I really…REALLY…wanted to hate this band…

I wanted to hate them with every fibre of my shivering being. I wanted to remain indignant that these three dickheads had the GALL to call themselves "Punks." I wanted to write them off as the second (next only to Green Day) greatest swindle in Rock history…selling an image that they had NO right to claim as their own. An image that millions of fans the world over bought hook, line and sinker. I wanted to hold them in contempt…to see them as being BENEATH me. A prefabricated record-selling machine… designed to appeal to the lowest common denominator in the Music-buying public's fickle psyche. Pop melodies straddling toilet-humor lyrics about teen angst and the PERCEIVED difficulties of… that favorite stand-by of hacks the world over…"growing up." I mean…come ON, right? How could a group so utterly popular POSSIBLY live up to the hype? How can they be…well…any good?

As some of you are aware, I didn't have your typical collegiate experience. I mean…shit…are you talking to ME? Mr. Path-of-MOST-resistance himself? I could have had it so good. I could have kept my head down and obeyed my family's wishes…applied my so-called God-given intelligence to medical school and become some rich doctor. Or I could have at least tempered my ambitions and attended the illustrious University of The Philippines at Diliman. To, according to a childhood friend who DID end up becoming a physician, become a GOD by virtue of my oft-outspoken opinions. And my less-than "pretty-pretty" images. But noooooo…what did I choose to do? I decided to haul ass halfway across the world. To The San Francisco Art Institute. The "oldest Fine Arts" establishment west of the Mississippi River. To become a painter…complete with the financial baggage, voluntary poverty and existential anxiety that SUPPOSEDLY has driven all celebrated artists to greatness.

But here's the not-so odd thing about Art School in the United States.

IT IS JUST LIKE HIGH SCHOOL. Only with more bigotry and preconceptions.

You are judged the very moment you come in for pre-semester "Orientation." How your hair is cut. What clothes you wear. Which materials you use. Whether you prime your canvases with gesso or oil-based ground. Which colors grace your palette. What artists you admire. And…yes…always…ALWAYS…what kind of Music you listen to. You are expected to adhere to some unsaid "code of conduct." You are FORCED to kowtow to some strange set of laws regarding Art School/Indie credibility. Blink 182? Admitting a partiality for them would have been tantamount to sacrilegious blasphemy. Social suicide.

By late 2003, though, I had graduated from university. And, to put it simply, I HAD to experience that proverbial "dark night of the soul" wherein I was compelled to rethink my place in the world. And where I belonged in said shithole. Because, you see, the SECOND you are yanked out of an academic environment where your every move is judged…you FIND that the world is not that small of a place at all. There are a ridiculous amount of choices. A legion of possibilities that you can build your life around. The "safety net" that has been a template of "acceptability" has been removed…and you are free…gloriously FREE…to come crashing down into that hard, unforgiving earth. Based on choices you and you ALONE make.

It took me a while to get over my hang-ups and prejudices. But I DID. And one of the first things I CHOSE to do was to find my way into the Tower Records on Bay and Columbus Streets…a shoebox of a building that I had spent the better part of a year as a Retail monkey for my sophomore year of college. Disregarding my former workmates' derisive, shaking heads, I went out and bought Blink 182's self-titled (and LAST) full album. An album that altered any preconceptions I MAY have had about "Pop-Punk." An album that, I have YET to convince Angelo, is fairly well-made…even DECENT. I walked home to S-Nob Hill. Placed the CD in my perpetually overworked mini-component. And was, summarily, disappointed. INDIGNANT. With myself. Because where the bloody-hell had I been while this three-piece was off conquering the world!? ! Where, in fact? With my head up my ass.

While I was oh-so busy fostering some unexplained Bohemian ideal, THESE guys had been busy crossing the continents. I HAD to know. Originally formed in 1992 at Poway, California ( a suburb of San Diego), Tom DeLonge (guitars and vocals) recognized that Mark Hoppus (bass and vocals) was a kindred spirit that he could compose songs with. In quick succession, they recruited an (supposedly) alcoholic drummer named Scott Raynor. They had a minor hit with "Dammit (Growing Up)" that was prominently featured in a teen-dramedy (featuring super-jugs Jennifer Love-Hewitt) entitled "Can't Hardly Wait"…but it wasn't enough. DeLonge and Hoppus ditched Raynor…hired a hard-hitting, tattooed misfit named Travis Barker… and the rest, as they say, was Rock history. The trio moved on. And so did their growing army of fans. Whether it was a conscious decision or not, the band decided to produce a video in 1999 for "Enema Of The State"'s lead single…entitled "What's My Age Again?" A video where they, literally, took off their pants and jackets to chase a Porn-star nurse around the small-town streets. A video which, coincidentally, struck a chord with the Millennial generation. A pure, unabashed, FUNNY little piece of nihilism that embodied the "now or never" ethos of teenagers at the time. Blink 182 had FINALLY arrived...whether we liked it or not.

