LIFESTYLES ON THE EDGE M AY 2008

rogue's first
annual philippine Sanya
musiC
portfolio
PAGE 80
Smith PINOY ROCK'S fIRST
DAUGHTER
FEATuRing BY LUIS KATIGBAK
PAGE 110

johnny alegre
sammy asuncion
a.m.p.o.n.
real wilD ChilD
THE NINE lIVES Of KARl ROY
manolet dario BY PHILBERT DY
PAGE 72
cluB dredd
elmer dado
chin-chin gutierreZ
Binky lampano
BaBy got BaCh
WHY I lOVE ClASSICAl MUSIC
dondi ledesma BY ANTONIO ABAYA
manuel legarda PAGE 44

kakoi legaspi
junji lerma
jun lopito roCk anD roll
arnold morales
lougee BasaBas
mocha
all night
WHY I lOVE KISS
moon fear moon BY TIRSO RIPOLL

saguijo
PAGE 40

gerard salonga
sultans of snap
louie talan no statiC at all
WHY I lOVE STEElY DAN
emilio tuason BY JOSE MARI UGARTE
rico veleZ PAGE 50

and more

plus
a historiC
Jingle magazine
reunion
on page 58

ROGUE MAGAZINE . 180 PESOS

INSIDE ISSUE NUMBER 10 MAY 200 8

Features
OF ANGELS, BELLS, AND BANGAWS: Jingle
Chordbook Remembered / 58

Established by a Beatles aficionado named

Gilbert Guillermo, the Jingle Chordbook had
a simple idea. It was all about the music.
Whether it was transcriptions of popular
page songs or the essays/reviews written by
110 some of the most talented scribes of
their generations, it was all borne out of
a passion for rock ‘n’ roll (or whatever
they were indulging in at the time). Two of
the Jingle alumnus, writer Bert Sulat Jr. and
filmmaker Lav Diaz, reminisce and evaluate the
magazine’s legacy.
FROM VENUS WITH LOVE / 62

Space Age Bachelor Pad Music was the

soundtrack of the swingin’ future. It promised
adventure, sex, and the perfect martini. Though
this stylish and chic version of utopia didn’t
exactly happen, its intoxicating mélange of sight
and sound survives in the detritus of Pop Culture:
in elevators, design showrooms, and The Jetsons.
Malek Lopez briefs us with a map of the genre
while stunner Maria Dolonius tours us around the
premises. Photographs by Mark Nicdao.
LUST FOR LIFE / 72

Emerging from the underground, Karl Roy

became one of Pinoy Rock’s most recognized
frontmen in the Nineties. A dynamic performer,
he was equal parts James Brown and Johnny
Rotten, Pepe Smith and Rico J. Puno—albeit
possessed by a unique quality that was all his
own. Yet, for all his talents and fame, he missed
as many opportunities to capitalize on his gains.
Suffering a major stroke last year which left him
partially paralyzed, he talks to Philbert Dy to tell
his story and say why no one should count him
out just yet. 

ALL KILLER, NO FILLER: ROGUE’S FIRST

ANNUAL MUSIC PORTFOLIO / 80

More than anytime before, local music is

thriving. Not only is the demand for OPM
(Original Pilipino Music) at its most enthusiastic,
but interest in it has made us look back at our
own musical heritage—and despite the chasm
of scholarship or preservation, the songs of our
forefathers still resound. The diversity of artists
gaining attention in the scene today is another
healthy indication as well. Rogue celebrates this
epoch by paying tribute to many rogues who
have paid the way for future generations and
those who are now just starting to make their own
noise.
INSIDE
ISSUE NUMBER 10 MAY 2008
page
62
SANYA SAYS / 110
Even from a distance, she cuts a striking figure: a
stylish bob, a strangely beautiful face, long lean
limbs. Her name is Sanya Smith—commercial
model, MYX VJ, and veritable rock ‘n’ roll royalty.
Being the daughter of musical icon Joey “Pepe”
Smith has blessed her an automatic genetic
advantage, and perhaps, instant celebrity. Luis
Katigbak sits down with Miss Smith one rainy
afternoon and meets one tough but oh-so-cool
chick. Photographed by Juan Caguicla.
SNOWBLIND / 124
Inspired to embark on his own mini-version
of Into the Wild (which he hasn’t seen), Gutsy
Tuason boards a plane bound for the icy landscape
of Alaska to see the Aurora Borealis. But before
he gets to chase the trippy Northern Lights, he
goes on a solid road trip with a Facebook friend,
meets a Pinoy who invites him to watch a 4 P.M.
Pacquiao fight in his Fairbanks home, and plays
spectator to a bunch of barking dogs competing
for the U.S. Championship for Dog Sledding.
4 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
ROGUE FICTION: BOUND / 134
Every sexual act is political. To quote Marx:
“Great social changes are impossible without
feminine upheaval. Social progress can be
measured exactly by the social position of the
fair sex . . . ” Multi-awarded author Nikki Alfar’s
“Bound” illustrates this negotiation—where,
to gain an advantage, it may be required to
compromise a position; to emancipate yourself,
you must be in bondage.
Columns
GODS OF THUNDER AND ROCK & ROLL / 40
There was more to KISS than the wicked
costumes, demonic make-up, and knee-high
boots. Like big, bad superheroes of rock ‘n’ roll,
they backed up their outlandish image with solid
riffs, great melodies, and a groove that was pure
sleaze. From the moment he heard “Detroit Rock
City” as a kid, Tirso Ripoll was eternally hooked.
LIVE IN CONCERTO / 44
Classical music—with its big names like Mozart,
Beethoven, and Wagner—may seem daunting to
the modern listener who’s used to the constant
crash-and-bang-playing ad nauseam on the
dial these days. But the epic canvas of human
experience is something that the three-minute pop
single is hard-put to capture. As Antonio Abaya
writes, he didn’t set out to learn to love classical
music—“it just happened.” And, it all started from
listening to the radio.
COLOR MANILA BLUES / 46
The Blues may have been born in the American
cotton fields and hot Mississippi shacks of the
19th century, but its fans span every corner of our
green and blue planet—including the Philippines.
From the Juan De La Cruz band and Pepe Smith,
to Wally Gonzalez and Annie Brazil, the local
players of today’s modern blues scene have grown
and expanded. C.H. Pardo tells us why it will
never grow old.
INSIDE
page
124
DESIGNED TO STIMULATE / 50
One of the greatest non-bands in history, Steely
Dan, was apparently named after a sex toy—a  Tals Diaz parties like a rockstar in Mag:net’s
giant, metallic, futuristic dildo, to be precise. A
sick fan, Jose Mari Ugarte, tells us why the band,
like a dildo, was specifically designed for no other
purpose but to stimulate the pleasure senses and
bring you to musical orgasm.
SONG AND DANCE / 56
In 2006, a trailblazing band of sonic bandits
grouped together with one idealistic goal in
mind: to elevate “a stagnant local club scene.”
The answer seemed simple: Fresh dance music,
not reheated Ibiza leftovers, spun by local DJs
like themselves. Adrian Cuenca tells us about
his group, LOCAL//:e!, and what OPDM (Original
Pinoy Dance Music) is all about.
Departments
Editor’s Letter / 8
6 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
ISSUE NUMBER 10
The Guest List / 10
Rogue’s Gallery / 17
Rockeoke and performs a baffling tribute to the
Bob Dylan biopic, I’m Not There. Gino de la
Paz expresses his mixed Adora-tion for an Anton
Mendoza-designed retail wonderland. Erwin
Romulo plays some moody music by Morrissey.
James Gabrillo spreads some Big Love for a Tom
Hanks-produced polygamy drama. Andy Briones
finds out why the late Joy Division frontman Ian
Curtis was always out of Control. Anjanette Pe
treats her intrepid taste buds to a pleasant, piquant
kick in Cecille Ysmael’s Thai at Silk. Marc
and Yasmin Baumann sing a culinary duet for
Japanese food joint John and Yoko. Cris Ramos,
Jr. discovers that the dynamic female duo behind
indie outfit Princess Batugan are no slouches.
And, lastly, our resident Rogue Trader, Bruce
Curran, tunes in to more investment options for
our bank notes and tells us why it all sounds like
music in the end.
MAY 20 0 8
Rogue Style Guide / 139
Up, up, and away with the flyboy style of the
bomber jacket in Retrospect. Two regular Joes
model some of the most outspoken statement tees.
It takes more than rockin’ beats and suave moves
when it comes to getting Justin Timberlake’s and
Lenny Kravitz’s superstar style. Read about how
music is at the very heart of the Ben Sherman
philosophy. Moisturizers are the building blocks
of good skin, and we’ve picked our favorites.
Behold the musical and sculptural majesty of
Bang & Olufsen’s Beosound 9000. The heart
of this season’s fashion is white haute with
these blanc beauties from Gucci and Salvatore
Ferragamo. Step back and move forward with
a commemorative timepiece from IWC and the
latest models from Omega and Tudor.
Shop List / 158
THE WIRE / 160
rogue magazine MAY 2008 7
 “Chinese music always sets me free
Angular banjoes sound good to me”
– •From Steely Dan’s “Aja”

The Editor’s Letter

ANACHRONISTIC, BUT NICE.

S
ome people say the music of Steely Dan derstood the music, I would enjoy it more than I Mark Nicdao, Juan Caguicla, At Maculangan,
is chronologically out of place, stuck in already did. So with eight albums at the time and Wawi Navarroza, Jake Verzosa, Steve Tirona, Paul
their own strange genre and lost in a race roughly 70 songs—each and every one of them Mondok, JA Tadena—they plotted and pieced to-
of new music that’s evolved to an inde- exquisite in their own unique way—I listened to gether a portfolio that is as diverse and rich and
finable point—or even just simply “groping in the them almost every day and proved my theory right. raw as the music that permeates it. From guitarists
dark,” as Donald Fagen himself sings on “Blues It was a pleasurable and never-ending cycle of dis- to managers to deejays to legends, our first annual
Beach,” from their last album, Everything Must covery and re-discovery—and I understand their Music Portfolio beginning on page 80 will rock
Go. And that’s exactly why I will always credit music now like I know the veins in my neck. It’s you to your core—or, at the very least, rattle your
them as the reason I listen to music—and, there- music that makes me want to drive at top speed. gonads till your eyes cross.
fore, the reason I present this issue to you today. Some guitar solos stood out, like Elliott Randall’s And if it doesn’t, then we’ll feed you to Karl Roy,
I wrote a column on them on page 50 and on “Reelin’ in the Years” from 1972—which I whose profile, “Lust for Life,” on page 72 is a wild
every time I read the damn thing, I feel saw Chikoy Pura from the Jerks grind out and reckless rock and roll riot of a story about a
like I haven’t said enough. I feel no at the Hobbit House the other night—the self-destructive artist trainspotting the main vein
May
08
justice and need more pages to seri- electric sitar solo on “Do It Again,” Mark that runs through Pinoy Rock history. As P.O.T.’s
ously tackle the subject and explain Knopfler’s on “Time Out of Mind,” and Jim Morrison-slash-Kurt Cobain archetype and
the appeal—so I’m shamelessly using anything Walter Becker did on Aja and looking like he was raped at Nanking, Karl wore
this one. And, as such, I should because Larry Carlton on The Royal Scam. Some his art like a suicide bomber wears a vest of dyna-
in my own personal experience (which, vocals were unmistakable as well, like Mi- mite, and inevitably paid the hard price for living
as Editor-in-Chief, I get to impose on Rogue chael McDonald’s on “Peg,” “I Got the News,” fast. It’s possible we may never see a frontman as
readers every month) they are the very definition and “Time Out of Mind.” But their hardest rocking hardcore as Karl again—his on and offstage antics
of music itself. In an age when music has exploded songs I would say are “Bodhisattva,” “Kid Charle- were both violent and euphoric—and so we felt the
in every conceivable direction, you need to put magne,” and “Don’t Take Me Alive.” And “F.M.” timing was right to light the fuse and kick off our
one album in a space capsule that will show extra- would have to be one of my all-time favorites; a first music issue with a loud and dangerous bang.
terrestrials what human beings are technically ca- track you must absorb at full volume. To put things in some kind of skewed perspec-
pable of, sonically. Aja? The Nightfly? O.K., how The point is they made me realize that adroit tive, Karl might be described as the ghoulish rein-
about a box set? musicianship and studio perfection were impor- carnation of someone like Pepe Smith, who, like
I have to give my older brother Mikel props on tant, and they made it an almost scientific point the Stones’ Keith Richards, managed to survive
this one—he and his scotch-swilling friends, with to illustrate exactly why. I appreciated this, and it the vicious cycle of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll,
their cigarettes and their aviators and their puka- stimulated my mind and nourished my soul with and remains a vital figure in the local rock scene.
shell neck-chokers, used to play these old, sandy an electrocuted sense of curiosity and passion for He even produced a daughter named Sanya who
Maxell and TDK 90-minute (that’s one trip from music in general. Which is why, after many hours appears to be making waves as a local model and
New York to Paris in Fagen’s “I.G.Y.”) cassette of wise and considered reflection, it fills my heart veejay, which is why we thought it appropriate that
tapes on a portable radio, and I remember visibly with pride to accomplish such a thing as an entire she grace this month’s cover, given her close as-
reacting to how clean yet rocking the sound was. issue of Rogue dedicated to the local music scene sociation to the music scene.
I never thought those old Sony speakers could as it thrives in the Philippines today. After all, there So here it is: another basket containing the fruits
PHOTOGRAPH BY JUAN CAGUICLA

