The Wily Filipino

Getting to Empty.

523 e-mail messages. 45 minutes.

Thank you, David Allen. Thank you, Merlin Mann.

(Last night I reclaimed about 14 square feet of my floor from clutter, discovered I had a desk underneath all my piles of stuff, organized the said stuff in over a dozen different (labeled) folders, filled up two grocery shopping bags worth of papers to be recycled, and one garbage bag full of trash. I couldn't believe it.)

Spoon + Fork = ?

Not a spork, exactly, but this story. Honestly, I thought it was something from The Onion at first, but it isn't.

The Backyardigans.

Speaking of more great music this year so far: Izzy is currently obsessed with the Nick Jr. TV show The Backyardigans. It’s easy to see why; the show is utterly charming, even for a jaded viewer like me. Five animal friends (a moose, a penguin, a hippo, a kangaroo, and one undefined creature named Uniqua) have adventures in their backyards which morph, Calvin-and-Hobbes-style, into jungles, Egyptian pyramids, medieval castles and so on. The CGI animation is somewhat soulless, but it's pretty and it works.

The real draw is the music (and the excellent voice acting), which is just superb for a kiddie TV show. They're incredibly catchy and witty children’s ditties that are the functional equivalent of Broadway showtunes—each song within the show is totally choreographed, with dancing. The songs are thematically coherent for each episode, though they're not necessarily tailored to the plot; Irish music, for instance, accompanies the Backyardigans on their quest for the perfect cup of tea to Borneo and China (to ask the grumpy emperor for a cup). Across the series, however, the music runs the range from reggae to rockabilly to country to Dixieland to James Brown funk.

Anyhow, I finally got to see the scrolling credits by pausing the DVD (they get reduced to a tiny window when being broadcast), and discovered to my surprise that the list of musicians reads like a Tzadik session roster: Evan Lurie, Doug Weiselman, Greg Cohen, Smokey Hormel, Tony Scherr, Ben Perowsky, Steven Bernstein, Kenny Wollesen… Totally cool. (It's practically Sex Mob doing the soundtrack!)

Best of all, Izzy gets up out of her chair to dance every time the songs come on! (She already kind of knows the choreography to "Please and Thank You.")

Up Dharma Down.

It's only April, and I think I already have one of my favorite albums of the year. Up Dharma Down's Fragmented is an urban soul chronicle from the streets of Manila, both tense and laid back, full of nervous energy one moment and suffused with post-club comedown the next.

I still remember the first time I saw the video for the fantastic first single, "Maybe." I was idly flipping channels one December night in Los Banos last year when the video came on, and I was transfixed by its evocation of claustrophobia, as the camera followed a near-hysterical woman pacing inside a hotel room, then down a narrow stairwell, tear-smeared mascara on her face.

But it was, of course, the music which kept me glued to the TV: an insistent, propulsive reverbed guitar riff; a skittering, distorted "Amen" break; a bass line turned up way high in the mix; and that voice which stretched "Maybe" into 27 different syllables. (I had to grab paper and pen to scribble down the name of the band; alas, their album wasn't coming out until a few months later, as the kind women at Odyssey and Tower Records had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.)

The rest of the album doesn't quite approach the succinct drama of "Maybe," but it's quite strong nevertheless, and I suspect more songs will float their way to the top as the year proceeds... I can't wait to see them live.

I've Since Started Using Skype, But This Is Pretty Bizarre.

Purchased at the Russian-owned convenience store next to my place in San Francisco:

Discuss.

Wily.

I figure this is just about the earliest reference I could possibly find, way earlier than either Marlon Brando or Steve Martin -- here's William Stewart, a Republican Senator from Nevada, in a speech in June 1900 attacking the anti-imperialists as the Filipino American War raged on (quoted in Kristin Hoganson's Fighting for American Manhood: How Gender Politics Provoked the Spanish-American and Philippine-American Wars):

We would suggest to the enthusiastic objectors who compare the guerrilla warrior of Luzon to the immortal Washington, that their language would be more accurate if they would compare [General Emilio] Aguinaldo to Tecumseh, Sitting Bull, Old Cochise, or some other celebrated Indian warrior whose exploits in the recent past surpass in gallantry the wily little Filipino.

It's Not Me.