The next few years were equally kind…commercially…for this three-piece from the middle of nowhere. A few more multi-platinum selling albums. An embarrassment of hit singles…including "All The Small Things," "The Rock Show," and the controversial "Adam's Song." What was once a select cult of fans EXPLODED…virtually overnight…into an army of card-carrying Blink devotees. Things were SO good, in fact, that in 2002, DeLonge had time to tap Barker for a side-band: "Box Car Racer." With a harder, edgier sound, BCR had a not-so surprising hit with the single "I Feel So." Hell…it got MY attention.

And then, for some inexplicable reason, Tom DeLonge did the unthinkable. He grew up. Got bored. And, in early 2005, walked away from the band he founded. Blink 182 was put on "indefinite hiatus"…business-speak for "kaput." And, boy, was the break-up UGLY.

We ALL love a good conspiracy theory. But I'm not one for conjecture. Over the years, though, I have been through countless message boards…hundreds of periodicals…and here is what I gleaned from my "research." FIRST…tensions within the group started to boil over because Hoppus felt "hurt" after being left out of DeLonge's "Box Car Racer" project. Supposedly, the bass player resented the fact that he was perceived as being too "Pop" for BCR's gritty aesthetic. SECOND, DeLonge's non-Blink success had prompted Geffen Records to offer him a "solo" deal…an offer that the guitarist declined. Still, this left Hoppus insecure over the future of the band. THIRD, DeLonge's artistic aspirations were changing. You will hear PRECISELY what I mean in that last album…particularly in tracks such as "I Miss You" and "I'm Lost Without You." Critics called it "dark" and "murky." Personally, I thought he was maturing as a songwriter. Growing. Apparently, the new "sound" wasn't sitting well with Hoppus and Barker. Furthermore, DeLonge had evolved into an outspoken Liberal…and wanted to take the band's Music in a more political direction a la Rage Against The Machine. His two bandmates, on the other hand, were petrified that this would alienate their fans. And FINALLY…DeLonge was a new father. With much difficulty, he strong-armed the rest of the group into taking a 6-month break in order for him to spend time with his daughter. A break, unfortunately, that was cut short through Hoppus and Barker's insistence. Fed up, DeLonge sent his manager and lawyer to break the news. It was over. He hasn't spoken a word to the other two since.

A few months later, Hoppus and Barker emerged with a new band…simply called +44. What can I say? It was more of what we had come to expect…Blink 182 part two. But under a different banner. Formulaic? Maybe…but hey…these guys worked for their success. If they want to keep producing the same old thing, then so be it. They are entitled.

As for DeLonge…well…let's just say his response was…interesting. He surrounded himself with former members of Hazen Street, The Distillers, and The Offspring. Calling his new supergroup Angels & Airwaves, this new outfit has had…mixed reviews…to say the least. The in-joke 'round here is that this new project was the logical result of DeLonge buying a delay effects pedal, some early U2 albums and growing a conscience. And, on some level, this WOULD be correct. I saw him some time ago on Larry King and, let me tell ya, the dude sounds like he wants to be Bono. Spreading a message of peace, hope and Punk Rock. Still…I have to hand it to DeLonge. He REALLY stepped out of his comfort zone. Aside from his ever-present nasal, whiny voice, the AVA sound is a whole different animal. During a recent gig that I was fortunate enough to watch, the guitarist described the new style thus: "One thing we all agreed on was that we wanted to sound…and feel…like we were FLYING." I, of course, was over the moon upon hearing this. After all…the first time I listened to their debut album…"We Don't Need To Whisper"…I was on an airplane. Going home to a grandmother dying of cancer. Suicidal. Depressed. Hopped up on Dramamine. And white wine. Not something I would recommend…but I was definitely stoned out of my mind. Legally. So yeah…you COULD say I'm biased.

