I originally wrote this story on my Multiply blog in the middle of a 5-month long vacation and job hunt in the lovely city of Calgary, Canada, October 2007. This was how much I missed everything about the Philippines.
 |
| "Oplan Kahon" by Wuds (Photo Credit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tl2_R9G-ifI&hd=1) |
Wuds? Sino to?
Uncle Mike had records of everyone, from the A to Z of rock, from Metal to Punk. He had Deep Purple, all the way to the Juan Dela Cruz Band. I saw in his room all sorts of foreign and local bands, but there was always this one tape that intrigued me for no apparent reason. It sat inside a blue Adidas shoe box alongside Teeth and other OPM acts... and I wondered to myself, “sino to? Alam ko Prinsesa and Banal na Aso..." but I have never heard of this Pinoy band. I laughed at their band name, and their album cover. They're practically nobody's! I haven't heard from them in RX or LS, so I never really bothered.
Having grown up during the OPM band craze of the 90's, and being fully aware that I was a tweener too young to head bang with Gen X college kids to Razorback and Wolfgang, Uncle Mike's room was the closest thing I had to Club Dredd. His room was always a mess: Clothes on the floor, bed smelled like it always needed some extra Downy, stacks of shoe boxes in ever corner, and seemingly out of place, even old Catleya spirals and yellow pads with his grade school spelling quizzes... it was beautiful! I always wished my room looked the same but the Sunday School Christian in me feared for my parent's wrath to even consider it. So my father and I frequently visited Lolo and Lola's place in Tandang Sora, and I always visited and snooped over Uncle Mike's junk. So if it wasn't for Uncle Mike's room, I never would have met her, my first love.
Fernando, My First Romance
Uncle Mike had records of everyone, from the A to Z of rock, from Metal to Punk. He had Deep Purple, all the way to the Juan Dela Cruz Band. I saw in his room all sorts of foreign and local bands, but there was always this one tape that intrigued me for no apparent reason. It sat inside a blue Adidas shoe box alongside Teeth and other OPM acts... and I wondered to myself, “sino to? Alam ko Prinsesa and Banal na Aso..." but I have never heard of this Pinoy band. I laughed at their band name, and their album cover. They're practically nobody's! I haven't heard from them in RX or LS, so I never really bothered.
Having grown up during the OPM band craze of the 90's, and being fully aware that I was a tweener too young to head bang with Gen X college kids to Razorback and Wolfgang, Uncle Mike's room was the closest thing I had to Club Dredd. His room was always a mess: Clothes on the floor, bed smelled like it always needed some extra Downy, stacks of shoe boxes in ever corner, and seemingly out of place, even old Catleya spirals and yellow pads with his grade school spelling quizzes... it was beautiful! I always wished my room looked the same but the Sunday School Christian in me feared for my parent's wrath to even consider it. So my father and I frequently visited Lolo and Lola's place in Tandang Sora, and I always visited and snooped over Uncle Mike's junk. So if it wasn't for Uncle Mike's room, I never would have met her, my first love.
Fernando, My First Romance
I never missed a pilgrimage to his room to check out his records, but this late afternoon visit was different. There were big carton boxes and big bundles of plastic bags, bubble wraps outside the place, and I knew it wasn't plumber's equipment. So as I enter his room, I felt the very same rush hearing Deep Purple's Highway Star for the very first time blasting on the stereo of our red L200 pickup. Like hearing Metals gods, I was smiling from ear to ear, excited and glad with what I was seeing in good old Uncle Mike's. So there she was, standing right beside the stack of boxes of tapes and records, right at the foot of the bed. I approached her slowly, and held her for the very first time. It was love at first sight. I fell for Uncle Mike's flaming red Fernando drums.
So I finally got the chance to learn the drums during the summer of 1997 (i think, or was it 96?) Thanks to a kuya I met in our old Conservative Baptist church in West Avenue during Summer Bible Camp. I learned the most basic of all patterns, the 4/4 drum beat, and from there a marriage had been arranged. I was in love. Though I only knew 4/4's, it was all I needed to self-progress. I never had formal Yamaha instructors or teachers who took time and taught me to go from from level 1 to 5. I never had that and I’m glad I didn't. I only had my Uncle's flaming red Fernando, Zildjian 5A sticks, Sony Discman, my Eraserheads and Rivermaya records, and my raging hormones.
