New Wave Naman...

we'll be as we are
when all the fools who doubt us
fade away
-- "Hollow Horse"
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(Updated) Call for Submission: Caracoa 2006

*mga prends, paki-link/update naman ito sa mga blog n'yo. thanks! :)


Caracoa, the official literary publication of the Philippine Literary Arts Council (PLAC) and the longest-running journal of poetry in English in Asia, is now accepting submissions for Caracoa 2006.

The return of Caracoa marks the 25th anniversary of the PLAC. It will be the first Caracoa anthology to come out in almost ten years.

There is no specific theme for this issue. Those interested should submit two unpublished poems in English via email (word attachment only) thru caracoa2006@yahoo.com. Deadline for submission is May 15, 2006. Those submitting should include their contact info and a brief bio-data.

Caracoa 2006 will showcase the works of 20 to 25 poets and will be guest edited by Lourd De Veyra and myself along with a group of other poets writing in English. Caracoa 2006 is targeted for publication this coming June (not September as originally posted), and will be the first in what is envisioned to be a semi-annual publication of the journal.

About the PLAC

PLAC or Philippine Literary Arts Council was founded in September 1981 by prominent English-language poets Gémino H. Abad, Cirilo F. Bautista, Alfrredo Navarro Salanga, Ricardo M. de Ungria and Alfred A. Yuson.

The group edited and published Caracoa: The Poetry Journal of the Philippine Literary Arts Council, until it became a regular quarterly by the mid-1980s, with funding and administrative support provided by British businessman and writer Michael Adams.

Intermittent funding led to sporadic release in the 1990s, until the heretofore last issue, Caracoa 96, theme-titled "Heroes & History," which came out in 1996 as part of the start of the Philippine Centennial celebration. It was actually the 27th issue of the poetry journal published within a span of 15 years.

By then PLAC had expanded its membership to include notable fictionists in English, so that its roster of membership read as follows.

Honorary Fellows: Carlos A. Angeles, Franz Arcellana, Tita Lacambra Ayala, Erwin E. Castillo, Ricaredo Demetillo, Ophelia A. Dimalanta, NVM Gonzalez, Edna Z. Manlapaz, Bienvenido N. Santos, Edith L. Tiempo and Emmanuel Torres.

Associate Fellows: Cesar Ruiz Aquino, Juaniyo Arcellana, Ma. Luisa Aguilar B. Cariño, Fidelito C. Cortes, Jose Y. Dalisay Jr., Simeon Dumdum Jr., Marjorie Evasco, Felix Fojas, Eric Gamalinda, Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo, Marne Kilates, Susan Lara, Clovis Nazareno, Charlson L. Ong, Danton Remoto, Ramon C. Sunico, Cesare A.X. Syjuco, Ma. Fatima V. Lim-Wilson and Ruel S. de Vera.

The Founding Fellows still comprise the Board of Trustees, with the exception of the late Freddie Salanga.

Outstanding thematic issues of Caracoa have included: Caracoa 1 featuring early works by PLAC's founders; Caracoa 3: Nine Women Poets (October 1983: Isabela Banzon, Bing Caballero, Ma. Fe Rhodora A. Espinosa, Ma. Linda Felipe, Fanny Haydee B. Llego, Priscilla C. Supnet Macansantos, Ma. Annella Manalo, Grace R. Monte de Ramos and Marjorie E. Pernia); Caracoa 4: New Voices (July 1984: Ramon Bautista, Fidelito Cortes, Francis C. Macansantos, Clovis Nazareno, R. Torres Pandan, Victor Jose Peñaranda and Ernesto Superal Yee); Caracoa 5: Sub Versu -- An Anthology of Poetry in Protest (November 1984); Caracoa 6: Eros -- Poems of Love and Desire (February 1985); Caracoa 7: Breaktext -- Poems Dancing on Their Heads (May 1985); Caracoa 8: Genius Loci: Poetry of Place (August 1985); Caracoa 9: Meta -- Of God, Death & Beyond (November 1985); Caracoa 10: R+A+D+I+O (February 1986, featuring the first poetry collection of Ricardo M. de Ungria); Caracoa 11: Coup d'EDSA -- Poems on Freedom (May 1986); Caracoa 15: Ex Patria; Caracoa 17: Women of Letters (January 1988); Caracoa 20: In Memoriam: Alfrredo Navarro Salanga (November 1988); Caracoa 22: GAIA: Versecology -- In Celebration of Earth Day 1990; Caracoa 24: Flipside -- Poems on America (January 1991); and Caracoa 26/95: Gaudeamus (1995: A Collection for the 1990s of New Voices, Award-Winning Poems & Recent Works by Established poets).