The chances of Blink 182 ever getting back together? There are two. Slim…and none. At least for a while. And I will forever kick myself for that sad reality. Because…yes…we SHOULD listen to the obscure, Indie shit that is the lifeblood of groundbreaking Music. Bathe in our Jeff Buckley. Shower ourselves in our Massive Attack. But we should do it for the right reasons. To be honest, I have nobody but myself to blame for "missing out" on Blink 182. I lost my chance with them NOT because they were necessarily bad musicians…but because I never even gave them a chance. I was put off by their fame, yes, but at the end of the day…I was afraid of what OTHER people would have thought of me if I ever admitted any kind of fondness for this group. And that, my friends, is called peer pressure. That's where that thin line between "Purism" and "Elitism" is irrevocably crossed. And I hope, with all my heart, that none of you will ever have to experience that kind of regret. I know I never will again. It is with that thought that we PROUDLY invite you to "Stay Together For The Kids: A Very saGuijo Tribute To Blink 182." October 25, 2008 show starts at 9 p.m. Special guests include Chicosci, Maryzark, Concrete Sam, Teenage Hero, Marty Mcfly, Hansom and Join the Club. This promises to be one helluva, swelluva good time.

Clothing optional.

-C.C.-

I'm not infallible. Omniscient. An expert on all things Pinoy Rock. I'm not a voice in the wilderness…screaming at metaphorical windmills in some quixotic fashion. An amateur proselytizer, preaching from the virtual pulpit of cyberspace. A zealot. And, no…I am NOT a spokesman. Not even for saGuijo.

What I am, my friends, is a student of the game. An adherent. A simple fan. And I have been one for over fifteen years now. But you know what? I'm tired

I'm tired of how bands, who work so fucking hard, never seem to be able to make a decent living doing what they love. I'm weary of their fair-weather "friends"…with their Janus-faced promises of "undying support." Only to abandon their one-time heroes with cries of "sell-out" at the mere WHIFF of commercial success. I'm distrustful of the all-powerful Record Companies…business-minded leviathans who NOT ONLY fail to meet the demand for copies…but also DROP their artists at the slightest hint of sporadic sales figures. I'm irritated with the mainstream co-opting our little corner of the "industry"…assimilating OUR songs and absorbing OUR aesthetics. Repackaging it as something "safe" and "acceptable" for the masses to consume on any number of noon-time shows. A caricature of our beliefs. A perversion of our ideals. And I am sick…so goddamned sick…of our fractured, factionalized "scene." The in-fighting. The pettiness. The elitism. The chismis. The backstabbing. Like an Ouroboros, we always…ALWAYS…consume ourselves in a frenzy of unfulfilled potential and cyclical self-destruction. We don't need someone to come along and destroy what we stand for. We do that all by ourselves.

Year in. Year out. Over…and over…and over…and over.

But all is not lost. At least, not YET. For it is also said that with every problem, there is a solution. We just have to take a step back and put things in perspective. Because here's the thing we ALL have to accept. We live in an age where grand, revolutionary gestures often compound, rather than alleviate, pre-existing ills. There is no quick-fix. No miracle elixir to remedy what ails us. These cure-alls are nothing but cleverly conceived band-aids that serve only one purpose: to shut us up until the next crisis emerges. You might as well plug a leaky dam with your fucking pinky. What we need now, more than ever, is ingenuity. Small steps. A series of simple actions that, when done on a MASS level, WILL and CAN help our "alternative" community flourish. Quite a number of the original Guijo crowd have ALREADY cottoned on to what I'm talking about…so I must beg for their indulgence with this little essay of mine. But for those of you who haven't…

…I may not know very much…but I DO know THIS…

1. Be a GOOD fan.
I know it's easy. I know it's tempting. But do not, I repeat, DO NOT purchase PIRATED OPM CDs…or even file-share on your PCs. I am ALL too aware that money is tough these days. But dig this. If a supergroup like Sandwich can admit that they struggle to push 20,000 copies per album, how much more difficult do you think it is for little Indie bands? Your average CD costs anything between 250 to 350 pesos. What percentage of that do you think the individual musicians actually receive? A pittance, right? Now take that paltry sum AWAY from their pockets because that is PRECISELY what you will do by buying "fakes." You are, straight up, STEALING something people have slaved over. I don't know about you but I don't need to carry that on MY conscience. Think of it as an investment. An original pressing sounds INFINITELY better than a counterfeit. This isn't LIKE Art. IT IS ART. Treat it with the same respect.

