When I visited Freddie Aguilar on April 20, 2015;
For almost two hours, he narrated to me this incident.
Posted by Heber Bartolome at MUSIKA April 27 at 11:56pm
Freddie Aguilar’s ‘Anak’
KRIPOTKIN By Alfred A. Yuson (The Philippine Star) April 27, 2015
Freddie Aguilar gives a heartrending talk at Singapore Management University as part of a prestigious colloquium.
No other song composed by a Filipino has risen to such heights of global appreciation as Freddie Aguilar’s Anak. Now that’s a fact. And an event in Singapore over a week ago proved it once again.
The singer-composer was invited to deliver a talk billed as “Anak: The Untold Story.” Organized by the Wee Kim Centre under its indefatigable director, Dr. Kirpal Singh, who is no stranger to Filipino poets, writers, and academics, the talk was conducted at the Ngee Ann Kongsi Auditorium of Singapore Management University (SMU). It was the latest edition of a colloquium series that has been going on for 14 years.
Mrs. Ho Lien Fung (who has since departed) established the Lien Fung’s Colloquium in 2001 “to enhance public understanding and appreciation of culture and society through lectures, talks and other events, with a particular focus on everyday life, while not being dominated by academic or philosophical topics.” It was her hope that the Colloquium would inspire and satisfy students’ as well as the community’s quest for broader knowledge.
Past distinguished guest speakers include Peter Wee of The Peranakan Association of Singapore, Prof. Xu Ping Fang of the Dept. of Archaeology of Beijing University, China’s leading writer Bai Hua, Prof. Chou Chich-Ping of Princeton University, Ms. Peggy Tan of the Orchid Society of Southeast Asia, and Kumar “(standup comedian, actor, host and drag queen).”
Over a month ago, in consultation with Dr. Joe Peters, the first Singaporean to obtain a masters in Music from UP Diliman, Dr. Singh came to Manila to invite Freddie Aguilar to speak in Singapore. Dr. Peters has known the Filipino icon personally since performing in the club Bodega way back in 1978. He still teaches music at the National University of Singapore, and still serves as the founding musical director of the NUS Tremolo Rondalla.
Freddie flew in with his son Jeriko just in time to practice briefly with the rondalla for the climactic number of his presentation that Saturday evening. The moment he stepped into the theater, the full-house audience broke into warm applause. And Freddie kept them mesmerized for over an hour as he stood onstage and told the story of Anak.
It was a wonderful recounting, strengthened by a supreme entertainer’s awareness of the value of dramatic structure as he adroitly unfolded all the twists and turns that led from poignance to sweet success, attended by folksy humor and punctuated by comic punchlines.
He began his story with his family background, how his grandfather had served as a mayor in Isabela, and his father as a police chief. That was at a time, he pointed out wryly, when Filipino politicans were not yet as corrupt. Accused by some rivals of negligence of duty, Freddie’s father simply resigned, out of delicadeza. He felt that the accusation was enough to stain his honor.
His father eventually suffered poor health, so that they had to move to Manila. Freddie narrated how he felt at the time that his father didn’t love him anymore, since from a large house in the province, they had to make do with a small one in Sta. Mesa. They didn’t even celebrate birthdays anymore.
His father remained strict, however, and kept nagging him to pore over his schoolbooks. One time he was delighted to find a newly bought guitar in their house. But as soon as he started playing it, he was told off by his dad. It was for an older sister who had a music project in school.
But he managed to steal hours with that guitar, especially when his sister was done with it. He learned to play by using a songbook, familiarizing himself with the tunes of his idol, Fred Panopio of Pitong Gatang fame. He also taught himself the chords for House of the Rising Sun.
One time, three girls came over to invite him to play at a party, but his dad wouldn’t allow him, telling him in Iloko, or the Ilocano language, that he’d only suffer consequences if he went out with the girls. Freddie also replied in Iloko, that he was defying his father this time. He left the house penniless. But his mother called out from a window and tossed him a P10 bill. He had a good time at the party, but came home ready for his dad’s belt. “It wasn’t for my pants,” he quipped, “but for my behind.”
This was the kind of self-deprecating humor that had the mostly Singaporean audience lapping up the verbal memoir.
His rebellion grew, along with long hair that had his dad shaking his head. At 17, he left home to start performing at the Con Almas music lounge in Sta. Cruz, Manila. There wasn’t even a microphone. He was told to just sing to the crowd. So he started with Sunshine On My Shoulder. He was paid P20 a night, but some customers loved his songs and would give as much as a tip of P100. He thought to himself, why, I’ll get rich here.
