In a hushed moment, I listen to my audio tapes using my still reliable cassette recorder. In this age of digital recording, the tape is considered a relic from the so-called “good old days”. Indeed, my audio tapes capture the soundtrack of my life −the old songs that mattered most. These songs evoke the yesteryears. And the much maligned tape is a repository of our own neverlands and private Idahos. I still recall an AM station ID which blurts out the query: “Where were you when this song was number 1?” (in the record charts, that is).
And with the songs come the montage of memories. Images from the past appear grudgingly, but they come nonetheless. Listening to the Beatles’ Hello Goodbye and Penny Lane takes me back to the time when I was still a tot carried playfully around by my sisters. This was the late 60s or what the flower people, in their drug-addled minds, referred to as “the dawning of the age of Aquarius”, borrowing a line from a hit song by the 5th Dimension. It was supposed to be the beginning of “harmony and understanding” and brotherly love. But a few years later, on this side of the world, Martial Law tightened its grip on the fearful populace; and with it came the advent of a “New Society” era.
The age of disco heralded the late 70s. In the local scene, “namamasyal pa sa Luneta” became Manila Sound’s oft-repeated line. Parroting the soaring falsettos of the Bee Gees became fashionable in high school alongside John Travolta’s gabardine pants and elevator shoes. Soon afterwards, we had our brush with Nippongo when the theme songs from the animé series Voltes V became a hit.
Video killed the radio star in the 1980s. It was the era when MTV music videos killed the golden days of AM/FM radio. It marked a shift in the way my generation listened to music. Audio sounds, to be thoroughly enjoyed, had to be accompanied by slickly-produced videos. This New Wave sound invasion, coincidentally, also saw the passing of an old era with the downfall of the Marcos regime. Images become distinct as I listen to the music: Ninoy’s splattered body at the MIA tarmac; yellow confetti raining down from Ayala buildings; college graduation; my first travel abroad aboard a ship which was symbolic of the start of my voyage to the sea of life with the hope of blazing trails toward success and fulfillment.
The 90s and the early parts of the 21st century form a blur of images. It is a period replete with crossroads and alleyways not taken, and of shredded memories that were consigned to oblivion. And this is the point where my collection of audio tapes ends. I have not developed a liking for rap/hip-hop which is the music dominating this period. Its pessimistic mood reflects the time’s moral and spiritual decadence with the dominance of pop culture and postmodernism. It carries with it the weight of the realization that I am not a master of my own destiny. I am not the pilot of my own airwave.
And with the songs come the montage of memories. Images from the past appear grudgingly, but they come nonetheless. Listening to the Beatles’ Hello Goodbye and Penny Lane takes me back to the time when I was still a tot carried playfully around by my sisters. This was the late 60s or what the flower people, in their drug-addled minds, referred to as “the dawning of the age of Aquarius”, borrowing a line from a hit song by the 5th Dimension. It was supposed to be the beginning of “harmony and understanding” and brotherly love. But a few years later, on this side of the world, Martial Law tightened its grip on the fearful populace; and with it came the advent of a “New Society” era.
The age of disco heralded the late 70s. In the local scene, “namamasyal pa sa Luneta” became Manila Sound’s oft-repeated line. Parroting the soaring falsettos of the Bee Gees became fashionable in high school alongside John Travolta’s gabardine pants and elevator shoes. Soon afterwards, we had our brush with Nippongo when the theme songs from the animé series Voltes V became a hit.
Video killed the radio star in the 1980s. It was the era when MTV music videos killed the golden days of AM/FM radio. It marked a shift in the way my generation listened to music. Audio sounds, to be thoroughly enjoyed, had to be accompanied by slickly-produced videos. This New Wave sound invasion, coincidentally, also saw the passing of an old era with the downfall of the Marcos regime. Images become distinct as I listen to the music: Ninoy’s splattered body at the MIA tarmac; yellow confetti raining down from Ayala buildings; college graduation; my first travel abroad aboard a ship which was symbolic of the start of my voyage to the sea of life with the hope of blazing trails toward success and fulfillment.
