10.22.2008
ACROSS HIS UNIVERSE: THE RETURN OF RICO BLANCO
AS HE ENDS HIS HIATUS, HE RETURNS, INTENSE AS EVER. RICO BLANCO TALKS TO ALDUS SANTOS, ON HIS COMEBACK.
On a loop, stereo-panning from left to right to just about anywhere, is the Wilson-esque mantra “Lahat ng hassle ay mawawala.” Projected on a twin-screen canvas: pensive skyscapes, but with the bustling momentum of a city street, if that at all were possible. The lights guys are tweaking their illuminated attempts at Sistine (on the ceiling, silly), while, for the umpteenth time, still on a loop, the mantra “Lahat ng hassle ay mawawala” rings, leap-frogging from one speaker to another. The mall cinema, where I usually get my fix of art-on-celluloid—or Hollywood trash, whichever the case may be—is where there is now an enviable, state-of-the-art rock rig. For at least one night, shutter-bugging and video-camming away are more or less allowed, and everyone is wasting no small second of this. Once more, sans variation, “Lahat ng hassle ay mawawala” resounds, like it was a test of patience at the loony bin. I hear a fan-girl vaguely complaining about the numbing repetition, as though it was a death threat, or a perverted prank call in the dead of night, instead of an earnest admonition to be calm, and, well, hassle-free. The persistent droning goes on, and Rico Blanco walks in, clad in a red-and-black buttoned-up shirt and white pants, and starts palm-muting his way into the opening bars of “Ayuz,” a cut off his Warner debut Your Universe. While the hipster soundbites of Taken By Cars, his opening act for the exclusive album premiere, were taken in fairly favorably by the audience, there’s no denying that the people came for the former Rivermaya singer, that god-awful man with the Midas touch, who aces just about every task in the rock book: writing, arranging, and being an all-around instrumentalist-cum-studio whiz. Clearly, the people at Gateway tonight are in for a treat. After all, Blanco is not a guy who could merely “carry a tune.” “Wala na tayong mga problema,” he finally sings, his signature nasality intact, and, somehow, it is like a reassuring shoulder tap.
“Nu’ng nagbakasyon ako, inisip ko: ‘Huwag na kaya akong bumalik?’” Rico opens as a greeting spiel, and the mini-concert is suddenly ensconced in VH1 Storytellers mode. The theater falls silent, like how a roomful of relieved people at a hospital corridor will probably sound like after the announcement of the survival of a loved one (and no matter what you say—yes, the absence of sound is a sound). Rico’s audience probably feels the same way: relieved with his return from a transient death of sorts. As ‘Maya lore now goes, Rico bid the group farewell in May of 2007, in a haze of (metaphorical) dust and gun-smoke, with the singer pretty much keeping mum and reserved. The supergroup secured a new singer via the reality TV route, while Blanco opted to design shirts for Human, do quiet charity work with A Million Flames, and generally meander like a restless wind inside a letter box for several months. Tonight, however, formally marks the end of his weary sabbatical. He goes through the whole album with ex-Mojofly bassist Ricci Gurango and Skychurch skinsman Robert de la Cruz, and, while he still possesses the charisma of his prime years, there is a visible dread and, to a certain measure, a shyness that is hard to place in the man’s face. Was it fright? Uncertainty? As a tease, he will ripple through the familiar piano riffing of “214” and “241 (My Favorite Song),” to cheers and jeers from the cinema seats. He will loosen up from time to time, permitting himself a rousing “I can’t fucking hear you!” when the room gets dead and cold from the occasional blank faces. “These are my new songs,” Rico may have been thinking, “Get over the old ones.” When I meet him for coffee a week after the Gateway premiere, I suggest a non-Starbucks café, “So they won’t bother you,” I say.
“Now, I’m happy people are saying, ‘Ang ganda [ng album mo], because you cover a lot of ground, genre-, style-, topic-wise, or whatever,’ ‘di ba?” he shares, relieved and palpably more relaxed. He recalls, “When we [Rivermaya] were starting out, I thought naman that I was doing the same thing, but they said, ‘Walang direksyon.’” We laugh in chorus. Really—what do people want? “Mayro’n ding mga ganu’ng argument na—alam mo ‘yun?—‘pag loyal ka sa tunog mo, either ‘loyal ka sa tunog mo’ or ‘monotonous’ ka,” I offer. “Oo, like AC/DC. Sasabihin ng iba, ‘Nakakasawa naman; pare-pareho.’ ‘Pag binago naman nila, sasabihin ng tao, ‘Ay, bakit ganu’n?’” Blanco wonders out loud. Your Universe, his solo debut, is treading on similar ambivalent territory. While his new material is reminiscent of Rivermaya (duh), it also, simultaneously, threatens to alienate. Growth is a bitch, indeed—it just depends on which people are looking, and, yeah, what kind of bitch? Rico Blanco is no newbie to this conflict, and he shares, “Those things have always been around naman, from the start. Nu’ng first album, [they were saying,] ‘Tignan nga natin how the rest of the album sounds,’ after hearing ‘Ulan,’ ‘214,’ and ‘Awit ng Kabataan.’ Nu’ng second album naman lumabas, ‘Tignan nga natin kung kaya nilang sundan.’ There’s always something: ‘Tignan nga natin kung wala na si Bamboo,’ ‘Tignan nga natin kung wala na si Nathan.’ Eh, ganu’n naman lagi, eh! What can I do? If people are curious, they’re curious. I just do music, you know? I try not to care about those kinds of things too much.”
