That night, it was as if a mantle of peace and unity had descended upon the audience
For the first time in a long time, I wish I could write under an assumed name. I wish I could, without sounding like a doting parent, write about an event I had just experienced, and boast, without risking being called biased, about what a fantastic event it was.
But write about it I must.
I’m talking about “Brave,” a fundraising concert for the benefit of the families of the Fallen 44. It succeeded in digging into the deep pockets of a great many, perhaps not the numbers expected, but hopefully enough. Yes, indeed, every little bit helps. I don’t know what the final numbers are.
The concert was held at The Theater at Solaire, which generously gave the venue and its services free of charge.
It normally takes a couple of months to mount a concert; to try it in less than that is risky, even reckless.
“Brave” was done in less than two weeks. From “concept to curtain call,” I would say it took 10 days, tops. What surprised the organizers is that ordinarily, in spite of their hefty talent fees, artists are not easy to sign up, but for “Brave” everyone wanted to come onboard. They all wanted in.
‘What can we do?’
Managers were easy to reach, eager to cooperate, grateful even for the opportunity to stand up and be counted. They only asked: “What can we do?” Others who just heard about it called in to offer themselves, for free, for whatever, even willing to be stagehands and move the props. Such was the reaction to “Brave.”
The cast looked like a show-biz Who’s Who. (Read Backstory by Lea Salonga in Inquirer, Feb. 26.) There were no rehearsals. The artists got together for the first time at sound check that day.
The show started a little late. A few people got impatient. I don’t blame them. The tickets were not cheap. But I am sure they later agreed it was all worth the wait.
At showtime, we saw an empty stage. One by one the artists emerged, wearing “Brave” T-shirts and jeans. They stepped up to call the name of one of the Fallen 44, then quietly took their places on risers on either side of the stage. It was moving. Eerie.
After the last name was called, the show began with 11-year-old Fitri Cerado singing “One Voice.” This set the tone for the night.
I remember many moons ago, a young man, barely out of his teens and looking for his own star, sang this same song on a summer night in Concord, standing behind a screen, almost invisible, as a member of the backup chorus for the great Barry Manilow.
But I digress.
Back at “Brave.” Incidentally, that young man was all over the stage that night.
Last Sunday I wrote about audiences and how uncouth some of them can be. This one was magnificent. And so were the performers. Every single one! They were inspired, excited to perform, wanting to please, eager to pay tribute. Each number was a gem. There were no throwaway “may I plug my latest CD or teleserye” songs.
‘Heart-picked’
The selections were handpicked—no, I should say “heart-picked” for the occasion.
In the orchestra section, a couple of rows of prime seats were roped off and designated for members of the SAF families. There was no fanfare to announce their arrival. But in the middle of the show, when they were asked to stand and be recognized, the audience rose as one with them and gave them a rousing ovation that lasted for several minutes. It was the sound of loving gratitude, admiration and respect.
There was a certain charge in the air that night. You couldn’t miss it. I think each one in the theater had an issue to confront. We needed to deal with feelings we didn’t understand. I only know this was the state of my heart.
There has been so much confusion. Media has been relentless, often obscene. Once again we see a nation in anguish.
But that night, something strangely wonderful, even magical, took place. It was as if a mantle of peace and unity had descended upon the audience.
If I tell you that it was an emotional evening, it would be putting it very mildly. It was difficult to hold back the tears. A group of young men and women beside me was sobbing. I saw strangers hugging, grown men weeping.
It has been a painful, tragic last few weeks. I think we all needed a good cry.
The closing number was “O Bayan Ko,” a brilliant piece by Ryan Cayabyab, whose musical genius never ceases to amaze. For the first few bars it is a tender but forceful ballad to the Filipino people. Subtly, quietly it merges perfectly with the strains of our national anthem and becomes one incredible hymn. Loving. Passionate. Patriotic. What more fitting finale than our own “Lupang Hinirang,” with every single one of us on our feet, hands over our hearts!
Bravo to the organizers, artists, director, musicians and every stagehand who conceptualized and participated in this amazing endeavor. Thank you for taking our PQ (patriotism quotient) up another notch. It has been in cellar position for much too long.
Thank you for an extraordinary and unforgettable show!
To all those who turned down “Brave” as “just another fundraiser,” let me say this: “Sorry for you guys—but you really missed out!”