sound so bloody good. It was the first kind of mu- were many nights that defined that scene, espe- of our labor, which will always be a labor of love.
sic I could enjoy both as a background soundtrack cially in the old days, when local bands rocked We will always find a way to bring you the real
to good times with friends, and alone in my room like a thundering herd of wild pigs while the fans story, even if it takes long nights full of cheap
with my undivided attention towards it. I must have screamed and lit up their joints with Zippos. whiskey. So, kick back, put some sounds on, and
been 11 or 12. Our wily production director, Jay Pou, organized enjoy the magazine.
I developed a habit fairly quickly, starting off a series of shoots with a rogue’s gallery of musi-
with weekend binges at the beach that slowly cians and music-related people who are at the mo- Let the rogues rock and the good times roll.
snowballed into much-needed daily fixes, some- ment critically acclaimed as some of the most dy-
times locking myself in the bathroom with a pair of namic and important individuals working in music.
headphones. I was never in denial—I just wanted With an equally illustrious band of photographers Jose Mari Ugarte
to understand the music because I felt that if I un- you’d recognize as the usual Rogue suspects— Editor-in-Chief

8 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

THE GUEST lIST
antonio aBaYa got his
Bachelor of Arts in Journalism from
the Ateneo de Manila in 1956. In
his column “On The Other Hand”
for The Standard Today he wrote,
“The only audio equipment I
bought early on was a phonograph
. . . I was, and still am, a Frank
Sinatra fan and bought all the LP re-
issues of his earlier recordings, as
well as his later recordings when he
re-started his career.” He likes Duke
Ellington, Antonio Jobim, Ahmad
Jamal and the Modern Jazz Quartet.
“But not Elvis.”
nikki alFar, an accomplished
and imaginative writer, has won
Palancas and a National Book
Award, and was selected by the
Ateneo Library of Women’s Writing
as one of the up-and-coming
Filipina writers. She also earned a
citation in the international Year’s
Best Fantasy & Horror. Her fiction
may be controversial by local
standards, but she hopes readers will
go out on a limb. The artist Rogue
commissioned, Christina Dy, studied
shibari after reading it: she prefers
to bind though.
luiS katigBak is one of the
country’s most respected music
journalists and reviewers. He was
on the editorial staff of music
magazines, Pulp and Burn, and was
the editor-in-chief of pulse.ph, an
online music site. For this issue, he
writes about Sanya Smith, Pinoy
Rock baby and this issue’s cover
girl. Despite being used to the likes
of Sitti and The Pussycat Dolls, he
admits that the MYX VJ was no
less intriguing or intimidating. He
has a secret passion for gangsta
rap—which proves he’s tough.
adrian CuenCa has been
involved in music for more than
a decade now. A leading figure
in Manila’s club scene, he started
DJ’ing in 1996 in Makati and
Malate, championing movements
like Electro House, being eclectic
enough to incorporate elements of
minimal techno, electro, techno,
tech house, and non-mainstream
sounds in his sets. As part of
Local//:e!, he writes in this issue
about the continuing evolution of
dance in the country.
10 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
. . . IN NO pARTICUlAR ORdER.
Juan CaguiCla played electric
guitars for bands that covered
stuff from classic thrash acts like
Metallica to grindcore anthems
of Carcass. In college, he was
classmates with the members of
Kamikazee whom he showed his
skill at playing Rick Springfield
covers. Before graduating, he sold
his guitars to buy his first camera.
For this issue, he shot Sanya Smith,
whom he considers one of his
favorite models, as well as the staff
of Jingle magazine, which taught
him the chords to “Jessie’s Girl.”
Malek loPez only listened
and played metal in the 1980s.
He studied Classical Guitar at
the UST Conservatory and Film
Scoring at Berklee in Boston. In
the late 1990s, he formed Rubber
Inc with Noel de Brackinghe and
did a residency at Club Kemistry,
performing live dance music. He
also writes, produces, and plays for
electro-pop outfit, Drip. An avowed
enthusiast of esoteric music, he has
yet to buy the pad to house his own
tunes.
PHilBert dY is currently out of
the country, taking a break from the
torturous process that he was put
through by Rogue’s Features Editor
while writing the profile of local
rock icon Karl Roy. He claims the
thing that kept him sane throughout
the many requested rewrites was
that he was a fan of his subject’s
music. As a film reviewer for
clickthecity.com, he says he’s used
to being berated and threatened as
well as being wooed and seduced.
Jake verzoSa looks very
much like a rock star and is prone
to air guitar like the rest of us.
He went to Ateneo, and hung out
with the musicians that would
later become popular act The
Itchyworms! In fact, it is rumored
that the band wrote one song in
their upcoming album, Self-Titled,
about him. He says that shooting
Binky Lampano was a long held
ambition. “Matagal na akong fan,
kaso bihira lang din yung gigs niya
dito—kaya nung napanuod ko, para
akong bata. Kileg,” he admits.
The Guest List
Tirso Ripoll is currently
in the business of churning out
fine cigars for the family business
(Tabaqueria de Filipinas) and
good old rock and roll music
(for Razorback). This month, he
returns to Rogue’s pages in full
Gene Simmons face-paint (care of
Solenn Heussaff) to write about his
life-long love affair with the band
KISS. According to Tirso, it was
like a bomb went off in his head the
very first time he heard the group
play—and he’s never really been
the same person since.
CH Pardo (or Cousin Hoagy)
is not Dead, but rather just resides
in Stratford, Connecticut now.
According to him, he was one of
the first writers to work for Jingle
and was the “FIRST writer at Jingle
to constantly hit Gilbert [Guillermo]
up for advances on some really
bogus and some really good stories
I wrote!” He used to host The
Crossroads, a blues-oriented radio
program. In this issue, he writes
about the evolution of blues in the
Philippines. And, yes, we think his
mojo’s just working well and fine.
Wawi Navarroza has
exhibited work around the world,
with recent shows at INSEAD and
Artesan Gallery Singapore—and
one at the National Museum in
June. Between shows, she works
as gun for hire for select editorial/
commercial photo assignments.
This issue was up her alley—she’s
been immersing herself in the
circuit, gigging with her band The
Late Isabel whose album Imperial
is set for July. She said it was
an honor shooting these “living
inspirations.”
Steve Tirona has
photographed various album
covers, from Bamboo to rap-
metal progenitors Rage Against
The Machine. Apart from that,
he’s done videos for neo-soul
act SinoSikat and planned
collaborations with electronic
musician, Moon Fear Moon. For
this issue, he trespassed into a
patch of wilderness in Diliman to
shoot ethno-rockers Kadangyan,
as well as the urban minefield of a
club dance floor to shoot our four
featured DJ’s. He survived.
12 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
. . . in no particular order.
Mark Nicdao—head of
Wildbunchplus Photography and
one of the country’s most successful
young photographers today—did
work on the portrait of pop band
Mocha and on Rogue’s feature
on Maria Dolonious. Mark says
it was just basically fun shooting
Mocha and her dancers, capturing
and letting them do what they do
best. As for Maria, he says he drew
inspiration from the character Elvira
Hancock from the film Scarface,
whom Maria uncannily channeled
during the shoot.
JA Tadena rose to prominence
as cinematographer for
groundbreaking videos for
Slapshock, The Teeth, and
Rivermaya before turning
to lighting feature films and
commercials. He’s worked on
projects for Erik Matti, Quark
Henares, Erin Pascual, Sid
Maderazo, and Lyle Sacris. For
this issue, he photographed Lizza
Nakpil, Tommy Tanchanco,
and Richard Tan—as well as
Razorback’s Tirso Ripoll as a
member of Kiss.
Paul Mondok managed a
band initially called Try The Extra
Special, which later changed
their name to The Chenelins. He
says that the band’s demo got
extensive airplay on NU 107.5’s
radio program Radio Dredd, whose
hosts praised the band’s lack of
musicality or sense of rhythm.
For this issue, he took portraits of
musicians Dondi Ledesma and hip-
hop collective A.M.P.O.N. Needless
to say, he won’t manage them, and
will stick to being a photographer
instead.
At Maculangan says that
one of the best things about being
a photographer is the privilege
of meeting all types of people. “I
always end up taking their portrait
even if it is not an assignment,”
he says. “I just shoot because I
know life is short and time will not
stop ticking for anyone.” He finds
himself usually documenting the art
scene since “artists are interesting
people with lots of character.” For
Rogue, he shot legendary bass
players Rico Velez and Louie Talan.
“All cool, unassuming people!”
 Jose Mari Ugarte
Editor in Chief

DESIGN Director Miguel Mari

PRODUCTION DIRECTOR Jay Pou
MANAGING EDITOR Carmela Lopa
FEATURES Editor ERWIN ROMULO
GALLERY & WIRE EDITOR PAOLO R. REYES
STYLE EDITOR L.A. Consing Lopez
DESIGNER MIGUEL LUGTU

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS
MARTIN O. MARI, VANNI DE SEQUERA, Gutsy Tuason

ON THE COVER
Sanya Smith
Photographed by Juan Caguicla
Styled by Juan Caguicla
Make-Up by Xeng Zulueta /Shu Uemura
CONTRIBUTing writers
antonio abaya, nikki alfar, MATTHEW ARCILLA, marc baumann, yasmin baumann, andy briones,
adrian cuenca, BRUCE CURRAN, lav diaz, Tals diaz, GINO DE LA PAZ, philbert dy, JAMES GABRILLO,
MARIAN HERNANDEZ, lorna lopez, malek lopez, ch pardo, anjanette pe, cris ramos jr., tirso ripoll,
bianca p. santos, bert sulat jr.
CONTRIBUTing photographers and artists
ROBERT ALEJANDRO, juan caguicla, cristina dy, tim de los reyes, At Maculangan, miguel miranda,
paul mondok, jason moss, Gil Nartea, WAWI NAVARROZA, mark nicdao, DAC RIVERA, oliver sarabia,
ja tadena, steve tirona, jake verzosa, shawn yao

ERRATUM:
marketing
April 2008 Issue Marketing Director Katrina Tuason Cruz
GET THE LOOK Chevy Chase and Tom Selleck
katrina@roguemag.net
Writing credit goes to Bianca P. Santos

WEATHER IS HERE, WISH YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL PR consultant Louie ysmael

Discovery Shores room photos by Willy Saw

ADVERTISING
SENIOR ADVERTISING Manager SUSAN SAN PASCUAL
0918.909.9032 . susan@roguemag.net

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ADVERTISING SALES CONSULTANT I.D. VARELA

TRAFFIC MANAGER Cherrymae Pamela Planta

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We’d Circulation MANAGER SHERWIN MIÑON

Love
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to THIS ISSUE WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN POSSIBLE WITHOUT THE HELP OF:
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14 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

gallery
Rogue’s N U M B E R 10 M AY 2 0 0 8
Rogue
Select!

