As the date drew near, in sheer panic, I asked myself: Am I not too old for all this?
I fell off the radar last Sunday. It was an exciting time for me, but I discovered that stress isn’t my strong suit. And so I ducked out of “My Chair” and did my “other” thing.
It was a week of deadlines, rewrites and rehearsals. The challenge to me was personal. Could I pick up where I left off? Silly thought! The last time I did something like this was a lifetime ago.
That was in the early ’60s. I was young then, still full of energy, and although I didn’t quite have “all my ducks in a row” at the time, I was eager to venture out and do new things.
I was asked to write the script for “An Evening with Pilita,” the flagship musical-variety TV show for then ABS-CBN. I had never written a script, but I said, why not? It paid P50 per episode. Laughable by today’s standards. But I loved it.
First cousin
Pilita Corrales is my first cousin, many years younger. Her dad and my mother were the closest in a family of eight siblings. They both loved music. My mother was the singer and voice teacher, and Pepe was her biggest fan.
In her teens, Pilita once went to “Tia Lulu” for lessons. But Mama said, “All I can do is teach her how to breathe. She already is a singer. It would be a crime to change anything.”
After her father’s death, Pilita’s mother took the family to Australia where she became a huge star. A street in Melbourne is named after her. When they returned a couple of years later, it was no surprise that she landed a prime-time TV slot for “An Evening with Pilita.” I jumped on board.
When I moved to the US, Pilita continued making hit after hit. She became Asia’s Queen of Song. We lived our complicated lives far away from each other. But our family bond remained solid.
Fast-forward
When Pilita asked me a couple of months ago to again “put words in her mouth,” I was delighted.
This is not a concert review. But let me tell you about putting it together and how, as the date drew near, in sheer panic, I asked myself: Am I not too old for all this?
The atmosphere was not new. It felt like home. Several times, as I sat listening to the orchestra in rehearsal and Pilita on a high chair going through her songs, I had a sense of déjà vu.
It was a weird sensation. It was as close to me as a second skin, but at the same time, I felt quite detached. Yet I was not unmoved. I know I didn’t imagine the goose bumps. Several times I caught myself getting misty-eyed and feeling a familiar tug deep in my heart.
It must be the lights, I thought; the dramatic silent movement of that immense red curtain has always affected me. Or could it be the repertoire of sentimental old songs? It seemed like things were sort of happening again, but to someone else. Strange.
Still I embrace all the sweet and happy memories of that once upon a time. They are mine, all mine.
The concert
A concert is always an exciting event, no matter who is on that stage. But no one in the audience ever stops to figure out what brings it all together. From where you sit, it looks flawless. You have no idea how many “train wrecks” nearly happen in the actual show. Only those intimate with the minutest production details know what’s really happening. And they pray!
A few hours before show time, there is an eerie quiet in the theater. I sit there bundled up against the chilly emptiness, collecting my thoughts, papers scrunched in my hand, miserably insecure about the work I’ve done. Sudden thought: Is the script too wordy?
Once in a while I see a stagehand make adjustments. I hear footsteps behind the curtain. They are setting up for the orchestra, making sure that music stands are sturdy and all the lights work.
Dress rehearsal is over. The stage floor has been marked for each performer. This is downtime for me; a break for the musicians, wardrobe check, makeup and total silence for the star, and one more thorough technical check for the director.
I have butterflies in my stomach. And again the question comes up. Am I not a little too old for all this?
Someone takes me backstage. Company call. We are in a hallway outside the star’s dressing room. We hear last instructions from director Carlo Orosa. He leads us in a heartfelt prayer.
And I think, “How many company calls have there been in my life? Will there be more?”
I was not quite a teenager when, backstage at the Manila Metropolitan Theater, I poured salabat from a huge thermos for my mother, as she gulped down a couple of raw eggs, yolks, whites and all, before doing her aria. She said it cleared her throat. I remember the tenor’s hacking cough sounds before he vocalized, and the disgusting snorts from the basso profundo clearing his sinuses. To each his own, I suppose.
Meanwhile, back at Solaire, it’s show time. It goes quickly. It goes very well. It’s over! There’s a standing ovation. The people want more. Pilita takes another bow. We have a hit!
PS: And as the strains of “A Million Thanks” start fading out, I get the happy news. Mariana Sofia Tabuena Lumbad is born. My ninth great-grandchild.
Can you say blessed?
