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.

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.

A Tentative Step Forward

A few days ago, I woke up to headlines with the words “Vatican” and “gays,” without “condemn” or a variation thereof snuck in there somewhere. People who bet that hell would freeze over the day the Catholic Church takes a less-than-hostile stance against homosexuality must have had visions of snowflakes landing on the devil’s nose when it was reported that a Vatican document had some surprisingly compassionate things to say about gay people.

"Homosexuals have gifts and qualities to offer the Christian community: are we capable of welcoming these people, guaranteeing to them a further space in our communities?” said the document. “Often they wish to encounter a Church that offers them a welcoming home. Are our communities capable of proving that, accepting and valuing their sexual orientation, without compromising Catholic doctrine on the family and matrimony?

"Without denying the moral problems connected to homosexual unions it has to be noted that there are cases in which mutual aid to the point of sacrifice constitutes a precious support in the life of the partners," the document added.

Even if you don’t follow religious news, this is a pretty big deal. It’s like your hopelessly homophobic Tito Boyet Or Lolo Badong—that crusty old relative who warned you that being gay is a sin—suddenly popping into the neighborhood parlor and proclaiming that getting a haircut from Trizsha isn’t so bad.

The faithful hold candles during a vigil to mark the start of the synod

Image from rt.com

To put this into perspective, ex-Pope Benedict XVI (aka Joseph Ratzinger) was, in the past, quoted as saying that gay people are “intrinsically disordered.” Then again, Benedict was a hardline conservative, in as much as the Pope we have now is, well, not. Francis was reportedly present at the synod (the bishop’s assembly happening at the Vatican this week) when the document was read.

Of course, it didn’t take long for people to make their feelings about this bit of news known. My social media feed was inundated with virtual “thumbs up” for this groundbreaking pronouncement. That was expected; most people would see this shift on the Church’s policy about homosexuality as nothing less than extraordinarily welcome news. On the other hand, there were also voices of displeasure and dissatisfaction. Ultra-conservatives are naturally bewildered and disappointed, believing there should be no wiggle room when it comes to the issue of same-sex relationships. Liberals (those who identify with the label, at least), say it’s not enough. It’s a weak yelp in what should otherwise be a scream advocating social equality.

I have nothing to say to the conservatives, except perhaps that they make like Oprah and get with the program. This is more for the liberals rolling their eyes and being all unimpressed. Yes, the Church stops short of actually condoning homosexuality, and still see the acts related to it as immoral and unconscionable. Being gay is fine, official Church policy states, as long as you do nothing about it. But lest people forget, we’re talking about a 2000-year old institution, with tenets and traditions that have been so deeply ingrained in the psyche of its most ardent followers they may as well be carved on the actual rock upon which St. Peter’s Basilica supposedly sits on. Some people may find that this pivot on official Church dogma may be slight, but in the context of a major religion that has kept its beliefs virtually intact for two millennia, it’s something of a milestone. The acknowledgment of the reality of same sex relationships, the fact that it was even brought up and seriously discussed in a major Church forum, and, most of all, the possibility of acceptance and recognition of “positive aspects” of said relationships—these are all significant strides in the discourse of our collective humanity. They should be held up as such and not be dismissed or taken lightly.

The question now is, can the Church do more to show sympathy and inclusiveness towards alternative lifestyles and preferences? Of course it can. But will it? Don’t hold your breath. Pope Francis may be worlds different from his predecessor, but he is still leader of an organization with a billion followers, most of whom are not ready for something as radical as gay relationships. (And despite the seemingly open society we currently inhabit, in many parts of the world, the mere concept of anything other than male-female partnerships might as well be alien). We may not see a Church that will embrace gay people as much as we would like it to in this lifetime, but a Church that has proven that it is not  averse to a discussion about it is the next best thing.

When Occam’s Razor Fails

Image from Wikipedia

The main come-on of Gone Girl for me is David Fincher. I had never heard of the book before publicity for the movie brought it to my attention, and when I found out it was Fincher’s next film, I counted the days until its local release. I’ve followed his career since Seven, and any film that bears his name is like an invitation to a fancy dinner; I’ve no choice but to show up. The director can do no wrong.

An adaptation of a novel by Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl is, at its simplest, the story of a young woman’s disappearance, and how her husband becomes the obvious suspect. Of course, calling it that would be like saying The Godfather is a film about the mafia, or Star Wars is about spaceships. You can refer to it as a domestic thriller about the deterioration of a marriage; a black comedy about getting away with the perfect crime; or even a social commentary on the business of media and the manipulative power the press wields on shaping public opinion. It’s a whodunit that relies more on emotional resonance with the characters than the nitty gritty of forensics or the conventional dramatic depiction of crime-solving.

At one point, one of the characters invokes Occam's Razor. To which the lead detective says, "Actually, I've never found that to be true."

Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) poses in front of a picture of his missing wife (Rosamund Pike)

Image from Merrick Morton / Indiewire.com 

The most entertaining aspect about this movie is how the balance of who to root for is constantly shifting. The audience is left guessing not just on what actually transpired, but who to believe and side with in a tug-of-war between two generally unsavory personalities. It’s refreshing to see the traditional heroes-and-villains roles completely set aside. Instead we get deeply flawed characters that are as larger-than-life as they are real. Ben Affleck brings depth and gravitas to his role as the husband, Nick Dunne, but the real scene-stealer is Rosamund Pike as his wife, Amy. I remember her from Die Another Day, An Education, and Jack Reacher, but those were negligible blips in her career, which will now be defined by her performance here, undoubtedly. Luminous, almost Grace Kelly-ethereal, Pike should get some notices during awards season.

(Bonus sighting: Patrick Fugit, who played the lead in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous, plays a minor character here as a police officer).

Of course, the real star is behind the camera. Fincher directs with a subtle but steady hand that I have yet to see in other filmmakers not named Kubrick or Lynch. In all of his movies,  there is a sense of foreboding that creeps up on you like mist on a gloomy day. One might think it’s easy in obvious thrillers like Seven, Panic Room or Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, but here, in a film set mostly in a quiet suburban Missouri town about the troubles between a seemingly ordinary married couple, the prickly uneasiness he builds is all the more impressive.

The writing is also memorable and razor-sharp. I couldn’t help but tear my eyes away from the screen so I could write down some choice dialogue. Here are a few:

“I love having strangers pick at my scabs.”

“We’re so cute I want to punch us in the face”

“Everyone knows complicated is code for bitch.”

“I’m gonna go Benadryl myself to sleep.”

“I need to check my red panty inventory.”

“The hallmark of a sociopath is a lack of empathy.”

“Why should I die? I’m not the asshole.”

Flynn wrote the screenplay based on her novel

Image from Wikipedia

The movie ends on an unexpected, WTF note. When the credits roll, you may need a moment to blink away or try to make sense of the ambiguous final frame. But that’s another director trademark; it wouldn’t be a Fincher movie without a tiny bit of emotional scarring.