Signs of the times
First, it’s Denial.
Then, it’s Anger. Bargaining. Depression.
Finally, there’s Acceptance.
They say these are the five stages one goes through when he ties to learn to live without the one he lost.
I’m not exactly sure I went through all these when NU 107 signed off. But admittedly, it hit me hard.
For you see, I had been almost entirely listening to one station the past couple of decades.
Like its place on the radio dial, NU kept me constantly on the edge. This was one place where they played music other stations didn’t want to touch or never knew of. They played it louder than anyone dared. Metallica, Nine Inch Nails, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, Silverchair and their ilk were constant fare. Against a sea of pop stations that featured the star-of-the-moment sensation or 80s hits on Fridays (or other days—it really doesn’t matter), they were the lone wolf.
And it took a lot of balls to do that.
Undeniably too, NU 107 ushered in the resurgence of Pinoy rock.
It was on the bus commute once when I first heard a rather uncanny sound blaring from its speakers. The song was about some guy telling a girl he had done everything to win her attention without much success—including wearing his new T-shirt. I later learned it was a song called Ligaya by the Eraserheads.
On heavy rotation too were such acts as Razorback, Wolfgang, Yano, The Dawn, P.O.T. The station and the bands broke barriers, they defied every pre-conceived notion I had of how music should be played and listened to.
And because people heard them on NU, they caught these bands at gigs, bought their albums, and listened to the radio some more. It was a healthy arrangement.
Much later on when I could afford to buy a second-hand car, NU kept me company on those insanely-long, traffic-congested drives to the office. I would tune in to Zach and Joey in the Morning. It was a zany show that kept me in stitches. Eventually, through circumstances brought about by work, I would meet the hosts, Zach Lucero (also the drummer for Imago) and the show’s newsgirl, Jaedee (Joyce Burton, now a news anchor on TV). When we got married, my wife and I didn’t look far and wide for a couple to host our reception.
But perhaps, nothing shows my belief in everything NU stood for than the fact that I have been to every single one of the Rock Awards. I think. I mean, this was like a yearly trip to rock nirvana. It was a virtual constellation of the scene’s brightest and boldest stars. I have seen Pepe Smith crawl on the stage, drunk, dazed, and confused. And I have witnessed NU jock and erstwhile guitarist for The Dawn, Francis Reyes—also slightly drunk—deliver an impassioned speech about keeping it alive and carrying the torch forward at the last Awards night.
For some time before it finally bade goodbye, there was some talk that NU had been bleeding. Revenue from advertising was insufficient while the costs of maintaining a 24-hour all-week station were piling up. This rock party was good but it had to end.
Presently, I am witnessing its last few moments and I am by NU’s bedside. And bedside is a live webstream. The radio booth is packed with jocks alternately sharing their memories, eulogies, for a beloved friend. Outside, fans and rockstars alike mingle around to pay homage.
As I watch the proceedings, I pop open a cold one. The first few gulps of beer rush down to soothe my parched throat. For a moment there, I hope it is some sick joke. That someone would just grab the mike and say they’d be back the next day. But nobody does. Each time they put on a song, I crank it up like there was no tomorrow. Because I know there is none. I also know it would be sometime before another equally audacious radio station comes around again to give all the finger and grab us by the jugular. I don’t care if the neighbors wake up. In fact, in a throwback to the devil-may-care air of adolescence, I actually wish they do.
Then, they come to the last song. It is Huling El Bimbo, by the Eraserheads. Perfect choice. And then, right before they officially sign off, I lose my connection to the live stream. The cosmic forces do have an absurd sense of humor but I never thought they’d trot it out tonight. I click the refresh button once. No response. Twice. Thrice. This cyber resuscitation was not bringing my connection back. It definitely wasn’t bringing my station back too.
It is over.
Thanks a lot to NU 107 for 23 brave years.
We raise our glasses to you.
Postscript:
I also credit the station for inspiring me to learn the guitar and form a band. Unsuccessful at both, I have long decided to focus my energies on my day job in advertising. Someday, when I win the lotto, I plan to put up a station just like the late, great NU 107. That and a house and lot.
Postscript2:
This article first appeared in a Philippine advertising/brand communications magazine called Adobo.
Postscript3:
The picture you see above was taken by my wife, Caren Yrastorza. You a foodie? Hop on over to her blog: theeatingroom.wordpress.com.
Now comes one of my favorite parts: Marcus doing a reggaefied “Huwag mo nang Itanong.” I know he does it in some of his gigs with Markus Highway but I just can’t stop bobbing my head while he does this now. He’s always been the most laidback among us and his version of the song just captures that spirit. I see Jazz, now an honorary Ehead, grinning from ear to ear.
himself in front and transforms into a fireball of energy as he does “Slowmo,” “Alkohol,” and “Insomniya.” In many ways, I think the band going its separate ways has done Rayms a lot of good. Regularly performing with at least three active bands now, he has discovered multiple avenues to unleash his creative and musical dementia. As he spins around like a wayward top around Ely, I wonder why we didn’t do this as often before. Sure, we were never that kind of a band, but why not? Because we just weren’t.
but that’s it. That’s vintage Buddy. He rocks by being the anti-thesis of a rocker. The hair that’s forever in place. The button down shirts. The carefully-chosen words at interviews. Steady. Like the true bassist that he is.
that he’d do that but to actually witness it on stage is a totally different story. I mean, this is THE Sticker Happy piano. Sure, it no longer works but it’s always been pretty symbolic for the band. Soon after, Ely kicks it over and stomps on it. Now, that’s a symbol.