The caracoa was a war vessel plying the waters off Mindanao and the Moluccas in the 16th century. The rowers stayed close to the hull, while the warriors stood with their spears on a platform. The poet sat alone at the far end of the boat, manning the rudder. He was neither rower nor warrior, yet he decided where the prow should point. His own thoughts knifed through the immense sea of his solitude, though the waters kept him company.

In him was rower and warrior; he himself was a double-decked vessel of grace
and irony. He was far back, yet he provided direction. At times the caracoa lost its way. No matter. The sea would still be there, and the shoals would still be duly recorded.

Fairly Legal

just got these photos c/o white rabbit Iwa Wilwayco. Los Chupacabras in the recent U.P. Fair! Rakenrol, mga bayaw!!!

*Note: If you look really close, you can spot the well-hidden attorney and an interesting display of band "synergy". Nyehehehe.

Extra! Extra!

Got a text from Augie Rivera about this. It's so friggin' funny, I just had to put it up. Get your copies now, people. And long live press freedom! Ahehe.

Manila Times headline today (March 14 2006):

Hooded ex-NPA fingers Dinky

Mobo Modding

Itching to get myself at least a 6800GT video card to do this...

Ignorance of the Law is No Excuse

We were warned about spiders, and the occasional famine.
We drove downtown to see our neighbors. None of them were home.
We nestled in yards the municipality had created,
reminisced about other, different places --
but were they? Hadn't we known it all before?

In vineyards where the bee's hymn drowns the monotony,
we slept for peace, joining in the great run.
He came up to me.
It was all as it had been,
except for the weight of the present,
that scuttled the pact we made with heaven.
In truth there was no cause for rejoicing,
nor need to turn around, either.
We were lost just by standing,
listening to the hum of wires overhead.

We mourned that meritocracy which, wildly vibrant,
had kept food on the table and milk in the glass.
In skid-row, slapdash style
we walked back to the original rock crystal he had become,
all concern, all fears for us.
We went down gently
to the bottom-most step. There you can grieve and breathe,
rinse your possessions in the chilly spring.
Only beware the bears and wolves that frequent it
and the shadow that comes when you expect dawn.


John Ashbery
Where Shall I Wander: New Poems

Dumas Goethe Powems 4rom Weeei Bach

Two poems about dumaguete from co-fellows below. One's a lawyer now and the other's a magazine editor. Then they were just drunken buffoons.

These just bring back memories of sea and bacchanalia and hedonism. Mostly sea.

Nightlight on Breakwater

Negotiating the last port of call past midnight,
Post-conversation in a coffee shop in Pasay,
I take your white hand through an aisle
Of gaslamps bathing the vendors in orange light

Until we face an opening to the open sea,
Tossing in the world's shadow, keeping
Whole islands of countries together or tearing
Away at their edges, breaking off engagements.

Late into dark, the docks retire the whores,
Transvestites watch each other with suspicion.
Drunks huddle in a conspiracy to murder the full moon.
The policeman points his flashlight at parked lovers.

If we could ride a rented bicycle across the ocean
Morning would find us bright with sand in the Visayas
Reservations called through a seashell payphone
To a hotel whose beds we'd turn on one by one.

Maybe if I tell you all this you'd come with me.
An oil tanker slides out the harbor of heavy chains.
The captain paints small rainbows on the trail
One might follow another to Dumaguete.

-- Easy Fagela

Surfing in these Islands

The Sony of this island
is causing us some minor dilemma.

Waiting offshore are Dumaguete dolphins
and their happy sonic squeals
for the first time Costeaus:
couch potato mariners
of Discovery channel whale
and Trinitron shark fame.

But on simulcast are Misses Cuba
with her luscious Havana- pout boca,
China (Taiwan) and her mixed English maxims
of a 21st century Confucius confused,
the girl with enormous chakra
coal-dancing nails-for-a-bed India,
and Italy sleek as a Ferrari
all set to win her race the Universe.

Since Electricity it has been like this:
our eyes splashed with occasional static,
our bodies suddenly jerking to a halt.
A hot finger on the pause button of our lives.

-- Ed Geronia, Jr.

Eh Los Lobos Kaya, May Nakaisip Na?

Dang. Was looking for a good picture of chupacabras online and found out that our band's name, Los Chupacabras, is already being used by a band in the U.S.
(O nga naman, malamang nga may mas naunang nakaisip 'nun.)

Double dang because it's also the name of a friggin' frisbee team. Palit na ulet ng malupet na pangalan, mga bayaw!

By the way, ang sarap tumugtog sa U.P. Fair! Sana napanood n'yo kami.

