How it is to sing live with Martin?

Click here to read Part I

( Second of two parts )

The interview was fine. Martin and I love to talk as if it has to be said it comes naturally to us like the sun shining or the rain falling. The difference is that the sun sets and the rain stops. We don’t. Anyway, he asked me about my imaginary mirror. I told him I have wrapped it carefully, deposited it in a corner of my attic. After having been used, abused and misused, it deserved some rest. So he asked me about my past, present and future. I told him that, in retrospect, after having put in a lot of hard work in my life and career, I should have charged more – really – I thought I deserved a few more cents. But when you’re starting, you’re immediately depreciated by the world – almost worthless, you fight your way through to wherever you want to go.

My present, I told Martin, is all about being a work in progress. It is about living the moment and seizing it, not knowing what’s next. I also admitted to being afraid of growing old alone, poor and ugly. I don’t know why I said this. I figured this must be my subconscious at work.

Alone, because I know the happiness of not being one, God has been so kind to give me the best partner, a wonderful family, a compassionate, crazy group of friends and a few wicked witches who have made me a more seasoned human warrior. I am also afraid to grow old poor. I’ve seen too much penury in life that I have driven myself too hard at times, only to make sure that I can afford to buy paracetamol when I catch a cold, or an umbrella to protect me from the scorching heat of the sun or the nasty pinch of harsh raindrops.

It’s tragic to have nothing in a material world. And if I’m not alone and poor, then I won’t be ugly. I want to grow old and fabulous. I’m still trying to figure out how – but I’ll manage.

Martin talked about his past mistakes, the gifts of the present, and a hopeful future. Martin is straight as straight can be. He was once married and has two wonderful kids. And he has his music that makes him forever.

It’s always a joy to talk to Martin Nievera on and off camera. His wisdom is homegrown – you know he cultivated it inside his heart and soul. His energy is invigorating. His passion is contagious. When you’re in front of Martin, you realize how much more you can give to what you do. He makes you feel better and do better.

And showtime came. He broke into a commercial. With the threat that when we came back, we were singing Wildflower. I smiled and shuddered in fear and excitement.

I don’t know how I got to centerstage. Either Martin bodily dragged me there or my guardian angels lifted me to get there. The full rhythm orchestra under the baton of the brilliant Louie Ocampo was behind us. The spotlight enveloped Martin and me and the first notes of Wildflower started to play. I smiled and smiled beside the King himself. I completely forgot the lines. And miracle of miracles, a monitor appeared in front of me and there, the lyrics of Wildflower appeared.

Martin was counting – to signal when I was supposed to start. And then I heard myself singing "She’s faced the hardest times you could imagine..."

I was off key but Louie and his band sounded so great – that I thought people will be forgiving – anyway it was the first line. Besides, the song was in Martin’s pitch and I am not a singer. My sandals felt so heavy, I could not step forward. I put my left hand on the left side pocket of my pants to deliver the message that I was OK – but I was not. I was pinching my thighs so that blood would circulate and I would be alive. I smiled and continued the epic tragedy "...And many times her eyes fought back the tears. And when her youthful world started to fall in..."

Martin was conducting – meaning I was out of sync. He announced that I was doing it the jazz way. And I was – even worse – because by this time I turned deaf. Thank God, I didn’t lose sight of Martin. He put his left arm around my shoulder. I bore its weight and was grateful that I didn’t lose my sense of feel. Martin motioned his hand again and I continued to reach the idiotic teleprompter which I’m sure could not carry a decent note and could not do anything except flash the words of a song I happened to be singing at that moment.

Rage was starting to creep in. I was mad at the teleprompter. But then, I was centerstage and I had to smile and smile and once in a while sing. Of course Martin was there all the time I fell along this long, arduous journey of a song. Many time he carried me on his shoulders. I was grateful and I smiled.

Having temporarily lost my sense of hearing and only seeing Martin beside me – I went into the full song – never mind where Louie Ocampo was going. I had to struggle and find my way to end the song...

....."Let her cry, for she’s a lady

Let her dream, for she’s a child

Let the rain fall down upon her

She’s a free and gentle flower growing wild..."

I must have sounded like a hip hop dancer caught in the middle of a ballet performance. The last few lines, I delivered with so much bravura and I started to feel my feet moving and I looked far, thanking God that I was alive.

I bowed and regained my sense of hearing because I heard a thunderous applause.

I rushed to the dark wings of the theater where I rightfully belong!