He asked permission from Mama Consuelo, a virtual godmother, if he could do an extra show at Cola House in the tourist belt. When he also became a regular there, there was one night when a president’s daughter approached him to express her adulation. That fan was the young Gloria Macapagal.
His stint at Cola House led to another at the Hobbit House, then at Bodega. Challenged to improve musically, he heard of how the best musicians were in Olongapo. He took a bus there with a friend, but kept getting rejected at all the bars on Magsaysay Avenue, until he lucked in at one where a former friend, a girl singer, asked him to join her onstage. When he sang Father and Son, the American servicemen loved him.
He was hired and made many friends among terrific musicians, even if he was shocked to find out that he would alternate with a soul band. Folk singers and soul bands just didn’t mix, as he knew then.
Much as he began to earn more than in Manila, he soon became homesick. He stayed in a small room, did his own laundry and had to cook for himself. He felt so dejected at one point, acknowledging to himself that it was his fault, having become a runaway son, and now he was missing his family so.
It was in that state of loneliness that he began to write a makeup song for his parents. It began with the now famous lyrics, “Nang isilang ka sa mundong ito…” He finished the song in an hour, and recorded it on a mono cassette. When he replayed it, he found himself weeping, feeling so repentant as a prodigal son.
Some American friends heard the tape and urged him to include the original song in his repertoire. He protested that he could get fired, as they were allowed to sing only Western songs. The Americans kept requesting for it when he sang at the bar, until he relented one evening.
A bar girl was in tears by the time he finished the song. She asked plaintively why he was playing her song, the story of her life. Freddie replied that it was his story, too. No one had ever included mothers and their milk in a song’s lyrics. But he had done it, and it was truly an original, everyone agreed, even the club owner who made an exception for the Tagalog song with the haunting melody.
It was a fellow guitar player, Jeremy Navarro, who urged him to submit Anak as an entry to the first Metro Pop Fest in 1976. He did and forgot all about it. Back in Manila, he played the tape for his father. It got him teary-eyed, but he still said: “You should’ve become a lawyer.”
Freddie wasn’t out of tough times. His father took sick again, and had to be brought to the ICU of Ospital ng Maynila. Freddie had to ask friends for help with the blood bank.
He recalled how he lost interest in music, and got himself employed as an electronics engineer at P100 a day, better than the P60 a night he received for music gigs. He also had a mother and four siblings to help take care of, after all.
A phone call came one day. He couldn’t believe his ears: that he was a Metro Pop finalist for his Anak entry. Fearing it was a hoax, he went to an office in Makati to verify it. To his delight, it was true. He recalled how he and Heber Bartolome were the folksinger unknowns who had made it to the finals list of 14. Everyone else was already popular.
He asked help from Mang Doming Amarillo to arrange the song like a lullaby, with backup strings. When they had their only rehearsal on the eve of the event at Folk Arts Theater, which was still being prepared by workmen, Freddie recalled how all the hammering stopped.
“Everyone became quiet. It was the best version that I had played in my life, during that rehearsal. The standing ovation that followed told me I hadn’t made a mistake in choosing my musical career.”
He played the song even better on Finals Night. Someone else’s entry won the grand prize, but Anak became the people’s choice. When he got back home that night, neighbors were all over their street, hailing it as such.
The rest, as he told the rapt audience, is history. In a month’s time, the single had made platinum in Japan. The Colloquium program tells it:
“Anak (Child) climbed fast to the Top 10 charts in Japan and Europe; over six million copies were sold and the song went on to generate 55 conversions in 26 languages. Thirty-seven years later, Anak is used as the theme song of Gangnam Blues, a South Korean film noir released in March of 2015, written and directed by Yoo Ha, and starring Lee Min-Ho and Kim Rae-Won.”
Of course the song was played after Freddie completed his talk and responded to some questions in a spirited open forum. His son Jeriko backed him up on electric guitar, with Dr. Joe Peters on upright bass and seven members of the Tremolo Rondalla playing the banduria as strings backup.
After the electric performance that drew a standing ovation, Freddie received a plaque of appreciation from the organizers. He then had to stay another half-hour to sign autographs.
Over dinner, he told us the story of how he had once approached National Artist Lucio San Pedro, and asked if he could enroll in his music course. The kindly man told him he didn’t have to, not anymore, for it might just put him in a box. His natural talent was already there, and it was exceptional.
