The first time I heard and saw a male black rap singer on MTV, I was amazed. In the 1990s, such a performer with that rhythmic, staccato-like rendition was hardly ever seen in the local scene.

It was as if he was reciting a poem by T. S. Eliot (although white), with J. Alfred Prufrock inviting, “Let us go then, you and I/ when the evening is spread out against the sky…”

The singer was speaking of loneliness in an indifferent city or sharing experiences of racial attack, like the black poet Maya Angelou waxing “Still I Rise” in her à la rap verse: “You may write me down in history/ With your bitter, twisted lies/ You may tread me in the very dirt/ But still, like dust, I’ll rise….”

Two poets from two different generations and ethnicities, but their styles and contents are modern and anti-establishment, and influencing music. And the colored rap artist in the 1990s representing any citizenship and nationality is now everywhere, growing, flourishing.

Rap has broken into and found its space in the millennium, borrowing from the mood and tone of the global protest movements against racism, neocolonialism, gender inequality, exploitation in and outside business, corporate greed, etc.

The local scene

In the Philippines, the metered, rhymed sound is becoming a threat to, or finding a competitive space beside, traditional pop entertainment.

Filipino American superstar Bruno Mars cannot veer away from MCing his music, for obvious reasons, so he mixes popular melodies with rap. The latest is now a TikTok sound bed, “APT,” with Blackpink member Rosé.

And it has massively slipped into the consciousness of the local Tin Pan Alley, whether upfront or underground.

I have witnessed this development both in independent recording and in the “mainstream.” (I use quotation marks because how does one authentically measure the quantity and quality of the market, if only through surveys and researches?)

There’s Abra, who rose to fame for his dark yet clean hip-hop and late cloning of the breakdancing of Streetboys or Maneuvers. 

Gloc-9 is another aboveground rap artist who has achieved mass adulation from the specialized or exclusive audience of the rhythmic beat.

Gary Valenciano nearly subscribed to rap although it’s impossible for him to make a complete crossover as he is more comfortable, and easier to appreciate by traditional listeners, with pop songs. His fan base is already established, but he still tries to serve those at the margins for his own comfort, to prove his versatility. He proved this when he did the movie “Hataw Na” in the mid-’90s.

Sarah Geronimo, on the other hand, can shuttle from ballads to hip-hop moves and grooves, to score like Gary V.

FlipTop

I have a poet friend named Epitacio Tongohan, a medical doctor by profession with the moniker Doc Pen Pen, and who also goes by the nom de guerre Bugtong Takipsilim (or B. Takipsilim). He is a nominee for the 2025 National Artist Award for Literature, endorsed by the local government of Tanay, Rizal. 

Tongohan, who is also the founder of the Pentasi B Family of Poets Worldwide, once invited me to Black Lameza Bar in downtown Pasig City. The occasion was “Secret Party,” a night of rap adventure in which rappers took turns in presenting explosions of their thoughts and feelings, no holds barred.

These young rap artists were nameless to the general public but quite known and named by their peers. Each had an idea (personal or otherwise) and rapping style to perform in a given timeframe (not more than five minutes).

This is called FlipTop, a kind of repartee or debate in sing-song reminiscent of the balagtasan, the traditional joust on a given topic or issue named after Francisco Balagtas, the Father of Philippine Poetry.

Tongohan invited me to cover the event and witness what he called the rise of contemporary art in poetry. “I call it modern revolutionary Balagtas,” he said, describing poetry in its rawness.

Philippine literary figure Vim Nadera’s “Performatura,” a showcase of performed poems, spoken word, theater excerpts, etc. encourages FlipTop. Even the Cultural Center of the Philippines has recognized its literary potential.  

FlipTop as a show has been around in such venues as plazas, event halls, bars and restaurants, or any other space for two persons each defending a conviction or assigned stance. 

There is a Lakandiwa (male) or Lakambini (female) to serve as arbiter in case the argumentation goes off-hand. At the Black Lameza gig, a voice-over served as the referee.

Prominent men in Philippine literature, Florentino Collantes and Jose Corazon de Jesus as Huseng Batute, were the forerunners of the balagtasan. In the ‘60s and ‘70s, my female cousin Eva Bituin was crowned orator and debater.

These days, Filipino women also join FlipTop.      

The showdowns are featured on digital platforms, generating millions of views and likes on YouTube. They’re not commonly broadcast on free TV or even UHF and cable because the contents are mostly irreverent, defiant of the existing order (social and political), or simply open to censorship. 

ABS-CBN’s noontime variety show “It’s Showtime” tried to adopt a FlipTop portion but it didn’t last, maybe because the viewers wanted the raw, scandalous, at times vulgar exchanges that television cannot air without being sanctioned by the Movie and Television Review and Classification Board.

SB19, etc.

Collectively, SB19 has mustered and mastered the art of rap, and the form has taken them to a peak of popularity. Each of them—Felip, Stell, Justin, Josh Cullen and Pablo—has contributed to the success of rap.

Apart from Abra, Gloc-9, Looney and other performers, SB19 has also defined how rap can be a regular staple especially of the youth. 

“Rap is here to stay,” said Alex and Juancel, the prime movers of the Black Lameza Bar concert. 

As indie producers, Alex and Jauncel believe that in promoting rappers by recording and distributing their songs, they can gradually capture the major chunk of the market. “Our talents can also be like Pablo and the rest of SB19 in popularity,” they said.

Hip-hopper Don Lee, a mainstay of “Bardagulan” (from the root word bardagul, a clash of the giants), a heavyweight fight among local rappers in Quezon province, said he started writing rap music as a hobby. He said that when he went public, the people loved it and he was requested to perform on stage solo or against his opponents. 

He is now earning income from his gigs, Lee said, adding in Filipino: “Hip-hop is now strong in the Philippines and will get even stronger. I think it will last long.”