Plaka Notes #7: Sari-Sari Story by Gloc-9

A quarter of a century on, the Philippines' "king of hip-hop" may have nothing left to prove—but his new record shows he's not keen on slowing down (although his rapping has).

I’m certain this isn’t surprising to many of you, but hip-hop is definitely one of my musical blind spots.

Simply said, I didn’t grow up with it as a kid. I am certain my impressions of pop radio not playing hip-hop in the early to mid-90s—knowing the nuances of Manila as compared to, say, either coast of the United States—is wrong. But also, I’m sure I mentioned that I grew up with smooth jazz playing on the radio most weekends. I was more into the melodic. I did get exposed to rap when I was a little older, but perhaps unfortunately this was the heyday of gangsta rap, and I’m certain my prejudices were in play at the time, but I just wasn’t into it. (Example: I watched 8 Mile, but felt threatened by its soundtrack. We had its soundtrack on CD. I was 13. I knew nothing. Also, probably not a good idea to play it in the car with the family.)

Of course, that belies the fact that hip-hop is a very rich musical genre that has spawned innovations in composition, production and storytelling. In the Philippines, it kind of came slowly in the 1980s, starting with the supposed “first” Pinoy hip-hop track from Dyords Javier, to the rise of breakdancing crews performing around Manila. It was in the following decade when Francis Magalona pulled hip-hop to the mainstream, with tracks that merged his musical chops, radio-friendly sensibilities and social commentary; Andrew E. and his mischievous yet accessible pieces was a contemporary. Gangsta rap was represented a few years later by the group Death Threat, who emerged stories from Manila’s slums.

Gloc-9—real name Aristotle Pollisco—got his start with that group, eventually becoming its leader at one point, although he continued to forge a reputation as a solo artist. He is known for his fast rapping—I remember him being christened as the fastest rapper in the Philippines at some point—but in his over a quarter of a century he has transitioned to more narrative pieces, while also heavily collaborating with musicians across genres such as Parokya ni Edgar, Regine Velasquez, and Ebe Dancel, who he worked with in perhaps one of his most defining tracks, “Sirena”. (It later turns out he wrote this for his son before he came out as gay.)

That’s another interesting thing with Pinoy hip-hop, in my head: there isn’t much of a cordon sanitaire between it and Pinoy alternative. Perhaps it’s because both scenes, while diverse, are also tight-knit and are not really into keeping away from each other. Game recognizes game, I assume. As Gloc-9 once recollected, it’s Raimund Marasigan—titan of the alternative scene, of Eraserheads and Sandwich and Pedicab and many other projects—who encouraged him to write that song. Fast forward to today, and Raimund is the producer of his latest record, Sari-Sari Story.

Gloc-9 has talked of his childhood being spent at a sari-sari store—for my readers in New York, if there are any, think of a bodega, but more of a counter, and there’s at least one (or two) where most Filipinos live. Naturally it becomes a center of gravity for the street, where people hang out to gossip or drink beer, and, at least in the first half, it’s this perspective that powers the storytelling.

But this isn’t a concept album. The sari-sari store which lends its name to the album is more of a framing device for the narratives—the perspective of the overseas Filipino worker on “Tatlong Taon”, of the man who wants a change on “Puyat”, and of the person who lent money to someone and can’t seem to get it back on “Utang Clan”. (That, by the way, is a quintessential sari-sari store experience: “put it on my tab!”)

And he also can get crazy with the storytelling. I’ll obviously point you to “Tinda ni Linda”, which is initially about a man in love with a girl… who, as it turns out, has some pretty refined tastes.

The highlights, however, come when Gloc-9 embraces his reflective mood. “Gatas at Asukal” is an early standout, a manifesto of sorts to his success as a rapper:

Ang timpla ko ay sa akin lang
This blend is all mine
Matapang, ‘di matabang
Strong, not bland
Laging sigurado, garantisado, ‘di malamang
Always sure, guaranteed and fair
Binalikat, pinasan, mabigat, di ‘magaan
Carried the weight, it’s heavy, not light
Kahit ‘di abutan ng tinapay na may palaman
Even if I don’t get a piece of bread

(Note: One, I feel I’m not giving justice to the rhymes by translating them for non-Filipino readers. Two, that piece of bread is most likely a pandesal, or salt bread, a cheap staple of Filipino bakeries. “Palaman” is… a sandwich filling. I imagine cheese.)

The other standout is “Yakap”. Gloc-9 has been pretty upfront about the song being about suicide—this is the first time he’s written about it, surprisingly—but it’s the portrayal of that final burst of hope and gratitude that gets you. Or maybe it’s because I’ve had first hand experience of that.

Binuhat mo ako nu’ng ‘di ko na kaya pang tumayo sa’king mga paa
You carried me when I can’t stand on my own two feet
Niyakap mo ako nu’ng ang buhay ko’y tila gumuho
You embraced me when my life fell apart
Kung mayro’n lang iba
If there was just someone else
Sinamahan mo ako
You were with me
Ngayon mag-isa ako
Now I’m alone
Walang-wala nang ilalaan
I have nothing left to give
Dalang-dala, dito na lang
I’ve had it, it ends here

I should also praise Raimund Marasigan’s production here. His work here is un-flashy, almost sparse: it lends the songs on Sari-Sari Story a greater sense of reflection, as if the album’s initial narrative frame melts away and it’s now just Gloc-9, alone with his thoughts, almost tortured by them even. (To be fair, while Rayms has a knack for almost mindless pop hooks—that is not a bad thing, I guarantee you—he can, and has, done more sublime, languid things, like his work as Squid 9.) I will be reading too much into the title: the sari-sari store may be the center of gravity, but the communities that house them—especially in urban areas—tend to be vibrant but quite isolating. His storytelling has always been a gut-punch, but it’s heightened here. It’s a testament to the strong collaboration between rapper and producer that I can feel that tension across the album.

If there’s a “fault” in this record, it’s that there’s no clear breakthrough moment, no “Sirena” or “Lando”. But it doesn’t matter. Gloc-9’s been here for a quarter of a century, and frankly he has nothing left to prove. Sari-Sari Story continues the trajectory of his recent releases: of him giving back to the community that has given him so much, paying homage to his beginnings and mentoring the next generation of rappers, as in “Idol”, where he has G Clown, Radmiss and Hero play out a “Stan” but a bit more 6 January, if I’m to conflate my references.

And Gloc-9 has indeed done a lot for the scene that fostered him. In the past 25 years we’ve seen the growth of the Fliptop scene, and the rise of rappers such as Shanti Dope, Hev Abi and Al James. (“Pa-umaga”, anyone?) You even have Coco Martin turning what was a street thing into something more mainstream with his casting rappers such as Bassilyo in his primetime dramas. He’s not called the Philippines’ “king of hip-hop” for nothing. At this point I suppose we can cut the guy some slack, but then, even if Sari-Sari Story takes its time, he’s not resting on his laurels.