The 90s and the early parts of the 21st century form a blur of images. It is a period replete with crossroads and alleyways not taken, and of shredded memories that were consigned to oblivion. And this is the point where my collection of audio tapes ends. I have not developed a liking for rap/hip-hop which is the music dominating this period. Its pessimistic mood reflects the time’s moral and spiritual decadence with the dominance of pop culture and postmodernism. It carries with it the weight of the realization that I am not a master of my own destiny. I am not the pilot of my own airwave.
At some point, I attempt to delete or back mask some audible memories that keep on flashing back, hoping to turn the table against the white noise of existential angst. Life, just like rhythm, seems to be always accompanied by the blues. This laugh is on me, so goes the line in a Bruce Springsteen song.
Despite the milestones, the occasional falls from grace, and catastrophes that have transpired, life still zealously guards its own matrices of meanings. I realize that this exercise of rewinding the storied past could not last. At the end, every memory becomes muffled; backing vocals from old faces remain muted; and only the hissing noise remains to be heard, like the tired scratching in a cassette tape’s loop. I finally see the folly of it all, just like the teacher in the Book of Ecclesiastes. “Life is nothing but a ‘gullible’s travel’ ” seems to be the main theme of my existence.
It is this realization that makes me decide to fast-forward this dry, bare-boned recital of my life’s soundtrack toward tuning in on God’s grace notes. In his book What's So Amazing About Grace, Philip Yancey says: "A composer of music may add grace notes to the score. Though not essential to the melody–they are gratuitous –these notes add a flourish whose presence would be missed. When I first attempt a piano sonata by Beethoven or Schubert, I play it through a few times without the grace notes. The sonata carries along, but oh what a difference it makes when I am able to add in the grace notes, which season the piece like savory spices."
It is not about remixing or synthesizing the sounds through my own efforts and trying to blot out the persistence of memories. It is all about letting God’s overdub of grace to take its flight despite life’s discordant notes and its vicissitudes. To paraphrase the apostle Paul: It is by grace that I have been saved from eternal damnation, through faith-and I cannot take credit for this, it is the gift of God (Ephesians 2:8).
Despite the milestones, the occasional falls from grace, and catastrophes that have transpired, life still zealously guards its own matrices of meanings. I realize that this exercise of rewinding the storied past could not last. At the end, every memory becomes muffled; backing vocals from old faces remain muted; and only the hissing noise remains to be heard, like the tired scratching in a cassette tape’s loop. I finally see the folly of it all, just like the teacher in the Book of Ecclesiastes. “Life is nothing but a ‘gullible’s travel’ ” seems to be the main theme of my existence.
It is this realization that makes me decide to fast-forward this dry, bare-boned recital of my life’s soundtrack toward tuning in on God’s grace notes. In his book What's So Amazing About Grace, Philip Yancey says: "A composer of music may add grace notes to the score. Though not essential to the melody–they are gratuitous –these notes add a flourish whose presence would be missed. When I first attempt a piano sonata by Beethoven or Schubert, I play it through a few times without the grace notes. The sonata carries along, but oh what a difference it makes when I am able to add in the grace notes, which season the piece like savory spices."
It is not about remixing or synthesizing the sounds through my own efforts and trying to blot out the persistence of memories. It is all about letting God’s overdub of grace to take its flight despite life’s discordant notes and its vicissitudes. To paraphrase the apostle Paul: It is by grace that I have been saved from eternal damnation, through faith-and I cannot take credit for this, it is the gift of God (Ephesians 2:8).
Like music, a life with God acquires a new meaning, a heightened sense-surround of awareness of the Creator’s love and grand design for an inconsequential mortal like me. It is like being-born anew and digitally-enhanced for the eternity to come for “…neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:39)”.
Now, the crackling of static is suddenly silenced at last, as though after the final act of discarding a worn-out vinyl alongside the cranky old phonograph.
Now, the crackling of static is suddenly silenced at last, as though after the final act of discarding a worn-out vinyl alongside the cranky old phonograph.
1 comment:
Beautifully put Glenn :-)I like the way you looked at the progression of the oldies to the pop culture of today although I never liked rap music (and still don't). I see the illustration of God in His grace and mercy transforming us in the image of His Son, Jesus..slowly but surely, sometimes painfully but in the end we can say.."in my heart there rings a melody". "He makes all things beautiful...in His time".
corksy
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