Gary & Martin: Modern-day 'para-awit'

Awit was the general term for singing and “para-awit” was an expert considered a professional singer, according to Mateo Sanchez, a Franciscan friar who wrote Bocabolario de la lengua Bisaya in Dagami, Leyte in 1617. That para-awit or parahele had a wide repertoire of tunes with different tempos. A soloist was called biyaw while mamarabat was the presenter who set the tune and beat by singing a couplet, to which the group called the mamarabat responded in chorus.

Who do you think are the biyaws of the modern times? There are two most appreciated: Gary Valenciano and Martin Nievera. I saw Martin and Gary last night on TV. They were hilarious and witty and I loved them. So I went off and bought the Martin and Gary CD. Once rivals, they began working together as artists with humility.

Gary said, “Just as I thought I had ‘got it’ to please everyone, suddenly I was faced with another that was better than me. It was Martin.” 

Martin responded, “He’s a perfectionist to a fault. What is good enough for most is a work in progress for Mr. Pure Energy. His work ethic is like no other. If he doesn’t have a full grasp of every detail, of every song, he studies, sings, writes and dances or he thinks he’s a failure. I only know one other person who had this same quality and that was Michael Jackson.” 

Both Gary and Martin are the para-awit and parahele of the ancient times reborn.

How did songs and singers come to be? In the beginning, a race expressed themselves through drawings and artifacts that became a component of their culture. Then language evolved and literature was expressed in the form of oral tales and written legends, proverbs, riddles and songs.

It is unfortunate that many of these were not preserved in durable materials, say, carved in clay or stones or walls in spite of the development of writing and the rate of literacy. Fortunately, some of the literary pieces were saved by the early Spanish chroniclers who included them in their accounts, and noted the exotic beliefs of the people they encountered. For example, that of the Visayan men who wore penis pins, which the Spanish missionaries called the device of the devil.

Literature became a medium to pass on heritage. It preserved our way of coping, ideals and aspirations in truth and imagination. In the Maranao epic, Darangen, the belief of turning to the left before speaking rendered respect more when speaking to royalty or noble datus…climbing to heaven on a ladder.

In the Manobo epic Ulahingan, teeth were colored by chewing quid because white teeth belonged only to animals. There was nothing you could see except the flashing of crimson behind a backdrop of brown and green leaves. Tales and fables were called harandurum if it was of epic length and loftiness of Darangen and Ulahingan.

We inherited from our ancient forefathers a fondness for singing. They possessed a litany of songs ranging from courtship to marriage, ritual, funerals, even the desire to have children. Women who wanted to get pregnant went to Obando, Bulacan. Now it’s during the town fiesta on May 17, 18 and 19 when they sing and dance in front of the Obando Church. The song was “Santa Clara pinung-pino, ang pangako ko sa Obando…” dedicated to St. Pascual Baylon who answered the prayers of women wanting to get pregnant.

Filipinos love to sing. Practically all banquets are still characterized with singing and daily activities like weaving cloth, weeding the garden, gathering fruits, planting and harvesting rice have a song. “Magtanim ay di biro, maghapon nakayuko di naman makatayo…(Planting rice is never fun, bend from morning till the set of sun).” Was it in Grade 1 or kindergarten that we were taught this sympathy song for our farmers whose farms are now subdivisions?

There was a song called Hiya or Hele. It was the shout of men while putting their bodies to a common task of dragging a log or rowing a boat to strengthen each other’s resolve. The Cantor pushed an oar or paddle and headed off with an unrhymed verse and the whole crew would respond in a heavy beat to a refrain, “Hodlo, he-he, hiya, he-he.” There is also a seafaring song of the Philippines called Talindaw in Tagalog. It is Awit ng Pamamangka. It goes like this: “Sagwan, tayo’y sumagwan ang buong kaya’y ibigay malakas ang hangin baka tayo’y tangayin pagsagwa’y pagbutihin…” (“Row, let’s row. Give all you can the wind is strong we might be blown away do the rowing well…”)

There were special songs for special occasions. Why not for a serenade? Dungawin Mo Hirang, “My love, please listen to my sad song from a heart that is full of sorrow. Please share your mercy with my poor heart tormented by love. Look outside, my love, even a small glance you send my way is enough for you are the only prayer of a heart that lives solely for you.” 

Lovely words, aren’t they?

The Bisayans have a courtship song handed down to descendants when marriage has been agreed upon by both parties. The parents of the groom prepare a large basket of buyo, suman, cooked rice, and coconut wine. At 11 p.m. of the new moon they would go to the bride’s house, with the ladder purposely removed by the girl’s parents. Then in a solemn, melodious tone, a singer representing the father of the groom would sing. One of the verses of the Buki in their dialect Sulod — of the ethnic group in Topas, Capiz — is sung. 

