Published Articles

by Mark Gatela

appeared in Manual Magazine October 2004

Four years in the Philippines has made Lana Asanin more wary. But some things never change–the feisty Spanish-Yugoslavian is still as blunt as ever.

***

While I was interviewing Lana Asanin, 26, for this article, a fellow walks up to her and chats her up. To tell you the truth I’d been uneasy because of the stares and whispers occurring all around us. Obviously, their either recognize Lana or are simply admiring this statuesque beauty clad in simple jeans and a tank top. They swear they’ve seen her before but just can’t remember where. So when the fellow walks up to us, I think he’s an old friend of Lana’s.

“Hi, I met you once at Thai In A Box in QC.”

“Oh, hello!” says Lana cheerfully as she offers a handshake.

“Nice to see you again,” says Walk Up Guy.

“You too,” Lana replies, although from her face you ca tell she’s trying to remember the exact circumstances of their last meeting. And then…

“What’s your name again?” asks Walk Up Guy. Lana is nonplussed and says, “Lana.”

Then Walk Up Guy asks for her phone number.

I should’ve intervened, I guess; we were, after all, in the middle of an interview. However, I thought it would be interesting to see what she would do, bad host be damned. Very calmly, Lana took a piece of paper, scribbled on it and gave it to Walk Up Guy. “Thank you. Call you soon,” says Walk Up Guy, pleaseed with himself. “Do you get that a lot?” I ask. “I gave him the wrong number,” she whispers, smiling. Lana Asanin is not a household name. Not by a long shot. She would be however, the first one to tell you that she should be.

There have been several articles written about Svetlana in the newspapers and magazines. The articles invariably tell of her controversial pictorial for the German edition of Playboy taken when she was just 15 and how she moved to LA to pursue a modeling career when she was 18. It details how she uprooted herself again to follow a Thai lover and their eventual breakup. How she found herself in Manila to pursue her love of modeling (she’s done numerous print and TV commercials here) and then the inevitable entry into show business, where she featured in forgettable comedy and action movies, had a stint with the long-running noontime show, Eat Bulaga, hosted the dance TV show Eezy Dancing, and the served as local correspondent to the E! Channel.

I ask her about her Playboy shoot and how it was made into an issue by the local media. Apparently, one showbiz hanger-on who had a grudge against her discovered the pictorial and leaked it to a reporter hoping it would derail her burgeoning career. The move backfired and it only made Lana more popular than ever. That taste of showbiz intrigue did, however, leave a bad taste in her mouth.

“Why do people pull me down?” she starts. “I don’t understand why people can be so evil. If you don’t like [someone] I’d say that’s fine, but I won’t go out of my way and ruin her life and do shit like that…and for what? There are people you like and people you don’t like. I’ve never experienced that in my life before, maybe because I’ve never been in showbiz until I got to the Philippines.

“But here people get too much into your life and I don’t like that. [They go] too deep in your life and try to find things and ruin you. And that’s not nice! There’s a part you want to be left alone. That’s the price of fame but, like I’ve said, if you cannot like someone that’s fine, but you don’t go out of your way and do things. [That's] spiteful, you know?”

What hurts even more is that she had already paid her dues by the time the pictorial came out. Her conservative father and mother were understandably upset. Although she appreciated her parents’ protectiveness, she nevertheless pursued a career in modeling. Her parents eventually acquiesced to her chosen profession. They did, however, want her to become a flight attendant.

“My father just wanted to fly for free,” she says laughing.

I asked her is she’s willing to do it again and pose for Playboy.

“You know, I’d do it again if I’m in the States,” she answers after a few seconds. “You know how many people in the States are in line [for the cover]? It’s not easy to be on the cover. People don’t understand that girls are dying to be on the cover. The money’s good. It’s a nice pictorial. Why not?”

“I mean, big deal. Showbiz and modeling are two different things. When you model and you’re nude it’s a work of art. Like Cindy Crawford and Kate Moss. No big deal. A lot of models pose nude. But if you do a movie [nude], that’s pornography. That’s a different thing. And you tell these people, and you know how many times I’ve told these people? They don’t get it.

“You can’t think of somebody like Cindy Crawford as a bold star. How many stars in the States have posed for Playboy? Nancy Sinatra posed for Playboy. I can mention so many of them. Like Tia Carrere. How about her? She’s half-Filipina. Filipinos should be proud of here. Is she a bold actress? No, she’s not. She’s a great actress. And respected. And that’s what people don’t understand. And they just don’t get it.”

***

I was late for the Manual shoot. I dropped by earlier to say hello and just missed her as she went to dress up for the pictorial. She managed to wave at me on her way to the dressing room, dressed in her sweatpants and shirt. I just learned about some snag before the shoot. She didn’t look too happy.

When I came back later I found her at the shoot location. Photographer Erik Liongoren had arranged for the shoot to be held in this depressingly dingy part of the parking lot. Compared to the gray overcast sky (courtesy of a typhoon on its way to Hong Kong), the shoot was a small oasis of light. In the middle of it all is Lana. (Svetlana, of course, is Russian for “sunlight.”) It’s hard not to stare at her when she’s made up like someone from the roaring, raunchy 1920s, displaced by some odd quirk of fate to a dull lifeless parking lot in Manila 2003. Whatever got her upset earlier doesn’t seem to affect her now as she gamely poses in front of the camera.

“I just like being in front of the camera,” she tells me. “I’ve been modeling since I was young. It’s funny I’m saying that now because when I first started I was so shy. Totally different. But now when I’m in front of the camera I can do whatever I want. I’m a different person, in a different world. I can be free.”

And indeed the camera seems to love her in return. Clients love her versatility as she can easily project different looks with ease. She has appeared in ads selling products as diverse as gasoline to candies to coffee creamers to beauty products. One look at her magazine fashion portfolio and you’d think you’re looking at different people. Here’s Lana as a pouty bombshell in a bikini. Here’s Lana looking like a glamorous, brooding film star from the 60s. Here’s Lana looking like that hot neighbor of yours across the street…

But surely, someone with Lana’s talent and beauty could easily move to greener pastures like Bangkok, Singapore, or Hong Kong, places where she has in fact, had a chance to work before. What’s keeping her here?

“I had opportunities…I have opportunities…in the States and back in Germany. But I threw it away because I believe in this country. I like the people. When I’m here, everyone’s…friendly. But it did change a lot. I wish people would see me in a different way. Like they say don’t judge a book by its cover. You’ll never know,” she said.

I mentioned that in her previous interview, she said she can’t call the Philippines home yet. I asked her if her sentiments have changed.

“I’ve been here four years. When I just got here, I didn’t know how long I was gonna stay. But from then on until now is four years. [Laughs] I guess I did enjoy it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy it despite all; I do like entertainment. Like I’ve said, I love being in front of the camera. I’m still happy with that. From that time one, when I said I don’t know how long I’ll stay, I did have a lot of fun.

“It did change, yeah. I guess because of all the things that really happened in between. It’s been really, really hard for me. People just don’t realize that I’m here on my own. I don’t have my parents. There’s nobody to look after you. Nobody I can lean on and whatever. And that’s just because you’re straightforward and people talk around [you]. I know a lot of people don’t like me, but they can’t tell me the truth. So I lose a lot of jobs because of that.”

***

Lana shares one story which belies that she’s the “tough chick” some make her out to be. During one of her nights out with friends in this notorious bar and restaurant in Makati, she went up to the counter to pay for her drinks. The place was crowded. She placed her brand new Guess bag - in it she had her brand new Nokia 6610 cellphone, a brand new Canon digital camera, and some cash- on the counter. She turned around to talk to her friend and when she looked again a few seconds later to check on her drink, the bag was gone. She thought that it merely fell, but it was not on the floor. She tried asking help from the staff, but they ignored her. Out of frustration and anger, she cried.

***

For someone who’s seen much of the world, for a host of a television show that features the hottest parties around, Lana is surprisingly enthusiastic about the serene beauty of Boracay. “Boracay is my favorite place. I just…I love Boracay. It’s amazing. Whenever I go to Boracay, as soon as I enter that banca and then enter Boracay and the beaches…all the problems, everything is like in your head…it’s all in the back. You’re in paradise. It’s a place where you can relax; think about your life, what you want to do. It’s beautiful. It’s a romantic place. That’s why I like to go there. If I have time, I go. Even when foreigners ask me, I always tell them Boracay. You will see, you will love it. I’ve been to Bangkok. I’ve been to Samui, Phuket, there’s nothing like Boracay. It’s so different…

“I did that Boracay coffee table book [Lana is on the cover of the Boracay Lifestyle]. The first ever coffee table book on Boracay. It shows the beautiful beaches; of course…it’s more like a tourism thing. It’s going to be in embassies all over the world. A lot of foreigners live Boracay. I myself have always wanted to buy a book, you know, when you travel you want to know what’s the best place to go, where can I go party, when I can go eat. That it is.”

With one-off projects like the Boracay book, Lana hopes to go back to here modeling and hosting gigs. “I know my E! thing is not there anymore but there are so many jobs out there that I know I could do but nobody gives me a chance. Nobody says ‘Oh, Lana could do it.’ They’d just put somebody who just took of her clothes and is popular now. Why don’t you put someone who really has a clue about what she’s talking [about]?”