New Century, with Dragon

Since there is little else to convince me that time moves forward
but the usual bright arcs and descents of sunlight, I am going back
to the age of dragons, the great age of stumbling into strange forests
where there are reports of knights who wield enchanted swords
that sing into the fire-bellies of fierce, gigantic beasts
and sightings of sorcerers in sudden castles looking out from towers,
scooping magic dusts from passing clouds. I wonder now,

turning the lights off and yielding to the older code of sleep,
how the years have managed to keep such fictions. I'm thinking
of uprooted trees and the elaborate paperwork. Or earlier deeds:
a young, dreamy-eyed scribe moving away from the din of medieval ballads
by the campfire into the woods, knocking quietly on the branches
and leaves. The next day, they will say he simply and understandably
lost his way. For that was also a time of faith; his companions believed

in disappearances. Tomorrow, in honor of these ancient convictions,
I will leave for some other place, somewhere with canopy and undergrowth
and many dark holes to sleep in. And I will find that man: stirring
and yawning and generally just scribbling about in that old morning
like nothing in the world could ever possibly change.

Warning: Poetry is Good for Your Health

Is Poetry the New Prozac?
by Christina Patterson
27 January 2006

Poetry is good for your health. That, at least, is the premise of studies currently under way for the Arts Council and the Department of Health. One study, published a couple of years ago in the journal Psychological Reports, suggested that writing poetry boosted levels of secretory immunoglobin A. Another, undertaken by a consultant at Bristol Royal Infirmary, concluded that poetry enabled seven per cent of mental health patients to be weaned off their anti-depressants. Poetry, it seems, is not the new rock'n'roll, but the new Prozac.

This was not instantly evident at the ceremony for the TS Eliot poetry prize last week. Perhaps it was the strip-lighting, but the assembled throng of pasty faces and panda-shadowed eyes did little to foster a sense of radiant health. As feel-good events go, it ranked just above a tussle with your online tax return, but probably below a Thai takeaway in front of Celebrity Big Brother. It was, of course, not fair of Cyril Connolly to describe poets as "jackals fighting over an empty well", but it is true that £10,000 prizes do not, on the whole, boost the health and happiness of those who don't win.

The prize, in any case, went to a paean to psychosis. Carol Ann Duffy's collection of love poems, Rapture, is a moving and, at times, skin-crawlingly accurate portrayal of a process that psychologists have recently identified as a form of madness. We have all been there: tending the mobile "like an injured bird", repeating the name "like a charm, like a spell". For most of us, falling in love is a season in what Duffy calls "glamorous hell", and not a sojourn. We might suffer a few sleepless nights, or even eat a bit less than usual, but we can't sustain life at this pitch. And, luckily for us, our minds comply.

Many poets - a higher proportion, apparently, than of the average population - are not so lucky. John Clare, Anne Sexton, Robert Lowell and, most famously, Sylvia Plath, all knew the torments of a mind that would, on occasion, burst out of the crucible of what Freud called "normal human misery" into the nameless horrors of mania. The mad poet may be a cliché, but it is not a myth. Poets continue to write of their experiences of mental illness. If poetry is some kind of wonder-drug, it sure ain't working for them.

So who is making these headline-hitting assertions, and why? The answer, of course, is arts administrators, and they're doing it for money. And kindness, and the philanthropic impulse, and passion and a desire to help the lost and the lonely and the miserable and the mad. But, to do all this, you need money, and to get money you need to go to funders, and to go to funders you need studies, evidence, and results.

A current project is a good example. Poems in the Waiting Room was set up by an enthusiastic social worker eight years ago. Run, like most of these things, on a shoestring, it has had little pots of funds from trusts and foundations as well as the Arts Council, the Poetry Society and the Foreign Office. It aims are, you'd have thought, worthy and modest: to cheer up miserable places (hospital waiting rooms) at an anxious time with a little injection of art.

Their online "evaluation", however, tells a different story. Amongst a dizzying range of aims and objectives listed in its executive summary are "to gauge the external consequences of displaying poems in waiting rooms", to see "what new behaviour follows" and "what new activities". An extensive discussion of the "methodology" follows, with tables of facts and figures. The one thing, in fact, that the project doesn't allow for is for someone to read a poem and keep quiet about it. This is poetry as life-coaching. You must read and act and reach your goal. And you must do this in an act of self-improvement in which most poets, critics and readers have failed.

In a brave moment of honesty and bathos, the project's organisers assert that "the precise impact of the poems displayed... was always going to be hard to measure". The final report consists, as these things always do, of pages of anecdote masquerading as science, and ends with the hope that further funding be found. My heart went out to the organisers. Like most of us, they're simply doing their best in a league-table culture where everything is judged by results.