You think Mar Roxas sang this song from his constituents to Korina in Bisaya? “O sovereign parents, here we come to implore. With the holy purpose of courting whether perchance, you will harken to us your beloved daughter for our son.”

After the song, the girl’s parents would respond from above. “If your purpose is acceptable to us, show us your desire…”

Those below would answer, “We are called your servants and as dowry we give (such-and-such things) so that they may live on this earth with fervency in order that they may afterward be good consorts in the terrestrial paradise.”

Those in the house above would throw out a rope, draw up the basket with its presents and answer: “This fortunate ladder is a sign of invitation for the most happy suitor who wishes to take a beloved pledge.” After the song the serenaders would go up into the house amid happy noise and shouting.

Filipinos were said to be always singing except when they were sick or asleep. Singing was unaccompanied in the case of love songs, in which either male or female singers accompanied themselves on their respective instruments, kudyapi or korlong, a three-stringed instrument. Well-bred ladies were called upon to perform with the korlong during social gatherings.

I remember Doy and Celia Laurel and their children who were so talented. They would readily sing led by Cocoy the most romantic songs…a whole repertoire of enchanting Broadway songs for their dinner guests!

For years, tears would well in our eyes as we sang Bayan Ko in any province, and any side street where we held protest rallies, in huge auditoriums, in private homes — even till today. That’s a beloved patriotic song, Bayan Ko, from the Tagalog poem written by Jose Corazon de Jesus in 1929. It was set to music by Constancio de Guzman and became a very popular song during the struggle against the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos in the 1980s. There isn’t a single Filipino who doesn’t know how to sing Bayan Ko (My Country), “Ang bayan kong Pilipinas lupain ng ginto’t bulaklak pag-ibig na sa kanyang palad nag-alay ng ganda’t dilag. At sa kanyang yumi at ganda dayuhan ay nahalina bayan ko, binihag ka nasadlak sa dusa.

“Ibon man may layang lumipad kulungin mo at umiiyak bayan pa kayang sakdal dilag ang di magnasang maka-alpas! Pilipinas kong minumutya pugad ng luha ko’t dalita. Aking adhika makita kang sakdal laya.”

“Kay sarap mabuhay sa sariling bayan kung walang alipin at may kalayaan…

“Sa Ugoy ng Duyan,” what a lovely son’s song. It’s about longing for a mother’s warmth, whose lyrics are by Levi Celerio and music by Lucio San Pedro, sang by Celeste Legaspi.

“Nais kong maulit ang awit ni Inang mahal. Awit ng pag-ibig habang ako’y nasa duyan. Sa aking pagtulog na labis ang himbing ang bantay ko’y tala ang tanod ko’y bituin. Sa piling ni Nanay langit ang buhay. Puso kong may dusa sabik sa ugoy ng duyan mo, Inay.” Translated in English it is: “Oh, to hear dear Mother’s lullaby again the song of love as she rocked my cradle. In my deep and peaceful slumber the stars watch over me in vigil life. It is like heaven in the arms of Mother now my heart longs for the lulling cradle. Those good old days, I pray won’t fade when I was young and in my Mother’s care. Oh, to hear dear Mother’s lullaby again the song of love as she rocked my cradle. Lull me, Mother, in my dear old cradle. Oh, Mother.”

Levi, what a genius. He came to our house one night with Jun Simon and plucked out a leaf from the garden and used it like a harmonica. Elmo Makil, my singing teacher, and Prof. de Leon drove to Antipolo to have Lucio San Pedro refine their composition of the Awit ng Tarlac. The provincial authority may have banned the Awit ng Tarlac altogether with my book Tarlac Prehistory to World War II sitting in the warehouse.

Bayaw or dagaw was a song sung by two or more singers in a drinkfest and made fun of one of their fellows. That fellow could have been me. Anyway, firstly the narrative content of this song was called biriyawan and our ancestors sang them and got drunk on native alcohol. Lambanog coconut wine was a Quezon favorite; tuba in the Visayas, basi the sugar cane wine in the Ilocos, panggasi or fermented rice wine of the Subanons — it got me tipsy in Zamboanga. Sibugay and I drank it from a huge scoop dipped in a brown ceramic jar with five men and one woman sipping from the same ladle. See what I had to do for my dissertation, climbing up that hill to listen to their epic? All worth it, though.

Tapoy is rice wine of the Northern Igorots and Ifugaos. Singing at a wake? They’re regarded as eulogies. In Leyte and Samar and even Central Luzon a haya or crying female was hired to sing mournful tunes that evoke shrieks of grief. The singing was prohibited in ancient days in some areas because it invoked the spirit of the dead. However, in Tarlac it is still done. I asked at a wake, “Is that the widow who is howling and crying? Is that the daughter?” They said, “No.” “Who is she?” “We paid her to mourn for us.”

What makes Filipino songs unique? Our Filipino history and beliefs are preserved in our songs.