E D I T E D B Y PAO L O R . R E Y E S

KNOCK, KNOCK, WHO’S THERE?

The art-house biopic I’m Not There—a schizophrenic depiction of the freewheelin’ life
and times of rock icon Bob Dylan—may be a little baffling, but a cross-dressing Cate
Blanchett is simply brilliant, man

So what do Bob Dylan and the future president of America have in common?
They have incarnated as either a woman or an African American. These
times are a-changin’, indeed.
It is difficult to dwell on anyone else but the woman playing Bob Dylan
in the film, I’m Not There, an experimental take on the enigmatic life of
the legendary American musician and singer-songwriter. That woman, of
course, is Cate Blanchett, who brilliantly plays the twitchy, chain-smoking,
outspoken Jude Quinn, an avatar of Bob Dylan circa 1965. Confused?
Prepare thyself. The film is baffling, especially to non-Dylanophiles. “I
accept chaos,” says his poet incarnate aptly, “I’m not sure it accepts me.”
The 135-minute movie, acknowledged as the first biographical feature
with the approval of Dylan himself, challenges the notions of a traditional,
straight-up biopic. It presents Dylan’s many lives, shot in various film stocks
and styles: there’s Dylan the ragamuffin folk singer with a social conscience,
Dylan the young rebel, the sellout rock star, the estranged husband, the
frontiersman, the poet, and preacherman. Š
Cate Blanchett as Dylan’s pill-popping alter-ego
Jude Quinn just outshines the veteran ensemble of
Richard Gere, Christian Bale, Julianne Moore, and
the late Heath Ledger.

Each of these life stages are played by a different character (none of

whom carry the name “Bob Dylan”), representing the various aspects of his
extraordinary persona and music. It’s a big risk that paid off, as it captured
Dylan’s style of appropriating various, contradictory musical styles and
genres into something that is uniquely his own.
I’m Not There is arguably pedantic, for aside from the experimental
storytelling and casting, director and co-writer Todd Haynes
(Velvet Goldmine, Far from Heaven) shows off his
knowledge of film history by referencing the cinematic
styles of Fellini and Goddard. If it wasn’t so beautiful, you
F Ilm might actually be annoyed.
Now, Cate Blanchett as Dylan’s pill-popping alter-ego
Jude Quinn just outshines the veteran ensemble of Richard
Gere, Christian Bale, Julianne Moore, and the late Heath
Ledger (who plays a philandering Hollywood actor, representing Dylan the
divorcee). Enhancing her brilliance is the film style—her storyline is shot in
surrealistic black and white, in homage to Fellini of course, nose pointed to
the air!
Blanchett is simply mesmerizing, man. In a scene wherein Jude is
questioned by a reporter insinuating his loss of relevance, she retorts within
a cumulus of smoke, “Who cares what I think! I’m not the president . . .
not some shepherd! I’m just a storyteller, that’s what I am.” Cate, there is
something about you indeed.
In the end, you’ll end up either more understanding or more confused,
overcome with love or filled with revulsion, or perhaps all of the above.
That’s the Bob Dylan effect, baby.
Tals Diaz

18 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 Books

IN MOZ WE TRUST Is there any sex in Morrissey? None whatsoever. Which in itself is quite sexy

He is pop music’s last true enigma. Emerging from the Northern part of
England at the start of the 1980s, his influence can only be comparable to
that of Madonna, another musical icon who rose to prominence at roughly
the same time. Unlike the former Ms. Ciccone, though, he’s never felt the
urge to re-invent himself other than by changing his shirt. Nor has he felt
the need to bare himself in any medium other than through the three-minute
single. She’s flaunted promiscuity; he’s proclaimed celibacy. (Curiously,
they also command the affections of as many heterosexual men if informal
surveys are to be believed.) But besides sharing the same first letter of their
single-word monikers, she bears the name of a saint, while Morrissey only
bears his own.
Mark Simpson’s Saint Morrissey is a “psycho-bio” that attempts to be a
“portrait of this charming man by an alarming fan.” Telling the singer’s story
through the filter of a deeply held personal obsession, Simpson doesn’t even
try and attempt to talk to Moz himself. Rather he reconstructs everything
through Morrissey’s oeuvre. This includes the many interviews the singer has
given throughout the years and its parade of Oscar Wilde-worthy witticisms.
(For example, “I despised practically everyone. Which does somewhat limit
your weekend activities” or “I am only attracted to the things I can never
become or get. My pop career would be finished if I found total harmony.”)
The result is all the more compelling and insightful about its subject. In
contrast to biographies like those of the Kitty Kelley-type that are little more
than a litany of indiscretions and embarrassments, Simpson’s is intimate but
dispels none of the mystery of the man.
Perhaps this is because Simpson’s only agenda is not to upend the
persona of Morrissey as much as to understand it—or to be more precise,
to understand his attraction to it. Openly gay and credited as having coined
the dubious buzzword “metrosexual,” he doesn’t claim Morrissey for the
community—rather he celebrates the ambiguity and the singer’s resistance to
be pigeon-holed. (Responding to questions about his sexuality or the desire
to be intimate with another person, Morrissey denies it. When told that he’s
a “human being” after all, he quips, “You’ve no evidence of that. Artists
aren’t really people. And I’m actually 40 percent papier-mâché.”) Simpson
is only too willing to take such comments seriously—if only because of the
cleverness of the retort.
But it’s Simpson’s reading of Morrissey’s lyrics, his deciphering of the
language and the references, which will interest fans the most. Here, he
goes back to the primary sources: the films that were part of the British New
Realism movement, the New York Dolls, James Dean, the skinhead novels
of Richard Allen, Jack Kerouac, Oscar Wilde and—most significantly—
playwright Shelagh Delaney. The latter’s play A Taste of Honey has been a
particular fertile resource.
“I think the Smiths were the only group whose falling apart really
affected me personally,” says Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling in the 2002
documentary The Importance of Being Morrissey. The list of fans include
other writers, such as Tony Award-winning playwright Alan Bennett and
literary enfant terrible Will Self—as well as musicians like Oasis’ Noel Did you hear t.A.T.u’s version of “How Soon Is Now?”
Gallagher or Bono. It’s to this disparate audience (which includes the greater
number of unknowns still sitting in their bedrooms) that Simpson addresses Yes, it was magnificent. Absolutely. Again, I don’t
© www.morrissey-web.com

his book. know much about them.

Saint Morrissey is no Sex. It doesn’t render its subject banal. (After all,
no body is that interesting without clothes on for more than the number of They’re teenage Russian lesbians.
pages it takes one to get off.) Like Morrissey himself, it offers everything and Well, aren’t we all?
shows nothing.
ERWIN ROMULO – Morrissey, 2003
SEx
AND THE
Television

SUBURBS
Big Love, the Tom Hanks-produced polygamy
drama by HBO, follows a knotty suburban
family—a man, his three wives, and their
children—and how they struggle to love in the
plural tense
HBO HAS MADE ITS BREAD AND BUTTER churning
out the most unpredictable shows we’ve seen on
air. In the tradition of the cable network’s The
Sopranos and Six Feet Under, the new series Big
Love succeeds in turning uncommon characters into
universal heroes.
The pilot episode’s first sequence immediately
pulls us to the show’s parallel moral universe. God
is in the details, and so is primetime commotion:
the poorly maintained dirt backyard, the plastic
toys scattered all over the floor, the flock-patterned
comforter, Chloë Sevigny’s hairstyle. Clearly, it’s a
world we’ve never seen on television before.
The laid-back setting throws us off just enough
to give the main characters a clean slate. We’ve
never met them before, and they’re certainly not
Hollywood stereotypes we’ve ever encountered.
They’re actual human beings who are alien to us
from head to toe.
Bill Paxton plays Bill Henrickson, an unpretentious
and easygoing owner of a Home Depot-type store.
But he’s no ordinary middle-aged chap. As soon as
he gets off from work, he ping-pongs to three wives
living in three adjacent homes, all of which
share one massive backyard. Scheduling
is one of the main dilemmas, as the wives
often assemble to divide up Bill’s time in
order to make sure that he’s there for every
important occasion.
A tricky but bold concept that has
garnered HBO even more buzz than it
could handle.
It’s highly compelling to watch, thanks What’s more, Big
mostly to the stellar acting of Bill and his Love literally starts in the middle.
wives (Jeanne Tripplehorn, Chloë Sevigny, It takes no effort to pause for
and Ginnifer Goodwin). But the show flashback or justification—it just
somewhat disappoints. Instead of exploring shoves us into the main picture as if
its entangled and enthralling premise, the the Henricksons were just another
people behind Big Love have chosen to family, only with more knotty
focus on throwing in more odd supporting issues.
characters, including Bill’s outlaw father- So it makes one wonder why HBO
in-law Roman (Harry Dean Stanton), the would push for a show like this
badass polygamist to Bill’s pleasant one; now. Is it a lampoon of the Mormon
and Bill’s mother Lois (Grace Zabriskie), who may or may not be trying to religion or perhaps a critique of their faith’s long-banned practice? Who
poison his father, Franklin (Bruce Dern). As a result, the show’s effectiveness is Big Love’s intended audience?
is watered down, clearing out the promise of its novel premise and leaving While the pilot episode carries a disclaimer meant to ward off controversy,
audiences with zero insight on the reason why the four leads have agreed to it’s obvious that the protests have done nothing but help launch the series.
create such a bizarre arrangement in the first place. This leads us to speculate if every drama series that will come our way
Instead of plots revolving around the more important issues relating will be a B-class imitation of The Sopranos, featuring a distressed yet
to juggling a large family, the focus is placed on sex and gratification, compassionate hero who’s just trying to make it from day to day.
particularly on how Bill is able to satisfy his three ladies. JAMES GABRIllO

