Image taken from — oh, you all know where it’s from.

So there’s this project I’ve been working on for some time (and to be roundtabled here next month — oops, they have my affiliation wrong!) that deals with the question of Pinoys and music and how Pinoy performers explain why and how they do what they do. A big excerpt from my writings might explain this better:

In my interviews, Overseas Performing Artist returnees constantly spoke of a spontaneous and naturally Filipino ability to imitate. As a skeptical cultural anthropologist, I initially wanted to dismiss this out of hand. There was, of course, no such thing as a natural ability to imitate, much more a naturally Filipino one.

But the discourse that supported this supposedly inherent mimetic ability could be consistently drawn from over a century’s worth of history. What was one to do, for instance, with Dean Worcester’s assertion in 1900 that “the Filipino …is endowed with great talent for imitation…. …in a short time [the Filipino] learns how to play any sort of an instrument, but the bands…are poor because of their lack of knowledge of principles, and many of them play by ear without understanding a single note?”

Or of the New York Times reporter who wrote in the twenties, “Where music is concerned, the Filipinos are known as the Italians of the East. Add their own barbaric musical strain — a blend of Oriental and Spanish ‘ear culture’ — and you get an idea of their adeptness with the torturous instruments of jazz?” Or of essayist Pico Iyer, and anthropologist Arjun Appadurai after him, who, after watching a Filipino band play the music of John Denver, would pronounce Filipinos as “[creating] a nation of make-believe Americans?”

Or the countless Filipinos who would assert the seeming truism, “Magaling manggaya ang mga Pilipino [Filipinos are great at imitation]?” Or Danny, a keyboardist who had played in Tokyo and Pasadena, who told me, matter-of-factly, “Filipinos can imitate any sound?” Or RJ, a guitarist I interviewed in the summer of 2007, who said, “Ang Pilipino, sila lang ang tanging may dila na katulad nang loro [Filipinos are the only people with tongues like parrots]?”

A “natural ability to sing” and a “natural ability to imitate” are two different things, of course, but you get the general idea: to sing well is seen as natural for and by Filipinos. (Not me, of course, as my friends can attest. But give me a karaoke mic in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other and I can do the collected oeuvre of Thom Yorke fairly well.)

So I am quite tickled by the idea that 3 out of the 14 finalists for the Voice of McDonald’s II competition — which I found out about via the New York Times — are Filipino. (The third, if you even had to guess, is the Canadian guy.)

And I just love the fact that Mary Yu — who does those cute hand gestures (and more) on “Son of a Preacher Man” — is a choir member and “worship/song leader in our church.” Holy Dusty Springfield! That’s sure some church — sign me up!

Meanwhile, speaking of other Filipinos, my friend Carolyn (who isn’t Pinay but knows how to spot ‘em) sent me this hilarious YouTube video of a Southwest Airlines commercial. That guy’s gotta be Pinoy. What’s even funnier is that I could totally see a Filipino guy doing this in real life, if I actually went to clubs.

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My friend Ruthie, who’s all the way in Manila, and I (over here in Oakland) have this ongoing exchange over IM: she envies my being able to watch, say, Explosions in the Sky, and I’m envious of her being able to see, for instance, Up Dharma Down, pretty much any evening of the week. She’s probably right, of course, but I would love to be able to catch my new favorite Filipino band discovery, Taken by Cars, in concert again.

I do like championing music I hear on this blog, even if everyone already knows who they are, but it’s especially cooler to me if they happen to be Filipino (for obvious reasons). I saw Taken by Cars live at saGuijo in June of 2007, and I realize now, looking at my old entry, that I didn’t really write anything about them. This was probably because I was being the uber-fanboy with the two other bands, but I do remember asking their lead singer (Was it her, drinking outside? How could I have forgotten that? How much did I have to drink?) about when their debut album was going to be released.

