Innocence and The Dawn (for Cookie and Chaos in China)

(the picture above is my high school band's best impersonation of The Dawn pose taken way back in 1989)

What is the life-expectancy rate of the average Filipino male? If you factor in approximately ten cigs per day since first year College (that’s minus 5 minutes x number of cigs) and the “busy” sedentary lifestyle I’ve been living (Downloading, taking a drag from cigs, writing reports, checking e-mail - how busy could you get without getting up from one’s chair? It’s called multi-tasking baby!), and the hereditary diabetes, cancer, etc. etc. and other negative health-related pre-dispositions that is imprinted in my genes, I figured that it is possible for me to drop dead anytime soon. I am now reminded of the thoughts of the great existentialist sages about how life is about death and death is life. To paraphrase Sartre and all these angsty white dead European males disaffected by the failures of modernity, being truly alive means being conscious of death’s constant presence. To live is to prepare for that final second before death when scenes in your life comes back to you like a sequence from your favorite new wave MTV with the fog and all. The ultimate test of one’s life is when you ask yourself the question, “how has my life been?” in this final moment. And there are only two possible answers – contentment or regret.

These existentialist ideas may very well be the subjective premise behind everyone’s favorite activity these days, especially for our generation who grew up in the 80s. By the law of demographics, those of us who achieved consciousness in this decade are now entering (or even way past) the half-way mark of a 60-year lifespan. Our confrontation with the inevitable truth regarding our fleeting youth and our “creeping death” cause us to wallow in what has come to be called as NOSTALGIA – an act of remembering the artifacts of a time in the past IN defiance of the natural logic of our fading memory and weakening bodies.

Although all generations inevitably have their own nostalgic artifacts as a cultural marker of sorts of their time, like how our parents enjoyed Engelbert Humperdnick, Matt Monroe or if they are a little bit younger and way cooler – The Beatles, the generation of the 80s had That’s Entertainment, McGyver, and other cultural artifacts that defined our time. Of course, we remember spraynet, aquanet, USED jeans, shoulder pads and THE BANGS and all these mementos deserve their own essay (just to ensure that the humongous bangs of the 80s are remembered as feats of structural engineering for the knowledge of future generations). But I will be writing about a band that captured the zeitgeist or the spirit of the times best especially for me. 20 years since they first produced a song, they are gaining a new momentum of sorts with a digital rock film (it’s more Almost Famous than Spinal Tap) and new releases in the pipeline.

Not everyone liked them. For instance, my wife averred that she was into Swing Out Sister instead (Break Out). However, in the heady days of the late 80s, in the period right after the dictatorship, there I was in my puberty, holding a red Octoarts tape in hand. One of my first record purchases ever. On the cover was a picture of the band “behind shadows.” One character was especially striking – he had long hair, wore make-up and he had the most piercing eyes. He was Teddy Diaz, and the band of course, is The Dawn.

I did not know then, since there was still no worldwide web, that Teddy and the group had very strong religious convictions. It was only recently that I learned that they were named after the “dawning” of the Holy Mumu (Holy Spirit for you) – a religious painting. But back then, when we had no choice but watch Christian programs like the 700 Club and The Forerunner (and The World Tomorrow, PO Box 2623 Manila, That’s the World Tomorrow [repeat]…), while waiting for Uncle Bob’s Lucky Seven Club to come on, it was kinda scary putting on the tape on our player and hearing an operatic voice sing out his “enveloped ideas” when the cover of the album had at least one representation of Satan. It was only Teddy of course with his goth look which predated The Crow by a good couple of years. After watching Pat Robertson telling you that rock is the devil’s music and then he would proceed to show a clip of The Cure’s “The Blood” and deconstruct the song from the perspective of Christian Fundamentalism, it can get pretty convincing. I believe it was the height of a curious Christian revivalist movement that swept the islands. Suddenly people professed of being born again and smashed ceramic religious icons on the streets. I remember our practical arts teacher, who, instead of teaching us how to turn used cooking oil cans into dustpans, decided to back-mask Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” in class to prove that Satan is behind rock (“Listen, Freddie Mercury is telling us that he wants to smoke marijuana!”) and that we should, young as we were, accept JC into our lives to be saved from the eternal fires of hell. For a young boy of eleven, in a room by himself, it was a big deal to put on The Dawn, and if Pat Robertson was being truthful, unwittingly court the Devil’s presence. Who knows if the intro of Enveloped Ideas was really a Satanic prayer (there was also talk of Satanic cults kidnapping children in order to rip their young hearts as a sacrifice for the Devil at that time).

