From Dulce to Aegis to the most recent product of our own local singing contests (done on our own terms), we've always known that we, as a race, sing like crazy. Why the desperation for an American stamp of approval? That, right there, is probably where we burn.
At some point, we just have to stop measuring ourselves by other people's standards and learn to love music the way we make it with or without international approval. To be told that we do a pretty good Whitney Houston has got to stop being a compliment even though we really do. We make us second rate.
One day, another white boy, who couldn't sing half as well as we could, would be able to move a crowd more powerfully than we could. Shocked, we would once again cry in protest and say to each other "but we sing better?!" And because we in fact do, we would agree among ourselves that it must be white supremacy.
The blacks with their own brand of soul have overcome this so-called white domination so we really can't hide behind that forever, can we? The blacks have created for themselves a very special niche in music, one which has been astounding people from all over the world whatever the color.
All the Filipino singers who tried and miserably failed to make it big abroad lost their chance when we decided that Aegis and April Boy Regino are bakya and that we absolutely love Mariah Carey.
I am Filipino. Nothing ups my alcohol consumption more than a full blast "Luha" playing in the background if for no other reason that it speaks to me in my own language. Sung five times in a row in full power, perfect melody and sans the vocal gymnastics we never needed to manufacture soul, I'll remember every shitty thing that's ever happened to me and I just might decide to slash my wrist as a dramatic expression of my unspeakable pain. If you doubt me, try listening to Aegis drunk.
But somewhere along the way, we decided that this was uncool.
The white boy has a little bit of that unidentifiable quality which we unknowingly got rid of. He didnt wake up one day and said, "hey, I can sing like crazy. I'm going to sing." He struggles with the singing and he knows it. He probably just stumbled onto a guitar one day, liked it, did it more, sang songs with it, did some gigs, tried out and won. And he won it fair and square if for no other reason than he sings for himself first, for the music next and for the American crowd last.
We've been singing for the American crowd even on Philippine stages. And music with all its glorious pain, exhilarating triumph, consuming love, undying hope and sunshiny happiness has decided not to reward us with its magic.
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