Roadworthy men: Wolfgang in Dubai
MANILA, Philippines - The Dubai Airport Expo is a cathedral-sized hangar used for aircraft shows and, if jammed to the gills, it could hold 20,000 people easy. Everything in Dubai is larger than life, for that matter. The tallest building in the world pierces the sky in jagged splendor — although our Pinoy companions gleefully joke, sooner than later, it will be topped with a Jollibee revolving restaurant.
Filipinos are everywhere in Dubai, from preppy systems analysts in SUVs to the nattily tailored “sales specialists” in Ted Lapidus or Alfred Dunhill, and yes, to the beret-wearing waitresses at Le Dome and the assistant technicians at our gig.
It’s no small wonder that The Filipino Channel’s most-awaited event is the annual “Rakrakan Fest,” which this year features Wolfgang as the performing finale. Dubai safety regulations allow TFC to sell only half the size of the arena in tickets. An enormous stage, bristling with the latest sound and light equipment, takes up one end surrounded by a metal barricade the regulation six feet away. (I’m a neatness freak and love that the stage has been wrapped in gray carpeting, hiding the usual unsightly wires.)
One of the members of the younger bands sidles up to me and asks underneath his breath, “So what is Wolfgang really like?” I had the kind of comical flashback you get when about to play a joke on a good friend — or spill the beans on a buddy. I grin placidly and reply, “Oh, they’re just like any other band.” He blurts out in amazement, “Really? No, I don’t believe that. What do they talk about, I mean, when they’re by themselves?” “Oh, the same things, you do,” I reply, “but…” “But what?” he asks conspiratorially. “Oh, they never smile.” “That’s it! That’s their secret! They’re blasé,” he laughs, enjoying a eureka moment. “Yeah,” I retort, “I guess that would be right, they really don’t give a s**t, pardon my French.”
The joys of working with artists who really don’t care what other people think cannot be underestimated. It’s a refreshing but alien concept these days in the music business. No genetically engineered songs, no manufactured music, nothing is calibrated or calculated, against that inner weighing scale one acquires through the years, dragged around heavily like a ball and chain. When the moment of truth came, as the goddess Isis balanced one’s soul against a feather at the gates of the after-life, I warrant Wolfgang’s collective soul would flutter upwards like the wind.
The band does have its moments. As they tear through a blistering 11-song set, lead vocals Basti Artadi stops cold in the middle of Natutulog Kong Mundo and there is a dead silence followed by a hum that turns into a roar that morphs into a melodic thunderclap, as the entire audience sings on its own, and in unison, the next two or three lines. Hell, some of the crowd were even singing the guitar parts! It makes the hair stand up in the back of the neck, even for this old warhorse. In the near distance, there is moshing and a group of men brandish a banner with “Kapangyarihan ng Halik nii Hudas” written in black large letters. “We haven’t seen anything like this before. This is awesome. This is why we do events like this,” whispers one of the producers, wide-eyed.
And then, finally, for a split-second, bassist Mon Legaspi cracks a grin to Francis on the drums, and you could watch the smile snake around the stage lackadaisically, passing from one member to another like a secret signal, to Basti and finally to Manuel Legarda on guitar. You could see it: Wolfgang was having a blast.
