Long Weekend Yahoohoo

What started out as a doodle 

during one of the 

normal phone queries , 

has recently been fleshed out 

in another form.

SALAMANKERO IN OIL

I could have titled it "Salamankero 2.0" or something else, knowing the original doodle was done purely in ink and highlighter on a scrap of paper.  But "Salamankero in Oil" sounds a lot like some spicy dish. 

This is my second work with oil on canvas.

THREE OF A PAIR

A fairly larger work in black paper. A pair which look too big and too colorful to be birds, but too bird-y to be flowers or blossoms.  So is it a pair of birds or a pair of flowers? Or a pair of a flower and a bird? Partridges in a pair three? I do not really know.

Oil pastel on paper.

OF RUST and DUST

Rust and dust surely cloud the subject in this post apocalyptic-themed work. My first try on fantasy art/ female subject,   though I have toyed with the concept for a while. Perhaps the comics years are beginning to resurface.

Watercolor on paper.

TABLE # 1

Here's an artwork that remained taped on one of my working boards for a long time, simply for the reason that I didn't 'feel' it was done yet. One day, I just had it framed and is now reserved for a buyer.

Mixed media on paper.

The Day of the Whirring Sharpeners

Its one of those rush requests, and I was quite confident I had all the materials needed for a caricature.

I found out that the only paper left in my stock was charcoal paper. I tried initial washes for the background, but the paper seemed to literally laugh off such stubborn attempt.

The colored pencil set was before me - as if prodding me to give it a try. Whirred went the sharpeners.

I loved it. No messy washes, no bleeding colors, all bright and all right. 
 

MORE THAN A HANDSHAKE

And so much more than your average guitar- totting- screaming- next -door teenagers

George Duke pinpointed  one of the missing elements that contribute to a glaring lack in today's music.

Duke calls it the missing  handshake - a musical handshake. He identifies it as the lack of connection between present artists with the masters of yore, physical or conceptual. He goes on to state that kids nowadays slice and dice loops and beats, but forgot the important foundation of knowing and learning the instruments.

Yet a breath of hope may have earned his big sunny smile if a faint swinging ride cymbal from a small city called Bacolod managed to reach his sharp ears that evening of September 24, 2011.

The slightly detectable aural disturbance wasn't coming from Bacolod's established artists - though they have also come to add to the sonic palette. The jubilant and swinging sound, insistent solos and rich harmonies were coming from college kids, all below 20 years old, under the very able baton of an extremely talented band director. The 24 piece West Negros University Jazz Band, all college kids, all scholars, were breezing their way through jazz standards, big band swing, smooth jazz and even fusion.  Harmonies were knit tight with band director Michael John Tambasen handling the main keyboards.

John Michael Tambasen, Musical Director

Tambasen's eyes glow with the gleam of a merry prankster as he opens the evening with a marching tune, The Loyalty March.  Amidst the parade vibe and the choruses, a seemingly big question mark hovers - as the show is titled JAZZ ONCE.  Images of the town fiesta and parade ceremonies play around as the band blasts through trios and choruses.  As the final note slashes, Tambasen quips , "That's jazz". " Jazz started with the parade bands, and that is where we begin tonight", he follows and the crowd smiles and gets the prank.

The band shifts gear as they go through a groovier reading of Jaco Pastorius' The Chicken, and the audience cheers in approval. What was simply a crowd earlier is now turned into converts to the gospel that is jazz. The set was a sampler of jazz' ever elusive face, from bossa nova (Agua de Beber,  Quando Quando), big band swing (Theme from the Pink Panther,  Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Route 66), ballads (The Shadow of Your Smile, Moonlight Serenade), smooth jazz (Night Rhythms, Deeper than You Think, Spain), celtic (Toss the Feathers) and even blues ( Summertime). 

The band's discipline and precision would give any other jazz outfit a run for their money.  Obviously , Tambasen reared the kids on the above virtue well. Such virtue is a potent talisman, that which spares  from the curse of overplaying and recycled riffs ad nauseaum.  The band's reading of Spain and Armando's Rhumba comes as the strongest example. Finally,   a young band braves the original RTF (Return To Forever) arrangement of Spain, forsaking the  fusion - y arrangements birthed by Jarreau's version and its spin-offs. It is a breath of fresh air to hear the song restored to the composer's original and Latin-tinged intent, far opposed from all the pyrotechnics and polyrythms stereotypical of the material.  The unison parts are flawless, especially on Armando's Rhumba, as they handle the head with the right rubato from the violin (yes, THE lone female violinist playing jazz in Bacolod City), piano, and bass. For more than once, you'll have to squint your eyes to believe what you are hearing.

The vocalists are cleverly interspersed all over the set, not just de rigueur, but because they can truly sing. For a moment , all the pseudo acrobatics that clutter us from all the talent searches were shut - as WNUs three vocalists took turns on the microphone. The ladies were one part sultry, another part gut wrenching. Picture a smooth rendition of the Carole King staple, Too Late, complete  with streaks of muted trumpet conjuring Botti's spirit, balanced by the a striking take of Summertime and Route 66. To top the vocal section, the gentleman exuded a cool demeanor  as he made his way through the Buble catalogue.  