There is, in the right hands, a fine role for poetry as social work, but let's not pretend that it's the same as poetry as art. Poetry, like all art, is not a panacea. Perhaps it's more like homeopathy. A great placebo - some people swear by it - but the studies are inconclusive.

Boomtown Rat

A Walk Across the Rooftops
The Blue Nile
1984

This debut album by Paul Buchanan and the rest of The Blue Nile was easily one of the more important releases to emerge from the so-called '80s new romantic scene. Most of the tracks in the album offered a novel mixture of stripped-down electronic backbeats with haunting, almost eerie melodies that complemented Buchanan's sad and heartfelt words. It has been claimed by many critics as an album way ahead of its time, primarily because the band chose to relegate to the background the screaming synths and danceable rhythms that were all the rage in that era.

While A Walk Across the Rooftops did house the popular (and danceable) new wave anthem, "Stay," most of the other songs are slow and folksy, progressing along a more soulful and introspective line. When Buchanan wails "The lights are always changing/The black and white horizon/I leave the redstone building/And walk across the rooftops..."(A Walk Across the Rooftops) or the more direct, "Do I love you? Yes, I love you. Will we always be happy-go-lucky?"(Tinseltown in the Rain), his scarred voice seems for a moment to make up all the melancholy in the world. He was no Jeff Buckley or Mark Kozelek (Red House Painters), but it probably was better that way. And this will become clear in the bands' succeeding albums, which has been hailed as two of the most important albums of the past two decades (Hats and Peace at Last, respectively).

Now with four albums under their name (the latest to be released was the again acclaimed High, in 2004), The Blue Nile have cemented their status as an important and (still) influential force in the modern rock scene.

Easter Parade

The line of traffic comes to a stand still
For the love King, out in the morning air
I find a place I started from
The wild is calling, this time I follow
Easter parade

In the bureau typewriter's quiet
Confetti falls from every window
Throwing hats up in the air
A city perfect in every detail

Easter parade

I know you, birthday cards and silent music
Paperbacks and Sunday clothes

In hallways and railway stations
Radio across the morning air
A crowd of people everywhere
And then the people, all running forward

Easter parade

Attachments

I love how things attach themselves
to other things. The rocks sitting stubbornly
beneath a river, beards of moss.

I choose a color and it connotes sadness.
How long must the symbols remain true? Blue
is blue, not lonely. After a time, one gives up

reading the sky for shadows, even rain.
There is no promise, only a possibility.
A moment moves to another, and still it feels

the same. Like old letters in boxes,
or how the rain, at times, falls invisibly.
Finally, the things we love demand more love,

as if we have always been capable of it. Yet
I can only offer belief, mirages that mean water,
long travels that lead somewhere. I am reading

old letters, trying to make something
of what's been said. It might be raining;
some pages are unreadable.

Meritage Press Holiday Poetry Contest

Arkaye's award-winning pose (hehehe)

Thanks so much to Ms. Eileen Tabios, Ms. Jean Vengua, and the people from Meritage Press. Congrats to all the winners, especially bayaw Arkaye and Kael.

From the email:

Meritage Press is delighted to congratulate the following winners for the 2005 "Babaylan Speaks" Poetry Contest, judged by Jean Vengua:

FIRST PLACE:
"Spaces" by Arkaye Velasquez Kierulf

HONORABLE MENTIONS:
"A House" by Mikael de Lara Co
"Save as Draft" by Joel M. Toledo
"APO BAKIT" by Amalia B. Bueno

SPECIAL MENTIONS:
"way /way/" by Marlon Unas Esguerra
"charmed" by Yvonne Hortillo

To see the winning poems and the Judge's Commentary, please go to the Meritage Press website.

Sobrang salamat po! :)

The Ascension

In which the holy man carries the child
up the mountain, and the world is changed

Because in every collapse
the body is drawn into itself.
And, because the sacrifice
will lead to an understanding
of the fallen child, the prophet
climbs upward and endures the voices.

He closes his eyes,
wondering how he can just leave
everything behind: the faces of children
with their round, doomed eyes,
their hands crushing flowers, and how
the wind kept resurrecting the fallen leaves.

He trembles slightly, almost losing
his footing. There must be a lesson
to be learned here, he says to himself, even
in the resisting. Meanwhile, the path ahead
climbs upward, gives way to a certain
solitude. For this, he wept.

There are too many questions. But
this one is moving quickly toward a resolution. Surely
the weight of the world can be so natural.
But the child, the gradual loss—
He is too young, he murmurs. He is unready
for such faith, such curious display of love.