***

Walk Up Guy comes back around an hour later, just as we are wrapping up the interview. He approaches our table and hand Lana his business card. From the look on his face, I can guess he tried calling the number Lana gave her and got a totally unexpected reply.

“Hey, here’s my card. Call me sometime,” he says.

Lana just smiles. Of course, she leaves the card on the table.

As we walk out, she turns to me and says, “Hey, isn’t Mars out tonight?” Yes, I answer, but the weather is not cooperating and the cloudy night sky will frustrate any attempt to view the Red Planet. We bid our goodbyes and I watch Lana, this tall, striking woman cut through the crowd. Like sunlight in a darkened room.

by Mark Gatela

appeared in T3 Mag August 2004

P26,495 Perhaps the sweetest portable digital music player out there

While the iPod certainly has the world-renowned design team of Apple to thank for its looks, it has also been plagued by problems with its battery life and the issue of limited portability - tunes uploaded to an iPod can’t be downloaded to another PC (natively at least). The IRiver iHP-140 has notched victories on both counts. Not only does it have a 16-hour battery life, which makes it a great travel companion for activities like lounging on the beach (charge once for an average 3-day vacation) but it also enables you to use it like a portable storage device, in case duty calls. It is very much like walking around with a 40GB hard drive. And your music isn’t trapped in your player.

On a laptop running Windows 2000, the iHP-140 appears as an external storage device. Double-click on its icon and you can just drag and drop your MP3, Windows Media Audio, ASF, WAV, and Ogg files. You can also import text files into its directories. You can then read these text files via the player’s display window. Drag and drop JPGs and AVIs and you can port these to another computer with a USB connection. All these without any hacks. Quick and dirty backups - without the hassle of installing software to recognize it - is one of the iHP-140’s strongest points.

While the iHP-140 comes with a remote, its standard navigational interface is a joystick. The unit has three buttons on the left, one on the right, and the 5-way joystick itself on the face. Navigation for the player is through the joystick while the side buttons are only there for a quick adjustment of certain features or for stopping and resuming playback. The joystick navigation is a bit slow if you have a huge library loaded but thankfully, scroll speed can be adjusted. It took some time getting used to the navigational idiosyncracies of the iHP-140 - the volume for example shows a display scale going left to right, but to increase or decrease the volume, you have to push the joystick up or down instead of left to right. Or was that right to left?

Fiddling around with the SRS, WOW and adjustable EQ feature, you can produce decent sound on your headphones or plug-in to an external speaker. The sound adjustment makes for improvements on the dynamic bass and functions in the same way as a crossfeed amp which simulates a 3D soundscape.

Other features of the iHP-140 include an FM tuner, a voice recorder (using the built-in or external microphone), an MP3 encoder, a line-out and OGG Vorbis-format compatibility. The OGG Vorbis compatibility is potentially significant because this format allows for low-bit rate compression (resulting in smaller files sizes, ergo more files to squeeze into the 40GB drive!) without sacrificing audio quality.

All of this comes in a device the size of one handful. Place it in your pants pocket however and there will be no mistaking that it is there. Though no iPod in the looks department, with standard black casing, smart leather carrying case and huge storage capacity, the iHP-140 certainly comes off as a macho-looking portable music-player. Delving deeper into its features however, you can see it’s capable of some finesse and allows for customization that provides a better listening experience. Sweet, indeed.

by Mark Gatela

appeared in T3 Mag May 2004

P20,500 IT’S SEXIER AND BETTER THAN THE POPULAR T610, BUT…

Long-time Ericsson phone fans will tell you that while its phones are versatile and full of features, less charitable people may call them “bugly” - functional but brick ugly.

With Ericsson’s partnership with Sony, Sony’s impeccable design sensibilities seem to be rubbing off. The Sony Ericsson T630 is a straightforward modern phone with the good looks to match. With its deceptively elegant iPod-ish design, the T630 possesses a good balance of features and form. At 102mm x 43mm x 17mm, the T630 is a bit smaller than its predecessor, the T610. The white translucent plastic keypad, slightly curved edges and overall sleek look seems like it was designed at the Apple labs.

Sony Ericsson also deemed it necessary to design the back of the T630 to look more like a camera. Small, cute additions like the mirror below the camera lens - to help you take those tricky self-portraits - are nice flourishes and very much appreciated.

BRIGHT SPOT

With the Sony Ericsson T630’s 65K color TFT display, the menu options and the screen saver clock can now be seen under bright light — a major complaint among T610 users. The display also makes for some awesome-looking games for the T630. The phone comes pre-loaded with the classic arcade game Q*Bert, which will come as a pleasant surprise for any child of the 80s. Other equally good-looking games available for download via the Sony Ericsson site include Deep Abyss, Mini Golf, and V-Rally 2. These games mostly serve to highlight the T630’s great display.

THE SAME, BUT DIFFERENT

The Sony Ericsson T630 interface bears some similarity to the user interface found in the T610 and Z600. The T630 uses a joystick that makes navigating through the now more intuitive menu structure easier.

The “My Shortcuts” icon has been replaced with the “My Friends” icon - a shortcut to a subset of your contact list, allowing easier sharing of files, pictures and sounds. By using the profiles of each “My Friends” entry, you’ll find out if your so-called friends are available for contact and you’ll be cued which method of contact they prefer.

Like in most of the new SE phones, setting up the SMS, MMS, e-mail and WAP access is fairly easy with the Sony Ericsson T630. There’s a great degree of control for configurations particularly for e-mail, where you can sync using IMAP and POP3 servers; however the T630 will not be able to download even the simplest attachments. For those of you who missed the T9 function in the P800, the T630 offers this input method along with the tried and tested multitap method; T9 can be quite a hassle when you’re writing Taglish in your messages.

The Sony Ericsson T630 also offers some control for audio and picture files. If the 32- channel polyphonic tones aren’t enough for those ringtone fans in the house, the Music DJ application allows the user to compose his or her clip and enable it to be shared with friends. There’s also a picture editor application that will let you draw moustaches on pictures before you share them.

MEMORY GAME

While the Sony Ericsson T630 is a more camera-oriented phone than previous SE phones such as the T610 and Z600, it doesn’t offer any major improvements from earlier models. While the TFT screen allows you to take pictures without a light trail, you’re only limited to taking CIF (288×352 pixel) pictures or smaller. There’s the “extended photo” option that stretches 288×352 photos using software interpolation to 640×480 pixels. This would have been a neat trick if extended photos didn’t come out pixilated and obviously blown up. To round out the camera features list, there are also night, sepia, black and white, and negative modes available.

Perhaps the only major complaint anyone could have about the feature-rich Sony Ericsson T630 is its lack of memory. With just 2MB, there will definitely be some sacrifices in the type of applications you’d like to keep on the phone. At the rate we’re acquiring phone numbers and information on the T630, the 2MB threshold was reached within 2 weeks.

I couldn’t have asked for a better setting for what I was about to tell Dominique: at the beach, under a canopy of stars. I sat next to her as she contemplated the lights from the distant islands. It was awkward; but usually these cute fumbling declarations of affection we see in the movies have happy endings. Just goes to show what these screenwriters really know. She just stared at me, then went back to contemplating the distant lights, her delicate brow furrowed and her lips pursed. After what seemed like an eternity, she turned to me and said, “How could you,” stood up and ran into the house.

Weeks passed before we, as Dominique called it, “started over” and began talking again. She felt betrayed that I misconstrued her attention as something more than friendship. Looking at it from her perspective, I sincerely felt bad. It’s been four years since The Incident happened. We see each other whenever she’s in town and give each other advice on our current romances. The Incident has actually strengthened our friendship.

Mixed Signals

I could have lost my good friend Dominique had I insisted on pursuing her. It could’ve turned ugly; I could’ve accused her of leading me on. But come to think of it, she didn’t treat me in any special way. She was just naturally friendly with people and affectionate with all her friends, me included. Hindsight, after all, has perfect vision.

But I’m not alone. Many female friends have told of amusing stories of clueless boys who follow them around, figuratively running full-tilt, eyes closed into a brick wall. From their stories, these boys sound like the densest of the male species to ever walk the earth. “How,” girls ask me, “can they be so assuming?”

But for guys, that’s what it’s all about. The game. Does she or doesn’t she like me? We read your little actions and gestures and respond to the signals you may (or may not) be giving off. If you don’t protest when we “accidentally” place a hand on your nape, most of us will take it as an open invitation for some “accidents” to happen. Some of your common sweet gestures we take as “you-may-proceed” signs: (1) That lilt in your voice when you say “Good night” on the phone; (2) That casual peck on his cheek when he picks you up at your house; (3) When you casually hold his hand while malling.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not accusing girls of being the bad guy when a boy feels led on. Sometimes we do look for the minutest hint of mutual interest from you, like “Hey! She flicked her hair in my direction! It’s a sign!”

Want to keep your friendship with guy friends strictly non-romantic? These tips may help you straighten out a potentially messy situation.