I kept at it time and time again, every time we visited Tandang Sora. I played easy mid-tempo tracks, songs that I could follow ranging from Toyang, Pareko Ko to Laklak, and somehow knew and developed drum patterns and the listening ear to make and hit the right cymbal and drum, slowly but surely building my repertoir. I couldn't get the groove right, and I didn't know yet the concept of lagkit and dikit, but I rocked loud, and hit the drums as passionate as I could. Grandma and Grandpa didn't mind. I guess they were just glad I wasn't doing anything stupid. They let me go at it sun up to sun down as the drums vibrated and rang throughout the entire house, week after week.
Another year would would go by however, and I still didn't have my own drum kit. I still knew very little too with the drums. I didn't know how to shuffle, didn't know enough musical genres to be more well rounded in my playing. It’s not like I asked my parents to buy me my own kit. I never actually asked. I had my Jordan 12, my Penny II's, and Hexalites for my after school basketball, for two years training and fighting for the last roster spot with our SBP basketball team (I never made it out of the reserve list). I was actually preoccupied with other things, but still, I really wanted to learn and play the drums much better. Sadly, uncle Mike eventually sold his drums, and so the kit that practiced on week after week was gone. I was heartbroken, but then I knew even then as a kid it was a stretch to think that he would just give his drums to me.
Worst Christmas Ever
Okay fine, so maybe I got a little upset, but yes of course, no hard feelings. Now that I'm older (and hopefully wiser) I understand that it was purely a business decision, nothing personal. Don't get me wrong, I still think Uncle Mike is the coolest guy ever. He actually bought me my very first acoustic guitar for Christmas! So that same year, we were all at Tandang Sora, and of course it wouldn't be December for a kid without his presents. I was hoping, praying and thinking hard about that flaming red Fernando drum kit, but alas, all I got instead was a dark brown Weinstein acoustic guitar. Uggh.
So I got it, and I hid my emotion well. I said thank you like a polite nephew should, but at the back of my mind, I was on Super Saiyan mode. I was disappointed and upset. Weinstein on one hand, and drum sticks on the other, I was a young ungrateful kid faking a jolly old Christmas smile.
Weeks went by and of course my mom, being the good mother that she is, wanted me to learn my new instrument. So one day while we were walking in Ever Gotesco Ortigas after grocery shopping, we saw a sign that said: "Guitar Lessons at Your Home. Acoustic or Classical. Contact Bobby..."
So Mom got the number, called the guy, and set things up for me to have Weinstein 101 after school at home. It sucked, but I had no choice. Might as well go with it.
 |
| "Bobby Balingit" (Photo Credit: http://excretaonline.com/?p=4266) |
Finally, the dreaded day came. My first guitar lesson. He was thin, had long hair, tattoos, tattered faded denim jacket with worn out dark Levis, had long brown boots, and a matching Black motorcycle. Unreal! He fit the bill, head to toe Rocker! I never noticed it though at first because I was just too preoccupied thinking how I would have loved and preferred to instead: 1) play the drums, or instead 2) train and play basketball with my team mates.
So teacher Bobby taught me how to play chords, how to position my fingers, how to read chords as I played songs, how to read notes, how to pluck, and taught me how to play Black Bird by the Beatles. Come to think about it, maybe it's one of his personal favorites. I never actually asked to learn a specific song, I just did whatever it was he asked me to do. He timed-in and clocked-in week after week, and I did the same. The difference was I was just too preoccupied with Uncle Mike’s Fernando, and preoccupied mimicking Kobe Bryant’s insane in between the legs dunk. So I held my guitar, learned chord for chord with my mind flying to some place else. I was just there together with a guitar teacher as babysitter, 4 hours a week.
I remember talking with him a number times during snack breaks in between lessons, and he would just share excerpts of his life. I remember one time, he told a story about his daughter being home schooled because his work demanded him to move from one place to the next. I'm not entirely sure if what he shared was true or if I remember his story correctly, but out of the very few things we did talk about, what stood out was how he spoke about his kid. Sadly, it is only now that I realize that he was just sharing the realities of the "rock star life".
I listened to him. I wasn't that impolite. I wasn't interested yes, but I wasn't a jackass to the point that I totally shut him off. We actually talked from time to time. It just never occurred to me that I was in the presence of one the pioneers of Pinoy Punk rock, and my innocence and ignorance was just at his mercy. Despite my lack of interest, he was really cool and collected to still share about who he was even though I never talked about myself. He actually never knew how much I loved playing the drums!
"SI TEACHER BOBBY BA TO?!"
