“There is a comforting way to visualize that the band leaders, now deceased, may be continuing their creative passion in the afterlife”
IN THE latter part of the 50s and the early years of the 60s, quite a stretch under the unforgiving mid-afternoon Ilocos sun that shot 33s in those years to come-hither dusk, we hold cherished memories of playing, just out of our formative years, with the 46-member Pinili Troubadors Band.
Today, only a few days to Palm Sunday, we cannot get ourselves out of the evening procession route in the hill town of Pinili, where for decades Aglipayans outnumbered Catholics.
But that’s understandable because the rebel Catholic priest, Gregorio Aglipay of the adjacent town of Batac, made his last stand in the then thickly forested areas of what was largely known as Barrio Cullabeng – shared by the towns of Paoay, Badoc and Batac – during the Philippine-American War at the start of the 20th century.
As a young musician – we were in fact the youngest with seven summers near our nape – we played the B-flat trombone on the front line of four other trombonists behind the male baton twirler.
As Palm Sunday approaches, March 29 this year, we have mist in our eyes, aware that more than 90 percent of our colleagues in the band have gone beyond Bantay Simminublan, an imposing mountain several kilometers northeast of the town proper of what is now Pinili, which became a town in 1920.
Sometimes we get some comforting thought that perhaps, lifting a page from musical folklore, imaginary band leaders like the clarinetist Feliciano C. Blanco, who failed to read da capo al fine when he was 89 years old, may be conducting a band in heaven.
Or his cousins tenor saxophonist Justiniano Zafaralla and sousaphone player William Valentin Cabie, c;arinetist Lucas Zafaralla, clarinetist Florencio Blanco, alto saxophonist Alfredo Valenzuela, trombonist Amador Valenzuela, trumpet player Florencio Cabie, clarinetist Esteban Cabie, trombonist Orlando Catubay, clarinetisrts Geronimo Cabie and Esteban Fernandez – still reading their musical sheets under Blanco’s baton.
Or perhaps with clarinetist Julio Plan of the Paoay Majestic Band, which later became the Jolly Boys, or the trombonist Honorio B. Baysa of the Rhythm Masters, or trumpet player Amy Galinato, or trombonist Isidro Sadumiano..
In a sense, there is a comforting way to visualize that the band leaders, now deceased, may be continuing their creative passion in the afterlife.
But what does this memory of an aging – may we add gracefully – musician mean, signify and symbolize?
We find it important, even if as in the previous tense, we did not really understand then what Lenten meant, except the meaning of the syncopated notes we played during the evening processions during the Holy Week.
Today, yet once more we reflect on traditional, local activities like the Pinili Troubadors and the Tiger Boys of Pinili, the Majestic Band and the Rhythm Masters Band of Paoay playing during Lent which inevitably helps pass down cultural identity to the younger generation.
That we had the opportunity to play with these bands serves to document specific cultural practices and musical traditions that might otherwise be forgotten, preserving the “richness” of community, particularly in Ilocos Norte.
The music-evoked nostalgia helps create a bridge between who we were in that pleasant past and who we, the survivors, are now – fostering a stronger sense of self.
And as we, survivors of that era after the second world war, reflect on spiritual and developmental growth we remember Lenten themes in Pinili and Paoay, where the season was often characterized by “sacrifice,” “discipline,” and “reflection,” – allowing us to explore our personal development, faith, and early understanding of hardship or piety.
The connection to our past selves in the 50s and the 60s, before we played with The Mendiola Brass with The Bad Habits in the capital, allows for the evaluation of childhood attitudes against adult perspectives, recognizing how those experiences shaped our deeply held beliefs and principles as well as goals and preferences.
We would not be surprised if our column piece would resonate with readers who have had similar childhood memories, fostering a sense of community connection.
There is an axiom in the power of music, where musical memories are often preserved more vividly, making them a powerful tool to evoke emotional, “warm” recollections of the past
Verily, such childhood memories are treasures that we hold dear throughout our lives, memories that helped shape who we are today which, beyond the alphabet, almost always bring us warmth and happiness when we sit back in our offsite work area, relax to the music of Perez Prado, Glenn Miller, Ray Conniff, Acker Bilk, Benny Goodman, Harry James, or Ray Anthony.
