A Measure of True Music Craftsmanship: Make Your Own Words

Notice how old songs are incessantly given a "face-lift" the past decade by local artists? During the first few years of this trend, it was okay. It was nice to bring old songs back once in a while - nostalgia has its ways of hitting the right spots to make you feel good.

But then it came to a point when one particular song was remade by at least three artists, all at the same time. Then some bands/artists started releasing albums of purely revival songs. Up until now, people behind these recordings still come up with a another song to remake/remix. Some of these revivals sound okay, but most of the time....it's murder. I wish they just leave original songs alone, they sound perfect already.

I commend singers or groups who write their own lyrics. Anyone can carry a tune, sing someone else's song on stage or in videoke, but only a select few can compose words that make sense and turn it to a song. Song lyrics are much like poetry, the deeper the lines, all the better. So I'm not just talking about original lyrics that go like "Come on baby, your smile makes me happy. I'm sad when you're gone" and all that crap. Take Urbandub's songs for example, or Bamboo's. It takes some calories to decipher their words. Now these people are real musicians. They write music, play instruments, and give mind-blowing performances. They're the real thing. To the rest of the guys who borrow other people's lyrics...good luck.

A Measure of True Music Craftsmanship: Hit the Keys

"No, I don't talk too much! I am brief! Blunt! To-the-point! I do not beat around the bush!"
--- Mojo Jojo, Powerpuff Girls
[The quote has nothing to do with this entry. I simply remembered it and couldn't help myself from typing it haha]

A lot of American Idol fans consider Simon Cowell their least favorite judge, and they have their own reasons for that: some say he's grumpy, rude, and way too difficult to please. A contestant might have given a brilliant performance for majority of the viewers, but not for Mr. Cowell, who thinks that a "good" singer is not enough to make the cut. One has to be spectacular, at the very least.

I am not sure if it's a good thing, but I somewhat share a characteristic with Mr. Cowell, but not his notorious way of giving out criticisms. Like him, my appreciation of a singer or a band takes more than just the ability to reach high notes and strum the strings. A matinee celebrity singing on TV may sound like an angel for the ordinary listener, but I cringe on every off-key note that comes out. It's a curse, really.

You see, my brain's tone recognition is a little too sensitive (is there some sort of scientific term for that?). My own singing voice is not performance-material, but I can surely tell if there is even the slightest diversion from the right note, be it a voice or an instrument. There are times when I'm starting to enjoy a live acoustic performance, when suddenly the vocalist fails to hit the note, and then I look at my mom for confirmation (I got the "sensitive ears" from her side of the family*), and yes, wala s'ya sa tono. Then I ask a friend or whoever's with me if they noticed, they say they can't tell the difference.

Let's take the local scene for example. Music professionals are abound in the local industry, but of course they can't control every performance that takes place. In this country, I believe, if you have "the face" then you can sing, and other factors are negligible. By other factors, I mean lack of tune, lack of beat, and lack of voice quality. But then again, the crowd's demand outweighs music quality by a tonne. Alas for me, all I can do is shake my head in dismay and discontent.

Sometimes I wish I never had the means to tell whether or not a note is off-key. That way, I can enjoy music in an uninterrupted, peacefuly way.

[*I believe my mom's family has some sort of "musician's blood," if I may call it that, running through the members. My grandfather plays the harmonica and accordion. My brother is a guitar pro, and he taught himself how to play drums. I can decently handle a guitar and the keyboard. One of my uncles knows how to play the piano by ear. Decades ago, people were surprised to know that he knew how to play it the first time he saw one. They were a very poor family, and only saw musical instruments in pictures. And when he plays, people who hear his music would say that it sounds exactly like the song does in the record.]

Kids These Days, with Their Laptops and 5.0 Grades

(Note: Thou shalt not mention names, for these names will come after thee carrying daggers to stab thy arse, no matter what depth the truth thy writings bear. But ere they forget, they shalt prove first that I bear false accusations. Peace to ye all and to all mankind.)

I graduated from college March 2006, and it can be said that's not too long ago. However, in three years, so much evolution has occurred. By evolution, I mean that of students - their study habits, principles and disposition, lifestyle, and study gadgets.

After graduation, I taught for one year in a local college (sans the masters degree - that's the magic of connections haha just kidding). Being allowed to wear whatever I wanted (as long as it's politely presentable), I had the opportunity to sit amongst students in the school cafeteria, and just "look around."

One big thing that simply failed to go unnoticed: kids these days have laptops that they bring around their [wi-fi ready] school. How much does an average laptop cost these days? If I'm not mistaken, it almost costs as much as a whole semester's enrollment fee. That's around Php 40K-50K. Bringing to mind the proportion of students that pass the board exam [please don't ask me what course they're in, but it's definitely not computer-related], it's not exactly a rate to brag about.

