Playlist #29: On and on to the sea
Recent events have got me thinking about staying young, growing old, and passing on. The playlist that accidentally came together as a result isn't bad, either.
This playlist is very much shaped by the deaths of two pillars of Philippine music.
I touched on Nora Aunor’s passing a couple of weeks ago. The “Superstar”, as Filipinos fondly call her, is more widely known as an actress, but she started her decades-long career by winning a singing tilt, Tawag ng Tanghalan, in the late 1960s. It was her cool voice and delivery that took this Bicolana with seemingly ordinary features—but very captivating eyes—to teen idol, and then to one of the most-awarded and respected actresses in the Philippines. And she recorded a lot of songs, too. Roughly 500, apparently.
The other death is that of Pilita Corrales, christened as “Asia’s Queen of Song”. While she also became popular in the Philippines around the same time—she was arguably one of the country’s first television stars, with An Evening with Pilita becoming staple viewing in the 1960s—she began her career in Australia in the 1950s, and was even credited as the first female singer to chart in the country.
They were no longer in the peak of their careers when I came to consciousness in the 1990s, but rather, they were firmly established as pillars, icons. Their defining features—Nora’s mole and emotive line delivery; Pilita’s backbend—became subjects of affectionate parody. You could, conceivably, take them for granted, especially if you’re a kid like I was. They’ve always been there. They’ll always be there.
Of course, they always won’t be. One grows up and starts having a sense of everyone’s mortality. I remember the quiet sadness that enveloped the country—although not everyone seemed to want to acknowledge it—when it was reported that Nora lost her singing voice thanks to botched surgery in Japan. She remained somewhat active in showbiz in the years since, although you heard more about controversies than acting gigs, but the sense that something was lost forever.
My perspective may be more warped than most. My parents had me when they were in their early twenties, so I spent the first twenty years of my life or so having all four of my grandparents. I had constants on weekend visits, and I had constants on the small screen. But of course, it has to all end at some point. It begins with the ideas that get planted in your head during idle nights. I enjoyed watching Dolphy on Home Along Da Riles as a little boy, for instance—but of course he wouldn’t be with us forever. I remember where I was when I heard that he died: in a car, with my dad, somewhere in Tondo.
The more time you have with someone, the less time you actually have.
But then, that isn’t necessarily true. Last month the folks at ABS-CBN News uploaded their coverage of the death of actor Rico Yan. He died suddenly in 2002—on Good Friday—while vacationing, like most of us were, during Holy Week. I also remember where I was when I heard the news: at home, watching our household help weep when she first heard the report. I also remember how my sister and her cousin (them again) were fixated by him, and he became a center of our conversations in the immediate aftermath of his death. Setting aside the lionizing tone of the news coverage (he was an ABS-CBN talent, after all) his was a promising career cut short, and while it’s easy to hide under general platitudes about how God asked him to come back home sooner, one still can’t help but think of what could’ve been.
I was chatting with a colleague about his death. She talked about how her other friends did not know about Rico. “They must’ve still been babies when he died,” she said. This 36-year-old felt old, which isn’t new, but also, man, it has been over two decades, and what I remember clearest, other people have no memories of.
The more time you have with someone, the less time you actually have.
Two more deaths rocked Philippine showbiz since then. The singer Hajji Alejandro died on Easter Monday; the news took me by surprise because he was still actively performing, apparently despite being diagnosed with cancer. And then, just last week, another actor, Ricky Davao, passed away, also of cancer. I had actually met him once, when my college classmates and I were roped into reading minor role in a script reading that he was headlining. I remember nothing else, but then, that’s almost thirty years ago—damn, I am old.
And it’s not just deaths. I wasn’t aware that Oh My Girl were releasing a tenth anniversary single (much like GFriend recently did) and I went, these were the things I used to keep so much tabs on. I also forgot that they’re now just a six-member group, because I clearly remember them as a seven-piece, and they were an eight-piece before that. Now, “Oh My” is a fun song—oddly in the same way one of their earlier singles, “Windy Day”, is—but I must’ve spent a lot of time looking back to when Arin was the subject of the affections of EXID’s Hani, and also, when Yubin still went by Binnie. (Before Bini, there was Binnie—sorry, I couldn’t resist.)