22 MAY 2008 rogue magazine THE SECOND SEASON OF BIG LOVE WILL PREMIERE THIS OCTOBER EXCLUSIVELY ON HBO.
Crash
and
Burn
Buoyed by Sam Riley’s earnest performance,
Control lingers long after the music stops playing
An eclectic group of young men followed Joy
Division’s progress in the late ’70s. Prone to
anonymity, they called themselves “Cult with
No Name.” Although none of the extras hired for
Control—an Ian Curtis biopic—were members
of the aforementioned cult, most of them were
dedicated followers of the band. For them,
Ian—Joy Division’s lead vocalist—was
untouchable, off-limits.
During filming, actor Sam Riley asked
an extra if he was a Joy Division fan. Film
The man said yes, after which he raised
his shirt up. What Riley saw left him
speechless: there, tattooed prominently on
the man’s left tit, was Ian’s somber face.
Sharing the man’s unbridled sentiment is
Dutchman Anton Corbijn. A rock photographer
by trade (subjects include Björk, Morrissey, and
Johnny Cash), Corbijn is more concerned with
24 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
pain and realism than beauty and perfection. He
rarely—if ever—compromises his passion for
acceptance. Glitz and glamour mean nothing to
him.
In Control, his debut feature, Corbijn applies
in film the very same aesthetic he uses in
photography. Tediously framing each scene
with an artiste’s sharp eye, he becomes
the camera—mindful of light and
shadows, conscious of Riley’s gravity.
He is as good a filmmaker as he is
a photographer, heavily relying on
his camera to convey the actor’s inner
turmoil.
Predictably, Control becomes a spitting image
of his snapshots—monochromatic, livid, searing.
Even at its most mundane—a turntable spinning,
a lone bird flying, Ian on his bed musing—
Corbijn’s artistic inclinations shine through.
In its entirety, Control is an exercise in good
cinematography. For its picture-perfect visuals, it
gets an A.
Slightly better, Matt Greenhalgh’s screenplay
gets an A+. Although Deborah Curtis’ memoir,
Touching from a Distance, is the script’s
backbone, Tony Wilson (Factory Records mogul),
Ian’s band mates, and even Annik Honoré (Ian’s
mistress) all chipped in, resulting in a, more or
less, truthful account of the singer’s tragic life.
With the film’s dark premise—a young man
ill prepared for fame succumbs to adultery,
depression, and, self-destruction—Greenhalgh
could have easily gone the whole Macbeth angst-
laden route.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he peppers Control with bristling wit
and humor—enough to steamroll its grim, dark
overtones.
 “Now remember, we are live—so no swearing
or they’ll cut you off,” warns Tony Wilson (Craig
Parkinson), Factory Records’ big kahuna.
“How about ‘big dog’s cock,’ can you say
that?” counters a bystander.
Wilson has his moments of engaging, good
laughs, but Rob Gretton (Toby Kebbell), Joy
Division’s brusque, straight-talking manager, gets
the lion’s share of Greenhalgh’s wisecracks. After
watching the band’s gig, he exclaims: “I’ve not
seen a reaction like that since George Best got
kicked out for glassin’ a bouncer.”
With his big aviator sunglasses, bushy reggae
hair, and abrasive tongue, he always has the last
say.
“Where’s my £20?” demands a stand-in.
“In my fuck-off pocket!” he snaps.
He’s very fond of that word—that “fuck” word.
“I have my hands up. I’m a believer in Joy
Division. Fuckin’ hallelujah,” he declares. In
another instance, he announces, “We’re up for the
U.S. fuckin’ of A!” And in another, when Ian’s
wife, Deborah, asks, “Is she with him?” referring
to her husband’s mistress, Annik, he replies,
“Yeah, one big happy fuckin’ family.”
Rob Gretton is such a big personality, such
a great role. Thankfully, Yorkshire actor Toby
Kebbell (Match Point, Alexander) decides to
downplay his acting—play it cool. Not that Sam
Riley (Ian Curtis) has anything to be worried
about. Despite his inadequate filmography (his
film credit is limited to 24 Hour Party People), he
holds his own against Kebbell and, with all due
respect, Samantha Morton (Deborah Curtis)—a
gargantuan talent in the acting department.
When Deborah lays bare her guilt trap, saying,
“I really love you. No one will love you like I
The hype surrounding Control,
most especially Riley, is well-
earned . . . He owns Ian and Ian
owns him . . . He’s so good, it’s
eerie seeing him that way.
love you,” Riley (as Ian) keeps still—repelling
her stifling words with silence.
Ian loves his wife, but not enough. He wants to
leave his wife, but he can’t.
He’s a walking contradiction: a man stuck in a
boy’s emotional stagnation. Self-absorbed in his
own misery, he ruins everyone’s life—including
his own.
“It used to be so simple. Now everyone hates
me. I made everyone hate me,” he says.
“No one hates you,” Tony interjects.
“Even the people who love me hate me.”
That’s what he thinks.
In Cannes, Control won three awards in the
Directors’ Fortnight category: the CICAE Art &
Essai prize for best film, the “Regards Jeunes”
Prize award for best first directed feature film,
and the Europa Cinemas Label prize for best
European film.
The hype surrounding Control, most especially
Riley, is well-earned. In as much as Robert
Carlyle (Trainspotting), Benicio del Toro (Fear
and Loathing in Las Vegas), and Philip Seymour
Hoffman (Capote) were talked about during their
first boom, the 28-year-old actor was 2007’s
revelation. He owns Ian and Ian owns him. From
the singing (Riley uses his own voice) to the
dance moves (the marching and the manic arm
waving are oddly perfect), he becomes Ian’s
suave doppelganger. He’s so good, it’s eerie
seeing him that way.
Watching Control, one gets the impression that
Ian has risen from the dead—and judging from
this, it seems like twenty-eight years of sleep did
him well.
Andy Briones
rogue magazine MAY 2008 25
Rock Thy Neighbor Ever wished you left your day job to be a rockstar? Good news, for one night a week, you can be

In the history of coolest lines ever uttered, there
is one that stands out as an all-access password:
“I’m with the band.”
This one liner trumps any VIP pass or guest list,
accelerating one’s status from floor matter to stage
presence—even if it’s a backstage presence.
It is for this reason that Monday nights at Mag:net
Café on Bonifacio High Street have become red-
letter dates in the nocturnal calendar, ever since a
brilliant little experiment called Rockeoke hit the
stage. Everybody gets a chance to be a front act.
What is Rockeoke? It is a simple formula in the
mathematics of rock and roll: live band + open
mic + a healthy sousing of alcohol = mad fun. It’s
way better than regular karaoke—no, you could
say Rockeoke kicks its amps a hundred times
over.
Thanks to the promotional power of Last Song
Syndrome, word-of-mouth, plus some healthy
digital exhibitionism via YouTube, Multiply, and
Facebook, what started out as a two-table affair
has suddenly swelled into an SRO, fully booked
event. On a Monday night, that is. There’s even a
mention in Time magazine about Rockeoke.
Of course it’s fun, especially with a song list that
runs the gamut of eras, from classic to punk, new
wave to heavy metal, glam to grunge. Yes, there’s
a lot of Bon Jovi and Madonna on the list, and
Mag:net’s co-owner, film director and card- to. “Broadway-oke” gives the band a break and
carrying member of the rakenrol generation ushers in a piano player instead for another
Quark Henares shares that he got the idea entertaining scenario, albeit in a more cultured,
from gal pal and fashion maven Mich wine-sipping kind of way. “Popeoke”
Dulce, who talked about a “Punk happens on alternate Mondays, with the
Rock Karaoke” night at hotspot Night Oven Toasters dishing out pop songs.
Arlene’s Grocery in New York City. Life What to watch out for in the near future:
“The image of people suddenly “Disney-oke.” You read that right, be still
singing along to a live rock band just your beating princess heart.
popped into my head and we decided to So channel your inner rock star, check your
do Rockeoke,” he spills. shame in at the door, and hie on over to Mag:net
A great part of the scene’s success lies in the High Street. Just say you’re with the band.
talent, verve, and supreme patience of the band, TALS DIAZ
The Johnnies. It is not
easy to play for hours
on end whilst tone deaf
customers/wannabe rock
stars shamelessly hog
the microphone! Credit
goes to Mag:net’s other
co-owner, Lulei Avecilla
Simpao, for finding and
booking The Johnnies,
who are class acts in
themselves, and worthy of
catching before and after
the Rockeoke free-for-all.
The successful formula
PHOTOS BY SHAWN YAO

yes, even that song you listened to over and over has even been applied
in college because it reminded you of someone is to other nights as well.
there, too. With a little guts, you get up with band Now, there are other
(The Johnnies) and the mic is yours. “oke’s” to look forward

26 MAY 2008 rogue magazine Mag:net Café is located at 2/F, B3, Bonifacio High Street, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig. Call 856.3400, 0920.9793400, or visit www.magnet.com.ph.
 Design
A D O R A T I O N
Within this Anton Mendoza-designed  retail wonderland, beaded Barbara Barry chandeliers
mingle with well-edited brands from Bangkok to Istanbul

The coolest of the hot, new stores in the Greenbelt 5 neighborhood,

Adora is all about the “ahhhh” moment. And indeed, with racks of Earnest
Sewn jeans mingling with beaded Barbara Barry chandeliers, this retail
wonderland is the department store equivalent of a cocktail party for the
young, sexy, and effortlessly refined. The Anton Mendoza-designed Adora
has in its 2,500-square-meter landscape a unique mix of departments, from
women’s and men’s ready-to-wear, to accessories, beauty, fragrance, and
home.
But Adora, the brainchild of 28-year-old Eman Pineda, the same retail
genius that gave urbanites the tailored crispness of Tyler, would like to
be known more for its editorial voice than its supposed luxury. Mingling
with fail-safe crowd-pleasers like Jil Sander, Marni, and D&G are slightly
more obscure sartorial souvenirs from the world’s emerging style capitals.
After all, Adora’s team of astute buyers skims the globe to cherry-pick
up-and-coming brands and designers. “Our buyers also take inspiration
from different key cities each season, such as Istanbul, Bangkok, Rio de
Janeiro, and Copenhagen,” says store manager Erica Ilacad. In the glow of
this enhanced perspective, it then makes sense that the Thai label Jaspal, for
instance, features prominently on the men’s floor. Forward-moving fashion
is an important element of the store’s DNA.
Combined with that shorthand that only the truly stylish are privy to are
pleasant price points. This may be secondary, but it’s still belated good
news for fashion fans. Those who shop at Adora are not exactly more
cosmopolitan, or earthier, or more sophisticated than others who engage
in this ostensibly pleasurable activity. Rather, and more accurately, they
possess the quiet confidence to team, for example, a Tyler top with Cheap
Monday jeans and a Givenchy bag. Again, this is where Adora’s approach
to brands comes into play.
Of course, to be freshly possessed by something Chloe, Givenchy, or

28 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

Adora is all about the “ahhhh” moment . . . the
department store equivalent of a cocktail party
for the young, sexy, and effortlessly refined.
H. Stern would not be possible without excellent customer service, a crucial
part of the Adora mandate. Senior shop floor assistants know their products
inside and out so that they can offer unparalleled advice to clients. Quietly
riffling through James and AG denims in one corner, I found out two things
firsthand: that the jeans were arranged by fit, style, and wash rather than by
brand and that expert suggestions from the store’s sales associates were only
a nod away. Unlike other shop assistants who are either condescending or
completely inattentive, Adora’s are helpful and polite but can fade into the
well-appointed background when the need arises.
The seductive spell also extends to goods for the home. Near the eyewear
section populated mostly by this season’s Ralph Lauren shades are animal
skin trays and decorative boxes. Ceramic Jonathan Adler-esque fish-shaped
platters are also available for the discerning homebody. These well-edited
items are proudly made on Philippine shores and are likewise exported to
other parts of the planet.
Fiori di M is Adora’s flower department, and as with everything else,
they wanted to work with an artist who had the same values as Adora, and
a florist who has her own clear identity. Gaita Forés, the award-winning
culinary entrepreneur behind Cibo, Pepato, and Café Bola, definitely fit the
description. It was fortunate that she had been on the same artistic page as
Eman Pineda. Jaw-dropping arrangements from Fiori di M range from P800
for a bouquet to P1,250 for a more ornate table arrangement. To round things
out, Forés has recently opened her newest restaurant, Lusso, on the Adora
premises.
Like a style magazine that you have learned to trust, Adora challenges
the thinking shopper with its individual fusion of directional clothes and
accessories. Offering customers just the right assortment every time, Adora
is definitely not about passing fads but about a distinctive experience you’ll
remember for the rest of your shopping days.
Gino de la Paz

ADOra is located at Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati City.