Drool for your Idol
We hate it when you gush about Brad Pitt or swoon over Keanu Reeves. That’s how Cindy successfully kept wannabe suitor in the friend zone. When Bob began getting all sweet on her (with very little prompting from Cindy), she went on and on about her crush - Jakob Dylan of The Wallflowers - every time he was around. She raved about his eyes, his voice, and how’d she’d like a boyfriend just like him. Bob eventually backed off. He realized he just couldn’t compete with a rock star.

Stop Being “One of the Guys”
It’s a bonus for us guys to find a girl we can just hang with. Larry, who was into hiking, photography, and rock climbing, hit it off with Annette because she was game for anything. She joined Larry and his group, whether it was scaling a 40-foot wall or shooting seascapes in Anilao. But while Annette was enjoying what she loved doing with new friends, Larry was getting a different vibe. Here was this amazing girl who shared his hobbies and in whom he saw a potential girlfriend. Annette’s solution to keeping it platonic? She stopped going out with Larry and started hanging out with the others more. Larry got the hint without resenting her, and they still hang out once in awhile.

Spell it Out
If we guys are out trolling for a girl and she doesn’t bite, we’ll go and search for other fish in the sea. So if you’re serious about staying just friends, be direct and say so. He’ll listen. Don’t just hope he’ll get the message. I promise you he won’t. Sure, we’re supposed to be hunter-gatherers and good at figuring out maps, but some mind games girls play aren’t exactly our cup of tea. So don’t keep quiet - say something. We aren’t telepathic. If you say you’ll think about it, you’d better because Romeo will be waiting for an answer. Never say, “I don’t know.” Even that much-abused “friends na lang tayo” will work. But until you haven’t said no, nope, nyet, nada, zip, zero, or you-don’t-have-a-snowball’s-chance-in-hell in plain language, he’ll hound you to the ends of the earth.

Don’t worry about losing a bud if you come clean about your just-friends feelings. If he’s sincere about staying pals, he’ll behave like one. (But don’t expect him to jump for joy when you first confront him. Let the dude wallow for a while.) A heart-to-heart talk may do wonders for your friendship - sans all that tension, you can be more yourselves. I wouldn’t be able to ask Dominique for advice on romantic matters now had I kept my feelings for her bottled up. It also helped that she was open to staying friends despite my affections.

But if he starts acting like a jerk after you clearly tell him you can never see him other than as a movie buddy or a rainy-afternoon-phone-pal, then walk away. You’re better off without him. Guys will back off as soon as you tell them to - unless of course he’s an obsessive stalker-psycho-freak. But then that’s another story.

writing as Michael de Guzman

appeared in FHM Philippines Magazine

You know how parents get whenever you go out of the house? They tell you to make sure you go to the bathroom first before leaving the house. The logic behind such a command was that you don’t have to bother yourself and more importantly, you don’t have to bother them with the request to pull over or find the nearest bathroom to relieve yourself.

Anyway, after some 20 odd summer trips with the family and the innumerable impromptu movie outings, I have been trained to go the bathroom before stepping out of the house and using a motorized vehicle which will presumably take me away from the last decent water closet in the whole world.

Along with this priceless knowledge and my recently acquired college education, I was finally going on a summer adventure to the exotic places of Southern Philippines. First stop was to Cebu to visit some college buddies and to pay a visit to my aunt. I decided that since I have all the time in the world, I shall go there via the Super Ferry. I mean from what my friends and relatives have told me, it’s safe and clean unlike the old ships. I decided to give it a go since I have never been on one.

The morning of my trip came and I was excited. What lies ahead? What kind of people will I meet? More importantly, what kind of girls will I meet? I had a heavy breakfast sausages, tocino, fried rice, eggs, coffee and orange juice. I made sure I had the energy for my adventure. After which of course, I went to the comfort room.

So I said goodbye to my mom, got a cab and endured the traffic to the Port Area. Once I got there, I was assaulted by a mob of porters who wanted to help me with my luggage. They disappeared as soon as they realized that all the luggage I had was strapped to my back.

I found the departure area and found out I was an hour early. I bought a newspaper and sat down near the airport-style boarding gates. Half-way through the ed-op pages, I felt a slight twinge in my belly. I ignored it. But then by the time I got to the sports pages and reading about a certain PBA player’s recent use his of knuckles and elbows my stomach was in full protest against my last meal. I stood up and looked for the men’s room.

This is what it’s all about. Go the toilet before you leave so that you don’t have to worry about messing about your things, cleaning yourself and risk the chance of missing a flight, a bus or in this case, a ship. But I found the row of comfort rooms to one side of the terminal. I mean no big deal right? The worst thing that could happen is that it might be a really dirty public toilet right? I reached for the knob of the men’s room door and surprise! It was locked.

I panicked and tried jiggling the door to make sure it was just stuck. It wouldn’t budge. I looked around to search for one of the building maintenance people but I couldn’t find one. The terminal was packed with summer vacationers and their families. I absolutely have to go. I could be crass and describe exactly at what state I was at that point but you can use your imagination. Let’s just say my underwear was getting serious skid marks.

I looked down saw a sign which apparently fell off the door and got trampled upon by a horde of passengers:”Under Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Inconvenience my ass. I was desperate. I was breaking out in cold sweat. My skin was getting clammy. Did you ever get that rude email about how to tell the different kinds of bowel movements? Well I know exactly what kind I’m having already. It’s the wet, smelly, slushy type which was destined to consume half a roll of my Joy Bathroom tissue.

Just then when I was about ready to embarrass myself in front of everyone and was ready to cancel my ticket and my summer adventure for long, a smelly ride home, an idea born only in times of desperation went off in my head. And just as that basketball player’s favorite motto I didn’t have to think and just went for it. I rushed to the door of the ladies’ comfort room, yanked it open and went in, saying excuse mes and sorry to the startled women as I went to the very last stall which was mercifully vacant.

I plopped down on the ivory throne, closed my eyes, and had the best crap I’ve ever had in my life. Nevermind the offended women outside or the smelly payload which I was sure was wafting out of the stall, bouncing from the white tiles to fill the small room. This was the best crap I’ve had in my life.

Bookreview: Three Filipinos created comic book takes on Pinoy Komiks wih very Different Sensibilities

Baylans:Hack the Culture
Issue 1 of 3, 36 pages, B&W, colored cover, digest format
Php100 (Wired Planet Sutios/Alamat Comics)

Sometime in future, this comic book postulates, the Philippines will be rid of a certain actor-politician via a violent military takeover. The country is then plunged an inevitable civil war. Different factions, each with a different agenda, each with its own methods strive to rally as many followers as possible for the confrontation that lies ahead. There are the cults in Banahaw, the armed rebels in the mountains, the military in Metro Manila. And then there’s Jonas Arcanghel and his group of hackers, the Baylans.

Jonas and his group aren’t just hackers in the sense we’ve come to know the word. Aside from tapping into sensitive military information that he sells to the rebels, Jonas also has the ability to tap into the ancient magic practiced by the ancient ancestors of the Filipinos.

The creators of the book weave an ambitious plot to marry the sensibilities of high-technology fiction popularized by William Gibson, Neal Stephenson, et al. With Philippine pagan mythology, the result is ike encountering a child born of Filipino-Caucasian parents: interesting, but inevitably you don’t quite know how to relate to it.

To be sure, the what-if scenarios poised by the comic book are interesting. The bemustached actor-politician getting shot in the head by soldiers because of his ineptitude is a cathartic experience for these days, even if it just happens on the page.

The supposed “military-industrial complex” in the future Bonifacio City would serve enough fuel for local conspiracy theorists (not to mention some consumer groups). The appearance of the M.I.B.s-men -in-barong- the official invesigation arm of the government on paranormal acivities was a hot.

But the first issue doesn’t try to explain or even offer a hint a background to these things. Thus the reader is left alone to cope with this strange new Philippines presented before him.

The art by Anthony Yap also suffers because of the comic book’s digest format. Yap was able to show the grime of Metro Manila’s slums or the inside of an underground club both of which he peppered with enough details to convey that this indeed might be the Philippines in another time and place. The details in some pages, however, are reduced to blotches of lack because of the decision to print smaller than the usual comic book size.

While the whole art style was meant to convey bleakness of dystopian Philippines, where it seems like violence will erupt any moment, the creators saw if fit that it should also come with a soundtrack. Here, they employ the work Food, Shelter & Clothing, a group of Bacolod-based punk-industrialist musicians. The 15-track CD (sold separately) by the group aims to complement and add some rural atmosphere to the Baylans landscape. Surprisingly, it works, unlike Stone, the Sony Music/Whilce Portacio collaboration.

But the first issue leaves a lot of questions to be answered. Yes, it sets the mood for the further adventures of Jonas and the Baylans but ultimately the major threads must come to some satisfactory closure by the end of issue 3.

Baylans has an interesting premise, and promises to explore a unique alternative future of the Philippines. Hopefully, the people behind the comic book can offer more clarificattion to a convoluted story through less cloudy visualization of their vision.

Crest Hut Butt Shop #2
20 pages, B&W, colored cover, Digest Format
Php30 (Komikero/Alamat)

Gerry Alanguilan is not Wasted. The creator who made a splash in the local scene by his cult classic (currently being serialized in PULP) wants you to know that he has a sense of humor, too. Crest Hut Butt Shop is his latest independent effort. In Crest Hut, you’ll see none of the angst-fueled episodes like that of his Eric in Wasted.