It would be sacrilegious not to mention the tight rhythm section for in the church of jazz, it is a major

ordinance. The bass and the drums falls where it should be - a rarity even among more established players of the game. Notes are tasteful and not wasteful (pun intended), as  one notices that dimensions are so clearly put forth , delineating verses from choruses and buildups. If discipline is WNU Jazz Band's first name,  dynamics would have to be their last name. 

And the improvisations? Just like seeing a toddler's first step, or hearing a tot's first word - the students gleefully took turns - tenor sax, guitar, bass, drums, flute, trumpet, violin with such juvenile spirit and purity. They literally play their instruments. They teach us a lesson or two, who more than once have griped over modes, substitutions, alterations and whatnots. Agua de Beber turns into a conversation between flute and violin and simply exudes with youthful abandon. Don Cherry must be smiling from somewhere as he had always believed in playing in a manner as if it was one's first.

Then there is the icing - that sweet, guilty pleasure that haunts us - of the evening, a first . Three of Sugar City's bastions of the art form in albeit short but packed sets,  pay support to the history being written. Gabe Ascalon with Offbeat and Michael Tambasen, Nancy Brew and Marlon Sipe guest for the first time, on the same stage. Offbeat with Ascalon breezed through the fusion/ worldjazz highway , while Nancy Brew drove at the funkier side of the road with funk and smooth jazz numbers.  Marlon Sipe was firmly grounded on one of jazz' roots, the blues,  as he joined WNU for a blistering spontaneous 12-bar number and added soulful licks to Summertime.

Tambasen closed the show with a medley of jazz standards, and perhaps to the crowd's adore and surprise, took the vocal chores and backing himself on piano. He is a self-confessed Corea fan, and as his lines took flight, it was not surprising to hear touches of Tatum.  Tambasen knew his wares well, a reward of years playing the cruise ship circles.

Though its been done many times, many ways - the last song never fails to rev the Bacolod crowd. EWF's Sun Goddess complete with  Tambasen's two-fisted runs on a Rhodes patch stays true to the soul of Ramsey Lewis. As the final part comes - the 12 piece horn section blows with such authority, creating dents along the way. Nothing still beats a full horn section blasting over your face.  And as the final note dies, its clear that the WNU Jazz Band wasn't up for a handshake after all.

They were generuosly throwing big hugs and embracing, breathing this wonderful gift , drinking freely of it and swimming and diving to its depths. Surely, George Duke would give one deep , satisfied puff knowing the kids are perfectly alright.

THE WNU JAZZ Band

(Trumpets) Edward Garcia, Jorald Samillano, John Paul Celedona, (Alto Sax) Richard Tumayan, Elizer Alvero, Jade Samilllano (Tenor Sax) Aaron Edaño, Jude Toralballa, also on flute (Clarinet) Mark Nemes, Jovic Belleza (Trombone) Brandon Infante (Lyre) Mark Anthony Nabalitan, Clare Joy Lerona also on picolo flute (Drums) Rey Navarra - Snare Drum in marching, (Bass) Christian Samillano (Guitars) Nestor Edanio, Lester Dellave, Paul Kevin Mirarza - sound tech/cymbals in marching, (Vocals) Sheralyn Gonzales, (Majorette)

Aljin Samillano,Rusty Niño (Percussions) Bernard Cruz - bass drum in marching, (Violin) Lucellie Santibañez

OFFBEAT

 (Drums) Hernan Mijares, (Bass) Louie Claur (Guitars) Gabe Ascalon , (Keyboards) John Michael Tambasen

NANCY BREW

 (Drums) Ronald Amoroso, (Bass) Butch Inson (Guitars, saxophone, 2nd Keyboards) Bethoven Tiano , (Keyboards) Jico Monte

MARLON SIPE (Guitars)

By BM TIANO
Photos Courtesy of Bob Coscolluela

Back to Hukaying-dat-Baul

After countless hours of staring at this work, I decided to call the project off not knowing where its headed. Months later, I rediscovered it in all its unfinished state (the man standing, actually), and again, approach it from a more fresh point of view.

After permanently rendering the figure in front, I thought it would be time to wrap it up. Here's how it ended:

"Kamilyon", watercolor on paper

One Foot on the Past

I have this habit of poring through back issues of magazines, and it is not that far before one stumbles upon things amusing. One of which is the dent made by waves unleashed by  Filipino artists. Albeit not that frequent,  they leave marks in the field. Make that very large, gaping marks.

JAZZIZ is known for monthly free CDs (JAZZIZ ON DISC) showcasing new releases from noteworthy artists. In 1995, their May compilation included none other than one of the pioneers of jazz in the Philippines, MR. BOY KATINDIG. The track was “Puerto Princesa” from Katindig’s eponymous album released under Noteworthy Records.  R. Dante Sawyer provided the comprehensive background on the cut and the artist, commending not only the artist’s amazing technique as a multi-instrumentalist, but his production savvy as well. 