Years down the line, I finally knew how to play both the drums and the guitar. Having been able to hold my own as a drummer for our youth band in church, and having been sooooooo close signing a record deal with my college band and LSGH buddies Fire Lane (representing DLSU-Manila in the very first Nescafe Soundsook Battle of the Bands back in 2006), I finally found a way to appreciate music, and to love the drums just as much as I loved playing guitar. I re-learned to play guitars on my own, at the same time remembering the basics taught by Bobby. I also explored merging my love for poetry with my meager guitar skills. So I wasn't just a musician, I was had also become a songwriter.
 |
| "Fire Lane wins DLSU-Manila leg of the very firs Nescafe Soundskool!" (Left to right: Me, Orvin Reyes, Glenn Mapalad, JP Kabuhat. Not in Photo: Dan Du) |
I stumbled upon Bobby in a Pulp magazine article. Reading about the Wuds and seeing his photos. I was floored and deeply puzzled. I positively knew the guy, but I wasn't 100% sure. I was puzzled because I just couldn't believe that the guy I seem to recognize vaguely, the guy I was reading in the legendary pages Pulp, is being featured, captured and immortalized in the same magazine where I read about Karl Roy's resurrection with Kapatid, and about Ely's saga with Raimund, Marcus and Buddy, and how Rico Blanco, Mark Escueta and Nathan Azarcon fought the music industry with their iconic Free album up until their Umaaraw ,Umuulan to Balisong hits.
"Kilala ko to eh! Weh??"
So as I was sitting there inside the G-Liner on the way home after picking up the month's issue from Filbars in Robinsons Galleria, reading word upon every word, scanning through every photograph... I was Marty McFlied back to 1998, back in our old house, in our living room, with my guitar teacher, and my brown Weinstein acoustic guitar.
There he was, Bobby, on the glossy sheets of Pulp, beneath the bright Amoranto lights, with smoke machine haze in the misty air, with his beat up guitar, screamed upon by thousands in the biggest rock concert of the year. I was left silent, dumbfounded and amazed. It finally hit me: My guitar teacher is a rock icon. The man, Bobby Balingit, the famed front man of the pioneer Pinoy punk band, Wuds, singer/ song writer of the cassette tape I ignored in Uncle Mike’s room, the record that I didn't care to listen for, the black and white album cover I laughed at. Yes, it was Bobby and his Wuds.
But the Eraserheads/ Teeth/ Wolfgang fan that I was, crushing over Grant Hill’s crossover dribble and mimicking Michael Jordan’s post-up fade away always had a wandering imagination, hoping and waiting for our sessions to end. I was going through the motions, and I’m pretty sure he saw and knew it too. Any musician can tell. Music just wouldn't sound right if its not done from the heart. So I did my G’s, Am’s and my C# correctly, but I was always somewhere else as we sat there in our living room week after week, chord progression after chord progression. I was at the presence of greatness and I had no idea.
It's like playing American football for the first time with Peyton Manning, only that you just notice his thinning hairline, or like standing in front of the great wall of China but you take a piss on it because you never bother looking for the CR. That was me. My guitar teacher was a celebrity rock icon.
Had I just listened to Wuds' record back then, instead of just ridiculing their "stupid" black and white album cover, or had I conversed with him more, or had an ounce of interest to even ask him what he actually did for a living, then maybe things could have been much different. We would have chatted in our living room, and I would have just listened as he would talk about his formative days with bands like Betrayed, Dead Ends, the Dawn, and all those other rock icons during 80’s and 90’s. We would have sat in my living room, had iced tea and Cheese Whiz sandwhich, and I would just ask him abut his songs, song writing process, his touring all over the Philippines, and his celebrity and rock star friends, and all other sort of stupid questions smitten fans would always ask.
What Could Have Been...
Who knows? Maybe he would have also introduced me to his drummer to teach me the drums as I learned guitar with him! It’s not even inconceivable to think that maybe, had we become friends, maybe we could have been band mates too. But I guess more than that, the more difficult thing here really is the realization that we actually could have been really good friends.
My
guitar teacher is a rock icon, a rock star, but still had to
teach guitar just to get by. Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Ramones... Bobby Balingit is just as important as those guys in the Pinoy Punk Rock scene. The punk rock god needed to teach guitars on the side, but so what? Whatever! He actually was never awkward about it, nor did he ever mention Wuds, ever. He was never boastful, and was never
arrogant. In our living room, with his guitar, teaching proper techniques and various guitar scales, he was
just a regular Juan Dela Cruz, and never ever flaunting himself as THE Bobby Balingit. He was simply Bobby, guitar teacher of
David.
 |
| Bobby doing solo! (Photo Credit: http://diannediwata.deviantart.com/art/Bobby-Balingit-On-His-Solo-194882637) |