Alanguilan retains his style:the stark black and white with very clean-though not necessarily straight - lines, which betrays his background in architecture and his apparent abandonment of the use of a straight edge. Perhaps it’s the experience of working in the digest format which enabled Alanguilan to make full use of that particular canvas, experience that the creators of Baylans didn’t have, which resulted in the muddy frames for that book.

Alanguilan’s work has definitely been refined from his earlier work. Definitely more disciplined than Wasted, Dead Heart Stories, and the first Crest Hut Butt Shop , which appeared three years ago. That is not to say the art or the story is less quirky.

And it works. Crest Hut is a peek into the life of a nameless protagonist whose everyday first person retelling of his (mis)adventures becomes a riveting if not always entertaining read by Alanguilan. The reader is treated to tales of nearly headless chickens, a cat named Mimiws, Internet addiction, the travails of being fat and other such concerns.

The tone of the stories swings from funny to melancholic to bittersweet and back to silly. You might be reading about a chicken execution on one page and then treated to eerie premonitions of death the next. Crest Hut is a knowing wink at how life-Pinoy life specifically can be a collection of these mini-adventures if we just open our eyes a little bit and appreciate the little pleasures we can derive from them.

Culture Crash #2
38 pages, full color, digest format
Php 75 (Culture Crash)

If Baylans borrows from the West, Culture Crash lets its appropriations stay in the East. Japanese style comic book conventions and sensibilities pervade this particular offering. Aside from the dialogue, the setting, the odd tricycle of jeep, this book is more Japanese manga than anything else.

The book utilizes manga archetypes:super-deformed characters, mechas, magical creatures, anthropomorphic animals and such. The second issue, like the first features four stories each tackling different genres of manga.”One Day, Isang Diwa” is about Jun and his fairy friend Diwa’s adventures after moving into a new school, Makopya High and meeting the new kids in the neighborhood. “Pasig” follows the adventures of a female manunubos (bounty hunter) as she takes on a mission that brings her back to her old neighborhood near the Pasig river. “Cat’s Trail” is about a pair of thieves on a huge maya in an adventure through an unknown countryside. “Solstice Butterfly” is set in what was previously known as the Philippines.

It is 2135 and the different countries coalesced into five nations. Of course, with each country pursuing their own agenda, they settle their differences using a bunch of huge robots piloted by college kids.

The book itself is lovely. The full-color presentation is probably the best so far from a locally produced comic book. The art is fairly consistent all throughout, undoubtedly aided by computer coloring and lettering. These are the book’s strongest points.

The challenge for the creators is to develop the characters from these four stories and have the reader like them within the allotted ten pages. Only “Pasig” and “Cat’s Trail” succeed in this regard. “One Day” found it necessary to reintroduce the characters in issue two, and “Solstice” can only be fully appreciated if one were familiar with the hefty backstory.

Still, the comic book is an interesting read. The articles on the music, movies, games and gadgets buried in the back pages though offer nothing new, but it would’ve been great if those pages were devoted to any of the four featured stories instead.

Sony Music Philippines arranged this phone interview with Andy Bell, Oasis’ new bassist and almost Gay Dad member. Pulp talked to the musician about being in a cheeky band, their new album, Standing on the Shoulder of Giants, and where he’d place his money in the Gallagher-Williams match.

PULP: How’s Japan?
Andy Bell: Top fucking class, man! (Our Gigs) have been fantastic, others are just fine.

P: Where are you guys off to after Japan?
AB: We’re doing a couple of gigs in Europe and then we’re off to America.

P: How’s your wife and daughter?
AB: They’re fine, thanks…they’re missing me right now.

P: You mentioned in previous interviews that your favorite Oasis songs are “Live Forever” and “Wonderwall.” Any favorites on the new album?
AB: Yeah.”Rollover” - that’s the one I like best. It reminds me of…I dunno. If just sounds cool. Fucking cool!

P: Same one as Noel’s (favorite). Liam’s is “I Can See a Liar.”
AB: Right. It’s simply the best on the album.

P:Why do you like that song?
AB: I just love the lyrics and the melody and the production. It’s as simple as that. It’s uplifting.

P: I heard that Noel wants to do bass and let you take over lead guitar, which you did for Hurricane One. Do you see that happening any time soon?
AB: If it does happen it’ll be on the next album.

P: What can we expect from the Oasis, given the new lineup?
AB: Musically, the gigs will be the same but mainly better. I think we just want to be there, on that stage. Whereas the other two guys who quit didn’t want to be there, that’s why they left. The five of us really do want to be where we are, we really want to be doing it, and we’re happy to be doing it, and we’re happy to be there, we really want to communicate as best as we can to the people who are listening. So the gigs are gonna be great. And I think when the new line-up gets into the studio to make a new album, I think you’ll notice the there’s a good atmosphere there too. But we’ll have to wait and see when that happens.

P: Being an accomplished musician yourself, how do you feel about joining Oasis?
AB: Well, I have to use all my musical skills to help do these bass parts. It’s not a simple option playing bass. I need to uses everything I’ve got and it’s good to be stretched and I’m happy to be stretched and it’s good to keep on being stretched.

P: Can you say the new album is conscious effort of Oasis to come off as more mature or is it just a natural progression as musicians?
AB: I think it’s the latter, a natural progression.

P: So it’s not just the effect of Oasis laying off the drugs and booze, it’s their natural progression as artists?
AB: Yes, I think so. Actually it’s hard to say…especially when you haven’t been there when it was being made. I just think they’ve done three albums which kinda blast through in the same kind of rock and roll sound. Obviously after the three, you want to shift it a little bit. I guess that’s why it’s become a bit spaced… spacey arrangements and (there are) moments in the album where not much…it’s not prolonged all the time, it’s all spaced out, which I kinda like.

P: You can still see a lot of Beatles influence in there like Liam’s song “Little James.” What do you think we can expect of the next Oasis album? What musical direction is the band going?
AB: It’s very hard to say…

P: You have any idea who Noel was referring to in “Sunday Morning Call”?
AB: Uh…I don’t know.

P: If Liam accepted Robbie’s challenge for a boxing match, where would you have placed your money?
AB: On Liam, definitely.

In 1521, the Islands Later Known As the Philippines (named after King Pinas of Spain) was discovered by Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese serving under Spain because they had better tax shelters.

When Magellan reached the Philippines he was surprised to find that there were people living on the islands, which discouraged him to go nude sunbathing. Also, his attempts to find a wife who would cook and clean his villa in Spain was frowned upon by the Chieftain of Mactan, Escabeche.

Escabeche refused to be converted to Catholicism because he was already a member of Iglesia ni Bathala. He was angry at Magellan because he insisted on sunbathing, flashing his lily-white European bottom. Thus Escabeche had all of Magellan’s luggage stolen and connived with the cab drivers to give Magellan a run-around. Magellan died while trying to break his bill to pay his cab fare. This was the first recorded tourism accident.

Upon hearing of fabulous beaches where one could go nude sunbathing, a bunch of other Spaniards came to the Philippines and stayed for 300 years.

Meanwhile, a dish was named after Escabeche for his heroism against the Europeans. For refusing to be cowed by the foreigners we now have the tasty dish, the sisig, in honor of Escabeche. His heroism, however, failed to inspire his fellow chieftains because frankly, they didn’t want a dish named after them.

Spanish Colonization

Under Spain, the Philippines learned most of its laws, labor practices, customs and of course, religion. Some of these practices are still wide spread in modern society. From the Spaniards, we learned that a message is more effective when delivered by a foreigner (see Stratfor analysis).

The Spaniards party was spoiled when an indio (Spanish word for really annoying person), who studied in Europe and learned that the Spaniards aren’t supposed to be vacationing in the Philippines, wrote two inflammatory novels, the Noli Me Tangere Episode I: The Spanish Menace, and its sequel, Noli Me Tangere II: Simoun Strikes Back. They were inflammatory because the Spaniards found out they made good kindling for burning. The Spaniards banned and burned the books because they objected to the portrayal of the hero Ibarra and Maria Clara, the first recorded love-team, in which they had no song and dance number on the beach.

The indio, Jose Rizal, was put to death via firing squad at the Luneta which would later on be called, Cheap Date Place. The event caused many Filipinos to be upset because they had to close the skating rink for the day.

However, Rizal already had a good following from his writings especially when they serialized it in komiks. One such fan, Andres Bonifacio, president of the Pepe 4 Ever Fan Club, Tondo Chapter turned his group into the Katipunan, a highly successful band. They initially performed at a row of drinking places found along Ateneo, the school which Jose Rizal attended before being sent to Europe. The road was later named after the band.

The Katipunan caused riots whenever they performed since most of their performances were cheap: they must answer “Jose Rizal” to the question “Knock, knock, who’s there?”

Their hits: “Anong Pag-Ibig Pa” and “Punitin ang Cedula” were frowned upon by the Spaniards because they were, to quote historian Conito Peninsulares “not radio friendly.” The band was declared subversives by the Spaniards and hunted down in the most Catholic manner of the Inquisition.

Ironically, Andres Bonifacio was not captured by the Spaniards but by fellow native, Emilio Aguinaldo, head of the Magdalo faction of the Katipunan, which was a boy band.