Back during the times when I was studying for an achievement test, I spent my free time in the school library. And guess what: except for the librarian and myself, nobody else was there. Nada. So much for the academic pressure that only college life can bring. Apparently, it's not pressuring enough for the students.

I think what I'm trying to draw here is that students nowadays afford to be carefree, and tote their expensive laptops around while getting grades that are way below the passing rate. I'm not saying that it's wrong for them to own an HP, Dell, or whatever, it's just that... letting everyone see you have a laptop plus failing grades - not a very cool sight. (Parang ganito: may laptop ka na nga to make research and other projects easier, bagsak ka paren)

It's not just the laptop. Here's more.

One of my students, from day one, gave me the impression that she doesn't care enough to bring some effort into her studies. This impression was further emphasized when I gave them a reporting activity (the only one I gave them for the whole semester - all the rest, I gave hand-outs of summarized and outlined lessons). I gave her and the rest of the class two full weeks to prepare. All her classmates gave me decent reports, complete with the written output. When it was her turn, all she did was read out her topic aloud directly from the book. No apologies, no nothing.

If I were in her position, I wouldn't even have to SHOW MY FACE to my lecturer, coming to class inexcusably unprepared.

Another interesting incident here. I was invited to be a part of a panel for a thesis title defense. It seemed that the group that made the presentation (if it really was a presentation, which I doubt) never truly understood the weight of what they were doing. It was a thesis title defense: at least they should have worn formal attire, or not let us notice that they had no idea what to do with their title. Allow me to enumerate the rest of their antics, because I fear that this entry would get painfully lengthy if I don't:

• As was mentioned, they wore casual clothes.
• The presentation was due 10AM. By 10:40 AM, one member was still in the comfort of her home. Their level coordinator sent her an SMS, enlightening her a bit about the beauty of their situation. She texted back, "Ma'am asa bahay pa po ako, hindi nyo naman ako tinext agad." (huwatdah3ll??!!!!1!!)
• One guy member kept saying, "Ma'am hindi ko nga alam kung bakit ganito to e, hindi ko maintindihan....." Owkeeeeyyyiii...you're supposed to DEFEND this title, remember?
• As we pointed out some corrections on their thesis title and first three chapters, NOBODY WAS WRITING DOWN ANYTHING, until we told them to do so. I mean, we're giving out so much back then, shouldn't they at least have the initiative to write down the things we were saying?
• They kept complaining that the topic they have was too difficult to tackle. Mind you, their research was simple descriptive type. It wasn't even comparative. It wasn't even experimental.

I'm not generalizing, though. These things I've just said are the things I've seen and experienced first-hand. But in what way can this city, and the students in it, be any different from others? I say...not much.

Rich Granny, Poor Granny

It's amazing how life lays out realities and lessons in a crude, brutally simple way. These lessons you can never learn in any academe; they just unfold before your eyes slowly enough to be understood and remembered.

I never experienced how it was to grow and live with a grandfather. It's sad, but I'm lucky enough to have known and lived with both my grandmothers from the maternal and paternal side of the family. Maybe fate has something to do with it, but they are exact opposites in every sense. One can easily appreciate their stark differences, and can decide whether or not a granny is/was better than the other.

From my birth until age six, my family lived with my paternal grandmother, "Wos" (all of us grandchildren call her that). I have clear recollections how she was then: hardworking, poised, frugal, and quite strong of personality. She single-handedly put up and managed a drugstore in the fifties, and it has grown into several branches. She was always preoccupied, always on-the-go, without sacrificing her health and social life at the same time. I know that in her heart, there exists kindness towards her grandchildren. Sadly, I can barely enumerate times when I can say that for me, "she's special, and I am special to her, because I am her granddaughter."

Perhaps she wasn't aware how grandmothers usually find ways to make her grandchildren feel truly loved. Perhaps, for her, she already gave all-out love to her grandchildren. I'll never know by this time, due to her Alzheimer's disease.

But Apu Taba, my maternal grandmother - she's different. From back in the 50s, she raised 11 children while her husband tried to earn some money by being one of the more well-known, yet simple, barbers in town. Anyway, Apu Taba became a part of our home around September 2006. In the short time that I spent with her (she passed away March 2008), I witnessed how one person can have so much love for every person in her family - from her children to her grand children, to her great grand children.

She was the first and last person to sing me a whole "Happy Birthday" song, one-on-one.

She was the only person who sang me a song, "How are you my partner, how are you today?", complete with her body swaying side by side.

She was the first person who greeted me "Good morning pretty red rose!" every morning.

She was the first person who let me know how it feels to lose a person I loved.

I believe that both my grandmothers love(d) me, but only one of them truly taught me how to be cheerful despite the difficult times, loving, and selfless.