Having acquired the new record, GO that step further. Instead of spending the night catatonic in front of the idiot box, get a bunch of friends and haul ass to your favored band's next performance. Doesn't matter where you live…there are a TON of venues all over the metropolis anyway. You don't need ME to tell you how fun a gig can be.

Impressed by the show? Then say so! Cyberspace is a vast, largely uncharted territory where the humblest of us are free to give voice to our thoughts. And advertise upcoming events. You may not be an aspiring Shakespeare. You may not be even able to string two coherent sentences together. But you'd be surprised at how a simple, "OMFG…they so RAWK my stripey socks off," can resonate throughout the Internet. If yer lucky, you might even end up like Cris Ramos. Someone who, I BELIEVE, is the ULTIMATE "superfan." A "professional" gig-goer who, by sheer chutzpah (and hard work), has managed to make a CAREER out of airing his opinions. BLOG TRUTHFULLY. BLOG HARD. BLOG OFTEN.

2. Build a "Street Team" for your favorite band.
A thankless job…to be sure. But if you are really a devotee, you won't hesitate to spend a bit of spare time putting your talent and skill in service of a preferred group. Start small. Pick up the phone and pester…that's right…PESTER your local radio station to play the latest single. Get the brush-off? Ask a bunch of buddies to do the same thing. DJ claims he doesn't have a copy? Get over there and PHYSICALLY give them YOUR copy. The songs are in your I-Pod anyway. What's the big deal?

Got a spare hundred bucks, a pair of scissors, some Elmer's, a shitload of old magazines and a few sheets of paper lying around? Go online to figure out when and where your idols are playing next. Since you're there already, you might as well send a mass e-mail to everyone in your address book. And then sit back and let the creative juices flow! Punk Rock/Do-It Yourself style collage fliers! Take your masterpiece and find the nearest photocopy machine. Print up what you can afford. Wander through your school/mall and SUBTLY hand out your work to people who LOOK like they might be interested. Learn from our forefathers. This is how the "Old Skool" did it, kids.

Still want to do more? Get in close with your school's student council. Or, better yet, JOIN your student council. Come up with a proposal. Convince your dean that a mini-concert by your chosen artist at the next school event is a "good" idea. That they ARE worth the money "in the interest of promoting local art and culture." Or something like that. Keep your fingers crossed and let the sparks fly. Congratulations. You are now, officially, an amateur concert promoter.

3. Create your own production company.
It really isn't as hard as it sounds. Don't be shy. These bands…even pseudo-gods like Raimund Marasigan or Mong Alcaraz…are flesh-and-blood, human beings just like you. If you approach them with a clear statement of intent…a salary/profit sharing plan…a list of several other interested artists willing to participate…and the passion to back it all up…they WON'T laugh in your face. What's the worst that can happen? An abrupt "no?" But don't get carried away. This isn't Lollapalooza and you are not Perry Farrell…YET. I suggest a lineup of three upcoming groups and two headliners. With your roster in place, shop around for interested venues and strike a deal with the owners. Iron out scheduling conflicts…advertise… and make it happen. Your cellphone will most CERTAINLY get a workout. But guess what? You can, at last, call yourself a "production manager." A mover and shaker. An insider. An integral part of our industry. COMMUNICATE. COORDINATE. COALESCE.

4. Start your own Indie label.
Definitely NOT for everyone. Very few of us can even DREAM of doing this. Still…maybe some of you reading are ready to throw down and jump into the financial abyss. Tired of the corporate rat-race? Inherited an obscene amount of money from a deceased relative? Or are you merely bored…dissatisfied…and ready to do something "different" with your life? Subvert the major labels by starting your own.

A certain technical know-how with regards to the recording process is definitely a plus. Bluntly put, though, you can HIRE people to do that kind of thing. If you're rolling in the dough, ask Louie Talan or Shinji Tanaka as they are generally considered to be two of the best in the biz. Don't skimp on the equipment. Buy time at a studio that takes pride in its facilities. And don't be afraid to re-record…scrapping entire days of work if necessary. You can't put a price on quality workmanship. Money talk aside, though, what you REALLY need is good, eclectic taste…an eye for talent…and foresight. Dude…for all the laudatory praises I can write about Terno Recordings, what you NEED to remember is that Toti Dalmacion was…and IS…a Music fan, first and foremost.

