Voices

For the Lost Ones: Musings on the State of the Manila Music Scene

I come from a generation of jaded, used-to-be, wanna-be rockstars. I wonder how many of us are out there, the lost ones, who have not heard live music in years, but were once starry-eyed musicians.

I’m sure my story is relatable – we had a band in college, played steady gigs, enjoyed a modest but strong following, but then, somehow, life got in the way. We woke up one day already in our late twenties/early thirties and the idea of making it in the music scene now seems like a distant, juvenile memory.

Whenever we meet, we talk about the “glory days” of the Metro Manila music scene. Creative directors, business analysts, psychometricians, reminiscing about the days when we would rock out in Freedom Bar in Anonas, or 6UG in Makati – places swallowed by Father Time. Our older acquaintances reminisce about Mayrics in España, or Club Dread in Timog – where it all began. Man, those were the days.

It’s wistful recollection – yearning for the old days, when the music was real, the bars filled with people we knew. It was our scene, and the future was bright. And before we knew it, we just sort of fell out of it. When someone asks us now how the music scene in Metro Manila is, we shrug in ignorance, but we know it’s not like how it was back in the day.

But then there are the unicorns – my friends, the sound engineers and film scorers, who pursued lives in music, and are constantly redefining themselves and their art. They now play in new bands, in these new bars, with these younger musicians, these barely twenty-somethings. They have kept the blood flowing. They have kept the music alive.

And so it’s only recently that I’ve started to come to terms with the fact that this idea of the “glory days” being over is a myth – the music scene in Metro Manila is alive and kicking, always has been, and likely always will be – we were just choosing not to see it. Or at least, I was.

Look at all the places to catch live music, from the ballad belters of Marikina to the bluesy soloists of Tomas Morato, all humble pockets of music and community dotting the metro, providing a venue for musicians, friends, and strangers to come together and share their passions.

Look at 70s Bistro in Anonas – an institution which has been around for more than a quarter of a century, where all the big names in Filipino alternative music – Juan Dela Cruz, The Jerks, The Eraserheads, et al. – graced the marquee at one point or another. This place remains packed on big nights, attracting people from all walks of life.

There’s Tago, a jazz cafe tucked away in the heart of Cubao, proving to be a hidden mecca for the genre. UNESCO even endorsed it back in 2014 as the official hub in the Philippines for the International Jazz Day, a worldwide event meant to unite people across the globe to celebrate the art form. Tago has been participating in it annually, and has helped the event spread into other venues around the metro.

SaGuijo in Makati still enjoys the fame that cemented it as the place to be for musicians – it’s a haven for all sorts of music, from Reese Lansangan, to Ben & Ben, to Ang Bandang Shirley and Up Dharma Down. It’s a small place with a huge following, homey and quaint, with old creaky wooden floors. And when someone who’s someone is playing that night, you’ll know it, based on the the crowd spilling out into Guijo Street.

Route 196 in Katipunan is still a constant haunt for the gig lovers of the north, with regular productions from the industry’s best and brightest. It’s very dear to the musical circles and production houses of Ateneo de Manila and UP Diliman – if you were into music and studied in these schools, you watched a gig here for sure.

I was actually in Route a few years back, where I saw some friends who are still in it – lawyers, bankers, trying to make real life and music work, holding reunion gigs for fans of our old scene. It was like coming home – same walls, same decor, same food and drinks – and during that night, the same faces, slightly older, but all so familiar. We sang along to the songs of our youth (in the distant past of 2005), shared a few beers, talked and did some catching up in between sets.

I missed the feeling of community and camaraderie that music and a packed bar could provide. For one night, I felt it again. And I realized that the scene hasn’t really changed, and the song remains the same – one of togetherness and freedom of expression, of letting go, and having a good time. I take comfort in the fact that it’s all still there. And all we have to do is show up and say ‘hey.’

This post was submitted by Mico, an avid reader of Flying Ketchup.

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