And then there was me stumbling upon Toronto-based singer-songwriter Nia Nadurata, whose “Souvenirs” is filled with (and I mean this in a good way) a spiky warmth. The music blogger in me was kinda annoyed to learn that I missed out on her being from the Philippines, and that she had actually performed at a small venue in Makati in support of her new EP Still Living With My Parents. Considering I listen to a lot of Canadian radio, why it took me a while to put two and two together feels like a miss for a guy who sometimes still wants to be one of the first to say something. Not that it really matters, and again, her songs are quite good.
Realizing what little time you have forces you to either try to stay updated with everything that’s new, so you don’t feel the atrophy of time sinking in, or bathe in the warm (possibly projected) feelings of the things you’ve always held close to you. This playlist reflects both—and, also, a very weird period for me, not so much sad as pensive. I’ve been stumbling upon a lot of things from my past and finding myself thinking about what could have been—and then, I tell myself not to, because there’s no point in dwelling. Okay. Maybe this one time I can. Even painful memories can be comforting, too.
Two surprise drops over the last couple of weeks somewhat grounded me at the end of all this. The first was a new single from the Beths, a band that I always loved, but has since held a very close place to my heart since they released “Expert In A Dying Field”, a song that said everything I wanted to say, and then some. “Metal” is a little more conceptual, but oddly enough, it is one of the most life-affirming songs I have ever heard—and it is just as irresistible to sing along to.
The other is a new music video from friend of the project , her first, and a reminder of how arresting her We Only Ever Meet In Strange Dreams EP is despite just running at four songs. I had written about it (and her) on Playlist #26, so I’m not really saying anything new at this point, but there’s something reassuring about remembering how the passage of time—of trying to stay young, of surrendering to growing old, of being blasé about leaving it all at some point, and everything that comes in between—is not a solitary thing, even if it seems it is, or should be.
By the time you read this, I am in Jeju in South Korea. Another work thing, and to be honest, I’m not sure why I’m here to begin with. But considering how I have been aching for a change of environment for the past couple of years, I’ll take this. I’ll take the sea (although the photo up there is from last year, on my way to Puerto Princesa), and the cool breeze, and the different alphabet on the signs, and the fact that I am most likely mangling “감사합니다” the way I did ten years ago. At least I am the one pointing it out, and not someone who most likely never really loved me.
A new Plaka Note (spoiler, or not: it’s about SB19) drops on 23 May, and a new playlist drops on 13 June. It’ll be a busy few weeks ahead, so I hope to remain sane. Who knows, maybe I’ll get a couple of extra pieces up, depending on how the news pans out? Either way, help me do so by catching up on the socials, or by emailing me song recommendations at nicksyoncemonthly@gmail.com.
On this playlist
Apink—“Five”
Pink Up! (2017)Oh My Girl—“Oh My”
single release (2025)Silky Roads—“Out of Mind”
single release (2023)Otis Kane—“Dance With You”
Violet (2025)Chloe Parché—“Driveway”
Split Ends (2025)Nia Nadurata—“Souvenirs”
Still Living With My Parents (2025)The Beths—“Metal”
single release (2025)Niki Colet—“Devil On My Shoulder”
We Only Ever Meet In Strange Dreams (2024)Lucy Dacus—“For Keeps”
Forever Is A Feeling (2025)Rosie Carney—“I Wanna Feel Happy”
I Wanna Feel Happy (2022)Lizzy McAlpine—“Spring Into Summer”
Older (and Wiser) (2024)The Alan Parsons Project—“Time”
The Turn of a Friendly Card (1980)Nora Aunor—“Yesterday When I Was Young”
The Phenomenal Nora Aunor (1970)Pilita Corrales—“Kapantay Ay Langit”
Philippine Love Songs, Volume 1 (1973)Talking Heads—“Heaven”
Fear of Music (1979)David Bowie—“Absolute Beginners”
Absolute Beginners: The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (1986)
Also on the Once Monthly
I reviewed SOS’ new album, It Was A Moment, for my latest Plaka Note. I forgot to mention that one of the members of that band is King Puentespina, also known as the producer crwn, who was the subject of Plaka Notes #6.
Also, I launched a new series! It’s called Song Trigger, and it’s about one song and one story or observation that it triggered. I promised this over a year ago and finally got it off the ground. The first installment is about Florante’s folk classic, “Handog”.
Your writing reminds me of my time at AmplifyPH, and it's kind of inspiring me to write about music more and get over the trauma of losing my footing on that career path. Thank you for writing so much about music (Filipino and otherwise)!