Singing of love and loss
If you like honest-to-goodness music, tune in to DWBR or 104.3 on the FM radio dial. They pack weekends with music that gently lulls the heart and the spirit to love. Included in this is the cool and groovy rhythm that was so inherent in the generation born after World War II or the Baby Boomers era. They keep an impressive lineup of seasoned broadcasters who are like the wise Oz in the old classic standards played by the big American bands, on Broadway, and those that were popular in the 1930s until the 1970s — songs with beautiful lyrics and melodies to match sung by saloon singers and crooners like Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Rosemary Clooney, Julius la Rosa, Carmen McRae, Perry Como and June Christy. Their collection of the rock-and-roll era is likewise eclectic, from Elvis Presley to The Beatles, Chad and Jeremy, The Associations, The Fleetwoods, etc.
Who are these melody spinners? Jo San Diego, Barr Samson, Lito Gorospe, Bong Lapira, Bon Vibar and Ernie Zarate, to name a few. Make a request and they have it. I think this station must have a wall-to-wall cache of music recordings, many of which I imagine are still on original long-playing vinyl records, if not re-masters of the original, now in CD format.
One time, I stayed up past midnight under the guise of cramming for not-worth-worrying-about exams. In reality, the music and the comments that punctuated them were filled with nuggets of wisdom infused with good humor that were worth the sacrifice of waking up with swollen, puffy eyes. I always got away with it by telling my mother that my raccoon eyes were the result of studying late. “It’s because your body reacts to emotions, Tita, that makes more blood flow through the eyes, which leads to swelling,” explained Dr. Ramar, my ophthalmologist nephew. You don’t say?
Well, now, I’ve forgotten those emotionally charged, sobbing-under-the-pillow days, but hearing songs about them triggered a comeback. How silly and naïve were we to think that the world had ended every time our hearts got broken?
What was love like in those days?
A friend went steady with a young man and wore his high school ring with pride. The ring was bigger than her ring, middle and index fingers combined, so she stuffed it with melted wax to keep it from slipping. Every time he’d pick her up on a date in his daddy’s chauffeur-driven car, she would sit in the back of the car and her boyfriend would sit in front with the driver. “Yikes,” I scoffed. “Where’s the romance in sitting apart?” Later on, news reached me that he was dating other girls behind my girlfriend’s back. I took a harsh tone to shake my friend out of her starry, love-struck state: “How can you take all this nonsense from him? He’s no good; dump him and get on with life.” She sat quietly and when she looked up, there were tears flowing down her face, “I love him,” she whispered. I fell silent. Now, how could I offer any argument against that? She could not deny what her heart was dictating to her. (A torch song played in my head: “At first my heart thought you could break this jinx for me, that love would turn the trick to end despair, but now I just can’t fool this head that thinks for me, so I’ve mortgaged all my castles in the air.”)
Phone calls were limited to weekends only, so you prayed and kept your fingers crossed that your “congenital” schmuck of a party line would keep his fingers away from tying up the lines at the same enchanting hour that you were holding your breath. You hovered near the phone and when it finally rang, you didn’t answer on the first ring, although your nose was already next to the apparatus. You counted one, two, three and lifted the receiver using a tone to feign, “I just happened to be passing by the phone when it suddenly rang. Hello?” You talked about trivial stuff: “How are you? What are you doing in the next couple of hours — or the rest of your life?” But your mother called from the kitchen so you had to end the conversation, “Oh, so sorry to end this call.” He reluctantly agreed but before you placed the phone down, you heard him say, “I love you.”
Now, was that you levitating or floating on air, a zeppelin or what? You were oblivious to the dust that shifted when you glided through the hallway. (And Julius la Rosa grabbed the microphone and sang to you, “This is heaven, never been here before, soft white clouds carry us through a sky of blue. Angels dropping by just to look at you. This is heaven, nothing else but heaven as long as you’re with me.”)
Young couples promised to be true to each other and when old enough, seal their vow in marriage. But attraction fades, interest wanes and relationships are tested. My friend wanted out. She asked him to return all the gifts, photos and souvenirs in an effort to erase yesterday memories. Heartbroken, he could not move her to reconsider. For the last time, he held her hand close to his heart and whispered, “No matter what happens, I will always love you in this lifetime and the next.” My friend turned to see him leave but he stopped her: “Please don’t turn around, I will melt and turn to salt.” (And the song played, “Pardon me but I got to run, the fact’s uncommonly clear, got to find who’s now number one and why my angel eyes ain’t here. Excuse me while I disappear.”)
Why did it seem more romantic to be losing out on love than keeping it? It didn’t help that my favorite comic book character was Charlie Brown, the lovable loser who always got the raw deal from characters like the bossy Lucy, but was given sympathy by his nonchalant dog, Snoopy, and his sidekick, blanket-sniffing Linus.
We had no responsibilities then and nothing was in our future but promises. Our kind of music still fills the air with songs of love — the lost, the last and those that steadfastly affirm, “Our love is here to stay.” Now, ain’t that nice?