Depending on which historian you read, Aguinaldo had Bonifacio killed in Isabela to quell any resistance loyal to the latter. However new evidence shows that Bonifacio was abducted by aliens and later returned with the technology that gave us the LRT. We’ve immortalized this event by constructing a monument of Bonifacio at the end of the LRT line.

Aguinaldo declared himself the President of the Republic of the Philippines in Cavite on June 12, 1898. The Philippines became the first Republic in Asia to have a veranda on its paper money.

Note that during the Declaration of Independence, the Spaniards were still in the Philippines which confused them to no end and they had to have their tourist visas changed. This posed a problem when they couldn’t find the local Spanish embassy.

The Spanish-American War was raging and the Philippines was caught in the middle, despite being on the other side of the Pacific.

During the Treaty of Paris, Spain gave America the Philippines at a discount and a lifetime pass to the Annual Pamplona Running of the Bulls. America wanted the Philippines because of its sugar, because their Starbucks coffee doesn’t taste much without it. And they also wanted to go nude sunbathing on our beaches.

The American Colonization

The first American teachers were called “Boats” because that’s how they reached the Philippines — on board a boat called the Thomas. From the Americans, the Filipinos taught how to spell ‘apple’ even though they have never seen one all their lives.

Education was the American’s biggest contribution to the development of the Philippines as a nation. While the Spaniards feared that education would turn the Filipinos against them, the Americans saw it wise that their little brown brothers be taught the four r’s: reading, ‘ritin, ‘rithmitic and rap. So we be dope wit rhymin.

Because the Filipinos learned how to write and count, we can now spell “Balangiga Massacre” correctly and count how many people were killed by the Americans in Samar.

America was preparing the Philippines to stand on its own two feet through the Commonwealth Government headed by Spanish Mestizo, Manuel L. Quezon, who was named after the city.

However, before Quezon’s wish that he would like to see the Philippines run like hell by the Filipinos came true, the Second World War broke out.

Pulp Magazine Issue#1

A wealth of musical influences, a multitude of personas — but it’s all about love, baby.

There is an interesting song on A Brand New Day, Sting’s seventh solo album, called “Tomorrow We’ll See.” On it, Sting prowls the night as a gender-bending streetwalker. “Don’t judge me/You could be me in another life,” our favorite Englishman tenderly croons. It might be decades away from the Police’s “Roxanne,” in which Sting screeches “you don’t have to wear that dress tonight” to another pro, but it’s certainly familiar territory.

Yes, Sting’s songs traverse old haunts, but as the figure beneath the street lamp might take a familiar shape, the shadows play tricks to the eye — the form’s familiar yet you’re not entirely sure what lies beneath the surface. Sting still talks about love (what else is new?) in all its forms, albeit as strange as the image of Sting walking the streets in full female regalia. In A Brand New Day, amore — tragic, comical, transcendant but always, always powerful — still provides Sting’s impetus.

Although not as intense as Soul Cages, Sting latest outing is definitely its lyrical twin. He doesn’t fail to conjure the images of characters in his five-minute epics. More importantly, he doesn’t forget his sense of humor.

However, Sting is also still dabbling in country/western tunes (an Englishman doing country — imagine that!). On “Fill Her Up,” a game James Taylor plays the twangy big shot from the city against Sting’s gas station attendant. Never mind that one may not be too sure what to make of the song which goes from slide guitar to a gospel chorale, but it is fun to listen to.

It’s precisely these hybrid of rhythms, from the mid-eastern experience of “Desert Rose” to the bossa nova beat of “Big Lie, Small World,” which makes this album a memorable one. His collaboration with guests Stevie Wonder, Taylor, and Brandford Marsalis adds more dimension to his trademark quirky arrangements and vocals. There’s even a rap sequence on “Perfect Love…Gone Wrong” — in French.

The album’s actually World Beat. At the very least, with A Brand New Day, Sting makes up for the icy and lifeless Mercury Falling. Sting might not have reinvented the wheel here, but he certainly made it look nice again.

Pulp Magazine Issue#1

Profile: Ramon Jacinto

Ramon Jacinto lives in the 60s. His is the image and the name behind Bistro RJ, RJTV, DZRJ. Oh and don’t forget RJ and the New Riots. He is the Philippines’ version of Dick Clark, always youthful and always immaculate in his suit and slicked back hair. But to many of the Net Generation, he is a rock and roll dinosaur.

Yet despite how passe he might seem to a generation weaned on MTV and Sony Playstation, he has one contribution to Pinoy music which makes him one cool daddy-o: He built the radio station that gave birth to Pinoy rock.

When DZRJ started airing a nighly program called Pinoy Rock and Rhythm through the 70s, it nurtured the likes of the Juan de la Cruz Band, Anakbayan, Asin, Sampaguita, Mike Hanopol, Florante and Freddie Aguilar through the darkest days of Martial Law. DZRJ would organize rock concerts at the parking lot of its Sta. Mesa station, putting up makeshift stages out of flatbed trucks parked end to end. It was atop these pseudo stages where a young Pepe Smith would rise up a legend.

After Martial Law, RK bought a UHF station which aired a TV version of Pinoy Rock and Rhythm, just in time to witness the burgeoning band scene of 1994. “Live” sets of then up-and-coming bands like Color it Red and Tame the Tikbalang were taped in its TV studios.

Yet, despite all the different businesses he takes on, RJ still takes up his guitar and plays with the New Riots. Their repertoire consists mainly of 60s and surf music and seem content in keeping their music with Bisto RJ. Unless of course the Ventures make a comeback. “Sinasabi ko sa ‘yo…”

Pulp Magazine Issue#1

Profile: Pepe Smith

I didn’t even know that he was still alive,” a friend commented when I mentioned that I was to interview seminal Pinoy rock icon Joey “Pepe” Smith.

Joey Smith has been breathing rock and roll for over 30 years. A lot has been written about him and his legendary antics on and off stage. He is Pinoy Rock embodied, they claim. They argue that one need only to look at Pepe Smith’s career to get a pulse of how Pinoy Rock is doing at a certain point in time. Together with Wally Gonzalez and Mike Hanopol, Smith gave birth to, under a cloud of smoke, what is arguably the most successful Pinoy rock band of the 70s, the Juan de la Cruz Band. If Pepe Smith is getting gigs, then Pinoy rock is alright.

These days, skeptics are saying the band scene is dead. Pinoy Rock is dead. Ever since the band explosion of 1994 which gave us the Eraserheads, Wolfgang and Razorback, solo artists like Sharon Cuneta, Jolina and Martin Nievera have crept back to the airwaves. And yes, Pepe Smith seems to have disappeared from the rock scene once again.

But there he was alive and in the flesh, on the day of our interview. Joey Smith, crossing the street with a distinct strut pausing in the middle of the road, waiting for vehicles to clear past him. If Pepe Smith is Pinoy Rock, then it’s not dead just yet.

He extended his hand in greeting as I walked up to him. Face to face with the man, Smith does tend to remind on of Iggy Pop or Mick Jagger. The years of substance abuse and rock and roll living has left its mark on Smith. His long dishevelled hair is streaked with grays, and the lines on his face seem to make him appear more than his 52 years. It seems that the palpable, youthful energy emanating from him is the only glue which is keeping his fragile frame together. In the process of setting up the interview, I feared that he would show up druggged and incoherent — in other words, living up to the stories about him. The mirrored shades he had on only fueled my anxiety.

A few teenagers, whose parents were probably just dating around the time when Smith and the Juan de la Cruz came up with the Pinoy rock anthem “Ang Himig Natin.” walked passed us and smiled at Pepe in recognition. Smith just nodded his head and waved in acknowledgment. He informs me that he’s playing a bit part in a weekly sitcom — although he hasn’t received any new scripts of late. “Maybe they don’t want me back, I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. A punk in a souped-up car (courtesy of daddy’s money no doubt) passes by. Pepe waves at the driver, points to his ear and mouths the words “maingay.”

When asked about how he feels being an icon of Pinoy rock he gives a modest answer. “Deep inside me I’m happy, but I wasn’t expecting that. I’ll still leave it up for grabs. I think I have to work for it again.”

Pepe was also wary of using his career to chart the ebb and flow of Pinoy rock as some writers have done in the past. “I hope they don’t pin anything on me. They shouldn’t expect me to carry the flag. I always felt that new groups should be [responsible] since they have the initiative and the management to do it,” says Pepe, with just a hint of bewilderment in his voice. “I am not one to do this for them. But if they want me to do it, just give me the keys and I’ll open the door.”

He laments at how some of the new bands don’t take their craft seriously. He recalls a band who invited him to play with them. When he asked when they’re going to practice, they replied “Kailangan pa ba tayong mag-practice?” Pepe just shook his head.

I asked him what keeps him busy these days aside from the sitcom. He still plays a gig here and there. He’s currently with an ensemble group of musicians, the Flaming Katols, comprised of members from different bands. Pepe’s no stranger to working with other musicians. He went through a legion of bands before and after the Juan de la Cruz band. Still, the gigs these days are few and far between; yet despite his own admittance that he’s no actor, Pepe is having fun coming out in the weekly sitcom.