The years have softened the man,
his face marred by wisdom and diminished
strength. He ambles onward, his hands
slow and yet with each painful step,
the sky is opening for him. He thinks himself
unfairly dressed for departure, but

his people won’t have it otherwise.
The ceremony must be followed. And as his back
fades into the glare, the old man accepts his role.
He is the symbol of His age, the bearer of meaning,
the body He carries more feeble than His own:
the impossible burden of His child, a young

forgivable world.

Cafe Ysabela Gig

Some photos from the Los Chupacabras gig last monday in Cafe Ysabela, courtesy of sir Krip. Also, check out Paolo Manalo's tigidigging of our song, "Santa Rules" (hehe).

Balot, Pinoy

Saan ba talaga sa tatlong kanta na ito
lumalabas ang ating dugong maharlika?

Noypi
Bamboo

Tignan mo ang iyong palad,
kalyado mong kamay sa hirap ng buhay.
Andami mong problema nakuha mo pang ngumiti
Noypi ka nga ASTIG!
Saan ka man ka man naroroon,
huwag kang matatakot sa baril
o patalim sa bakas ng madilim

HOY! Pinoy ako! Buo aking loob, may agimat ang dugo ko
HOY! Oh Pinoy ako. May agmay ang dugo ko

Sinisid ko ang dagat, nilibot ko ang mundo.
Nasa puso ko lang pala ang hinahanap kong kulo.
Ilang beses na akong muntikang mamatay
Oh alam ko ang sikreto kaya't nandito pa't buhay.
Oh sabi nila may anting anting ako,
pero di nila alam na diyos ang dahilan ko

Dinig mo ba ang bulong ng lahi mo?
Isigaw mo kapatid ang himig natin

-----------

Pinoy Ako
Orange and Lemons

Makikita na
Ibat ibang kagustuhan ngunit iisang patutunguhan
Gabay at pagmamahal ang hanap ko
Pagbibigay ng halaga sa iyo
Nais mong ipakilala kung sino ka man talaga?

Pinoy ikaw'y pinoy
Ipakita sa mundo
Kung ano ang kaya mo
Ibang-iba ang pinoy
Wag kang matatakot
Ipagmalaki mo pinoy ako
Pinoy tayo

Ipakita mo ang tunay at kung sino ka
Mayroon masama at maganda
Wala naman perpekto
Basta magpakatotoo oohh...oohh..
Gabay at pagmamahal ang hanap mo
Pagbibigay ng halaga sa iyo
Nais mong ipakilala kung sino ka man talaga

Talagang ganyan ang buhay
Dapat ka nang masanay
Wala rin mangyayari
Kung laging nakikibagay
Ipakilala ang iyong sarili
Ano man sa iyo mangyayari
Ang lagi mong iisipin
Kayang kayang gawin

--------------

Ako'y Pinoy
Florante

Ako’y isang pinoy sa puso’t diwa
Pinoy na isinilang sa ating bansa
Ako’y hindi sanay sa wikang mga banyaga
Ako’y pinoy na mayroong sariling wika

Wikang pambansa ang gamit kong salita
Bayan kong sinilangan, hangad kong lagi ang kalayaan

Si Gat. Jose Rizal noo’y nagwika
Siya ay nagpangaral sa ating bansa
Ang hindi raw magmahal sa sariling wika
ay higit pa ang amoy sa mabahong isda

Wikang pambansa ang gamit kong salita
Bayan kong sinilangan, hangad kong lagi ang kalayaan

Ako’y isang pinoy sa puso’t diwa
Pinoy na isinilang sa ating bansa
Ako’y hindi sanay sa wikang mga banyaga
Ako’y pinoy na mayroong sariling wika

Back

The god of the back
must be a lonely god,
god in the shape of man-headed hawk.

Long ago
a man had been sailing the river
and the hawk had been flying beside him
for days. Mornings,

the man would wake and look,
yes, there it was, dark tip-to-tip, the hawk.
His hawk, he began to think of it.
And after a time

he forgot the point of the journey,
he only woke each morning to see
if the hawk was there, to move if the hawk
moved with him, to not rest

if the hawk did not rest. And all of this love
was done in silence, between animal
and animal. There

beside him in the air and there
beside him in the water, the yoke
of the hawk. Once he had a family. Once
he had a city to go to and something

to bring back. More and more
he began to see his life
as a story the hawk was telling

holding the rat of the field in its claw, meaning
There is another world
and I will take you in it.
This

is when he became the god,
god of the back, the beautiful
brow of leaving.

-- Beckian Fritz Goldberg
Lie Wide Awake, 2005

Mugshots!

