01.16.2007

"IPAGDIKET-DIKET, PUSONG PUNET-PUNET": ON ELY BUENDIA, ANGIOPLASTY, AND THE POSSIBILITY OF REUNIONS

WHEN FORMER HEAD ERASERHEAD ELY BUENDIA WAS HOSPITALIZED AFTER A HEART ATTACK LAST JANUARY 7, MANY A MUSIC FAN FEARED THE WORST, AND HOPED FOR THE BEST

UPDATED 01.17.2006: ELY BUENDIA HAS BEEN DISCHARGED FROM THE HOSPITAL [SEE POSTSCRIPT]

by Aldus Santos

You have probably heard, seen, or read about it: while onstage at a Laguna gig with Pupil last Sunday, January 7, Ely Buendia suffered from acute myocardial infraction (or heart attack due to clogged arteries; three clogged arteries, as reported). He was able to finish the set and was rushed to the Asian Hospital in Alabang, where doctors performed an angioplasty on him. (His wife, Diane Ventura, recounted that, prior to the gig, Ely had been complaining about chest pains, but he merely dismissed it as heartburn.) A second angioplasty was performed on the composer at the Philippine Heart Center, where he was transferred a day after the first procedure. The two consecutive operations were potentially damaging, but our pare survived them both.

These are the details.

But grief, apparently, is a hallucinogen; it blurs the empirical and makes people wander off to other places, places that are conceivably better or worse rather than the here-and-now. Let me explain: news of Ely Buendia’s heart attack elicited the same initial reaction from everyone: Oh my God, or slight variations thereof. However, if one weren’t the singer-guitarist’s wife, son, or close friend or acquaintance, what follows Oh my God may vary. “Oh my God, is he okay?,” for example. The enormity may have been too much for some: polysyllabic medical terms, after all, have that effect. And so, “Oh my God, what is an angioplasty?” may have been another possible follow-up. The man had a heart attack that could have killed him; yet, sadly, some people were appending the most inappropriate things to the shock and horror, nonchalantly asking whether old bandmates of his had already visited: “Oh my God, is so-and-so visiting?” As a fifth or maybe sixth inquiry, this would be perfectly acceptable, but then, as a knee-jerk reaction—hmm—I don’t know.

Some serious fans (and what is a “serious” fan anyway?) are, however, affected on what may safely be assumed to be a personal level, regardless of whether it was someone whose hand Buendia shook, whose mid-90s Bananatype cassette Buendia signed, a ten-year-old Pupil fan, et cetera. Buendia was no guitar hero, and his vocal affectations wouldn’t impress the pants off Randy Jackson or Paula Abdul, but he was a good storyteller, someone you felt close to, and he was sarcastic, emotional, and abrasive all at once.

A couple of imbeciles from the past week spread nasty rumors that he was dead, and they got an online lashing with a violence that’s comparable to gladiatorial games. Fans went ballistic and cussed these fuckers out, treating untruths like shiny, spiky ninja weapons that could potentially harm their beloved Pupil vocalist. Buendia was a “virtual roommate” to legions of people—I personally treat my worn-out copy of Cutterpillow to be the principal evidence of the inefficacy of the cassette format; I practically gauged my cardiovascular strength through rest-less recitations of the words to “Back 2 Me”—someone who provided a ready soundtrack to young adults’ heartaches and misplaced aggressions.

Relief is also another hallucinogen. Buendia survived his first angioplasty alright, charmingly reassuring friends and colleagues by texting back, picking up his calls, even entertaining the privileged visitor, and so on and so forth.

People knew that the relief was temporary, though, because of the impending second procedure. But, with the exception of inhabitants of his ICU room (i.e., his family), focus is often lost to peripheries: the TV item, the newspaper side-bar, the online banter. The three odd-days that were the most trying for Buendia’s family were also the three-odd days when they were compelled to address the press, which Diane, with the aide of Pupil co-manager Day Cabuhat, was more than willing and able to do. (They were an endearing superhero tandem who possessed rare mutant powers of reassurance and comfort, with Diane’s hair dyed a crimson red, a la Phoenix.)

Ah, relief, a hallucinogen, indeed; some parties were moved to play doctor and offer their unsolicited speculations on the causes of the singer’s heart attack, all of them, if not blown out of proportion, totally false (the bit about drug-use particularly ticked his loved ones off). This early-80s anti-rock paranoia is so out of place now. As I said in a magazine feature I did on a local mod band, “Propriety is the new punk.” What we (ehem, rockers) are also not¬ are the following: uneducated, shampoo-phobic, and murderously violent. A fan on a blog somewhere commented that maybe Buendia’s past was “catching up with him,” reasoning that if, indeed, he did not do these hedonistic things nowadays, the (fan’s presumption of the singer’s) past would still have a bearing, assuming—well—assuming a lot of things.

You know what’s not a hallucinogen, though? Worry. In the limbo prior to and right after the second angioplasty (thank you, spell-check), worry was the one lucid thing. Worry highlighted mortality (and maybe underscored it, in bold and italics, too), at least in the two or three hours it took Buendia’s people (which actively included Pupil members, by the way; I personally got updates from bassist Dok Sergio, not deluding myself that the seriously bedridden erstwhile Eraserhead would rush to contact me) to finally spam messages of relief and gratitude. Reported visits by members of Rivermaya and Parokya ni Edgar, among others, were meanwhile also feasted on. But the coup de grace remains Buddy Zabala’s visit (as well as news that Marcus Adoro has reportedly traveled from La Union to Manila). To say that it stirred a lot of people would be an understatement—these visits stirred, spiked, iced, and shook people, and they got beautifully inebriated by even the thought of the ex-bandmates enjoying, at the very least, physical proximity. However, it is wisest to think of these as moments of friendship, and not as, yet again, tiny pocket-promises of a come-back. Insinuations as to who weren’t there are, frankly, none of anybody’s business but theirs.

Weekend talk-shows still had features on Buendia’s heart attack, compressing thirty-six years’ worth of a celebrated life in a hundred-twenty seconds’ worth of primetime airtime. The Buzz may not be able to devote one entire gap to Buendia, but we all know thousands in our ranks have devoted ears and hearts and defenses to his musical output since 1993 (maybe even earlier), and our love for the man hasn’t gone on commercial break since.



Postscript: Ely Buendia was discharged Monday night (January 15) and is recuperating at home. "I’ve got a bionic heart now," the singer relays to the author; "I’m the 300,000 Peso Man." The Pupil singer-turned-Pinoy Steve Austin has been advised by his doctors to take a month-long rest before resuming his newfound role as a walking rock spin-off of Cyborg.



Photos by Richard Garcia.

With acknowledgements to the Pupilcity mailing list, Dok Sergio, and Ely Buendia. The article's title is culled from lyrics to the Eraserheads' "Peace It Together," from Natin 99 (BMG Records Pilipinas, 1999).

Aldus Santos’s first book of poems, Vocalese, is out now from Likhanan, Inc. Go here for more details.

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