“Producers tend to ignore you,” stating a fact without a hint of bitterness. He recounts a story where the producers did not include him because they heard that Pepe would not show up. He challenged them to name a gig in which he didn’t show up. “No act of God could stop me from going there. As long as it’s well organized [I'll be there].”

The punk cruises by again. He revs his car a few times and then slammed on the accelerator. “Get out of here!” Pepe yells after him, brows furrowed.

He said he has no favorites among his creations. “I got tired of them,” he admits. I asked about “Ang Himig Natin” what he feels whenever he’s asked to play it in gigs. “Maybe it’s your Himig, man!” he laughs. He leaves it out of his playlist these days, but organizers get pissed and pounce on him for not playing the crowd-pleasers. “For me, I should really come up with a new album,” he says as a way of going around having to play his old songs.

I ask him how he wants to be remembered:”Just a simple musician who gave fans a few minutes to forget their problems,” Pepe said without skipping a beat. “Not as a good drummer or a good guitarist or good songwriter?” I pressed. He said he knows there are a lot of better musicians than himself. “Mas maraming magaling sa akin. Nagkataon na ako yung sinuwerte,” he said with a laugh.”I just hope things get better,” he said.

There are only a few more moments with Pepe as he says he’s on his way to a taping of Sharon Cuneta’s talk show. “Rock and roll!” Pepe Smith said in lieu of “goodbye,” and so we went on our separate ways.

The punk drives by again, revving his machine like Shell didn’t raise prices. Pepe and I are forced to step aside. As the punk passes us, Pepe flips him the finger. Rock and roll.

Pulp Magazine Issue#1

Profile: Club Dredd

Jologs rule. That’s a fact in Pinoy rock and roll. They’re the youth who refuse to mind their manners in front of polite society. The direct descendants of the jeproks of the 70s, the jologs are the great unwashed who are passionate about their rock bands. They’re the ones who pogo every night of the week (except Sundays) along EDSA. They’re the ones who shelled out at least Php 100 for a night at Club Dredd with 15 bands on the bill. It’s the well-heeled tisoys of Alabang and Makati who were yelling “Basti, pareh!” every time Wolfgang played at Dredd.

It was the jologs wearing their latest score from the nearest ukay-ukay to appoximate the clothes they saw on the moshers during the Metallica video on MTV the other day as they, too, banged bopdies during a set of Put3Ska fronted then by Myra Ruaro.

It was the jologs who crammed every shadowy, sweaty nook of Club Dredd, who nursed and passed around one bottle of beer for six hours while they waited for their barkada’s band to take the stage. It’s the same jologs who braved the comfort rooms of Club Dredd and didn’t mind touching the walls while they puked out their order of sisig.

It was the jologs who stayed outside of Dredd, listening to whatever sound that filtered through the twin doors of the fire escape, inhaling carbon monoxide from the buses heading for Cubao. It was the jologs who called radio stations to play the latest Razorback song to recreate the gig they witnessed the night before. It was the jologs who made it possible for Club Dredd (and its previous incarnation as Red Rocks), a hole in the wall in lower Timog, to move to a bigger venue. It was the jologs who made stars out of the Eraserheads, the Youth, Wolfgang, Put3Ska, and Razorback.

It was the jologs, along with the future superstars of Pinoy rock who got displaced when Club Dredd finally closed its doors ironically on 12 June 1998, while the country celebrated its centennial of Independence.

Pulp Magazine Issue#1

Profile: The Dawn

The first time I saw the Dawn was on a lunchtime show back in the 80s - four guys in black with face paint singing “Enveloped Ideas.” I was still in grade school. New Wave, associated predominantly with British groups like the Smiths and the Cure, was the rage.

At school, there was this guy going around with a faux Robert Smith accent. He passes this group of kids singing an off-key version of “Enveloped Ideas,” puts his nose in the air, and says “Pinoy lang ‘yan.”

Soon, the Dawn played to a packed gymnasium at our school. I wasn’t very thrilled because all I knew was that blasted song “Enveloped Ideas.” All I knew was they were loud. They were the first Pinoy band I ever saw perform live.

I was stuck to Michael Jackson and Madonna and the Smiths and the Cure and watched as many music videos as possible. I went on my happy pop life well into high school. And then I heard the news from one of my classmates: Teddy Diaz, the Dawn’s axeman, was murdered by drug addicts.

While I didn’t follow their gigs, my interest with the Dawn was one of morbid curiosity: Would the band disappear after the tragic death of one of their members or would they fade into obscurity after getting a mediocre replacement? It certainly won’t be a unique event in the history of music. Bands have come and gone without so much as making a blip on the musical radar. What would make the Dawn different?

That was 1988. And the Dawn proved to be a tough band to put down. Sure, they went through a number of guitarists after Diaz’s death: Noel Mendez, Atsushi Matsuura, and then finally, Francis Reyes. They went through a number of October Storm concerts at the Ultra. They went through some San Miguel Beer commercials and the inevitable movie theme song. The band releases six studio albums, one live album, and two compilations. The band eventually broke up in 1994, announcing that some of its members wanted to pursue a life outside of music.

Reyes hooked up with NU107 to host a weekly radio program, showcasing new local talent. Matsuura partnered up with Leonor to form an IT company. Bassist Carlos Balcells went to work for the family business in Negros. Jett Pangan, the Dawn’s vocalist, went on to form the Jett Pangan Group, which kind of pissed the other guys off since he said he was leaving the group to start a “normal” life (presumably a life outside of the whirligig lifestyle of rock star).

October 1999. I’m sitting in a makeshift studio near Junboy Leonor’s house. We’re waiting for Junboy, the Dawn’s drummer, to make an appearance. “He probably went out to splay tennis,” says Francis Reyes as he sits on the floor with Atsushi Matsuura to make adjustments on their guitars.

The band is supposed to rehearse for a one night reunion gig in November. Apparently, the event was put together by a dedicated fan.

Junboy arrives with apologies for everyone. Junboy has cut his ponytail since the last time I’ve seen him. I can’t help but notice the touches of gray.

It is indeed a new Dawn. It’s a band that has run the gamut of risk as people in the business of making music. They’ve lost a key member. They’ve proven themselves resilient and viable throughout the years. They’ve kept a loyal following of fans (even after being backed by San Miguel Beer, which to many was a form of “selling out”). And, they disbanded just as there was an upsurge in popularity for the kind of music they helped bring to the mainstream. The Dawn today is definitely an experienced band, a wiser, older band. But is it a band that has nothing to prove anymore?

“The thing about the Dawn is that we’re very insular. We were never part of any scene after the New Wave era. It always felt weird to be in this band. The underground thinks we’re mainstream and the mainstream thinks we’re underground. We will never be part of any scene,” says Reyes. “It’s hard to be part of something that’s always looking back. I think that makes a band grow old. Next thing you know you’ll be RJ and the Riots. If ever we were able to flesh out what we need to flesh out [as a group] basically what we want is to make music.”

“If we ever put out a new album, one thing that would affect the sound would be digital technology, ” Junboy surmises, “It would definitely make a mark on the music, introduce a different texture.” He adds that if they truly return to the scene, they would like to do concerts in big venues. He said he felt no one was able to fill the vacuum when the Dawn exited the scene. “We put a lot of effort into our live shows,” says Junboy.

Reyes points out that even if the band was inactive for a time, they still saw each other. “You’re never really not a member of this band,” says Reyes. It’s the music that binds them together - despite differences, despite distance. Whether or not there will be a seventh studio album remains to be seen. The Dawn, aptly name, takes it one day at a time.

Pulp Magazine Issue#1

Profile: Lolita Carbon

Her performances are unbelievably moving. I recall a protest concert on the eve of a huge protest rally against the Erap adminstration. As it did almost three decades ago, U.P. Diliman again played host to a small but vocal group of citizens ready to fight against perceived threats to their freedom. Most of the organizers of Rock the Jeep, Roll the Presses witnessed the atrocities of the Marcos Era. Most of the crowd however, were born just after the First Quarter Storm had come and gone. Their awakening wasn’t the Plaza Miranda bombing but the Ninoy Aquino assassination. So it came as a bit of a surprise when the young crowd who grew up on Voltes V and That’s Entertainment started to sing along with the lone, soulful voiced, woman on stage - her curly tresses whip across her face a she strums her acoustic guitar. Lolita Carbon flashes a smile as she finishes her song to applause. “Sabayan n’yo ulit ako,” she invited the crowd.

Lolita Carbon has certainly come a long way since she decided to forsake her family and pursue her love for singing. Known primarily as part of the seminal folk trio, Asin, Carbon has one of the most recognizable voices in the country. It is this voice which breathes life into songs like “Pagbabalik” and “Himig ng Pag-Ibig.” It is this voice which gives “Balita,” “Masdan Mo and mga Bata” and “Kapaligiran” their sense of urgency.

That night during the protest concert at U.P. the audience knew, young as they were, that here was the voice that opened their eyes to what was happening around them. The applause given to Carbon at the end of her set was for more than the songs she sang that night, but for the personal sacrifices she made along the way to give us her songs.

Pulp Magazine Issue#1

Profile: APO Hiking Society
When APO steps onto the stage, the crowds roar. Ultimately, it’s a greeting for long-lost friends. It’s hard not to remember — or to miss– a friend of 30 years. That’s how long the APO hav been in show business.