JAZZTIMES, another equally informative publication, gave another Filipino artist a much deserved review.  Their December 2009 issue reviews section (REVIEWS Vox) were all praises for Filipino crooner MR. MON DAVID and his album COMING TRUE. The review was written by Christopher Loudon, providing a track by track rundown of the album.

Here’s one big cheer to the Senyors MON DAVID, BOY KATINDIG, and the ever growing number of those inspired by them, braving the future that is Pinoy Jazz.  Mabuhay!

Pop In, Pop Out

I used to pop in my earphones to and from work just to shield my ears from idiocy that is commonly known as "masa" (the masses, that is) FM radio.

The mass indoctrination of sexual innuendos and self proclaimed prophets of Illuminati -pop musicdom gather steam daily and gleefully erodes whatever's left of values. That is,  what's left after television and internet has taken its toll in our minds and consciousness.

This is Bacolod City.  A small, growing suburb with a not-so-fast paced lifestyle - for now. The jeepney  is the main form of transportation for the working class.  This is where professionals, students, enterpreneurs, are slumped together in the morning ride to various destinations. Seated, everyone is force fed with to what passes as radio. In fact, it is technically radio based on the jeepney driver's standards.  Preschool kids with common folks hear junk music blasting. They dance a bit in time, with small bits of choreography from the noontime shows. Intermission comes courtesy of DJs with faux Filipino/English medium selling everything from aphrodisiacs to cellular phone network promos. They (the DJs) pose ambiguous questions like:

"Which gender comes first - Male or Female?"

I refuse to give the colloquial equivalent  of this line in our local dialect, Hiligaynon, as it is something that can only be described as downright nasty and reeks with sexual overtones.

The question above receives a response from a concerned listener calling the attention of the DJs onboard of the vulgarity.

The DJs snap back with the classic cliché "Perspective is a matter of the mind" . Since the messenger was first to call foul,  they make fun and cutting remarks that the same was the one with unhealthy connotations and biases. They laugh.

I don't. This distorted, naïve concept of freedom -  without responsibility - is the safe flag where one coward finds refuge. Simply put, it is nothing but a cheap attempt to gather more listeners at the expense of corrupted values.  When the ratings ring, flaunt goes the station in all its pride as if art and really creative programming were behind it.

A sexual moan passed as a naughty station I.D.? Anybody beyond grade school can decipher that.

Rapid fire blabbers authoritatively giving advice on air, yet promoting skewed morals and relative ethics everyday?  Please. As if the net and television is not enough.

Not that I would want to sound like some conservative prick, but there are certain things meant for certain places. And this time, its a move that goes way, way out of bounds.

I used to shut the world out and wear my earphones.

Now I'm popping out  my phones. 




So here's to you, radio:

RUSH - Spirit of Radio

That Big Ol' Mambo

I’m no eco buff.  I have trekked simple heights in the past, but nothing really spectacular – or serious- compared to those scaled by pros.

But what I do know, is that nature has always been a close friend, a confidante, a playground, a canvas that sings a melody of its own and fumbles along its innate groove which it shares with only a few.

That’s why I trod its byways and treks with gadgets kept to a minimum, perhaps a cellular phone solely for emergency purposes and for taking pictures.  I don’t plug portable music players as I don’t want nature’s own song adulterated. I’d say turn the thing off and let the wind talk. It clears the mind, it soothes the soul. 

And the audio experience is just one of the many experiences you get as your senses collect information all around. The cold water, the muddy earth, the smell of grass (the living one of course, not burnt and dried as some would prefer), all visceral, all cerebral, all soulful, and downright spiritual.  A peak in all its majesty bows to the expanse that is, which is encompassed by indescribable glorious blanket, made suspend on nothing by the sheer will of an all powerful Creator.

The frustrating scene, though, are the attempts of the ignorant to bring their idea of fun in this area of breathless beauty.  They think this mountainous bliss is perfect for an undisturbed videoke marathon.  And the irresponsible, young and old alike, think that any field of green is the same as their subdivision's vacant lot dumping site.

Look Mommy! A stump, mushrooms and a ... styropack?

Ely Buendia’s declaration “C.R. mo buong mundo”, (The whole world turns into one’s restroom - Alcohol) doesn’t fit drunks exclusively anymore. Sobers meet with the intoxicated on the same planes now - the plane of ignorance and apathy.

The Amazing Chippy Plant

Amidst the frustration, you still can't get over Mambukal (the Big Mambo), in all its stupendous glory. These hilly ranges that, for years, kept Negros safe from storms and  typhoons are so beautifully and mysteriously intertwined - are among the things that we always forget thanking the Creator for. 

Somehow, a part of me wishes that the puny humans would keep on messing up with God's
fingerprints - so that they'd be in the perfect position for a gigantimous cosmic thumb squashing. But then again, that's just the vengeful me, of course.

7th Falls, Mambukal Mountain Resort, Murcia Neg. Occ.

overlooking Murcia