Visit www.adora.ph or call 687.4809.
 He
Says She

John anD yoko

Says

With curious sounding dishes like the Japaella and Tempura

Banana Split, the oriental flavors of East are given a familiar,
Western twist in this Japanese noshery

AMBIANCE
HE SAYS: The ambiance provides you with a snapshot of what to expect from the food
and service to come. It seems that they sacrificed comfort in order to fill up the place
as much as they could, as there was barely enough space for the waiters to maneuver
around the tables.

SHE SAYS: It was the only restaurant in Greenbelt 5 to have a number of people outside
waiting for tables. But the turnover was pretty fast, and we were promptly seated
within 10 minutes of arrival. The trendy ambiance sets a phlegmatic, eccentric, and
somehow sophisticated mood. That may sound contradictory, but the design is really
unique and very well done. With an imaginative eye, and some very clever lighting,
this ambience was achieved. However, the atmosphere rests in these metallic walls,
and is slightly let down by the tables crammed in between them.

fOOD
HE SAYS: The food was slightly predictable. Much like I had suspected when Japanese
cuisine tries to take on a western touch, the quality tends to suffer. The Spicy Tuna
Sashimi was coated in stale tempura batter and the tuna itself could have been slightly
fresher.

SHE SAYS: The presentation of all dishes were nice and portion sizes were decent.
The Geisha Salad of lettuce, candied walnuts, sundried tomatoes and a creamy feta
cheese was very tasty. The Spicy Tuna Salad was alright, too. However, the Spicy
Tuna Sashimi was truly amazing and superior above all the other orders. I regret not
ordering more sushi, as it really was good—and such an array of quirky, interesting
sushi choices! Interesting choices throughout the menu, for that matter. We ordered
the Beef Teppan, which we were not at all impressed with. The Squid Teriyaki was
actually very tasty if you like a very sweet sauce, as I do. The beef in the Uzuyaki Beef
Roll was much more succulent than the Beef Teppan.

SERVICE
HE SAYS: The service left a lot to be desired. The waiters had little knowledge of
the menu and it seemed like they were more concerned about getting you served
so that they could give your table to the next customer waiting. They were a little
disorganized.

SHE SAYS: I had called earlier to book a table for four. The lady who answered told us
we could not book on a weekend. A couple of hours later, I called back. A man had
answered this time and agreed to the booking. This did raise a little curiosity about the
knowledge of the staff. Within minutes of being seated, we were asked by six different
waiters for our order, and if they should clear away the two remaining spaces. We told
them we were a table of four, and that we were not ready to order yet. I know they
were trying to turn over tables as fast as possible, but in this case, I felt this was at the
expense of the customer’s comfort. We’re also fine having one or two orders come out
at a time, but if you like to have everything in front of you at once, you may need to
request for a larger table.

OVERAll ExPERIENCE
HE SAYS: The overall experience felt like I was in a canteen that was possibly a notch
above a fast food joint.
SHE SAYS: I couldn’t help feeling a little confused with the consistency of this restaurant
during our visit. The ambiance and design was truly compelling, though a little erratic,
when I think about the tables and seating arrangements. The food was unpredictable.
The confusion of the waiters when we tried to book a table, as well as the amount of
times we were asked for our order was a little too much as well. I suggest you visit
on a weekday, and order from their vast variety of tasty sushi. That would be the best
option when trying out this unique restaurant.
ABOUT OUR GUESTS:
MARC BAUMANN does his best to manage a start up BPO and keep his
head above water, the only saving grace is that he comes home to a
loving, beautiful wife and a great 8-year-old son. YASMIN BAUMANN
was a commercial model, but is now focused on her raising her son,
completing her life coaching degree, and volunteer work for the AFP
Hospital, serving as play buddy to cancer-stricken children.

30 MAY 2008 rogue magazine JOHN AND YOKO IS LOCATED AT 2/F, GREENBELT 5, AYALA CENTER, LEGASPI ST., LEGASPI VILLAGE, MAKATI. CALL 729.8698.
Sugar and Spice
The fragrant, chili-based cuisine of Thai at Silk balances out the spicy
with the subtle, the sweet, and the sour. Treat your taste buds to a
pleasant, piquant kick, and your palate to a party of fiery flavors

It fell on family time, the day I found myself in Thai at Silk. I brought along my best canine
friend, my mom, my brother, his wife and little kids. The odd combination (children and
chili-induced cuisine, as well as the presence of my dog, Sugar) might seem a little off—but
being the adventurous diners that we were, not the tiniest hint of apprehension was shown,
even after seeing the restaurant’s elegant, dimly-lit interiors, complete with carefully thought
out table settings, accentuated by lilies, wrought-iron candelabras, and Asian-inspired ceiling
lamps.
We settled ourselves in at a long, fancy table outside, where towering stalks of Thai grass
were bundled in vases and orange flames that emanated from candles surrounding the
façade swayed with the soothing, early evening breeze. Ah, perfect weather, perfect
ambiance. Before I could wish upon the gods for the food to please my ever so critical
companions, the receptionist’s gaze caught my attention. Her look seemed slightly
Food
concerned when she saw Sugar. I was about to give her the evil eye when the food
started to arrive. Lucky her, I thought.
My first bite was of the Yam Som-O, a salad sans the usual greens, which was basically
made up of pomelo and shrimps. Each munch spewed squirts of tangy sweetness in my
mouth, followed by a subtle, piquant kick from the herbs sprinkled all over. My palate
welcomed the pleasant, savory jolt. My family—even the kids—seemed to agree: it was
different, but in a totally good way.
The server came back with the soup, Tom Yum Kung, a hot and sour prawn soup mixed with
lemongrass and ginger. Even from afar, the strong orange-red color—and the daunting whiff
I got from it—was enough to warn me how spicy a treat we were in for. The graininess of the
potage left a strong, fiery flavor in the mouth. But it wasn’t the kind that lingered. It burned
intensely but, much to my relief, only briefly.
Upon finishing my soup, I looked over to my nieces who were already stuffing themselves
with Spring Rolls, salmon, and crab fried rice. After that, it was a flurry of noodles, curries,
and scoops of sweet smelling Jasmine Rice. I learned that, instead of serving their dishes

32 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 With seven other cooks helping her create the 85 mouthwatering dishes on the menu,
the management proudly swears on serving quality and authentic Thai gastronomy at
its finest.
in courses, Thai meals are served all at once, allowing you to
enjoy a complementary mishmash of different flavors. And to
avoid exhaustion from too many spicy dishes, it’s balanced out
by the bland; as well as the intermingling of the hot, the subtle,
the sweet, and the sour. You might say our senses were having
their own little party.
While we waited for dessert, I noticed an amiable lady in
chef’s attire who was doing the rounds. She headed towards
our direction and started admiring Sugar from a distance. I was
about to get up in a panic to save my canine friend from being
minced Chow meat for tonight’s specials. But the lady chef
turned to me, smiled, and shook my hand.
Cecille Ysmael, she introduces herself to me. The head chef
and the hands-on owner of the restaurant. I offer her a seat. She
sits down and tells me about her culinary baby, Thai at Silk.
Ysmael has been in love with the chili-based cuisine for as
long as she can remember. Thailand has become her staple
go-to country—an exotic land where the locals eat more hot
peppers (five grams per person, per day) than anywhere else in
the world. Since her first visit, she found herself magnetically
PHOTOS BY MIGUEL MIRANDA
drawn to Thailand, taking frequent trips over the course of six
years, and eventually enrolling in cooking workshops there to
pursue her lifelong passion. Hearing praises for her growing
Thai at Silk is located at Unit 1C12, G/F, Serendra, Fort Bonifacio Global City, Taguig. For
reservations, call 856-0386 to 87 or email silk@globelines.com.ph
culinary skills was enough incentive to give her the push she
needed. Hence, Thai at Silk, a corporate-owned establishment,
came about in late 2006.
In operation for almost two years now, with seven other
cooks helping her create the 85 mouthwatering dishes on the
menu, the management proudly swears on serving quality and
authentic Thai gastronomy at its finest.
Aside from being the head chef, Ysmael is also the self-
appointed “marketer.” Every few months, she visits Thailand to
purchase the herbs and curries she needs for her kitchen. She
ensures that the majority (roughly 85 percent) of her ingredients
are imported from Thailand. Save for the Roast Duck Curry and
Chicken Masoman, everything on the menu is freshly prepared
upon order. She’s well aware that spicy food isn’t for everyone,
so it’s a staff custom to ask diners what level of spice they
prefer before ordering, so the kitchen can customize the dishes
to the their liking.
The Pomelo Salad, Green Chicken Curry, Tom Yum Kung,
and Jasmine Rice were wonderful dishes that managed to leave
a lasting impression on my taste buds, spicy or otherwise.
Personally, I love a little spice in my food. It’s like having your
own mini euphoria from a chili high.
ANJANETTE PE
rogue magazine MAY 2008 33
THE ROGUE TRADER
Money The Sound of Music
Tuning the Bank Notes
Music and Money
Musicians often appear to be blissfully
caught floating in a realm beyond care. Their
harmonious gift and talent capturing a world
beyond the mundane and the routine, drifting
in some magic space far apart from the harsher
realities and practicalities of daily life.
  At the end of the day, like everyone else,
the musician must make ends meet. A lucky
group of players might well have a sponsor to
cover the expenses in the logistics of a spirited
performance, but most fend for themselves from
gig to gig.
  Somehow, somewhere, and sometime out
there, a performer finds a following, gets
recognized and caught up in a frenzy of
promotion. Suddenly there is an inflow of cash
and a spending spree is a welcomed change
from scratching a living. The trick then is to
move on from a newfound life of buying and the
34 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
overwhelming temptation to satisfy the endless
need for self-gratification. The human character
must take up the challenge and fight between
weakness and strength, balance between
endless choices and the chance of a return to
nothingness. After all, the chimes of “tin-pan
alley” might quickly turn into a cul-de-sac and
the silence of a dead-end!
 