It is a slow night for Makati-brand consumerism. A barista girl comes over to bring us our drinks, and all my reassurance of relative solitude and botherlessness promptly turns to vapor. “Sir, I made it with love,” she tells Rico, to which he gamely replies, “Uy, thank you. Masarap ba ‘yun? Delikado ‘yan, ah!” He smiles politely and turns back, resuming, “Siguro, over the years, you learn a lot of things, and you get excited about the things that you learn, the things you discover. Tapos, ‘yung simple, nakita ko ulit. It’s not something I just discovered; it’s something I re-discovered—‘yung bumalik was the feeling, eh, more than anything. I remembered how I felt when I was first discovering music, when I was first learning to play keyboards, or the guitar, and then putting together, you know, just tracks, and then, ‘Wow, it’s a sound.’” The man then shares fond memories of his early forays into home recording using a simple double-cassette panel. I do not know what “early” means in Rico Blanco years, though. He might have been five or six when he first dabbled in amateur demoing. The conversation somehow shifts to Radiohead’s major leap from being a New Order-U2 hybrid (Pablo Honey, The Bends), to being Pink Floyd hopefuls (OK Computer), to being all-around pimps of electronic discordance (Kid A, Amnesiac, Hail to the Thief). “Somehow, ‘pag artist ka, ta’s nagbago ‘yung taste mo over several albums, ‘yung mga fans ng previous work mo, sasabihin, ‘Wala na.’ Expected naman ‘yun, eh. But you also gain new fans. Radiohead lost their fans na gusto ‘yung song-based [material nila],” Blanco opines. The man is no Jonny Greenwood, but shit, have you heard Rivermaya’s Free in its entirety, or maybe “Hangman (I Shot the Walrus)” from Atomic Bomb? ‘Nuff said. “Ikaw, sabihin mo sa ‘king mula nu’ng dati, ‘yun pa rin ang influences mo?” he challenges. “Well, I still love Radiohead, but I got over ‘Creep,’” I wanted to say.
I think of René Magritte’s “Golconde” from 1953: an unsuspecting urban street experiencing a raining of men in bowler hats. Rico goes on to explain why he likes Magritte—mainly that it’s idea first before technique for the surrealist—and I imagine a portion of EDSA getting rained on by hundreds of Rico Blancos. If they were all singing while falling from the make-believe Magritte sky, will they harmonize or sing in unison? Will they agree with each other or beat each other with sticks? After all, has not Blanco disagreed with his former selves in his music? “Mayro’ng ideas na paglalaruan ‘yung head mo—gusto ko ‘yun! Para sa ‘kin kasi, ‘yung advantage ng painting is you can create things that don’t exist. […] What attracts me to it, something that, maybe, will never happen, or something that can’t, scientifically, possibly happen, ‘yun ‘yung p’wede mong gawin. ‘Yun ‘yung gusto ko, eh,” he stares at the café ceiling entranced in thought. Talking about the expansive soundscape that is “Yugto,” one can hear the man almost painting, “‘I want Taiko Japanese drums there, and African shekere here, and trumpets.’ I was really painting a picture with this song, and I had to use those things. How can I talk about these things kung wala ‘yung middle piece, ‘yung orchestral part? Imagine it without that. If I remove the banging drums and the trumpet, [how can I portray] my walls of Jericho tumbling down? It may be self-indulgent, but I needed those things—nothing was unnecessary.”
I think of “Yugto”—that stunning bit of multi-faceted pastiche that shuns standard verse-chorus-verse—and how it employed more than a hundred tracks in the studio (“Just because I could,” says Rico). The man who masterminded the neo-epic is wearing a shirt and slippers tonight. He is carrying a wet market-variety plastic bag. His hair is unkempt, and it does not look like a “look.” Who would have thought, right? If the dude suddenly turns water into wine—or coffee into tea—no one would see it coming.
Photos by Mari Arquiza
TAGS: Rico Blanco Rivermaya Your Universe