Don't have that kind of financial firepower? RENT. The better rehearsal studios have the capability to record live. And I highly doubt that your would-be stable of Rock stars don't ALREADY have their own instruments. Just make sure the engineer looks like he knows what he's doing. Demo in hand, sit yourself in front of the PC. Apple, for example, has several wonderful programs that will allow you to digitally manipulate pre-recorded sounds. And blank CDs are cheap. Press as many copies as you can. Design an insert. Sell online or at gigs…and PRESTO! You are now the impresario of your very own fledgling Indie label. Granted, your product may sound like nothing but a glorified demo…but hey…even The Eraserheads had to start SOMEWHERE, right?

5. Establish Your Own Bar.
I'm not saying this to scare off future competition. Hell…I think the "practical" side of Angelo will KILL me for even putting the idea in any of your heads! I'll go ahead and say it anyway. If you have the bank account…a complete absence of the prerequisite spark required to set the world on fire with your creativity…but your years working for 'the Man' has given you a distinct acumen with Economics…well…bite the bullet. Open your own venue. Trust me when I say, though, that this is where it will get REALLY complicated. As is often the case when the Business world and the Art world collide.

To run a fairly successful Rock Club, you will need three special personality quirks. An unwavering sense of purpose. A rock-hard set of balls. And a certain recklessness. As professional Poker players say, "you don't gamble with scared money." Because that's what this venture is…a total and utter crapshoot. You constantly worry whether monthly profit margins are enough to keep you afloat. You agonize if bands will continue to work with you. You show up early…wondering if this…THIS is the night…when NOBODY will show up. And you wake up the next morning wondering if it's still worth it.

Decided that you can live in a perpetual state of anxiety? Start conceptualizing. Who are you? What do you stand for? Plan well. Make sure you scope out a location that performers and patrons can get to relatively easily. Secure the necessary permits from city hall. The red tape may take a while to penetrate…but proper licenses are a MUST. Renovate. And I'm not talking about the façade or interior decoration. I'm talking BASICS here. If your place doesn't AT LEAST have one working bathroom and adequate ventilation to sustain human life, you're screwed. TRAIN your staff well. Nobody likes incompetence. And network, network, network. But don't go to another bar and poach their clientele. OR their bands. BUILD YOUR OWN FOLLOWING.

Most importantly, don't lose sight of WHO you're doing this FOR. The Musicians. Make sure everything is on the level. That they know EXACTLY what kind of flat fee they are being paid. And don't screw them over. NEVER use the "pay-to-play" premise. This is a death sentence to ANY working artist. There is a special place in hell for shady entrepreneurs like that. If you can't pay an exorbitant flat fee…profit share. Give them half…or at least a percentage…of the door. This way, they have SOME kind of motivation to promote themselves through websites, blogs, radio. Still feel somewhat guilty for not paying them what you THINK they deserve? Give them a drink/food allowance. Energetic live performances are impossible on an empty stomach. And always…ALWAYS…be thankful. A pat on the back goes a long way. Anyway…this place is as much theirs as it is yours, diba?

Everybody has a story…

-C.C.-

I'm hearing rumors. Mutterings of discontent. Rumblings of potential disaster.

It is said that everything moves in cycles. That for every "up," there is a "down." For every "left," a "right." "In"…well…you get the picture.

Four years ago, when saGuijo first opened its doors, the Pinoy Music scene was at a turning point. Some called it a "crisis." I'd like to think that it was more of a crossroads. One where we, performers and patrons, had been at a standstill for a couple of years by that time. A fork in the road arrived based, in no small part, on three specific events that led to the Nineties band "explosion" officially being declared dead and buried. The first cut came when Club Dredd ceased operations around 1998. The second…when Basti Artadi emigrated to the U.S. and essentially disbanded Wolfgang. And the third…a blow that left so many of us reeling? He'll probably scoff at me for saying so…but it came when Ely Buendia walked away from The Eraserheads. The group that, arguably, had kickstarted this whole thing to begin with.

Oh sure…Patrick Reidenbach's joint was never the be-all and end-all of all venues. His two main rivals, the ever-enduring Mayric's and 70's Bistro were still going strong. The folksy, world-Music set had Conspiracy. The hard-edgers flocked to Peligro. For more mainstream tastes, yuppies slumming it for the weekend could always run to RJ's…Xymaca…or, God forbid, Hard Rock Café. And, of course, strongholds such as Freedom bar, as well as my beloved BigSkyMind, kept the Indie Torch…however dimming…alive and well. With regards to the untimely demise of the two aforementioned bands, well, there were always younger upstarts waiting in the wings to take on the crown. However ill-fitting. Enter Sugarfree. The emergence of "Kupaw" (I STILL hate that non-word by the way) groups Slapshock and Greyhoundz. Not to mention the Rico Blancos and Chito Mirandas of the industry that continued to flourish.

