing jazz fusion in the early 2000s he changed the group’s name to Balooze, which debuted in 2003 as a fusion band whose members shifted around according to their availability. 

Around the same time, he opened a rehearsal and recording studio that thrived until 2009, hosting jazz artists like Mike Shapiro, Kevyn Lettau, and Eumir Deodato as they prepped for their Manila gigs.

In 2007 he released Balooze, an eight-track album of original compositions.

The shift to ships

But Riki needed a change. The family was growing, the house needed repair, gigs weren’t what they used to be. By 2011, word was going around among musicians that cruise ship gigs meant good money and a chance to see the world, all expenses paid.

He began exploring his options, but when the offer finally came, he was torn. Before making any commitments, he knew he needed to consult the two most important people in his life: his wife and his pastor, who served as his spiritual counsel. He received their blessings after several conversations with them: His ship life had officially launched.

His first two contracts were with an all-Filipino band. “It was fun and unforgettable—our band was like a family away from home,” he recalls. “It also helped that technology made it easy to communicate with our loved ones.” They went up and down the South American coastline before crossing the Atlantic to Europe.

That may have been exciting but it was also challenging. Says Riki: “Our job was to back up artists by reading music. They had production shows featuring in-house casts and guest headliners—singers and instrumentalists. Most of the songs weren’t easy. I wasn’t very good at sight-reading back then, but somehow, I pulled through.”

He stopped after two contracts because he wanted to be with his family and his teenage children, including twin boys. But he had to reconsider when three of them were about to enter college.

It’s been that way mostly ever since: six months to a year at sea, then back on land for half a year, maybe. When Covid-19 struck, the lockdown caught him shipboard, and he came down with the virus himself.

Between contracts more recently, he has experimented with film scoring—a totally different ballgame, he says. “At first, I hesitated because I didn’t feel like working with movie directors who had a reputation for being short-tempered,” he adds. “But the producer, who happened to be my good friend, Ferdie Topacio, encouraged me and gave me a break.”

Riki’s first attempt was rewarding: The movie “Mamasapano” was chosen as one of the entries in the Metro Manila Film Festival 2024, and whose music, which he composed, was nominated for Best Film Score. He may not have won, but he says it was a great honor—and he has since done other film-scoring projects for “The Boy Scout,” “Spring in Prague” (to be shown next year), and “Guryon,” which is special for him because the entire soundtrack was played on acoustic guitars.

Back to the blues

“Blues was my first stage in improvisation,” says Riki. “Even though I learned how to play jazz, I still love playing the blues.”

In his months at sea he stays busy arranging and writing music. The creative momentum has pushed him to compose blues songs and, eventually, to form a blues band during his next shore leave—which happened to be last month.

“I formed the band easily because the members I chose were just as enthusiastic,” says Riki. “We’re called The Howl Collective, and we play different blues styles— from Delta and Texas to soul blues. It also feels timely to compose songs now, too, because with everything happening in the world, it’s sad to see people losing hope in some foreseeable future.”

For Riki, The Howl Collective serves a dual purpose: honoring the blues masters who came before while providing an antidote to the hopelessness he sees around him.

To counter the despondency, he has also lately been collecting vintage guitars—“the same models used by my blues guitar heroes.”

These stopgap measures will have to do until he takes on his next ship contract from January 18 to May 22, 2026. Besides, there’s the call of landlocked responsibilities: “I’m preparing to help my youngest son put up an optical clinic after he graduates very soon.”