It is in Capone’s where the band Rivermaya held its thanksgiving party on a Tuesday in February, having just arrived from the MTV Asia Awards in Bangkok, Thailand, where we were told they ran away with Favorite Artist-Philippines award.
Not that it meant anything earthshaking, except to suggest that the band’s fans have the most cell phones with roaming function. It helps too that they are talented as they are cute, with truckloads of babes as groupies, and that they are managed by rock n’ roll stage mama Lizza Nakpil, from whom Jessica Zafra may get a few tips as she handles The Mongols.
It is easy to get lost on Valero Street if one is not familiar with the ins and outs of the swanky eskinitas or long and winding alleys, because Salcedo Street is not in Salcedo Village but in Legazpi Village, on either side of Ayala. Location! Location! At Fraser Place, the mezzanine is filled to the rafters, and one by one members of the band arrive to mingle with the faithful, fans all of the songwriting genius, the guitar wizard, the drummer par excellence, the cool bassist.
Recently they’ve come up with another monster hit, You’ll be Safe Here, theme reportedly from the TV series Spirits, not to be confused with the movie Spirit of the Glass, though come to think of it now the same lyrics won’t be lost in the latter case of mistaken soundtrack about two dead lovers who finally connect in the spirit world.
No wonder it was Serena Dalrymple who was appearing on the idiot box screen as Rico Blanco sang about a great weird love, the voice alternately described as effete and new wave, a screaming monotone.
We first heard the song over the radio, and parts of the title phrase sounded like "pieces here" – you’ll pick up the pieces here. Just as another song on the EP released by Warner, Liwanag sa Dilim we also heard on the radio of an FX taxi en route from Mandaluyong to Manila, and whose music video with the shouting perhaps bullied kid triggers old childhood memories of isolation and redemption. Not that we knew anything about it then, but some things simply can’t be explained.
Her name was Anne, Darryl, Sheila or Cacay, faces blending with the names like a fadeout of watercolors calling cards, as if you met them somewhere or didn’t meet them somewhere before, does it matter? Same with light beer, single malt, orange fizz, monkey see, monkey do, comparing notes and then some, smiling for the camera like a polite monkey, and so on and so forth, down down down with the aching bellies and bellyachers of Babylon.
And if she is a babe can you blame her? Wait along comes guitarist Mike Elgar with his rabid Gokou hairdo, and he tells us that he grew up with Steve Vai, Joe Satriani and the rest of the barkada, and it was quite an adjustment for him when guitarist Kakoy Legaspi left, but what the heck this is rock n’ roll.
For some reason we found ourselves toasting drinks with a table full of apparel marketing executives feasting on cholesterol and roll because we were laki sa layaw but didn’t know it all along, here this one’s for the MTV Asia Awards and the view from Patong. Rico, in turn, went to look for a copy of the EP after having signed along with the rest of the band (including Mark Escueta on drums and Japs Sergio on bass plus two pens) two CDs of theirs which the daughter wanted autographed. I felt like Eddie Vedder singing Daughter, except that I wasn’t familiar with the lyrics but for the refrain. Get to remind me for them to sign it.
A little past midnight the band finally took the stage, songs culled from CDs they had just signed, Sunday Driving and Umaaraw Umuulan, among other less familiar tunes. At the mezzanine, Mark’s mother was beaming at her son pounding on the drum skins, while Japs’ dimples could have their pick of any girl in the audience that night or early morning, just say the word.
We were afraid to stay too long lest we turn into an authentic Krip van Winkle, past one and into two in the morning, the band cooking. So we had no idea if Rivermaya played its two latest hits, Safe and Liwanag, as we ourselves were safe and lost on Valero Street, filled up to the rafters with babes and beer light.
"What’s the name of your column?" she half shouts above the din into my ear. Irregular, I say, it will come out when it will come out, hopefully not like a thief in the night. Like an imbecilesque in the night of our unending juvenilia.