His son Jeriko pointed to the watch his father was sporting. It was a gift from Jackie Chan, one of a hundred the action star commissioned to give away to special friends. “Sakin na lang sana,” Jeriko kept needling. For the moment, Freddie dismissed the public pleadings of his anak. But he did it with the broadest and most loving of smiles.
* * *
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Posted by Heber Bartolome at MUSIKA April 27 at 11:56pm
Freddie Aguilar’s ‘Anak’
KRIPOTKIN By Alfred A. Yuson (The Philippine Star) April 27, 2015
Freddie Aguilar gives a heartrending talk at Singapore Management University as part of a prestigious colloquium.
Mrs. Ho Lien Fung (who has since departed) established the Lien Fung’s Colloquium in 2001 “to enhance public understanding and appreciation of culture and society through lectures, talks and other events, with a particular focus on everyday life, while not being dominated by academic or philosophical topics.” It was her hope that the Colloquium would inspire and satisfy students’ as well as the community’s quest for broader knowledge.
Past distinguished guest speakers include Peter Wee of The Peranakan Association of Singapore, Prof. Xu Ping Fang of the Dept. of Archaeology of Beijing University, China’s leading writer Bai Hua, Prof. Chou Chich-Ping of Princeton University, Ms. Peggy Tan of the Orchid Society of Southeast Asia, and Kumar “(standup comedian, actor, host and drag queen).”
Over a month ago, in consultation with Dr. Joe Peters, the first Singaporean to obtain a masters in Music from UP Diliman, Dr. Singh came to Manila to invite Freddie Aguilar to speak in Singapore. Dr. Peters has known the Filipino icon personally since performing in the club Bodega way back in 1978. He still teaches music at the National University of Singapore, and still serves as the founding musical director of the NUS Tremolo Rondalla.
Freddie flew in with his son Jeriko just in time to practice briefly with the rondalla for the climactic number of his presentation that Saturday evening. The moment he stepped into the theater, the full-house audience broke into warm applause. And Freddie kept them mesmerized for over an hour as he stood onstage and told the story of Anak.
It was a wonderful recounting, strengthened by a supreme entertainer’s awareness of the value of dramatic structure as he adroitly unfolded all the twists and turns that led from poignance to sweet success, attended by folksy humor and punctuated by comic punchlines.
He began his story with his family background, how his grandfather had served as a mayor in Isabela, and his father as a police chief. That was at a time, he pointed out wryly, when Filipino politicans were not yet as corrupt. Accused by some rivals of negligence of duty, Freddie’s father simply resigned, out of delicadeza. He felt that the accusation was enough to stain his honor.
His father eventually suffered poor health, so that they had to move to Manila. Freddie narrated how he felt at the time that his father didn’t love him anymore, since from a large house in the province, they had to make do with a small one in Sta. Mesa. They didn’t even celebrate birthdays anymore.
His father remained strict, however, and kept nagging him to pore over his schoolbooks. One time he was delighted to find a newly bought guitar in their house. But as soon as he started playing it, he was told off by his dad. It was for an older sister who had a music project in school.
But he managed to steal hours with that guitar, especially when his sister was done with it. He learned to play by using a songbook, familiarizing himself with the tunes of his idol, Fred Panopio of Pitong Gatang fame. He also taught himself the chords for House of the Rising Sun.
One time, three girls came over to invite him to play at a party, but his dad wouldn’t allow him, telling him in Iloko, or the Ilocano language, that he’d only suffer consequences if he went out with the girls. Freddie also replied in Iloko, that he was defying his father this time. He left the house penniless. But his mother called out from a window and tossed him a P10 bill. He had a good time at the party, but came home ready for his dad’s belt. “It wasn’t for my pants,” he quipped, “but for my behind.”
This was the kind of self-deprecating humor that had the mostly Singaporean audience lapping up the verbal memoir.
His rebellion grew, along with long hair that had his dad shaking his head. At 17, he left home to start performing at the Con Almas music lounge in Sta. Cruz, Manila. There wasn’t even a microphone. He was told to just sing to the crowd. So he started with Sunshine On My Shoulder. He was paid P20 a night, but some customers loved his songs and would give as much as a tip of P100. He thought to himself, why, I’ll get rich here.
He asked permission from Mama Consuelo, a virtual godmother, if he could do an extra show at Cola House in the tourist belt. When he also became a regular there, there was one night when a president’s daughter approached him to express her adulation. That fan was the young Gloria Macapagal.
