Playing for the joy of love

What would you do for yourself unconditionally? What would you go the extra mile for? What would you consider important enough to go out of your way to do which will not necessarily give you any material or financial benefit? What are the things you would like to do that will make you feel alive?

It would be easy to answer these questions if they were reworded and if they involved doing things for people we love instead of ourselves. And surely, we would step up to the plate in heroic ways. Yes, I am willing to die for my family (like Jason Ivler’s mom, in a way). I am willing to lose an arm if it will save someone I love. I am willing to shell out everything financially if a loved one needed it very badly. All these answers are real and sincere, even if I hope I never have to actually do them.

These are questions we ask ourselves when we ponder our lives. And we do not always get easy answers, and it’s not because we don’t know the answers. We do and we can probably hear the answers clearly if we listen hard enough.

But we don’t, because we have become so used to putting our dreams and our ambitions on hold that we have mostly forgotten them. Other priorities must be attended to. Bills must be paid, obligations kept, duties fulfilled, that we often forget to look at ourselves and attend to the care and feeding we need, as we care for others.

Self-care, self-love is vital if we are to continue to serve and nurture those we love. To put it simply, we must include ourselves in the list of people who matter to us.

I was ecstatic last Monday night watching a Big Band of accomplished mainstream musicians playing to their hearts’ delight at a small club called Ten02 along Timog Avenue. It was a rare moment to see a lineup of class-A rhythm section session players and an entire brass section complement of trumpets, trombones, and saxophones (baritone, tenor and alto) in one place. I had not seen this many brass musicians playing together since I was recording in the ‘80s. Budget constraints and changing music styles have simply not made it possible for many of them to be playing in the same gig.

It was jazz night and you could tell how excited the players and the audience were. Mel Villena, the brains and moving force (as well as conductor) behind the event, engaged the crowd as he introduced the musicians and the musical pieces and greeted other artists who were in the audience. He wore a wide grin, not unlike a kid in a candy store, as he conducted the ensemble with gusto and style.

Apparently, these musicians get together as a Big Band every two weeks to play songs and pieces that they really like to perform but have not had a chance to do during regular gigs. In fact, they have probably never played these songs for a regular crowd since there are no producers nowadays who are wiling to fund anything that does not spell out-and-out commercial success. Most of the time, these talented musicians end up playing to pay the rent, so to speak. They must often suffer through commercial gigs playing Top 40 songs and the usual dose of unchallenging, sophomoric pieces as they back up the industry’s share of mediocre talents.

And so it was obvious that the gathering of musicians last Monday night was an act of joy, defiance and glee even, as seen on their faces and the kick-ass playing they dished out. Surely, the size of the venue and the cheap price of drinks would not ever be enough to pay all the talents who were there. They must have all come for the joy of playing great jazz songs. One of the musicians my son Mio talked to after the show put it so well when he said that gigs like these are important and part of their “spiritual practice.”

They play to let their spirits come alive and soar. They play to feel their talent, and reassure themselves that they still have it. And they play to share themselves with their audience. They play to feel the truth of what they really are as musicians and artists, and as people.

As a performer myself, I can resonate with the whole idea of what these talents did on Monday night. In 1996, I was tired of the scene I was in. I was hosting a noontime show, which paid me well but was not sustaining me emotionally or artistically. Also, more and more, as a recording artist, I was finding that the very art of writing songs and making an album as I had known the process to be, was changing dramatically. Record producers were suddenly discussing sales and current radio airplay trend reports with artists to “guide” them about what they should be coming out with. It was also about that time when I was full of songs in my head, which I knew were not compatible with what the market was playing. 

This was a time when I was going through an internal journey and the songs I was coming out with were more personal than usual. For example, I had written a song about my special affection for my family where I even included their names in the lyrics. I also wrote a song about what to do with unrequited lust at midlife. And there was the one about my mother who had passed away, and another one for a daughter who had turned 21.

I recorded these songs all by myself in an album entitled “Ako Lang,” which I quietly released. As I expected, it did not go anywhere near a hit album status, but I was quite happy to be true to myself in a project I had always wanted to do. I felt an authenticity about it, knowing that these were songs that reflected my truth at the time I wrote them.

It can only be good for us to open our repository of joy and refill it once in a while. Some people fear doing this because they are suspicious of the concept of self-love. They somehow believe that there is narcissism and selfishness to it, as if the very act means the abandonment of our duties and obligations to others.

On the contrary, I know that when I am happy, I am able to imbue situations I find myself in with happiness and even share it with everyone.

As the song goes, “Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.” It is quite true that we cannot give what we do not have. While there is something heroic and good about giving till it hurts and running on empty, I know, in the end, it is simply not sustainable and that’s why we do it just once in a while.

Ten years ago, my good friend Marissa Romero was bored with her work and so took up painting to feel alive. Since she became a painter, she has not only found a renewed vigor and spirit in living but also an enthusiasm for the work she had earlier found to be joyless.

When we replenish the well-spring of the goodness from which we shower the world with, we feel better and more empowered. And we must not forget that the joy we give to ourselves is a necessary ingredient if we are to fulfill our obligations and duties to others with joy and with constancy.