This is not the end: 'So here we go - it's official - the band - it's over'

By now you’ve heard, if you are a fan of Pinoy rock: Bamboo has called it quits. (The above quote is from their official announcement on www.bamboo.com.ph.) After seven or eight years—”A lifetime in this business”—they’re packing up, parting ways, and moving on. No specific reasons were cited, just a statement that all things change, and that the decision was difficult, but that their heads, hearts and guts know it’s the right one.

At this point, tracking down the reasons behind the breakup—the last straws, so to speak—seems to be an activity more for the morbidly curious or the avidly obsessed (and perhaps a stray rock historian or two). The announcement seems final, and there seem to be no legal matters at stake nor bizarre circumstances, and, to be honest, while always an electrifying live performance proposition, Bamboo the band’s peak seemed to have already passed, though perhaps this was more due to the changing and occasionally unfathomable tastes of the market than through any fault of the band’s.

Besides, there’s a limited number of typical reasons. An article on essortment.com lists five reasons rock bands break up: 1. Apathy towards the music, 2. Solo careers, 3. Lack of financial incentive, 4. Outside influences (“Bands often break up due to the influences of those outside the confines of the band itself. ...Personal decisions may adversely affect professional aspirations”), and the ever-popular 5. Artistic differences. At this point I don’t know which of these, if any, apply to the situation, but I am inclined to just respect the decision—while no doubt sad for their masses of fans, it does seem like the right time for them to move on.

Perhaps the years will shift that outlook; after all, when the Eraserheads broke up, at least in my memory, there was not too much lamenting going on—their best-selling albums were behind them at that point. It was only over some time (and after no band emerged that equaled their appeal and inventiveness) that their breakup started to seem like some kind of rend-your-garments scale tragedy.

And yes, Bamboo did have a legitimate claim to being to the first decade of the 2000s what the E-heads were to the 90s—at least at one point.

I was there when Bamboo played the PULP magazine Summer Slam during the height of Noypi, their big anthemic hit; it was a turning point of some kind—genuinely inspiring—even if, like myself, you were not crazy about the actual song. One could not deny that it had a power to unite an audience in stadium-sized glee, and a message that was not heard often enough before.

I was there when they carted home no less than six NU 107 Rock Awards, even after releasing an album that was, it must be said, far from their best (funny, that was 2007—just a little over three years ago, but the band still seemed invincible then). This was “We Stand Alone Together,” of which a slightly overweight friend of mine said he could not understand the allure. I joked that perhaps you had to be female to get it (using as feeble fuel for my so-called humor the fact that lead singer Bamboo Mañalac had always appealed to the ladies). To which he protested, “Hey, I’ve got breasts.”

BURN, the music magazine I co-founded, had a good relationship with Bamboo (largely due to the personal connection thay had with Managing Editor Denise Mallabo), and they graced our pages—and played our gigs, with as much energy and attitude and sheer star power as we could have hoped for.

Now it’s over, and, to quote another band’s song, “And now we’re moving to new beginnings.”

“This is not the end,” the official statement states. “We move forward for all the right reasons. This is not a sad day..”

“All I see are possibilities.”