I played the tape just the same. But I always stopped the tape before it reached Susi. Though I was not scared of the devil, I was more scared of engkantos, duwendes and other multo that the song easily conjured. In hindsight, young as I was, it was an act of defiance. You remember when you were young, it was as if God, the Holy Mumu and the whole entourage, spoke to you in booming voices inside your head to remind you what is wrong, that the devil is near? Putting on that tape meant silencing these voices for a moment and learning a different, exciting and brave language against the odds. It was the language of rock ringing poignantly and clearly in Teddy Diaz’s riffs (imagine hearing Teddy’s intro guitar riffs to Enveloped Ideas here). God knows what Jett was singing about with his high-faluttin’ obscure pa-deep lyrics, but I knew it was my language, and it spoke my voice. And The Dawn was not alone in teaching me this new idiom. Music by The Cure , U2 and place-your-new-wave-band-here were all speaking this strange new language which appealed to me in a very strange visceral manner.

Of course, I did not turn into a devil-worshipping, heart-ripping drug addict just because I listened to The Dawn. But something indeed snapped at the core of my young being after listening to The Dawn and other bands like them. My Dawn fanaticism would reach its apex when their second album was released. I Stand With You remains a timeless record. To my mind, it stands there with Boy by U2 in terms of its power to deliver a visceral sonic assault to the heart and body (ISWY was like Metallica in a brit-sophisticated way, did Teddy use metalzone before it was even invented by BOSS?). Whereas I was content learning the simple but effective lead to Enveloped Ideas in my own private time with a borrowed guitar (it took me weeks just to get the notes right), I just had to up the ante after hearing the album’s title track.

The guitar parts of the song was structured like a symphony. It starts out very much like Beethoven’s Emperor and soars just like the piece in the end. Unable to fathom the complex fretwork, and it just would not be effective without a distortion pedal, I smashed my cousin’s cheap acoustic guitar (Hello, Cindy! Now you know, sorry!) and kept the fretboard with a segment of its hollow body. “Now, it could pass off as an electric guitar!,” I thought to myself. Who could resist playing air guitar to “I Stand with You”? In lazy afternoons, or in the morning, whenever the mood hits me, I would play that particular song, and stand before an imaginary crowd with my “guitar” in hand and play in synchronicity with the record. I would reach air guitar orgasm when Teddy’s lead would reach the highest notes and shift to power chords at the songs outro. Damn! What a great song! I would pretend that I was Teddy Diaz playing at “Concert at the Park” in 1987. I would spin around just like him while playing long and indulgent solos. The punks on the crowd would love it. Despite the strong rains, none of them would leave as I play the muted chords of “Dreams’” Intro, you know, the one that sounds like early Cure. My rock star fantasies would be occasionally halted with the arrival of my father. Otherwise, my daily imaginary performances would stretch to a whole complete set, capping the concert with “Love Will Set Us Free”.

With my father’s office nearby, there were many people in the house in most times. At first, they were immensely amused seeing this 11 year-old doing his air guitar without a care for the world (if the drumming part of the song is excellent, like the trademark high-hat of JB, I would switch to air drumming). I remember them in a huddle with my elder brother secretly making fun of me. But I guess my resolute (I had more in my repertoire such as another air guitar favorite - Bad (live) by U2) in being weird gained for me their tolerance. It was the type of tolerance reserved for those who are misunderstood. I guess I just weirded them out in the same way that I weirded out my batchmates with my music fanaticism. Later on, I would find out that it was just a case of me getting ahead of them for a couple of years in terms of musical appreciation. They would finally find their rock and roll “voice” with bands like Bon Jovi (Bed of Roses for Raffy), Fra Lippo Lippi (Beaty and Madness for VJ) and Extreme (More than Words for Anne(x) hahaha). But the Dawn always assumed a special place in our hearts. Especially, when they released the single “Salamat.”