Record deals? Rock groups getting signed by the Majors? Well…that's where it became a little trickier. Bands were getting dropped faster than panties on a prom night. The very THOUGHT of unknown newbies handing a demo to some greasy A&R scumbag was unheard of. The "Cebu Sound," spearheaded by Urbandub, was just starting to find its legs. And Terno Records was no more than a twinkle in Toti Dalmacion's far-seeing eyes. Something had to give. Something was missing. Something that could bring together these (sometimes warring) factions. To align those metaphorical planets and usher in a new era.

Was that "something" saGuijo?

FUCK NO! ANO AKALA NINYO SA AKIN? TANGA!?!

Our performance space WASN'T some long-awaited messiah. Of course not! My delusions of grandeur don't go THAT far. And any pompous bar owner who claims that THEIR establishment is THE only place to go for a decent gig is in for a SERIOUS reality check. Alam naman ninyo, eh. YES, we worked hard for our so-called success. I, myself, continue to labor like a dog for no pay whatsoever. But why…WHY would we ever rest on our laurels when, on a profound level, "the little venue that could" was something of a fluke? In hindsight, we were fortunate enough to have three things going for us: blind passion…good timing…and a little bit of luck.

Looking back, I think Angelo and Dan were being more than a little cavalier when they first told me about this "great idea" that they had. I mean, what did WE know about running a bar, right? What the fuck did we know? But the simplicity of the premise…and my INSISTENCE that this HAD to be a venue "where it is ALWAYS about the Music" was too much of a temptation for my sorry ass. Hell…all I personally ever wanted was a place where I could watch a band without some knee-length Ralph Lauren shirt wearing, overboozed, undersexed twit picking a fight JUST BECAUSE my face happens to look "ma-angas." I look back at four years…four WONDERFUL years of carousing, catharsis and community…and I see many of you out there were looking for the same things WE were. Words cannot express the depth of our gratitude for this. Remember: saGuijo was NEVER about three people. It IS about you…all of YOU who step under that wooden sign and enter a world of OUR own creation. Patron, production people and performer alike. This venue? It belongs to ALL of us.

Because it worked, you know? The dream and the idea ACTUALLY became a reality. It wasn't easy, trust us. But it was worth it. Whodathunkit? I mean…shit…a place where "Art School kids. Emo kids. Punk kids. Goth kids. Kupaw kids. Konyos. Jologs. Grown Men. Young women. Gay. Straight. And everything in between"…not to mention (and I'm sooooo gonna get ANOTHER slap upside the head for this) the immaculately beautiful Anne Curtis could rub elbows? WITHOUT fear of recrimination? A space where musicians of all factions…be it Terno or Revolver or Admit One or even Tibay… could perform? A venue where "unsigned bands and independent groups alike can perform alongside more established acts?" Fuck…me. It all speaks for itself, really.

"People who care." That's how Cris Ramos eloquently put it last year. And who am I to argue his very valid point? Was it a coincidence that in saGuijo's four years of existence, the "band-scape" seemed to have found its way into Mainstream Pinoy culture once more? MAYBE. Like I said. Our timing, however unconscious, was impeccable. But, as Ramos also mentioned in brief, the scene looks like it has gone off the boil. It has been whispered that the "crossroads" condition is one we will find ourselves in…AGAIN…very, very soon. Certain doom-and-gloomers have said that the rot has already set in. That the bubble we ALL have been fortunate enough to be floating in for the last 1,460 days is about to burst.

I'm telling you, here and now, that it doesn't have to.

Because here's what I really want to say in a modular, recyclable, easy-to-carry out doggie-bag. SaGuijo can serve as a microcosm. A minature version of what CAN happen to the Music "Industry." If you want it to.

So here is my challenge. My personal, quaint little version of throwing down the gauntlet.

To the fans, the musicians, the production folks, the journalists, the label bigwigs and…yes…to our rival venues:

Promote one another. Word of mouth (and the internet) is a wonderful thing. Watch each other's events. Work TOGETHER. Work FOR each other. Not against. WE, as an industry, ARE MUCH TOO SMALL TO BE SO CONTENTIOUSLY DIVIDED. For pettiness, in-fighting and crab-mentality. And if OUR little community can MAKE it work, well…shit…ANYONE can.