(In memory of Flora Paras Flores, April 8, 1923 - March 22, 2008)

How to Fake Alabaster Skin: L'Oreal True Match Minerals

Have you seen those commercial ads where people compliment a gal's complexion, telling her: "Your skin looks so flawless! What's your secret?"

You can laugh, you can fart, but I have been actually graced with those kinds of compliments since I used L'Oreal mineral foundation.

My skin is not perfect. Although I rarely get pimples, some spots on my face have large pores. I have acne scar, and a whole lot of white heads - those annoying little thingies on the sides of the nose that won't go away no matter how many times you try to squeeze them out (I was told that they get worse if you do that, by the way).

But every time I use L'Oreal mineral foundation, it gives coverage so natural, people think I don't have makeup on. It doesn't feel too warm, considering I live in a place where there are two seasons (hot and very hot). It doesn't clog pores, causing zero breakouts. And even when my face starts oiling up, just tap the oil off with a facial wipe, and gorgeous is back.

Here's a plus: it only costs P945 and it will last you a year. In "kuripot" language, that's a mere P78.75/month, or P2.60/day to look pretty.

The Dirtier, The Better

For many years now, we've been trying to make our own fishball sauce, like the one peddled on the streets. But it still remains a mystery why fishball sauce from the streets tastes much better by at least ten-fold compared to the one we make for ourselves at home. What is it with this sauce being pushed on carts that makes it so sweet, salty, and addictive?

Is it the skewer stick he uses? The oil that he's been frying with since yesterday? The saliva of the other customers that got incorporated with the sauce (dip fishballs on skewers into sauce --> eat some --> dip the whole thing again)? Or is it Manong Pishbol's charming smile?

Being a health care worker, I should know better that street food can make me sick. But sometimes I lose all reason and still patronize Manong Pishbol's merchandise. I just can't point out exactly why, all I know is that the sauce he makes tastes FANTASTIC.

Come on, I know you agree. I can feel you nod from here.

Baking Cookies vs. Frying a Catfish

Ever heard of the saying, "Little knowledge is dangerous"?

I've been a struggling cook for about a year now, following recipes I get over the internet - cookies, salads, soups, etc. So far, none of those who ingested my concoctions got poisoned. I thought, I must be pretty good for a beginner.

Then came the real challenge: my mom asked me to fry the catfish. Just put some oil in the skillet, then fry it off. It can't get any simpler than that.

The end result: an undercooked, skinless catfish (all the skin got stuck on the skillet). After my mom fixed everything (that's what moms are for), I learned which part went wrong: everything.

First, the oil was not hot enough (dummy). Second, you have to fry eat really, really well (dummy dummy). Those simple things, I didn't learn from all the recipes I've read.

Now I can say that when it comes to cooking, nothing beats experience - unless you think that a skinless, mangled, partially raw catfish looks palatable.

Buttering Up a Teacher for Dummies

As I was graciously washing the dishes, minding my own business, somebody was calling my mobile phone (sosyal, mobile..).

Other line: Hello, si Ms. Mendoza po ito?

Moi: Opo

Other line: Mommy po ito ni (name of student who got 74% as final grade, besides all my attempts to pull it up), ipapakiusap ko lang sana...

Then she started telling me I should reconsider her daughter's grade. She's a graduating student and I should understand their position as parents. The mom said they were hoping that their daughter could start helping out in their family expenses once she graduates.

I politely declined, telling her my reasons - that her daughter has failing grades in the exams and always came to class hours late. Whenever she misses out an exam due to her absence, I always give her make-up exams. Plus when I told her to report on a topic, after 2 weeks to prepare, all she did was read a book to the class. How on earth do they expect me to give a passing mark to such a "hardworking" student?

Student's mom: ...naging student ka rin, dapat alam mo ang pakiramdam...(chenelyn chenelyn)

Moi: Opo tama kayo naging student din ako. Pero nung student po ako, ginagawa ko lahat ng pinapagawa ng teachers ko.

Student's mom: Sana man lang inisip mo mga magulang na nagpapaaral, (&^*%#!)

Moi: Mam, iniisip ko rin po kayo pero binigay ko na po kasi lahat ng chances para makapasa, ganun parin po, wala na po akong magagawa, sa school po kayo magreklamo

Student's mom: IKAW ANGKAPAL NG MUKHA MO! SINUSUMPA KITA!

Moi: (wtf??) sige po mam, isumpa nio po ako hangga't gusto nio, sa school po kayo magreklamo, okei, bye!

That was smooth. That was really, really smooth.

Begging rule #1: never put evil spells on the person you're begging to.

Begging rule #2: never insult the person you're begging to.

Begging rule #3: I've encoded the grades, there's nothing that begging can do.

After all the profanities she gave me, all the uneducated behavior she displayed, all I could do was laugh. Because she was really funny. I wish I could have recorded it.