The significance of the song is of course given greater meaning by the senseless death of Teddy Diaz in 1988. In the same way that rock journalists always fetishized the death of John Lennon - they would ask rock icons where they were and how they felt when they learned that Mark Chapman, while holding a dog-eared copy of Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye in one hand, shot John Lennon outside his NY apartment - I’ve never forgotten how I knew of Teddy Diaz’s death. In that fateful August afternoon, of all people, Inday Badiday came on the air in that trademark voice and announced the tragic death of Teddy in her show Eye to Eye. Come to think of it, demographically speaking once again, his passing was my first real and tangible experience of death. When my lolos passed away in the early 80s, I was too young to be affected by their deaths. In my adolescent years, when I have began to understand the meaning of death as a possible disappearing into nothingness and my parent’s still seemed immortal, it was Teddy’s murder which provided my first tangible experience about passing away. My immediate concern was “what will happen to the music?” Apparently, I was not alone in asking this question.

There was no doubt that Teddy was the heart of the band and he provided not only musical direction but was also largely responsible for the phenomenal response of young people to their music. It was one thing to listen to his riffs but it was another seeing him even just on television. Lost in his music, he would conjure a palpable energy between his guitar, himself and the audience. I was too young to watch the Storm concerts live aside from being too far away (I spent a better portion of my growing up years both in Manila and Cagayan de Oro), but seeing the telecast of the Concert at the Park performances (there were two I believe), which I waited for with bated breath every Sunday evening in Channel 4 (or 7? Tama ba?) nearing midnight (to my great disappointment, sometimes they would feature a segment on kundiman instead after waiting for weeks), I could feel the energy that even a taped delayed telecast could not dampen. Did you see the people there in the rain? They were enthralled by this guitar god who spoke a mystical language through his feedback and distortion. With his passing, the question on everybody’s mind was “will they continue or disband?” Can they pull it off without Teddy?

The answer came in the form of a song. It was one of the last songs that Teddy supposedly wrote and it was a swan song, a requiem aria of sorts that was apt in its allusion to a departed friend. It was so effective and became the band’s break out single since it referenced an almost mythical narrative about the band given the obstacles that they now face without their musical leader. The song “Salamat” became the anthem of the band without Teddy and the people rallied to their support. To this day, the song remains their most recognizable single and proved to everyone that they remain a musical force to be reckoned with despite Teddy’s death. For many early fans like me, the success of the song also meant letting go of a privileged intimacy between a fan and a band that is only possible before a band reaches a degree of success like that achieved by The Dawn at this period. The commercial endorsements ensured that the band’s music reached a greater number of people across the archipelago.

I am no rock historian but I believe when they played in Cagayan de Oro during the “Beyond the Bend” period, it was the first rock concert to have been staged in the City in ages. I would imagine Asin to have played in the City during the early 80s or late 70s, but for a long time, there was no common cultural event for the youthful misfits of the City to take part of. By this time, I have managed to convince some of my batchmates of the genius of this Filipino band. So there we were, five 12 year-olds (Jon, Macoy, Ralph, Raffy and Me – the original members of our high school band Chaos in China!), in our first rock concert that in so many ways would change our lives. We stood out from the rest of the crowd. Aside from perhaps being the youngest, we were all from middle class families studying in one of the more reputable private schools in the City. Around us were teeners who appeared to be from seedier parts of the City or at least projected themselves to be. When the lights went out at the beginning of the show, all of those from the general patronage section jumped the fences and descended upon us in unison (a tactic that served me well during the China Crisis concert at the PICC recently – to the chagrin of the y/preppies from Makati). A punk who was dancing with himself decided to topple the lighting rig that stood on the floor of the gym in a moment of joyous rebellion. Good thing no one was hurt. For sure, the organizers were flabbergasted by the scene of anarchy never before seen in this laidback City in Northern Mindanao. People in the balcony were brandishing bottles of San Miguel Beer Grande as the band ripped through their set list with songs from their first three albums and a San Miguel Beer jingle. It was while the band was singing this beer jingle that a rattan chair (yes, they were foolish enough to have chairs then in a rock concert) flew through the air and hit Jett Pangan. The band stopped playing midway, walked out and the lights went on. They came back and played a couple more songs after Martin Galang negotiated with the crowd. This time the lights of the gym were all left open to control the crowd.

