MARTIN Nievera has never been short of stories. At 62, after four decades of filling concert halls and serenading generations with ballads that somehow sneak into every karaoke session, he still commands a room with the kind of energy that makes you forget he’s been doing this for over 40 years.
At the launch of his latest album, Take 2, held at Viva Café in Cubao, the country’s so-called Concert King was in his usual element, chatty, witty, and game to talk about everything, from being a doting grandfather to revisiting the very songs that built his career.
The album is pressed on vinyl, a nod both to nostalgia and artistry. “Artistic? Nostalgic? I’d say both,” Martin told Manila Standard Entertainment. “The needle drop, the warm crackle, the deliberate act of listening, there are so many feels in it.”
For Martin, releasing Take 2 means placing his music where it belongs—etched into grooves that invite listeners to slow down and savor.
And yes, this is where the story returns to “Be My Lady.” His signature anthem, his karaoke legacy, and his forever encore.
For years, contract clauses kept him from re-recording it. Now, with Take 2, he finally did. A voice seasoned by time, a delivery with polish, though don’t expect him to belt this new version live. He tried once, he said, and the audience stayed loyal to the original.
“This is the era of sing-along,” Martin laughed. “If I sing the new version, people get ahead of me. They want the old way.”
Take 2 extends far beyond one song. It carries classics that span eras: from George Canseco’s “Ngayon at Kailanman” to Ben&Ben’s “Leaves.” Yes, Ben&Ben. For Martin, the young folk band represents this generation’s Beatles. Their music, he insists, has a timeless quality, and his version of “Leaves” proves his artistry connects across decades.
The charm of this project rests not only in its tracklist but also in its intent: Martin revisiting his own history while celebrating the permanence of OPM. “This album is a here today and a here forever album,” he explained. Songs like “Tell Me” and “Special Memory” highlight staying power—the kind that endures through time.
Martin is also candid about the cost of vinyl. The records are prized, and turntables even more so. Yet he believes listeners are ready. He looks to collectors, to fans who want something tangible, who enjoy the texture of a needle sliding over grooves, complete with flats, sharps, and human traces absent in digital sound.
Fame once inflated his ego, he admitted. As he recounted, he went from bullied kid to adored star almost overnight. “Talagang lumaki ang ulo ko,” he said. Yet maturity brought grounding. “If it stayed with me, I would not be here with you right now.” Few artists of his stature allow such honesty, and Martin shares it with ease.