Hehe. I was googling photos of Ray Bradbury for the previous entry when I stumbled upon this site: writersmugs.com .

Game!

Kaya n'yo bang hulaan king sinu-sino ang mga manunulat sa baba nang 'di tumitingin sa website? May libreng QUESO DE BOLA sa susunod na pasko 'yung makakakuha ng lahat. AT may libreng isa pang pagkasarap-sarap na QUESO DE BOLA 'yung makakita ng one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-others bonus question!!!! Sino 'yung naiiba?
Sige nga, sige nga!

Harpy New Year

"The newspapers says, says
Says it's true, it's true
And we can break through
Though torn in two
We can be one

I, I will begin again..."
--- U2, New Year's Day

Prends, plugging lang. Firstly, bili naman kayo ng Philippine Star this Sunday, New Year's Day. I've been told an essay I wrote on Ray Bradbury will come out in the lifestyle section.

Ikalawa, bili na rin kayo ng Men's Health Magazine, January issue. I've an essay on poetry plus a few nagpapaka writer, ultra poser-looking photos in borrowed Armani polo. Ahehe.

Tre, baka naman meron kayong kilala na nagtuturo o kaya'y may aklat tungkol sa pag-aaral ng salitang Italian. I really need to study it so I can defend my thesis this semester. Ilang buwan na lang ang nalalabi sa semestre eh.

Ciao! Kitakitchie!

Father's Lullabye

In the true idea
There is no dying
Because the world is imaginary.

If a flash of green
Foresees our sun as a splash
At least you lived among colors.

Adapt to the night
And since the world has already ended,
No need to fear each night’s sleep.


Fanny Howe
American Letters & Commentary
Issue 16

Boomtown Rat Redux

This week, I'm starting a retro tribute of sorts on seminal bands/artists of the past two or three decades. Mostly because I find many existing music columns incredibly self-indulgent. I think we need less of these collaged, cut-and-paste, namedrop-this-and-that band sort of thing. Let's go back to the music.

Secondly, and honestly, because I simply miss doing music reviews. Back in the mid '90s, I maintained a column called "Boomtown Rat" in the pages of the then Gokongwei-backed Manila Times. It was good while it lasted. Hay...(the faraway look, the audible sigh).

Ehem...Anyway, I'm not saying that the write-ups here will be critical reviews, really. More of "tribute" reviews just to share the poetry and music of certain bands.

So there.

Boomtown Rat

"Philosophy is a walk on slippery rocks,
Religion is a lie in the fog..."
What I Am


Artist: Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians
Album: Ghost of a Dog

Ghost of a Dog is Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians' follow-up to the critically-acclaimed (and much loved) first album, Shooting Rubber Bands at the Stars.

While most second albums have a high suck ratio and often plays up on the pop allures and ditties of the first, this one is immediately redeemed by the intelligent lyrics and stripped-down melody. Ghost of a Dog is easily more melancholic, subdued, and poetic.

Brickell's future hubby Paul Simon and Johhny Lydon (Sex Pistols, P.I.L.) make vocal contributions to certain songs in this album. I'll leave it to you guys to find out which ones.

Choice cuts from the album are the short, folksy ones "Oak Cliff Bra" and the title track "Ghost of a Dog" and the angry "Stwisted".

My fave track is the ballad:

Me by the Sea

I'm glad no one's here just me by the sea
I'm glad no one's here to mess it up for me
I'm glad no one's here just me by the sea
But man, I wish I had a hand to hold

I saw an orange starfish on the side of a rock
I poked on his back & tried to pull him off
A crab scared me away he ran close to my toes
And man, I wish I had a hand to hold

The moon is nowhere almost time for the sun
The voice of the waves sound anciently young
I'm a prisoner of freedom ten toes in the sand
And man, I wish I had a hand to hold

I'm in the habit of being alone
I try hard to break it I can't on my own

I'm glad no one's here just me by the sea
I'm glad no one's here to mess it up for me
I'm glad no one's here just me by the sea

NCCA Writers Prize

Mga friends, bayaw, at hipag, ang saya. I read in the Philippine Star issue today (Monday) that I got the NCCA Writers Prize For Poetry! It's a grant of P250,000 (taxable pa) to write my first poetry book, "What Little I Know of Luminosity". This is slated for publication by the end of next year (hopefully).

Other awardees are Egay Samar for Fiction, Vim Yapan for Short Story, Danton Remoto for Translation, and Rebekah Marahombsar Alawi for Essay.

The money will be given in tranches (i.e., installments) quarterly within 2006. Formal awarding is on Feb. 24, 2006 at the NCCA's Bulwagang Leandro Locsin, in conjunction with the National Arts Month Celebration.