COMMUNICATE. COORDINATE. COALESCE.

Some of you reading this may dismiss such notions as naively Utopian. "He's delusional. He's talking out of his ass. How can he even CONCEIVE of such a thing actually coming to fruition?" And the cynics, naturally, are entitled to their opinions. But let me ask you this: what kind of change for the better has ever been achieved by sitting on our hands, leaning on that proverbial fence and shooting down every idealistic brainwave that comes our way? "Impossible" is only a tag we put on things we haven't had the balls to attempt. Yet. In this spirit, we PROUDLY invite you to "MAGKAISA: saGuijo Celebrates Four Years of Carousing, Catharsis and Community." Show starts at 8 p.m. on both nights. On June 27, the killer line-up will include:
Razorback
Greyhoundz
Low Techs
Imago
Sandwich
Corporate Lo-FI
Pedicab
Typecast
Severo
Faspitch
Urbandub
The Ronnies
Bagetsafonik

On June 28, you will be blown away by the likes of:
Up Dharma Down
Chicosci
Taken By Cars
Triggerbliss
Drip
Giniling Festival
Paramita
Sinag
Itchyworms
Stonefree
Chubibo
Skies of Ember
Us-2 Evil-0
Angulo

We would LOVE to see you there.

I've said it before…and I'll say it again.

Once more.

With feeling.

Mabuhay ang Sining Pilipino. Mabuhay ang saGuijo.

-Christopher A. Carlos (C.C.)-

What is it about musical partnerships that they almost always end badly? Does it have something to do with what the punters explain away as "artistic temperament?" You know…drug addiction, alcoholism and general bad behaviour? Is it the sudden ego clashes that INEVITABLY arise whenever money and/or fame enter the picture…otherwise known as "artistic differences?" Or is it something simpler? Something so deeply ingrained within the creative process that it chips away at relationships…an invisible problem until it is far too late? Anybody who has ever tried to compose a song, write a book or paint a picture will readily attest that the experience is intense. It may sound like Romantic twaddle on my part…but there really IS an element of masochism to it all. You are, quite brutally, cutting out a piece of yourself and putting it on display for others to judge. Now imagine having to do that…to share yourself so completely and vulnerably…while someone else breathing down your neck and waiting for THEIR turn to do the exact same thing. On top of YOUR stuff. Pretty unhealthy, right? And yet the history of Rock Music is all the richer for these kinds of alliances. You know the names. Lennon and McCartney. Strummer and Jones. John and Taupin. Doherty and Barat. And…if they would forgive my presumption for saying so…Buendia and Marasigan. All beautiful collaborations that have, arguably, produced the best Music of their respective generations. All relationships that have ended in heartbreak, tears and resentment echoed in a well of silence. Yet none so tragically, I believe, as that of Steven Patrick Morrissey and Johnny Marr.

Long-time devotees of The Smiths relish telling that oft-repeated "origin myth" of how the charmingly hustler-like Marr showed up at the reclusive Morrissey's doorstep and declared: "Here I am…let's do it." To be fair, this isn't so far from the truth. What people tend to gloss over is that it wasn't a "love-at-first-sight" scenario. Sure, the two had seen each other around Manchester…playing poorly-paid (if at all) gigs with a string of mediocre Post-Punk bands. But that was all. For reasons only he may ever know, something clicked in Marr's head…something telling him that the struggling (some say 'failed') writer from "up the street" was his ticket to ride. A ride that hurtled so mind-fuckingly fast that they went from absolute obscurity to headlining "Top Of The Pops" a scant six months later. Sheer, dumb luck? Maybe. But Marr, in particular, was an ambitious, driven young man who knew the market was ripe again for "good" bands. 1982 was a pretty dire time for Music…what with the chart dominance of Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran and other practitioners of manufactured, candy-coated, escapist Pop fluff. In other words, Music that says "nothing to me about MY life." And life in England…particularly in the northern urban sprawls…was, at the time, a bleak, grim existence thanks to the Thatcher government. No matter. Marr assembled the best local musicians that he knew of: bassist Andy Rourke, drummer Mike Joyce, Morrissey on vocals and, of course, HIMSELF on guitars. And, amazingly enough, the (self) hype proved to be justified. Just listen to any of the songs.

