 Writer |
4th RMSEC |
The Kabayao Experience
by Jason Martin Naniong
Philippine Science High School, Quezon City
My journey begins with a song.
I made it up from scratch on my guitar: a masterpiece about dead dogs and underpants. But by the time I was ready to sing it to the world, the whole school had disappeared. I wondered where everybody was, but then I realized that they were all at the school gymnasium to watch a concert where some violinist would play classical music for the next three hours or so. Right then and there, I had a choice. I could stay where I was, practicing my awful song until I eventually tired of it, or I could go to the concert and at least pretend to have a good time.
Don't get me wrong. I don't have any particular aversion to classical music: it's just that that sort of stuff eludes me. I don't think I could appreciate music that I classify as just white noise in the background, like when a phone operator puts you on hold.
Like ninety percent of the current generation, I grew up with headphones glued to my ears, feeding me repetitive pop rubbish: songs I could nod my head along to and forget immediately afterwards. My theory is, in an ever-accelerating world, we need to move extra fast to catch up, and that includes the music we listen to. Pop, being shallow and disposable, fits perfectly in that equation, and all that meant was that I couldn't understand the point of classical music, nor would I want to sit still and listen to it for three straight hours.
I could have gone before it had even started, but I decided to watch the concert out of sheer curiosity. The Kabayaos were playing. I had never heard of them before that afternoon, but I had been right to assume that they were internationally acclaimed musicians. Gilopez Kabayao and his family were preternaturally talented, and from the first note they played they held me completely in their thrall. Yes, they were that good; even a complete musical idiot like me could see that.
That afternoon, the Kabayaos taught me one of the greatest lessons I would ever learn: they taught me to simply listen. To listen without prejudice; to hear the music wholly and completely; to listen with compassion, feeling and empathy: that was their gift. And once I had mastered this simple art, I began to see the images and emotions they wanted to portray so vividly in my head. I listened, and stories began to unfold before me: tales of love, betrayal, tragedy, hope and triumph. I listened, not simply with my ears as pop music had taught me to, but with every single fiber of my being. When it was all over, I clapped with the rest and smiled, because now I understood the whole power of classical music. That I could relate to, and imbibe thoroughly its message proved that classical music really was eternal, and beside the vast magnitude of its influence over the centuries, pop really just pales in comparison.
None of this would really have happened without the visionary: the great man who made it all possible. Gilopez Kabayao was born in 1929 in Negros Occidental to a musically brilliant family. He and his three sisters were from an early age exposed to fine music, which helped to hone them in becoming great performers. In 1946, after the war, Gilopez and his family transferred to New York to begin his musical education, and in 1952, they moved to Paris to continue Gilopez's studies. After receiving critical acclaim and praise in and around Europe and the United States, Gilopez and his siblings decided to return to the Philippines, on a mission to bring fine music to the Filipino masses. There, they toured the southern provincial towns and barrios, with little cash and only the five-peso admission price to keep them on the go. Whether it was a stage, a basketball court or a mere cockpit, Gilopez and his siblings performed for the villagers, and they were surprised to see an obvious appreciation for fine music from the simple country folk. The Kabayaos had proven that classical music was for everyone, regardless of stature, upbringing or culture, and in the next few years they would continue to share their legacy to the Filipino people.
I had mentioned before that the Kabayaos looked the part of a world-renowned family, and now, as I read through Gilopez's biography, I can finally take a glance at this other, more down-to-earth image of the musician's life. Impressed as I am with Gilopez's talent, it is this unwavering dedication to his calling that really inspires me to follow his example. He never gave up trying to promote classical music to the Philippine masses, and it was this selfless love and devotion to his countrymen that makes him more than worthy to be a Ramon Magsaysay Awardee.
Thirty-three years have passed since Gilopez Kabayao received this prestigious award. Now in his seventies, Gilopez is still pursuing his grand legacy for the young generation to have an intelligent awareness of classical music, and there is no better way to go about this than to just keep on performing. Now accompanied on tour by his pianist wife and three talented Children, Gilopez tirelessly travels the world over, receiving rave audiences and reviews wherever his family plays. I consider myself extremely lucky to have heard him perform in person, and for a second or two as I listen, I am transported back to all those years ago, when Gilopez had performed for farmers and students and villagers, and taught them the simple beauty of listening to the music, and shared with them all the hidden emotions and feelings in the melody, and as I think of all these and how revelatory their experiences must have been, I feel a great sense of heartfelt empathy, of shared recognition.
My journey did not end when the Kabayaos exited the stage. They had left me with a brand new perspective, with a new set of ideals and priorities to cling onto and cherish. I became more discerning, more appreciative of the simple things we take for granted. I applied the Kabayao's simple lesson and expanded it to my everyday life. I listened: to my teachers' words, to my parents' advice, to my friends' opinions. I listened with an open mind, never judging, never blocking out a different viewpoint from mine. And I learned so much more this way: when I wasn't always trying to prove that I was right. Reading Gilopez's biography showed me there were people out there who would dedicate their life to a noble ideal, never wavering or backing down, even in the face of failure. I now wanted to be one of those people.
As for my music, I gradually reverted back to pop listening, but with a difference: I now listened to whatever it was the musician was trying to convey. I became an intelligent music consumer, partly because now I became concerned about what goes into my head, but also for another reason: after hearing him play, Gilopez Kabayao has strengthened my own dream to someday be a successful musician. As of now, I have formed a band with some of my classmates, and although we don't have that much talent to boast of yet, our dedication to music is enough to compensate for it.
As for that song about underpants and dead dogs, that became our first single.
Go to Ramon
Magsaysay Award Foundation Online 