Boboy Garrovillo, Danny Javier, and Jim Paredes have been making music together ever since they were in high school. They’ve been through Martial Law, during which they voiced their protests through songs and well-received concerts. They’ve been through the circus of having their own noontime show. They have recorded 23 albums (the most recent of which is APO…Mismo) in those three decades.

In between these milestones, they’ve managed to lead separate lives, start their own businesses, fight for their favorite causes, act in movies and television specials, pursue their hobbies, have their own families and raise their children. No small feat indeed. Thirty years adn they’re still greeted with warm, sincere applause. Only a few local performers can lay claim to that distinction.

Still, tonight they find themselves in a familiar arena. Along with several artists, the APO is lending their voices again to Rock the Jeep, Roll the Presses, a protest concert against threats to press freedom. It’s “been there, done that” for the trio, but they still give a rousing performance. Their old tricks have been updated. President Erap took a few solid hits. The wit and humor of the trio seem to have acquired more edge since their absence from the daily grind of lunchtime inanity.

Still, it is the songs which they are best remembered for. Theirs are the songs which chart the bittersweet longing for sweethearts, unrequited love as well as “ang samahan ng barkada” the irreplaceable value of true friendship.

*Since Mark is away having what he thinks is a normal life, Badong Durden takes over for him in this column.

What is it with movies these days? You can’t watch a decent movie without an undercurrent of gloom and doom in the plot. Think about it. In the past months… you have Dogma, a movie about two fallen angels trying to find a loophole in the Grand Design to make it back into Heaven… Sixth Sense, about a boy who could talk to dead people. Even Star Wars and the Matrix included not so subtle references to the Christ story. It’s a sure bet that Y2K has a lot to do about it. It’s enough to make you miss Bambi.

In 1899, there was a rise in cult activities and your basic “woe-the-world-is-coming-to-an-end-let’s-gnash-our-teeth-and-rent -our-clothes” type of things. This year at the so-called eve of the new millennium expect more crazy things to happen. (Yes, we know…altogether now: “The new Millennium doesn’t start until 2001.” Get a life! People like round numbers so you can’t blame them if they want to mark the occasion.

Two recent movies, The Fight Club and End of Days, reflect the general climate of the planet: “It’s hopeless! Why fight the inevitable? We’ll die anyway so let’s just do it to ourselves!” While one movie may be an entertaining parable for the times, the other is just a badly told scare story.

The Good Fight

Edward Norton plays a nameless insomniac whose day job requires him to compute for the number of crashes needed before the car company he works for issues a recall. There’s nothing wrong with him physically but he quickly becomes addicted to support groups like testicular cancer, blood parasites and tuberculosis. It was only after immersing himself in the pain of others that Norton’s Narrator able to find some sleep.

When Marla, played wonderfully by Helena Bonham Carter, another ‘tourist’ to these support groups, the efficacy of the cure suddenly disappears. The Narrator tries to reason with Marla but she’s addicted to the pain around her as much as he is.

This is when Norton’s character meets Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) and the two start the Fight Club, a loose organization where two men just beat the living daylights out of each other until one gets flattened or gives up.

Soon, the Fight Club evolves into more than just two guys getting in touch with their inner Neanderthal. According to Tyler life is about accepting that someday one would die. Thus, adopting a twisted view of carpe diem, the Fight Club turns to acts of anarchy which culminates into one glorious finale.

The actors turn in great perfomances to make their pathetic characters sympathetic. Yes even Brad Pitt’s occasional over-acting adds to Tyler’s edgy persona.

The violence is a bit cartoonish (okay, that was from a guy who grew up on Looney Tunes Cartoons). It’s not so much as an action movie as the title might connote but a dark comedy. It’s a tongue in cheek critique of our 21st Century culture which has gone pop. It delivers a solid uppercut to the solar plexus of our advertising-driven lives and then winks at us.

Director David Fincher (Yep. That’s the same guy who gave us Se7en) and the music by the Dust Brothers delivers a brisk, highly engaging movie. Whether you’re creeping into the mind of the Narrator or being a voyeur into the empty lives of Marla or Tyler there’s something which will surely ring true for you.

Which unfortunately isn’t the same for the next movie up on the block…

The Bitter End

Arnold Schwazenegger’s last movie was 1997’s horrible Batman & Robin where he appeared as the tragic Mr. Freeze. There was enough cheese in that movie to put Kraft out of business.

End of Days, the latest Arnold Schwazenegger offering, is just a little better but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s good thing. Mis-tuh S is Jericho Cane, an ex-cop who stumbles into the path of Satan (played with scary aplomb by Gabriel Bryne) who’s out to impregnate Christine (Robin Tunney) before the clock strikes midnight to usher in Year 2000.

There isn’t much going in between the opening credits before the inevitable showdown of Ah-nuld and Satan aside from: Arnold vs fanatics, Arnold vs the police, Arnold vs the devil-worshippers, Arnold vs the subway, and the mandatory gun fights you’ve come to know and love from Mr.’S movies. There was one bit of action that harkens to the old Schwazenegger movies of yore but that happens in the first half of the movie. It goes downhill from there. It’s basically all your favorite Arnold Schwazenegger movies mixed with Rosemary’s Baby and peppered with some Hail Marys along with the hail of bullets. Unfortunately the parts used in this brew wasn’t the choice bits.

Only Byrne puts in a halfway decent perfomance (he’s definitely been in better movies) but sometimes one can’t help but wonder if he was trying to channel Pacino from the Devil’s Advocate. Nevertheless, he was fun to watch.

There’s no doubt who’ll win by the end of the movie is there? It’s just unfortunate to see our favorite lug get beaten down by a bad script and an overkill of special effects. You can let this one slide and just rent it when you’re stuck at home for the weekend.

The Fight Club
www.foxmovies.com/fightclub/

End of Days
www.end-of-days.com

After abusing the kindness of our hosts at a party at the nearby Gotham, Ariadne, Ben, Vernel, Penelope and I went in search for some hot food.

“I can’t believe I drank too much beer,” said Ben as he staggered all over Nakpil St.

“We do!” the group hollered.

“You almost got us thrown out of the place when you tried to do the lambada with Cookie Chua,” an exasperated Penelope told a dazed Ben. By virtue of being Vernel’s significant other, Penelope has perfected the art of exasperation.

Ben sheepishly shrugged and said “seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Past Garlic Rose, a small blackboard caught Ariadne’s attention. “Hey guys look! Pandesal and arrozcaldo,” Ariadne gleefully pointed out.

Pepe & Pilar had a few diners on the ground floor. It was still early by Malate standards so we easily found some seats at the second floor. The place was mercifully bathed in subdued blue light reflected off what I would guess powder blue walls. The music wasn’t loud enough to cause some serious temple thumping headaches and mercifully not cheezy enough for us to regurgitate our food. It was muzak at its best — the music stayed in the background.

While the whole point of the exercise was to wind down after partying for the weekend, we discovered something which was quaint enough to be ignored. On the menu was flavored lambanog. Penelope tried the banana flavor while I went for the bubble gum.

My last experience with lambanog wasn’t all that pleasurable. I think that’s how pure alcohol would taste if one would be foolish enough to drink it. (Lambanog may not be as bad as downing vodka which I still believe the Russians used to fuel their rocketships and missiles back during the Cold War.)

Call me a candidate for Alcoholics Anonymous but the bubble gum-flavored lambanog is so much fun to drink. Aside from coming in cute light-blue hue, it smelled like a pack of Bazooka Joe (or as Ariadne succintly pointed-out “bubble gum flavored nga ‘eh siyempre amoy bubble gum rin…d-uh”). Should’ve paid more attention to Diane Ackerman.

We ordered the tuna pandesal and the arrozcaldo which came in ample servings. There was so much more quaint food the proprietors of Pepe and Pilar placed on their menu but the warm bread and the hot porridge was just perfect for our needs. We promised ourselves we’d come back for the boiled eggs with the orange coating without fear of contracting hepatitis.

Across the bar which was located at the second floor, I found a stack of postcards with a picture of actors Bella Flores hugging Ric Rodrigo over a caption that declares “Every Papa Needs a Mama.” Flipping it over, there was a picture of Nora Aunor circa her Maria Leonora Theresa days on the spot where a stamp should go. I thought it best exemplifies the kind of tongue-in-cheek cool Pepe & Pilar exudes. It made me smile so I took one to share with friends.

Pepe & Pilar is the perfect place to wind down after partying around Malate. Its cool interiors and its generous servings of comfort food is perfect for getting rid of the night’s after taste.

Just stay away from the lambanog if you still want to get home.

We would’ve stayed longer if Ben didn’t attempt to do the lambada with the cute manager.

Would you like to share your dining experience? Do you know of a nice, cozy restaurant? Email us at dining@pinoycentral.com.

Pepe&Pilar
1804 Maria Orosa Street (in between Garlic Rose and Joy)
Malate, Manila, Philippines
email: pepepilar@vasia.com

writing as Constantine dela Pintado

I am not an OFW but I know of one. He was not around while I was growing up. I only saw him twice a year for a total of two months. If I was lucky I’d see him in all those 60 days. He was serving a sultan, working out of the Palace Office no less. He’d bring home pictures of… well, places with lots of sand.