With respect to the VERY competent rhythm section of Rourke and Joyce, the real genius behind the Music was Marr's guitar work. I think Noel Gallagher said it most amusingly when he quipped: "You CANNOT be influenced by Johnny Marr because you CAN'T play what HE plays. Even HE can't play what HE plays. Even HE'S not good as HE is." Marr's technique was so utterly advanced that a note-perfect "cover" of what he plays on the records…every arpeggio, every pull-off and every hammer-on… is virtually impossible. A blatant example of studio-trickery by layering and overdubbing multiple parts? Not always. You see, aside from the chord choices and the way he was structuring a progression (which were ALREADY unusual in themselves), Marr implemented patterns specific to The Smiths' sound. Rather than STRUMMING a chord, he would pluck 3 to 5 of the individual strings in staggered succession. Sounds simple enough. But consider the increasingly tricky time-signatures AND quick-fire chord changes…well…any wannabe guitarist will tell you that this kind of dexterity and patience is mind-blowing. For Marr, it was all about subtlety and texture. His Music is…complicated…to say the least. But not in a Radiohead way. No. That would be like comparing Oscar Wilde to T.S. Eliot. Both are equally rich and complex. But they're not playing the same game. And this was only half the picture!

Consider Morrissey's words. I'll go out on a limb and say that from 1982 to 1987, he was the finest lyricist out there…probably because he wasn't writing lyrics at all. At least not in the typical Pop/Rock framework. That he saw himself as a writer…or better yet, a poet…was not pretentious posturing. It was fact. Any half-articulate fool with a pen and some spare wit can write about emotion, failure, gender confusion and the loneliness of everyday life. About "otherness" in the face of societal "conventions." But to do so with any real style or verve…to be able to evoke and PRO-voke a genuine reaction from one's audience…well…this is best left to a select few. Humor and pathos. Morrissey effortlessly mixes the absurd with the profound…and, in doing so, does what so few Musicians are able to: make the listener THINK. "I want to live and I want to love…I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of." Has there ever been a more accurate encapsulation of the spirit of Rock? Didn't think so.

But the sun wouldn't always shine out of their behinds. By 1987…after a protracted period of miscommunication…Marr quit the group in a huff. Try as he might, even Morrissey knew that there would be no point in carrying on. Were the songwriting partnership based on competition, jealousy and one-upmanship (as was the case with Lennon & McCartney), The Smiths might have lived to release several more albums. But Morrissey and Marr's partnership was based on something worse: co-dependency and unrequited love. In the decades since the split, the gossip is that the gender-ambivalent vocalist was romantically infatuated with the guitarist. But that would be too convenient. I believe that the relationship was torn apart for the very same reason that it was formed in the first place: their personalities complimented each other a little TOO well. Morrissey is famously introspective and dour…so shy and socially awkward, it is said, that he barely spoke a word to his own drummer and bassist throughout their career. He left the wheeling-dealing to Marr…including the odorous task of informing the "other two" Smiths that while Rourke and Joyce would (rightfully) not be receiving songwriting royalties, they would ALSO be paid only 10 percent of live PERFORMANCE fees. The ever-effervescent Marr, already overworked by composing, gradually grew to resent this "obligation" of having to take care of the business side of things. Additionally, he took exception to his partner's escalating Musical inflexibility…not to mention the singer's insistence that Marr not work on any "side-projects" with other artists. Morrissey simply didn't want to "share" his partner.

Many years later, Marr would admit: "He was different with me than he was with everyone else. And I couldn't have given my Music to anyone who would have appreciated it more." I spoke earlier about giving up a piece of yourself every time you create something. Seen in that light, it doesn't take much imagination on our part to hear Marr as a lamenting divorcee. Because if there is one thing a Musical partnership is…particularly one as severe as Morrissey and Marr's…it is a marriage. You bring out the best in each other. You incite the worst. And, judging from the fluctuating degrees of success these two have individually achieved in the years since, the two parts are never…NEVER…greater than the whole. As with all divorces, the children…in this case the fans…are the casualties. We comfort ourselves in memories. We console ourselves in the Music. And we hope, beyond all reason, that one day…not so far away…this story may at last have a happy ending. On May 31, 2008 at 9PM, we proudly invite you to "I Won't Share You: A saGuijo Tribute to Morrissey, Marr and The Music of The Smiths." Participating bands include The Christmas Lights, Drip, Purple Chickens, Triggerbliss, Stereo Lalas, Mint Car, The Low-Techs, Skies Of Ember, and Pin Up Girls .

We hope to see you there.

"Where there's Music and there's people who are young and alive."

-C.C.-