Congrats to the other awardees. I know you all are as excited about this as I am. :)

More Bayaw Pics

These ones from Kit's buzznet account.

Precaucion! Precaucion!

Some shots of the band from the recent Writers' Night in UP Dil.
Guess who's the most wasak Chupacabra of the night.

via Eating the Sun

Rest Of U2 Perfectly Fine With Africans Starving

December 7, 2005 | Issue 41•49 / TheOnion.com

SAN FRANCISCO—Rock band U2, currently on tour in North America, is well-known for its human-rights advocacy, particularly its ongoing campaign to eradicate poverty in Africa. Less known to fans of the Irish supergroup, however, is that the lion's share of these efforts are made by lead singer Bono. The three other U2 members are perfectly okay with the dismal plight of Africa's poor.


The Edge, Larry Mullen Jr., and Adam Clayton.

"Yeah, that Africa stuff is Bono's thing," The Edge said. "I don't mind if he pursues other interests, but I really try to focus on the guitar riffs that give U2 its characteristic sound."

Bassist Adam Clayton, while "not opposed" to Bono's tireless efforts to improve the quality of life for impoverished Third World citizens, is apparently too busy to spearhead an anti-poverty initiative of his own.

"I was happy to help out with the Live 8 thing," said Clayton, referring to the July mega-concert benefit. "But ever since I discovered rock 'n' roll in the mid-'70s, music has been my passion, and I'd be lying if I said it was something different, like helping people."

Clayton added: "I don't have a problem with [Bono] trying to save Africa. Who knows, it might inspire some decent songs. But just as long as it doesn't interfere with the band."

In 2002, Bono started an organization called Debt, AIDS, Trade, Africa to raise awareness of the deep health and economic crises that cripple much of the continent. His fellow bandmates, however, do not lose any sleep over the debt crisis facing many African nations.

"If I could wave a magic wand and cure Africa's problems, I would do that," drummer Larry Mullen Jr. said. "But someone has to take care of the more practical, day-to-day stuff that Bono doesn't really bother with. Like, for example, how's the next album going to sound? How're we going to keep our live act fresh? I can't tell you how many millions of decisions go into making one Elevation tour."

Mullen added: "You don't win 14 Grammys feeding Africans."

In the rare moment they have free, Clayton, Mullen, and The Edge said they choose to relax and rejuvenate, without letting the plight of Africa's starving and disease-afflicted millions weigh too heavily on their minds.

"I have a garden to tend to when we're not on the road," The Edge said. "There's nothing wrong with taking care of your own little corner of the world. I work very hard in my garden."

When asked their opinion about Bono's prospects of being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize within the next year, the music-playing part of U2 could not stifle their groans.

"We had a big scare last year when [Bono's] name was put forward as the new president of the World Bank," Clayton said. "I mean, I have nothing against it, but it would just be more work for us, because we'd be left with the very challenging task of finding a new lead singer."

During live concerts, U2 audiences are treated to a stunning audiovisual experience, with Bono periodically giving his opinion on social and world events between songs. During these interludes, the rest of U2 is often conspicuously silent.

"When Bono starts telling the audience how messed up the world can be and how we should work together to make things better, I usually just zone out," Mullen said.

Bayaw Renga II

Sorry, mga bayaw, ngayon ko lang na-post. Isa-isa muna. :)

Horses nod when they neigh.
I witness this countlessly in the night.
They prance around in the darkness,
restless and affirmative, though
the lights are dimmed and my questions
are far-flung.

A yes returns at these odd times, silent
complicity and radiant noise. I cast
away my shadow: it's agreement
is too imperceptible.

The horse looks at me
and I agree.

For Billy Collins

Javie, Joel, Waps

New Wave Revisited

Wala lang, pero nakakabwiset na. I just have to write this down as reaction of sorts to what I think is a crazy trend in the local music scene. I'm talking about the rise of the OPB (Original Pilipino Brit) sound.

There is a growing and obvious discredit to the '80s new wave scene here. And obviously, it's primarily due to the annoyingly fake Brit accent. Baket pa? Kung cover, baka maintindihan ko pa na tribute kung baga. But if the songs are claimed to be original--and especially if the song is in Filipino--it's outright hilarious to hear the bloody English accents and twangs.

Riff Off

Of course, that's just one aspect of my thirty-something gripe. In the last few months alone, I've seen and heard quite a number of up and coming bands stealing riffs from new wave songs. Again, these are not self-confessed tribute bands like Dead Pop Stars (and believe me, they're ranked among the world's top ten Smiths cover band, according to Spin Magazine) and The Late Isabel (whose repertoire is unabashedly Siouxsie-inspired). Most of these bands won't even claim that their influences are from the New Wave era, hiding instead under the cloak of the "underground" or "indie" scene.