Well, it’s finally out. The name Taken by Cars suggests a soundtrack to an abduction. Or escape. Either way (and those contradictions are present in the music), their debut album Endings of a New Kind is a driving record, no question about it. The propulsive rhythms suggest a restless urban energy, speeding metal vehicles, dangerous sideswipes in the dark, streetlights reflected off kilter in windshields, shards of glass twinkling dully on the pavement. In Manila that kind of driving happens anytime, but this is an evening record for sure. There’s a chill to this music, but it’s great for dancing to: imagine a sweaty tangle of brown limbs on the dance floor, if people weren’t so shy at saGuijo (and the place wasn’t so small). Cold and hot: those contradictions again.

It’s not necessarily groundbreaking music, but if the idea of, say, Bloc Party, fronted by a woman vocalist sounds appealing to you, then Taken By Cars should be worth checking out. Endings of a New Kind is full of a nervous, postpunk energy — maybe a little too clean to sound like the bruised guitars of Gang of Four, but it’s certainly from the same musical gene pool. And it’s simply great stuff.

The second track, “Uh Oh” (the album’s real beginning) has a perfect opening, as instruments fall rapidly into formation: drum heartbeat, stabbing guitar riff, and suddenly, best of all, a synth refrain parachuted in from 1982. “Here I am in full battle gear,” sings Sarah Marco. “Here I am wanting you,” she adds, and it’s a tribute to her voice — of limited range, maybe, but perfect for communicating this hovering between desire and defense, between languor and tension. It’s slurry and drugged for one song (as on “Colourway”), breathy and poppy on another (as on “The Afterhours”, with its swirl of crunchy electronic squiggles). (Her phrasings are from the same era, too — Anja Huwe? Siouxsie? I can’t tell.)

The guitar introduction to “All for a Tuesday” seems to steal a bit from Franz Ferdinand’s “Take Me Out” — there’s no hiding their musical influences, which is okay — but this track showcases the twin guitar attack from Bryce Zialcita and Siopao Chua: chug and jangle on the left, soar and swoop on the right. “Logistical Nightmare” rests on a spiky foundation of driving rhythms and piercing guitar chimes, then positively levitates when it gets to the chorus. “Sexy confrontation” indeed.

If I have one small complaint, it has to do with the sequencing: all the fast songs are in a cramped queue on the first half of the album, with the second half being noticeably brighter and club-oriented than the first. (“Stereolove” is probably the weakest track in the collection, as if some DJ simply took the vocal track and plopped it onto a lackluster techno remix.) But we are at least rewarded with the concluding “Shapeshifter”, though it does nothing of the sort, except that it builds into an uncoiling, multivocal crescendo that ends the album on a high note.

p.s. to Ruthie: Go get the album!

p.s.2. While the CD can be purchased at their gigs, mp3s can be downloaded at splintr.com, though I haven’t tried it yet.

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Just because: Eraserheads, “Huwag Mo Nang Itanong” (Cutterpillow, 1995)

Hika ang inabot ko
Nang piliting sumabay sa’yo
Hanggang kanto
Ng isipan mong parang Sweepstakes
Ang hirap manalo

Ngayon pagdating ko sa bahay
Ibaba ang iyong kilay
Ayoko ng ingay

Huwag mo nang itanong sa akin
Di ko rin naman sasabihin
Huwag mo nang itanong sa akin
At di ko na iisipin

Field trip sa may pagawaan ng lapis
Ay katulad ng buhay natin
Isang mahabang pila
Mabagal at walang katuturan

Ewan ko hindi ko alam
Puwede bang huwag na lang
Nating pag-usapan

Huwag mo nang itanong sa akin
Di ko rin naman sasabihin
Huwag mo nang itanong sa akin
At di ko na iisipin

Ewan ko hindi ko alam
Puwede bang huwag na lang
Natin pag-usapan

Huwag mo nang itanong sa akin
Di ko rin naman sasabihin
Huwag mo nang itanong sa akin
At di ko na iisipin

Huwag na lang
Huwag na lang

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