For some reason I've been receiving links to this article, sent to me by friends who invariably write, "This reminds me of you." (I don't have to click on the URL anymore. I recognize it already.) It's actually a rather terrible article, which consists mostly of an enumeration of various brand names, a poor attempt at a neologism, and a profile of what sounds like the most terribly self-absorbed young white New Yorkers.

But let me make something clear:

People! It's not me.

I own exactly one pair of sneakers -- actually, they're running shoes I haven't used in a while, so they don't count. (Though I'd have to say that there are these S. Carters which look really nice.)

I do not own any designer jeans. Every now and then I pop into Ross and mutter to myself, No wonder these jeans are at Ross.

Unlike many of my other colleagues, I actually wear suits to work.

I do not have any hedge funds, or any money to put in one, whatever the hell a hedge fund is.

I do not know how to skateboard, or snowboard, nor do I have the desire to ever be on one, or, quite frankly, to hang out with thirtyish-year olds who do. Some of you already know how I feel about sports (unless it's Izzy playing): I can't think of anything more boring.

ATL.

A lesson learned: Never, ever deliver a conference paper when you've only had four hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. I was supposed to deliver the paper below:

In this paper, I explore performance and improvisation among Filipino overseas musicians. In 2003, over 58,000 Filipinos were scattered worldwide in nightclubs and hotel lounges; however, the majority of people who migrate as Overseas Performing Artists (OPAs) travel to work in Japan. OPA is, in this instance, a euphemistic, bureaucratic category that denotes the sex trade, and comprises the crucial distinction between Filipinos working in Japan and those elsewhere working as more professional musicians.

Despite such differences, I argue that the practices of performance and improvisation, both as musical activities and as metaphors for everyday migrant life, link both kinds of OPAs. In my interviews, OPA returnees constantly spoke of a spontaneous and naturally Filipino ability to imitate. This imitative performance, however, did not allow for musical improvisation; they were limited to learning and mimicking particular idioms from a globally shared musical repertoire.

Such practices, I argue, parallel the relationship between state and individual. One can see performance and improvisation as strategies utilized to compete with restrictive migration policies, to evade state surveillance, or, more ordinarily, to resist drunken customers. As an economic strategy, migration also exemplifies a kind of adaptability, also directly related to improvisation or imitation.

My paper is also a critique of government policies that enable, if not facilitate, the exploitation of migrant labor. Simultaneously, through emphasis of migrant practices, I treat OPAs as rational and creative actors, incessantly performing and improvising, even if constrained by the regulations of the state and the demands of capital.

Et cetera, et cetera, until I realized that it had ballooned into an unmanageable 30 pages when it was still only really halfway done and I had to boil it down to about 7 pages for the presentation. So I painfully hacked off the entire "improvisation" section, threw out all the lovely ethnographic detail and whatnot, including a "thick description" of a performance of Kylie Minogue's "Can't Get You Out Of My Head," and came up with 6 pages. All of this surgery done the night before I was to teach three classes and hop on a redeye from SF. Not good. (Thankfully a MARTA ride from the airport to Buckhead was only $1.75.)

So I gave my talk -- my fellow panelists' papers on Filipino Americans in post-war Filipino cinema, the Black-Eyed Peas' "The Apl Song" video, and Jessica Hagedorn's Dream Jungle (plus a big helping of Baudrillard) were far more interesting than mine -- and had to run off with Izzy to the Children's Museum of Atlanta, which was only really okay. (It was too late to get tickets to the aquarium.) Izzy really liked the Rube Goldberg-like contraption which, among other things, made it possible for you to drop wet balls onto unsuspecting people's noggins. Nothing like wet balls. (Okay -- the first person to tell me which John Irving novel that comes from wins... well, nothing.) I missed everything else on Saturday, since I spent most of the day zonked with Izzy, but that was fine.

None of the pictures you see here were posted with anyone's permission, but I'll be happy to take them offline.

The 40-plus folks who ended up congregating in front of the hotel were then organized and split by Rick, who we see conducting the orchestra here:

The heat lamps reminded him of the tropics -- or, in a reference to Allan's forthcoming book, American Tropics. (We heard the phrase "American tropics" used a lot throughout the conference, just like the phrase "basketball court" -- but youngsters may be reading this, so I won't explain it.)