Psychology and Worry
The successful musicians will revel in the flush
of success, and so they should! But eventually
for some there will come a subconscious
crossroad where need and greed collide.
Colleagues, friends, or relatives might well
become the first to notice, but outsiders in
particular will observe a sea of change. The
rumble in the jungle, the bungle in the mumble,
and the struggle in the psyche will take its toll.
The struggling musician might well invoke that
ART BY MARTIN MARI
by bruce curran
famous cult saying: “The first shall be last and
the last shall be first”—believing in the god-
given right of their own success. But just as
valid is the shrewd observation that “all good
times come to an end.” However, the crest of
a wave always seems to roll on forever in the
flurry of no worry. This gobbledygook aims to
raise the red flag of warning, and to give the
keen musician (in all of us) the opportunity to
remember the rule of the 3 S’s—take Stock,
Stock up, and buy Stock.
The Rogue Boracay Issue of April is a reveler’s
dream that can come true, with its full exposé
of the delights and temptations of the good life.
These can be enjoyed spontaneously once or
twice with a flush of money, or forever etched in
the psyche with a little bit of planning and a lot
of the 3 S’s as a back-up for the future. After all,
if you fail to plan, you plan to fail . . . so let the
good times roll! 
R The Musician’s SET
Track One – earth rhythm and beat
The long Easter weekend gave us an opportunity
to take a break from the market’s recent frenzied
trading to try and put things in perspective—or
more precisely, to reflect upon how much damage
has been done since the stock market highs of a
few months ago.
Interestingly, the MSCI World Index (-16.8%)
is still shy of the -20% level, whereas this level
has already been breached by the MSCI Emerging
Markets Index (-20.4%). Also, European markets
have mostly been underperforming the S&P 500
Index (-15.1%) and the Dow Jones Industrial
Index (-12.7%). So much for global economies
decoupling from the U.S.!
The events of the past several days have
marked a major turning point for the U.S. equity
market. Share prices staged their first weekly
gain in a month. The Federal Reserve pulled out
all stops to save the banking system. Financial
shares bounced hard, and inflation fears eased as
commodity prices fell back to earth.
History suggests that major upside reversals are
rarely anticipated before the fact or at the time.
Usually, they are not even acknowledged for days
or months after a rally has begun. Often it is the
longer term investors who remain committed to
their portfolios during market draw downs that
proffer substantially when markets recover.
Over the long term, stocks have historically
outperformed all other investments. From 1926
to 2006, the S&P 500 returned an average annual
10.4 percent gain. However short term volatility
cannot be ignored. A diversified portfolio is less
susceptible to short term market corrections than
a portfolio that is concentrated in one or a few
investments. Therefore, an investor can reduce
portfolio volatility simply by holding assets which
are not correlated.  invest . . . after all, everyone starts small.
Modern Portfolio Theory dictates that an
effectively diversified portfolio should include
alternative investments such as hedge funds to
help optimize long term returns.  Believe that
investors should always take a longer term view
to investing since it is only over the long term that
investors really benefit from a diversified portfolio
that includes alternative/hedge based strategies.
  
Track Two – Electronic and Modern
While stock markets have suffered majestically,
there are funds that have performed superbly over
all time periods, and especially over the past six
months when all hell has let loose in the markets.
It is a sophisticated formula for success based on
a combination of high quality assets, advanced
product engineering, intelligent use of financial
The struggling musician might well invoke that famous cult
saying: “The first shall be last and the last shall be first”—
believing in the god-given right of their own success. But
just as valid is the shrewd observation that “all good times
come to an end.”
leverage, good risk management and . . . a lot of
thinking! The Prudential and Norwich Union X
funds have returned a profit of over 11% at a time
when the S&P 500 Composite Index in the USA
has dropped 15% in the last 6 months. That is a
difference of 26% . . . these are modern formulas
based on 150 years of investment experience,
supported by computer analysis.   invitation to play a concert, a homemade CD,
 
Track Three – Experimental and Futuristic
Gearing is a smart formula to success. Invest
$50,000 geared twice, and you get the equivalent
of $150,000 invested, having only put in $50,000
of your own money. The rest is borrowed. If you
believe in the underlying investment, it makes
sense to gear up. When it goes right, you make
almost three times the profit with someone else’s
money, getting you almost 2/3rds of your overall
profit. It all looks like gobbledygook in the
explanation, but rakes in a fat profit for the geared
investor.
The downside is that such investments require a
five-year program of patience and perseverance.
If you cash out early, they take 25% of your profit
as a fee. A heavy toll, but one that makes investors
stay put for the duration. The likes of Prudential
and Norwich Union have proven this formula
works consistently over time.
 
The Spondoolics: Choosing the Right
Investment Vehicle
The ideal wrapper for all of these investments is
an Offshore Private Portfolio Bond. This means
they operate in tax sheltered secure jurisdictions
primarily in Europe and the Caribbean, and are
offshore from the home-country where you reside.
The starter pack begins with a $75,000 entry fee.
International brokers are available to assist even
small investors with US$10,000 to invest, or even
just $5,000. You do not have to be a high-flyer to
The local banks have a very limited range of
offerings, whereas the more worldly brokers have
access to a vast range of choices.
My advice to all you musicians out there is, take
stock, stock up and buy stock. Put aside funds and
buy some funds—after all, there is no expectation
without speculation.
 
The Voice of Choice
Be it rock and roll, jazz, rap, or the multitude of
modern expressions, it is all music in the end.
Just like investing, it is all a version of the same
thing—you choose which you like best and get
involved. So, do not delay. Get on stage, pick up
your instrument, voice your choice . . . and get
invested now! It is all a part of tuning the bank
notes, and increasing the pile.  ☐
The Musician’s Way:
The
Topsy-Turvy Pay
Money comes in a trickle, which often means
finances get in a pickle. The ultimate dream
is for that moment of truth which brings
in the treacle—a regular spot in a club, an
an audition, a contract, a national road show,
and an international venue are all on the
cards of the musician’s schedule.
When fame arrives, it is time to cash in on
the bandwagon and save for a rainy day.
 
Spend and Save
Step 1 - Tuning In – Playing It Safe –
Immediate Access
Money for a rainy day sits in the bank.
 
Step 2 – The Silver Handcuffs – Playing it
longer
Money locked up in a time deposit for 12
months gets a better return—and locks
money away so it won’t be spent.
 
Step 3 – The Golden Handcuffs and the
Golden Handshake – Playing the 3 S’s
Taking stock . . . stocking up . . . buying
stock—playing the markets over 3 to 5 years.
When the fat paychecks come in, this is the
time to move in and move up in the world of
investment.
Over the long term, it is patience,
perseverance, and “good choices” that pay
off with the handsomest of profits.
 
Choices on the Menu:
Aperitif Pack / Simple and effective; low
risk
1) Buy a managed mutual fund investing
worldwide
2) Buy an Asian mutual fund
3) Choose a mutual fund with a guaranteed
capital base and a lock in of profit
4) Hedge fund in Australian Dollars with
capital guaranteed
 
Sophisticated Main Course / High risk
1)  Buy a single country mutual fund
2) Buy a mutual fund investing in
commodities, energy, and natural resources.
3)  Hedge fund with a good track record –
12% growth per annum
 
Dessert / Higher risk with potentially
higher profit
1)  Individual stocks
2) Commodities
3) Specialist funds – property, mortgage
debt, speculative ventures
rogue magazine MAY 2008 35
PARTNER PROMOTION
Choosing
Eyewear for
Performance
and Protection
Summer’s here and the sun is HOT! Playing
out in the sun isn’t what it used to be. The price
of progress has meant larger and larger holes
in our ozone layer, increasing the damage that
ultra-violet rays inflict on our sensitive bodies.
Remember when sun block numbers were
in single digits? Today nothing under 30 is
acceptable. But look around you on the course, a
scant few choose to play with protective eyewear.
Just because you can’t get sunburn on your eyes,
doesn’t mean they’re immune to sun damage.
If your eyes are tired, red or dry at the end of a
round, you risk cataracts; long term damage and
possibly blindness. Good news is that protection
is just a good pair of shades away. Most lenses
sold today block 100% of UV light and so will go
a long way to preserve our vision, but do precious
little to help get that six footer in the hole.
Golfers have specific vision requirements
and need eyewear that will enhance vision and
performance; eyewear that you never feel like you
have to take off. This is why most golfers don’t
wear sunglasses; it’s a lot of trouble. You put them
on then take them off before you hit then put them
back on. Then you start over when you get to their
next shot. And you have to clean them constantly;
sun block and body oils leave nasty smudges on
36 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
the lenses rendering them useless. But a careful
search can lead to the Holy Grail; eyewear that
offers 100% UV protection enhances visual
performance, increases comfort and isn’t high
maintenance when you’re using it.
The golf course is a world of shades of green
and we require lenses that will allow us to
decipher the subtleties and highlight contrasts
without taking your sunglasses off. Oakley
Gold Iridium, Fire Iridium, G30 and Persimmon
filter out most blue light and increase contrast
in the green and yellow range. This highlights
subtleties in contrasting shades of green and a
higher level of confidence. Choose the intensity
of the tint depending on the conditions. For
bright sunlight, Gold or Fire Iridium both work
very well resolving contrast and reduce eyestrain
dramatically. The G30 is the only choice in
changeable light conditions and in low light
Persimmon works to magically increase visual
acuity, performance and reduce eyestrain. They’re
all so good; you can read the greens with them on.
The most advanced sports lenses adjust the
amount of sun protection they provide based on
the intensity of the light. Oakley’s Transitions are
leading examples of this application; put them on
indoors and they’re a light brown tint, walk out the
door and they darken immediately. This is more
than a marketing gimmick; the lenses’ adjusting
saves your eyes the wear and tear of doing so
themselves and leads to a higher level of comfort
both during and after the round.
Lenses that are optically correct are vital to any
sport; in golf the precision required makes this
an absolute necessity. This is where most sports
lenses fail utterly. The curvature of a sports lens
often causes severe refraction of light causing
you to feel like you’re walking down stairs. If
you get a bit dizzy or light-headed, the lenses are
unsuitable for golf. Our eyes compensate, but this
leads to eye strain and fatigue. They’ll wind up
on top of your head instead of on your face; not
good. This is the single most important criteria for
most golfers; after all if you can’t see it, you can’t
hit it.
Also new are hydrophobic and oleophobic lens
coatings that repel water and body oils. These
things are just amazing. Think about playing an
entire round of golf without cleaning your glasses.
Can’t be done? Think again. Current eyewear
technology has advanced to the point where sports
vision is no longer compromised by protection.
The best examples demonstrably enhance
visual performance and have progressed from a
fashion accessory to become indispensable sports
equipment.

