Sunday, November 30, 2014

A Different Sunday


NOTE: This is a heavily altered version of a music column I wrote for The Manila Times, the online link of which has disappeared



The best six hours of radio programming in the Philippines happens every Sunday starting at 6 pm. The show is called “A Different Sunday” and it airs on DWJM (or Jam) 88.3. What makes it so special? The concept is actually very simple.

But first, a bit of a backgrounder.

Jam 88.3 is the first radio station on the FM band in Metro Manila. While many of the other stations play the most current Top 40 hits, Jam’s positioning is slightly different: its playlist consists mostly of tracks in the alternative and indie pop-rock genre. “Alternative” in this sense is left-of-the-middle songs from artists that may or may not have made it big in the mainstream. It’s not as high-brow as DZFE (98.7), which plays classical music, nor is it as uptight and sentimental as Crossover (105.1, middle-of-the-road pop jazz). If all the FM radio stations were all part of the same family, Jam would be the hip, tattooed, jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing, slightly off-kilter brother of Wave 89.1, Magic 89.9, and 99.5 Play FM (which, incidentally are all owned and controlled by the same entity).

Once called Citylite 88.3, which played contemporary jazz, Jam is perhaps the closest thing listeners have to an heir to the late, lamented NU107. It does not rely too heavily on American pop charts for its programming and instead looks to other sources. It is sometimes difficult to identify what exactly the station is looking for before it includes the song on its regular playlist: it could just as easily be from someone as popular as John Mayer or Linkin Park, as from some obscure independent artist like Greg Laswell, Chapel Club or A Silent Film. (I use the term “obscure” quite loosely here. I’m sure these artists have devoted fans who will hurl mocking retorts at me for practically calling them unknowns).

I suppose Jam’s edge is that they appeal to a very specific listener, one whose musical diet isn’t dictated by Billboard’s Hot 100. Some might posit that the station possesses a certain “snob” appeal, a sort of hipster-like, nose-up-at-you attitude—no Taylor Swift, Ariana Grande or One Direction songs here—but I think this is more because of specialization and niche targeting rather than arrogance or a better-than-everyone-else mentality. Jam appeals to a specific audience—they are not masa.

And so the music they play is an “alternative” to traditional Top 40 or those loud stations that broadcast in the vernacular. They have “mainstream” artists on rotation, sure, but the vast majority is granted a voice here in this country only through their speakers. For every Fall Out Boy or Avril Lavigne, they have Belle and Sebastian, The Raconteurs, Phoenix, Surfer Blood and many others.



Jam’s biggest contribution to local radio, to me at least, is “A Different Sunday.” First, there are no DJs. For an FM radio station, that’s a pretty big deal. (They tried putting a real live human onboard for a few weeks recently, but quickly scrapped it, ostensibly after receiving negative feedback from fans, including me). There are occasional gaps filled with plugs or commercials (hey, they still have to earn) but otherwise, it’s six hours straight of nonstop music.

And what kind of music do they play exactly? Everything EXCEPT the traditional studio-recorded version of a song. This means covers or a re-interpretation from the same artist of his or her own song, a live or acoustic version from the original artist, or any other incarnation of a song that fits into the Jam 88.3 template.

What’s so special about an all-covers music program? Plenty, as it turns out. Many of these tracks are rare; difficult to find even in this age of YouTube and Spotify. By playing these versions on local radio, fans are given the opportunity to listen to something they would otherwise have never had the chance of hearing anywhere else. Yes, it may be easy to do a Google search on every song or performance by a favorite artist, but like I’ve said countless times before, there is something strangely exciting and comforting about hearing an amazing song at an arbitrary moment. It takes you back to a very specific memory: of a time, a place, a person. And it’s like someone out there extended a hand and grasped yours, making you feel connected, even for just the length of a song.

So, on a quiet Sunday evening, while you’re driving home, staying in your room, or hanging out at a friend’s house, you might hear The Smashing Pumpkin’s version of the Fleetwood Mac classic “Landslide;” Emile Millar’s take on Howard Jones’ “No One Is To Blame,” Keane covering U2’s “With Or Without You,” the Sugababes’ “Push The Button” covered live by Starsailor; a quieter version of Mayer’s “Heartbreak Warfare;” or Jack Johnson tipping a hat off to John Lennon with “Imagine;” and many, many more.


It’s programming that calms as much as it excites, like a soothing and stimulating massage for the ears and heart. I don’t expect everyone to understand my affection for a radio show, especially these days when it’s so easy to just create our own mood-specific playlist in our phones or laptops, but A Different Sunday truly lives up to its name. Yes it’s really just a bunch of songs played during a specific number of hours, but it’s also a fitting farewell to the weekend, and a comforting easing back to the salt mines of another work week.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Killing The Cynic

Written at the top of Table Mountain, Cape Town, South Africa
8 November 2014


The sun hangs low at the edge of the horizon.

Below there is nothing but an ocean of clouds.

I’m sitting on top of a mountain, 1067 meters straight up.  


There is another world up here. Bushes with flowers thrive despite powerful winds and an inhospitable climate. I cross my arms and wish I had brought a thicker jacket.

The jagged edges of the cliffs resemble a crude staircase, the steps covered in the green of vegetation, everything else in the reddish-brown of rock and dirt. 

I cannot see land or sea; the cottony clouds obscure all signs of life below, as if I am in a plane and we are hovering above the earth.


Further up the sky is an intense blue; peaceful but insistent, screaming its tranquility.

I can hear my own thoughts but they are coming faster than I can write.


How fortunate the souls who have made the trip up here and have indulged their eyes to such  wonder.

It’s nature at her theatrical best, showing off her majesty as she often does.



It’s sustenance for the spirit, the way prayer can sometimes be.

I take a deep breath, take it all in, and close my eyes.

And gratitude fills my heart.