Meron dyang nagnanakaw sa Joy Division, Depeche Mode, Railway Children, The Fall.

Of course this is not at all helped by the whole shebang surrounding Orange and Lemons' (this year's NU Rock Awards Artists of the Year) alleged stealing of the melody and arrangement of the song, "Chandeliers" by The Care. Kuhang-kuha talaga. Yet I hear the band vehemently denies this, which makes it doubly sad.

If you want to have '80s influences, fine. Be proud of it. It's not like people will fault you for that. Oks pa nga 'yun. But plagiarizing riffs is another thing.

In fairness, even the Eraserheads once copied the riffs of another New Wave song called "Reach" by the Pale Fountains for their hit, "Alapaap". But I think they openly admitted it afterwards.

Pero 'yun na nga. The Eheads had already proven themselves by that time. Unlike these other bands whose main claim-to-fame are stolen shit.

Once a certain band in Mayric's (before they became the juiciest band in the country), did a cover of Morrissey's "Suedehead". When they got to the best part, the singers gibberishly chanted, "It was a dubi-ley, dubi-ley, It was dubi-le-hehey..." Ano raw? (Read: It was a good lay).

Heh.

II
And It's Not the Synths

Secondly, what defines the New Wave genre is even not the overindulgence in synths and other electronic devices, but a back-to-basic musicality and lyrical sensibility. Coined by The Cars frontman Rik Ocasek, the term "New Wave" specifically referred to the "second wave" of the Britsound invasion that saw its rise in the early '80s. Ironically, though, it reached its peak at the advent of MTV, tainting the rise of the so-called "new romantics" with the pop calling of music videos and the much-maligned (ugh) fashion sense of the era. It was a new thing to be pop. And, indeed, video killed the radio stars.

The main effect? Simple: Most new wave songs are danceable, or at least had groovy remix versions. Some examples of dance tracks with poetic and philosophical lyrics are Bronski Beat's "Small town Boy," Seona Dancing's "More to Lose," or The Petshop Boys' "West End Girls".

Consider these other "common" new wave anthems:

"I made a pilgrimage to save this human race/
Never comprehending the race has long gone by..."
-- "I Melt With You", Modern English

"Angels fall like rain/
And love, is only heaven away..."
-- "Ghost in You", Psychedelic Furs

"Welcome to your life/
There's no turning back/
Even while we sleep/
We will find you/
Acting on your best behavior/
Turn your back on mother nature/
Everybody wants to rule the world..."
-- "Everybody Wants to Rule the World", Tears for Fears

The term became an umbrella word for all music coming out of the punk era or to bands reinventing themselves for the '80s. (Even the Clash and The Police were considered New Wave in the local scene). New Wave became a generic term for everything from Tears for Fears and Duran Duran to Talking Heads and Wang Chung-- which is almost everything outside Lionel Ritchie and Billy Ocean and Menudo. Heck, even Toad The Wet Sprocket's first single "All I Want" can be found in New Wave compilations.

It was a great era under the dimming Martial Law beacons, with the faint signal of XB 102 coloring our vocabularies of music and alternatives.

Lastly, a song from the American new wave band, Translator (which Los Chupacabras is planning to cover). And, obviously, we don't need OPB accents for this. Ayuz!

Gravity
Translator

In your life there’s someone waiting,
lost on streets that no one travels
In my dream I see this meeting,
we’re a knot that fate unravels

But beyond our shameless sorrow,
catch me if I’m with the wind
We may be the sky tomorrow,
we’re a branch that will not bend

The world is spinning through my head
Your gravity won’t let me go,
You’re holding me together,
No one ever has to know

I’m a dream and you’re fading away,
I’m a dream and you’re fading away

In your face there’s someone sleeping,
lost in years that no one’s counting
The only way to hear the weeping,
suffering is like a fountain

Everything is far away now,
held beyond our nameless sorrow
Shifting streets that no one wanders,
lose the days, we only borrow

A Long December

and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin’
Now the days go by so fast
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in hollywood
If you think that I could be forgiven...i wish you would
The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in hollywood
If you think you might come to california...i think you should
Drove up to hillside manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
And it’s been a long december and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it’s one more day up in the canyon
And it’s one more night in hollywood
It’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean...i guess I should

moira

i can't believe my little girl's almost two years old
now. ayaw na ngang magpakarga sa kin. naku.
ilang taon na lang, mag memeyk-up na to.
nyay!!