the kill girls
Aimee M arcos & Gabbie de la Rama- Ta la n photographed by J uan Caguicla at N O RT H SY- QU I A O N JA N UA RY 2 6 , 2 0 0 8
“Mag-prod tayo!” seems to be the new catchphrase
among the “hipsters” and the “scenesters” in
what constitutes as the “rock scene” these days.
A new production sprouts practically everyday,
some with immensely promising (like Attraction!
Reaction! and Helter Shelter) and others with, er,
disastrous results.
But independent music management outfit
Princess Batugan has been with us for some time
now, way back before SaGuijo became such a
hotspot. According to one of SaGuijo’s main men
Angelo Carlos, “Princess Batugan has always
been one of the more consistent productions in
our place. With them, you’re always guaranteed of
a decent showing. And they have a certain kind of
crowd that they can virtually claim as their own.”   Aimee: We tend to like the harder side to music—
Even though 95% of Batugan’s band line-up is
comprised of a bunch of heavy-leather toughies,
it’s actually run by a nice pair of Catholic
schoolgirls, Gabbie de la Rama-Talan and Aimee
Marcos, who first crossed paths in the 2nd grade
and found that each had one-and-a-half number
6’s etched in the temple of their heads.
They recently held a Rogue-sponsored event
called “Maximo Libido” to celebrate a reunion
of the original lineup of Batugan bands,
namely: Severo, Salamin, Monkeyspank, and
in this case—since Sultan of Snap couldn’t
play—Glorious Masai Mara. We caught up with
Batugan’s dynamic duo and asked them what the
hell they’re really about.
What is the difference between Princess
Batugan and Princess Bato?
Gabbie: Princess Batugan is an offshoot of
Princess Bato, a charity-based group headed by
Aimee, and which she, Camille Lanuza, and
myself came up with. Batugan focuses more
on the “artist aspect.” Princess Bato was also
MAKE-UP BY BARBI CHAN
the name of Camille and Aimee’s band in high
school with Beng Calma of Drip. It is, so to
speak, a promotional arm. The three of us, from
time immemorial [we’ve known each other since
elementary] have always loved music. But more
than that, we love rakenrol! And this is why
we started doing this production bit. Batugan is
Bato’s younger sister—the kind that can be quite
rebellious, but is no less incisive when it’s called
for.
Aimee: We tried to help the community through
Bato by putting on performances for causes.
When this happened, we saw that most of the
bands that we liked were underground and could
use all the help they could get, so we decided to
help them out by putting this production out.  on popularity, how many CDs they sell, or the
Is there some sort of mission that you adhere
to with regards to how you do the line-up
and conduct your shows?  can’t fake originality. That would be boring,
or “edge,” if you will. Kung walang topak, we’re
not interested. Kung walang passion, we’re not
interested. Gabbie handles the line-ups mostly, but
in the end we tend to agree which bands we want
to support. People write to us and we welcome all
“We tend to like the
harder side to music—
or ‘edge,’ if you will.  when you’re hitting 30. Kidding! It’s not really
Kung walang
topak, we’re not
interested.”
these letters. But we want to give people—who
really deserve it—a chance. Real talent. 
Gabbie: In 1999, I went to Sagada and met a
tribal chieftain called a Dangwa. He had a sixth
finger on each of his hands. The strange thing was
that this so-called abnormality wasn’t disgusting.
InFocus
In fact, these extra fingers actually looked like
they belonged. They weren’t stumpy or twisted.
They were quite beautifully shaped, and each
one ended in a long, tapered fingernail. Hell, they
were scarily beautiful in a way that is difficult to
put into words! The bands that Princess Batugan
supports are like sixth fingers. They are all crazy
and different. Most have a certain wildness about
them. Most make music that’s hard as rock, just
the way we like it. We don’t sign up bands based
number of radio and TV appearances they have
made. Just because you look cute and sound
catchy, you can’t fake talent, and you certainly
and the one thing we don’t want to be is boring,
typical, or unimaginative. If Princess Batugan was
a chick [and she is], she would definitely have
balls—figuratively, of course. She would also
look like Tetchie Agbayani in the ‘80s, but with a
mohawk.
What do you think are your most important
achievements so far?
Gabbie: That we are still doing this despite the
increasing difficulty of waking up early with
hangovers—your body’s recovering abilities suck
about us. It’s about them. Every time a band we
support gets recognized, we get off. It’s a great
feeling when other people believe in what—and
who—you believe in. The fact that both Bato
and Batugan has set-up gigs to help the less
fortunate is an achievement. The fact that we
haven’t switched to supporting more mainstream
and steadier acts to match the fact that we aren’t
getting any younger is an achievement. In fact,
it’s not about the achievements at all—it’s about
never losing sight of your purpose.
So, do Catholic schoolgirls really rule?
Gabbie: Only .05%. The others suck.
Cris O. Ramos, Jr.
rogue magazine MAY 2008 39
TIRSO
RIPOLL
O N W H Y H E L O V E S k iss
Gods of Thunder and Rock & Roll
was there more to the lewd lyrics, outlandish costumes, and freakish makeup?
A kISS-AND-TELL CONFESSION BY A TRULY obsessed FAN
I
love KISS. They were the first Rock and Roll
band I listened to, and the first Rock album I
ever bought was theirs. My brother got me into
them and, for that, I am forever grateful. The
moment I heard “Detroit Rock City,” I was
hooked. The great riffs, the energy, and, of course,
the wicked look. They were pure ROCK & ROLL.
It was like a bomb went off in my head, and I’ve
never been the same since.
KISS started out as a band called Wicked Lester
in New York city. Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley
decided to quit Lester and answer an ad in a local
music mag placed by Peter Criss. They held audi-
tions for a lead guitarist, and the story goes that
as soon as Ace Frehley walked in to the room and
plugged in his guitar, they knew that he was it.
When you mention KISS to anyone, the first thing
they think of is the make-up. It’s what got my at-
tention before anything. I suppose that once they
had the band together, they needed to find a way
to stand out. In the early ‘70s, glam rock was all
the rage, so make-up and outlandish dress were
the norm. They decided to take it a step further by
creating individual characters for themselves, and
they looked awesome. Like Rock & Roll super he-
roes. There was a mystique about them that was
both frightening and fascinating. The costumes
were wicked. It was like they weren’t human,
which I think was the whole idea. Gene the De-
mon, Ace the Spaceman, Peter the Cat, and Paul
the Starchild. I fell for it.
Gene was my favorite. That wild crazed look and
his freakish tongue. I liked his songs the best, too,
like “Rock and Roll All Nite,” “Calling Dr. Love,”
“Deuce,” and “Cold Gin,” just to name a few. He
was the better singer as well. Gene prowled the
stage in his demon make-up, knee-high seven-inch
platform boots, his bass shaped like an execution-
er’s axe, flicking his huge tongue. Plus, he spewed
blood and breathed fire on stage. Fucking awe-
some! Definitely one of my favorite guitar players
ever.
He had the coolest licks and tone, his guitar liter-
ally smoking on stage. He made his own smoke
bombs, would stick them under an empty pick-up
cover, and would light them during his solos. Peter
Criss’ was cool, and Paul “sizzle chest” Stanley
was o.k., I guess. He sang well enough and wrote
some good tunes, but he was just a bit too cheesy
for me. Because he was in the band, though, he was
liked by default.
They put out three excellent albums before their
big break came with the Alive! live double album.
KISS’ greatest strength lay in their awesome live
shows—great tunes played with more intensity
plus a stage act that was out of this world. They
40 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
captured that energy on Alive!, and it became an
instant hit. This was then quickly followed up
with their most commercially successful album,
Destroyer. KISS had become a phenomenon. Four
guys in wild make-up and costumes playing sol-
id Rock and Roll. They were a twisted Rock and
Roll circus act. They also had every conceivable
merchandising item available—from T-shirts and
posters to action figures and comic books. (This
was under Marvel, and which reportedly had their
blood mixed into the ink that was used for printing.
Wicked!) In 1978, they even made a movie called
KISS meets the Phantom of the Park. Twenty years
later, they released another excellent film called
Detroit Rock City.
As a kid, I lapped it all up. I had all the albums (on
vinyl), I used to draw the Destroyer album cover or
their faces in class. I even had the KISS lunchbox.
A moment that is
forever burned in my
mind was when I saw
the “Lick It Up” video.
It was KISS’ first one
without make-up. I was
dumbfounded. My first
thought was: “What the
hell is this crap?!?”
Everybody thought my KISS obsession was a bit
weird, but they just didn’t understand, man! This
wasn’t just rock and roll, this was KISS.
But, more than the make-up and wild costumes,
they had the music to back it up. Classic tunes like
“Deuce,” “Firehouse,” “Strutter,” “Detroit Rock
City,” “Love Gun,” “Rock and Roll All Nite,”
“She,” “Cold Gin,” “God of Thunder,” “Beth.”
Solid riffs, great melodies, and a groove that was
pure sleaze. Pure Rock and Roll, baby. At the time,
I didn’t fully understand the meanings of their
songs. Lyrics like “Oh, baby please, get on your
knees, there are no bills, there are no fees” (from
“Calling Dr. Love”) or “The plaster’s getting hard-
er, and my love is perfection, a token of my love
for her collection” (from “Plaster Caster”—a song
about the legendary groupies of the same name
PHOTOGRAPH BY J.A. TADENA / MAKE-UP BY SOLENN HEUSSAFF
who were famous for making plaster molds out
of celebrities’ penises) sounded innocent enough.
It’s funny when you think that this band who were
famous for their lascivious lyrics were all Beatles
fans and that the band was patterned after the Fab
Four. Like the Beatles, Gene wanted each member
to write songs and sing. Each of them was to be a
personality. They became The Beatles from Hell!
KISS was a monster, and I loved them. But I do
need to qualify that the KISS I love is the original
KISS: Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley, Peter Criss, and
Paul Stanley. The other KISS incarnations have nev-
er interested me, and every album after Unmasked
was pretty much crap. Over the years, the ugly
truth behind the band was revealed, some of which
were confirmed in Gene’s autobiography. Appar-
ently, Gene and Paul were the dictators of the band.
Even today, as far as KISS’ business dealings and
strategic career moves are concerned, Gene’s word
is law. Peter would go along to keep the peace, but
Ace fought tooth and nail every time. Sadly, Ace
and Peter both had massive drinking problems.
Gene and Paul, oddly enough, never touched a
drop. Their thing was women, lots of women. To
his credit, Gene knew that the original four had to
stay together for the KISS machine to operate at its
highest level, both musically and financially. So,
when Ace wanted to do his own thing, Gene sug-
gested that they all make solo albums and release
them together. The fans loved it. It was like having
four KISS albums at once. The man was a genius.
In 1980, Peter Criss decided to quit the band. I
was devastated. I’ll never forget the day I rushed
out to get a copy of the Jingle magazine with a pic-
ture of Peter Criss sans make-up. You must remem-
ber that at this point no one ever saw what they
looked like without make-up, so it was a huge deal.
I turned the page, saw the photo, and was, well, a
bit disappointed. He looked just like a regular guy.
What happened to the Cat, man?!? Then it hit me.
They were just regular guys. Reality had popped
that larger-than-life balloon in my head. He was re-
placed by Eric Carr, The Fox. To be fair, his make-
up was pretty cool, but nowhere near as cool as The
Cat. Peter left just before the release of Unmasked.
The album that followed, Music From The Elder, a
bizarre concept album, was KISS’ worst effort yet.
They released one more album called Creatures of
the Night before guitarist Ace Frehley left. Then,
the unthinkable happened . . . they took the make-
up off.
It was, as far as I was concerned, the beginning
of the end. A moment that is forever burned in my
mind was when I saw the “Lick It Up” video. It
was KISS’ first one without make-up. I was dumb-
founded. My first thought was: “What the hell is
this crap?!?” When the video ended, all I could say
was, “Put the bloody make-up back on!”
In the years that followed, KISS became very pro-
lific and had good success in the ‘80s glam scene. I
guess it was because it fit Paul’s persona perfectly.
They did release a couple of well received albums
in the ‘90s, but I wasn’t interested. I did enjoy
Gene’s occasional interviews and appearances,
though. His true sleazeball character really came
through—like when he told Eddie Vedder and Kurt