Sometimes though, I’d see him bundled up in warm clothes, standing in the streets of London or sweltering under a Grecian sky. Once he showed us a picture of himself high up a communications tower, which had the diameter of what seemed like a bamboo pole. I didn’t know what exactly he did for a living until he showed me that picture. “I make sure the sultan’s in touch with his people,” he would say.

He’d bring me books from the places he’d been to and I’d live his adventures through them. It was his way of nurturing my love for reading. Later on, when I started writing for publications, I made sure I bought two copies: one for my file, and the other one to be sent to him through his co-workers, his “kumpares.”

His “kumpares” would drop by the house, a week or two into their own month-long vacations to bring us letters or packages and stories on how he’s doing. He would also do that courtesy to his colleagues’ families whenever he came home for his vacation. The same people would drop by, two weeks later, asking if we have something for him. This time though, they’d look a bit weary, the glow from coming home visibly and palpably gone, replaced by an air of reluctance of being separated from their families again.

Whenever he was in Manila, we’d go out to see movies. I still remember the first movie which we watched together — just the two of us. It was in 1982 when we watched Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. I was ten years old. It was in a theater in Cubao. (No Megamalls or Gallerias then). It was in that movie where Spock, the ever-logical Vulcan, said to Admiral James T. Kirk, when given a choice between sacrificing his life to save the crew of the Enterpise or walking away and saving himself, that the “needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

When he retired in 1995, after 19 years of working for the sultan, it became fashionable for the government to start calling the Overseas Contract Workers “Mga Bagong Bayani” and “Overseas FILIPINO Workers.” The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

By then, he was able to put all his children through college. Often, I would hear him talk about his kumpare having a problem with the eldest son because he dropped out of school or was doing drugs. Or how this couple’s marriage broke up because of neither of them where in the same place long enough to have a proper relationship. The lament is always the same–they’ve sacrificed and risked their lives going there, they gave everything they’ve been asked and yet this is how they are repaid?

Our story isn’t one you’d find on those weekly drama soaps or on some tragic story on the early evening news. Our family’s complete. The kids have their own jobs, my parents–having been released from the duty of making sure we performed in school–have, at last, the time to pursue what they’ve always wanted.

I’d like to think we’ve always been an exception. I’m not saying it has been smooth sailing for all of us. Sure, my parents have had their share of marital spats but they were all patched up quickly. While I would’ve preferred to have my father there to talk to when I had my first heartbreak or that time when I won an award for a science project, those minor setbacks and small victories I faced alone where my own sacrifices for the family. He learned about those things through letters anyway. Not having a father physically around is not enough reason for me to take a rifle, climb a tower and start shooting at people. My mother made us understand that his absence was exile for him. He could’ve stayed here and worked but the opportunities would not have afforded us the same comfort we’re enjoying now. And that, as it is, is modest comfort: No fear of having the bank foreclose on the house. No car to get repossessed. There’s always good food on the table and decent clothes on our backs. We can eat out and watch movies when we want. His best gift to us was our education.

It has been pointed out the OFWs contribute greatly to the economy of the country through their remittances. According to Tensyon, a website which helps OCWs cope with being away from their family, as of October 1997 there are 636,832 Filipinos abroad. As of September 1997 the remittances of these workers amounted to US$ 4,116,747,000. And that’s just the amount monitored by the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas. The social costs, I should imagine, would be great as well.

The irony of it all is that these people go abroad for their families to survive. And yet to survive the family must be rendered broken. Mothers have no choice to take care of other children in Hong Kong or Singapore while leaving their own to the care of relatives. Fathers are made to build hi-tech cities and industries as they let their own city deteriorate into one of the most unlivable places in the world.

Our country’s version of Generation X did not only grow up on a steady diet of Voltes V, Sesame Street and That’s Entertainment, but also with at least one absent parent working outside the country. What does this mean for the country’s psyche? What does it bode when these children take over leadership positions in the country? Who knows? I would rather not speculate. I would hope for a more compassionate leadership, that’s for sure. The brain drain doesn’t only take away the country’s talents and skills. It also take away mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters.

For me, I am making most of the time I spend with my father. In between work, my other relationships, I try to have fun with him, learn about him and learn from him. Not really trying to make up for lost time but making sure I don’t waste that which is given to us. I already see a lot of myself, my character, from what I could pick up from his stories. Despite the awkwardness of it all, I’m just happy I’m given this chance. Not all sons of OFWs have been given a second chance to have a father.

I grew up reading H.P. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker, Stephen King and Clive Barker. Instead of watching Saturday morning cartoons, my cousins and I, used to go on horror movie marathons — anything from the Amityville Horror to the Nightmare on Elm Street movies. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre has a special place in our hearts (and liver and spleen and guts). And yes my TV diet used to consist of a daily dose of the six o’clock news.

Most people these days, are so desensitized to violence that it hardly evokes a reaction anymore. I thought nothing, much less a movie, can faze me anymore.

Which makes watching The Blair Witch Project more disturbing because it had some effect on me.

The movie reeks of a shoestring budget and much improvisation which makes it a fresh, entertaining experience. The novel presentation and the eerie situation in which the characters found themselves in were very enticing. The audience becomes a witness to something terrible. It’s like watching a TV cameraman get shot while covering a bank robbery.

The Blair Witch Project is about three young people who drive up to Burkittsville, Maryland the setting of the Blair Witch legend. The Witch, according to the legend, used to haunt the old Town of Blair, a few miles away from Burkittsville. She would abduct children and murder them in a ritualistic fashion. Heather, a young filmmaker, decides to make a documentary of the Blair Witch and enlisted Joshua and Mike, two able-bodied young men to help her in her project.

They started out interviewing the locals, who heard about the legend through stories passed down by their ancestors. As in all legends, the details are sketchy and at times contradictory. Everything was going well with the Project until the trio went into the woods in search of an old cemetery and was never heard from again.

The movie purports that we’re watching the ‘found’ film taken by the three missing hikers and thus it gives that raw, documentary feel to it. Some might find it too jarring (in the figurative and literal sense) because it’s definitely not how we’re used to seeing movies done these days.

But it’s precisely this fresh, amateurish feel which lends the movie impetus. You don’t have a lifeless, computer generated image or swelling orchestral music which blackmails you into getting scared. The movie uses none of these conventions which makes for a very unusual yet entertaining visual experience.

The movie makes the viewer work. You don’t just sit there and take everything in. It demands that you pay attention. Instead of showing everything on screen, as most movies tend to do these days, it suggests what you want to hear, see and feel. You’re in the womb of the theater and the filmmakers are pumping fear into it. How would you react to that sound in pitch black? What do you make of that fleeting shadow in front of you?

It doesn’t matter that you know what happens to the trio at the end. (They, of course, die.) That’s not a spoiler either. It’s established at the very beginning of the movie. It’s the how that’s of interest here. Watch how three talented individuals slowly breakdown in the face of fear.

It’s a very entertaining movie. It’s a passable horror flick if you’re a fan of the genre which has been drowned out by the glamour of the Jennifer Love Hewitts, Neve Campbells and Katie Holmes (although I don’t mind being menaced by any of the three) starlets of late. While it may not be ‘the scariest movie ever made’ as the hype surrounds it proclaims it to be, it’s certainly enough to give you a bad case of heebie-jeebies. Before watching the Blair Witch Project, I didn’t know that a bundle of sticks and a stack of rocks can weird me out.

I’ll definitely watch it again.
On tape.
At home.
With my cousins.

And with the lights on.

What’s your favorite scary movie?

Click here to read Part I.

One of these days, I would really like to drive a taxi. Maybe over a weekend or two around Metro Manila.

Before you say I should just a take a gun, point it at my head and pull the trigger, hear me out.

I would like to drive a cab because of all the stories you’d hear while you’re driving around the city. People tend to ignore that the person behind the wheel has ears and he can listen to what you’re discussing.

Cab drivers, for me, are witnesses to all the stories in the naked city. Lovers off to a romantic tryst or an illicit affair find comfort in the anonymity of hopping on a cab without the fear of having their car getting recognized while cruising in the Pasig or Sta. Mesa area.

Friends talk freely inside a cab knowing that the chances of the cab driver knowing the object of your gossip is quite slim.

Colleagues discuss in total abandon the office politics and their frustration with their bosses on their way to blow off their salaries on expensive lunches.

If I do manage to get a cab to drive, I would have to make provisions for the unusual conditions on the road. Maybe bring some Lipovitan for extended drives through lunch or dinner time. Some decent cassette tapes while waiting for fares. Learn to avoid drunks and potential hold-up men (and women). And yes, I should bring a lot of small bills and coins for change.

Maybe I’m romanticizing cab driving a bit. I know at times it’s hard and dangerous work. You have to contend with other cabs, mulcting cops, rampaging buses, hold-up gangs, the traffic and yes annoying passengers. But still Metro Manila has its own charm. What better way to know it more than by ferrying its local denizens through its innermost byways?

It’s all material really. I think of it as collecting stories. Truth is often stranger than fiction, yes? Maybe I’ll get to write some of it here. One of these days.

Given a chance, what would you rather be doing this weekend? Click here to send us your stories.