His stint at Cola House led to another at the Hobbit House, then at Bodega. Challenged to improve musically, he heard of how the best musicians were in Olongapo. He took a bus there with a friend, but kept getting rejected at all the bars on Magsaysay Avenue, until he lucked in at one where a former friend, a girl singer, asked him to join her onstage. When he sang Father and Son, the American servicemen loved him.
He was hired and made many friends among terrific musicians, even if he was shocked to find out that he would alternate with a soul band. Folk singers and soul bands just didn’t mix, as he knew then.
Much as he began to earn more than in Manila, he soon became homesick. He stayed in a small room, did his own laundry and had to cook for himself. He felt so dejected at one point, acknowledging to himself that it was his fault, having become a runaway son, and now he was missing his family so.
It was in that state of loneliness that he began to write a makeup song for his parents. It began with the now famous lyrics, “Nang isilang ka sa mundong ito…” He finished the song in an hour, and recorded it on a mono cassette. When he replayed it, he found himself weeping, feeling so repentant as a prodigal son.
Some American friends heard the tape and urged him to include the original song in his repertoire. He protested that he could get fired, as they were allowed to sing only Western songs. The Americans kept requesting for it when he sang at the bar, until he relented one evening.
A bar girl was in tears by the time he finished the song. She asked plaintively why he was playing her song, the story of her life. Freddie replied that it was his story, too. No one had ever included mothers and their milk in a song’s lyrics. But he had done it, and it was truly an original, everyone agreed, even the club owner who made an exception for the Tagalog song with the haunting melody.
It was a fellow guitar player, Jeremy Navarro, who urged him to submit Anak as an entry to the first Metro Pop Fest in 1976. He did and forgot all about it. Back in Manila, he played the tape for his father. It got him teary-eyed, but he still said: “You should’ve become a lawyer.”
Freddie wasn’t out of tough times. His father took sick again, and had to be brought to the ICU of Ospital ng Maynila. Freddie had to ask friends for help with the blood bank.
He recalled how he lost interest in music, and got himself employed as an electronics engineer at P100 a day, better than the P60 a night he received for music gigs. He also had a mother and four siblings to help take care of, after all.
A phone call came one day. He couldn’t believe his ears: that he was a Metro Pop finalist for his Anak entry. Fearing it was a hoax, he went to an office in Makati to verify it. To his delight, it was true. He recalled how he and Heber Bartolome were the folksinger unknowns who had made it to the finals list of 14. Everyone else was already popular.
He asked help from Mang Doming Amarillo to arrange the song like a lullaby, with backup strings. When they had their only rehearsal on the eve of the event at Folk Arts Theater, which was still being prepared by workmen, Freddie recalled how all the hammering stopped.
“Everyone became quiet. It was the best version that I had played in my life, during that rehearsal. The standing ovation that followed told me I hadn’t made a mistake in choosing my musical career.”
He played the song even better on Finals Night. Someone else’s entry won the grand prize, but Anak became the people’s choice. When he got back home that night, neighbors were all over their street, hailing it as such.
The rest, as he told the rapt audience, is history. In a month’s time, the single had made platinum in Japan. The Colloquium program tells it:
“Anak (Child) climbed fast to the Top 10 charts in Japan and Europe; over six million copies were sold and the song went on to generate 55 conversions in 26 languages. Thirty-seven years later, Anak is used as the theme song of Gangnam Blues, a South Korean film noir released in March of 2015, written and directed by Yoo Ha, and starring Lee Min-Ho and Kim Rae-Won.”
Of course the song was played after Freddie completed his talk and responded to some questions in a spirited open forum. His son Jeriko backed him up on electric guitar, with Dr. Joe Peters on upright bass and seven members of the Tremolo Rondalla playing the banduria as strings backup.
After the electric performance that drew a standing ovation, Freddie received a plaque of appreciation from the organizers. He then had to stay another half-hour to sign autographs.
Over dinner, he told us the story of how he had once approached National Artist Lucio San Pedro, and asked if he could enroll in his music course. The kindly man told him he didn’t have to, not anymore, for it might just put him in a box. His natural talent was already there, and it was exceptional.
His son Jeriko pointed to the watch his father was sporting. It was a gift from Jackie Chan, one of a hundred the action star commissioned to give away to special friends. “Sakin na lang sana,” Jeriko kept needling. For the moment, Freddie dismissed the public pleadings of his anak. But he did it with the broadest and most loving of smiles.
* * *
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