About half of the crowd. Martin's in a silly mood:

Half went to a Hawaiian fusion food restaurant, which was the wise choice. "I didn't go all the way to Atlanta to eat Hawaiian food," said Theo, who ended up going with us to the jaw-droppingly expensive Brazilian restaurant where you could eat (as Theo said later), "the entire cast of The Lion King on skewers."

Meat:

I can't find my photo of Gladys' neater plate (she was sitting next to me).

I can't remember the exact context for this picture, but here it is, preserved for posterity:

Later, at the hotel lobby, the sated Filipinos, fueled by beer, vodka tonics and Brazilian cremes de menthe, regrouped -- Kiko, Lucy, Rick, Liz, Theo, Robyn, Linda floating in and out (her book just came out), and I can't remember who else right now -- where discussion ensued: somewhat lurid talk with Tony (his co-edited book just came out too), the Manila music scene, rather tame AAS gossip, and Rex Navarrete. (Someone explained their discomfort at his humor, saying that he was essentially making fun of the working-class generation of her immigrant parents. This is not an incorrect observation, and his more recent enthusiastic reception in Manila by the well-heeled suggests, I think, a decidedly classist tinge to all the laughter at the declassed middle class and lower-middle class Filipinos who followed the doctors and engineers to American shores.)

Anyhow, the next day we had our Filipino caucus, where we discussed our Plans to Take Over The World. But outside the meeting room, I figured we had a bit of a way to go:

More Cover Madness.

This Mojo cover quiz is driving me nuts: I've only gotten 12 out of 25 so far (1, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 14, 18, 19, 22 and 23). (Smoothie told me what #12 was, so that doesn't count.)

Any guesses for the rest? I'm sure I own #17, but can't place it. (And #20 must be the first Weezer album, but apparently it isn't.)

Belle and Sebastian / The New Pornographers, Design Concourse, SF, 3/21/06.

The Belle and Sebastian set kind of peaked early for me; the first song was just perfect -- Stuart Murdoch, acoustic guitar, and "Stars of Track and Field." I could have gone home at that point. But instead I was treated to almost two hours of twee. Murdoch and Stevie Jackson's almost cringingly unselfconscious dancing were, in retrospect, perfect for all the lovable geekery on display. You almost wanted to give them a hug.

Here's the setlist, swiped from someone's hard work at a fan forum:

Stars of Track and Field
Another Sunny Day
If You're Feeling Sinister
Funny Little Frog
Sukie in the Graveyard (about a woman who went to the SF Art Institute? Or so Stuart said)
Song for Sunshine
Electronic Renaissance ("That sounded quite '80s, didn't you think?")
The Fox in the Snow (a little too intimate a song for such a large and ugly venue)
She's Losing It
Piazza, New York Catcher (the SF crowd ate this one up, what with all the City references)
Your Cover's Blown
We Are the Sleepyheads
Jonathan David (plus they pulled up some lucky woman to do an "interpretive dance" for this one)
Dog on Wheels
I'm A Cuckoo (with lots of blinding spotlights)
White Collar Boy (this was great live)
Judy and the Dream of Horses
---------
Simple Things
The Boy with the Arab Strap

I would have loved to hear "Woman's Realm" or ""The State I'm In" or Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying" (you can see I'm something of an old-school B&S fan here), but I can't complain.

But let's rewind about two and a half hours earlier to the opening act The New Pornographers, who were simply fantastic. (This was when I was still a third of the way in, but moved back to see my friends L&J at the soundboard when people inexplicably started pushing.) I think in the general scheme of musical things I enjoy them more; I'm a powerpop fiend at heart. I think the New Pornographers are Bejarless and Caseless this tour, which means, unfortunately, no songs with vocals stretched to the breaking point like the awesome "Letter from an Occupant." Kathryn Calder handled the singing well, though, particularly on "The Laws Have Changed."

The set began with "Use It," and even this early on the crowd was already pogoing. A few songs from each of their three albums (plus "Graceland" from the Matador comp) made it into the set, including (yay!) "From Blown Speakers" and "The Slow Descent into Alcoholism," ending their too-short portion of the concert with "Sing Me Spanish Techno."

(A fairly similar version of the concerts, from a Washington, D.C. date, can be downloaded from NPR.)