We just stood there immobilized by everything that was happening around us. It was a heady mix of excitement, dread (what will our parents say if they heard about what happened here?), and anticipation. I don’t know about the rest of my friends who were also there, including two of our girl classmates who went by themselves (Bernie and Marge ba? hahaha), but for me, it was my introduction to the sexy and dangerous energy of live performance. These punks were my comrades, they perhaps understood why one can’t help but do air guitar in good parts of a rock song. At the same time, while my first rock concert affirmed all my fantasies about performing before an electrified audience, and the collective joy of moshing, which caused me and my friends to eventually form a band in high school and college, the flying chair incident was also an awakening of sorts for me. The Dawn without Teddy was not what it used to be. For me, the passionate, joyous, and sincere playing of Teddy Diaz stood in sharp contrast to the state of the band at this point. They are now playing beer jingles albeit in arenas before huge crowds. It was the beginning of a long train of disappointments that in hindsight is actually the hallmark of growing up.

But I never lost love for the band. After all, it was only music and I was going to have my own band. Who knows ? We might be able to capture a little bit of that same Teddy Diaz magic? The Dawn became even bigger than ever. They reached their apex with the release of “Iisang Bangka” a couple of years later. Mining the same themes as “Salamat” it was the perfect anthem for graduating high school seniors all over the country at that time. We were a high school batch of three sections, with each section exhibiting its own unique characteristics. I belonged to the nerdy section that had the reputation of being the teachers’ favorites. For four years, there was a clear though unspoken rivalry between our section and the rest of the batch which manifested in our failure to deliver a winning performance for the annual high school-level cheering competition. We were in our final year and we wanted to prove that these artificial boundaries were surmountable. We will win this cheering competition no matter what. And so we brainstormed. Unlike other batches who relied on external help or who took their cues from faculty coordinators, we collectively pitched in to craft our cheer. And our theme was, guess what? “Iisang Bangka.” By this time, the veterans of the Cagayan de Oro The Dawn concert (with a few additions and subtractions) were already a performing rock band, and we volunteered to be the back-up band to the cheering performance of our batch. While the other year levels had drum and bugle accompaniments, we had a full rock band. We never won the top prize for cheering even in that final year but hearing all 119 shout in unison – “Ating liliparin, may harang mang sibat! Ating tatawirin, daluyong ng DAGAT (everyone’s favorite part)! Basta’t kasama mo ako, iisang bangka tayo! Ano man ang mithiin ay makakamtan natin!” we were definitely the victors on that day. (In hindsight, naïve populism wasn’t so bad when you are young and didn’t know any better. Hehehe ) Jett, if only for this moment, you are forgiven for singing that San Miguel Beer jingle in Cagayan de Oro almost twenty years ago, and this forgiveness even extends to the current ideologically-problematic Alaxan commercial.

And so here I am, many years later, in a coffee shop, trying to put a plug to this outpouring of nostalgia by writing this blog. It has been two days since I saw the indie film “Tulad ng Dati” about The Dawn and even though it was fictional I was taken aback by the honesty in the way the band confronted their legacy as well as how the film approached a host of fancy existentialist issues. It is at once an indictment of the present state of the music industry as well as a coming to terms of sorts. The most touching and meaningful part of the film for me was when Jett embraced Teddy’s ghost and bawled in a farewell scene. Teddy was not just a dear friend who was sorely missed but Teddy also represented the kernel of every existentialist nostalgia trip – the sad yet beautiful pining for loss innocence.