Cobain, who were both constantly moaning about
how they couldn’t handle the fame and the money,
to just write a huge check addressed to Gene Sim-
mons and make them all happy.
In 1995, the original four members decided to re-
unite for an MTV Unplugged show. It was excellent
seeing them all play together, and they were bril-
liant. The reception was so good that it prompted
them to do a real reunion tour, complete with the
make-up and costumes the following year. I was
ecstatic! The original KISS back on tour. In late
1999, I found myself in Vancouver, BC to celebrate
Christmas and see in the new millennium with my
then-girlfriend-now-wife who’s also a huge fan.
KISS was playing a special New Year’s Eve show
and there was no way in hell we were going to miss
it. They were phenomenal! They played all the old
favorites and some of their ‘80s and ‘90s “hits.”
These sounded so much better with the original
42 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
Gene will be the first
to tell you that KISS
are not a bunch of
artistes. They are in
show business, the
business of show. You
may not like it, but they
don’t care. That’s Rock
and Roll.
line-up, and I realized then that it was Ace who al-
ways kept them rocking. Gene may have been their
brains, but Ace was their soul. They had the stage
set they used on Alive II. It was the best show I
had ever seen. Full on action from the get go. We
counted down to midnight, and Ace broke out into
“2,000 Man.” The band that I loved first and more
than any other was back, and they kicked ass.
At some point, both Peter and Ace decided to quit
the reunion tour, but Gene insisted on keeping it
going and committed the ultimate sacrilege: put-
ting other people in the costumes. KISS are on tour
now with some guy as the Cat and another clown
in Ace Frehley’s Spaceman suit. KISS has always
been very upfront about their objective: to be the
biggest and greatest Rock and Roll band of all
time. And, in the process, make as much money
and have as many women as possible. No matter
what it takes. They have never apologized for their
behavior, their attitude, or anything really. Gene
will be the first to tell you that KISS are not a bunch
of artistes. They are in show business, the business
of show. You may not like it, but they don’t care.
That’s Rock and Roll.
It’s all rapidly getting very campy and sad, but
I’m still a fan (of the original KISS). I read some-
where that taste triggers parts of our memory, both
good and bad. Food doesn’t do it for me though,
music does. When I hear a song, I remember the
first time I heard it, what I was doing at the time,
who I was doing at the time. (Oi, Gene!) Songs
are like little flashes/flasbacks of my life. When I
listen to the old KISS songs, I always catch myself
grinning like an imp. I feel like I just got away with
something. So, I’m hanging on to the image I had
of them as a kid. I guess it’s like losing your virgin-
ity. You never forget your first time. KISS was my
introduction to rock and roll. Their audacity and
spectacle are some of my most treasured childhood
memories. ☐
ANTONIO
ABAYA
O N learnin g to love c lassi c al musi c
LIVE IN CONCERTO
IN THE DAYS when radio was the rage, a 15-year-old became captive to the classics
I
did not deliberately set out to learn to love clas-
sical music. It just happened.
When I was in my mid-teens, one of my hob-
bies was shortwave radio. I would spend hours
past midnight surfing the shortwave bands of
the General Electric radio-phonograph in the fam-
ily living room, straining my ears for familiar and
unfamiliar sounds from God-knows-where. Pretty
much like an amateur astronomer scanning the
skies for familiar and unfamiliar sources of light.
In the world of shortwave radio, one of the arcane
activities that hobbyists engage in is to send recep-
tion reports to the various stations that one is able
to catch, and rate the quality of reception according
to strength of signals, interference from other sta-
tions, and fading. The scales, if I recall correctly,
were QRT from 1 to 5, QRM from 1 to 5, and QSB
from 1 to 5.
44 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
Shortwave stations appreciate these reports be-
cause they enable their engineers to fine-tune their
transmission. In appreciation, they send acknowl-
edgment cards called QSL cards. Hobbyists collect
these QSL cards, which they tack on to their wall
map of the world, like fighter pilots painting an en-
emy’s flag outside their cockpits for every enemy
plane that they have shot down. Shortwave Heaven,
called DXCC, consists in accumulating a total of
100 of these QSL cards.
I do not know if: a) shortwave radio is still a hob-
by these days, and if b) hobbyists today still follow
these rituals. But fifty years ago—and that tells you
my age—these were the little joys that mid-teens
like me enlivened our days with.
Not quite like the life-and-death struggles against
space aliens or other baddies that young people
plunge into everyday in the video games of today.
ART BY ROBERT a. ALEJANDRO
Or the dawn-to-midnight vigils at the computer
that many teens are hostage to these day—like our
15-year old ward—without much thought to eating
and other bodily functions.
But, hey, without the sedentary pleasures of short-
wave radio, I would not have fallen in love with
classical music at the tender age of 14 or 15.
Waiting for a shortwave radio station to identify
itself sometimes meant staying tuned to it for 30
to 60 minutes, and those minutes often meant be-
ing the captive listener to a symphony or a piano
concerto being played.
Without even knowing who Beethoven or Tchaik-
ovsky or Mozart was, I fell in love with their music,
despite all the static and extraneous noises inher-
ent in shortwave reception. Culture, as they say, is a
matter of exposure, and my life experience is living
proof of that truism. I never learned to read notes
and I never mastered any musical instrument, yet
classical music became a life-long passion, thanks
to chance encounters on the shortwave bands while
waiting for the station break.
In the early to the mid fifties, while I was in col-
lege at the Ateneo de Manila, Station DZFE of the
Far East Broadcasting Co. began operating as Ma-
nila’s sole classical music station. If I recall correct-
ly, DZFE started as an AM station, then converted
later to an FM station.
DZFE helped define my musical taste, as it has
undoubtedly that of thousands of other listeners,
not only because—unique among radio stations
in Manila— it broadcast classical music everyday,
on a more accessible medium-wave frequency, but
also because it published a monthly program guide
that identified the hours when it was going to play
classical music. The monthly guide was available
to listeners who requested it. And if I were to rum-
mage through my piles of college memorabilia in
my ancestral home, I would undoubtedly find cop-
ies of it.
When DZFE celebrated its 50th anniversary about
three years ago, they requested a congratulatory
message from me, which I gladly acquiesced to,
knowing how much I owed to this pioneering sta-
tion for having indulged my love for classical mu-
sic in the relative desert that was the Manila cultural
scene.
When I went to the U.S. for further studies, I pur-
chased my first phonograph, but I never managed
to acquire more than a few LP records, as they were
too expensive to include in my monthly budget.
My break came when I purchased a small but very
sensitive FM radio that allowed me to connect to
WFMT, Chicago’s classical music station.
WFMT also published a monthly program guide,
not surprisingly on a much grander scale than
DZFE’s, with detailed information on what compo-
sitions were to be played at which hour, on which
day of the month, and identifying the performing
artists and giving biographical sketches of selected
composers.
I was still in Chicago in 1960 when WFMT cel-
ebrated the 100th birth anniversary of the Austrian
composer Gustav Mahler by featuring all his re-
corded music which I was previously unfamiliar
with.  com, I can whisper the blog sites to you, as long as
The moral of this story is that learning to love
classical music, like all other great passions, starts
with exposure. And it does not have to involve a lot
of money.
In my case, it started with occasional encounters
on the shortwave bands, nurtured through more ac-
cessible exposure through a radio station (DZFE)
and eventually raised to a more sophisticated level
through another radio station (WFMT). All of which
practically cost nothing.
Is this still possible in 2008 in Metro Manila?
Why not? DZFE is still on the air, though I have not
listened to it for decades. I cannot even recall its
broadcasting frequency. That’s because my music
library has grown substantially, at first with music
cassettes in the ‘70s and ‘80s, later with CDs when
that format became the standard, now with DVDs,
that I no longer need to listen to other sources.
Since 1982, I have accumulated more than 1,200
CDs and about 150 DVDs. My music library has
long grown more extensive than DZFE’s, and I had
more classical music titles in my collection than
Tower Records had for sale when they had an out-
let in Makati.
Those who want to access more classical music
than DZFE can provide can, without having to spend
a whole lot of money, use their computers to visit
www.wqxr..com , the classical music station of The
New York Times, or www.wfmt.com, my classical
music home in Chicago almost half a century ago.
(It makes me feel old to realize that.)
For those who have the equipment and the com-
puter skills to download music, there are a few blog
sites which “share” classical music for free. But I
understand it is still legally sticky to identify these
blogs in public, on the grounds that it can be misin-
terpreted as encouraging piracy.
If you will drop me a note at tonyabaya@gmail.
you promise not to tell anyone else about them. Be
warned, however, that the best among these sites—
with more than a thousand titles—is heavy with
medieval and baroque music, my current passion
but not everyone’s cup of tea..
Those who are seriously interested in building a
classical music library of the best recordings avail-
able in CDs and DVDs should acquire the latest
edition of The Penguin Guide to Compact Discs
which is published every year. I do not know if it
is available in Metro Manila, but you can pick it up
the next time you are in Hong Kong, Singapore, or
Bangkok. You can also order it from amazon.com.
It costs about US$ 25.
The Penguin Guide not only reviews the differ-
ent recordings available of, say, Vivaldi’s The Four
Seasons, it also indicates the price categories of
these recordings: from super-bargain (about US$
6.50) to mid-price (about US$ 9.95), to full-price
(about US$ 17.95).
By the time this article sees print, my list of “Out-
standing Classical Music DVDs” (in my music li-
brary) will probably be ready in my website www.
tapatt.org. So instead of mentioning these choices in
this article, let me just refer the interested reader to
this list. My DVD collection is by no means exten-
sive; but my CD collection is. For those who want
to start or expand a classical music library, I am at-
taching a list of what I think are essential must-have
compositions for the non-specialist. Enjoy!  ☐
rogue magazine MAY 2008 45
C.H.
PARDO
O N manila ’ s blues history
COLOR MANILA BLUES: 1900-2007
a 3-lesson primer on HOW THE blues came to be, AND why it will stay
I
’ve played the blues on Manila’s AM/FM ra-
dio circuit for a lifetime. I always mixed a
mean musical cocktail that included rock,
soul, R&B, jazz, fusion, reggae, and pop. A
generous dash of the blues with all the genres
it has given life to. The recipe is a secret and its
ingredients are available to everyone.
Think back to Martial Law. 1972-1979. The
Golden years of progressive Filipino radio,
framed by curfews and no writ of habeas corpus,
when I’d play Champion Jack Dupree, Return
to Forever, and Stevie Wonder in one wave of
uninterrupted music. It was indistinguishable to
me. The music flowed from one genre to another,
seamless and wonderful. The panacea for the
political blues of those times. Some of the best
rock the planet will ever hear in one short burst
of time.    being on the road for weeks at a time. Invariably,
The First Blues Lesson is that no
one is an expert.   I have seen Manila’s blues scene grow to great
It may have been born in the American cotton
fields and hot Mississippi shacks of the late 19th
46 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
century, but I’ve met blues musicians and mu-
sic lovers from every part of the green and blue
planet. Everyone has the heart and soul to love or
hate it. I have been to Chicago, Sheboygan, and
New York where you’d think blues was widely
heard in clubs and music venues. Nope. One club,
Terra Blues in Greenwich Village served up blues
in a small venue serving only booze and music. A
small stage for one black musician playing three
sets a night. There were 10 people in the place. In
Chicago, the club didn’t open its doors till 8 P.M.,
and most small clubs and bars had blues maybe
one night a week.
I’ve talked with dozens of blues musicians on
the difficulty of staying with the music. Making
a living for a family is hard in itself. It’s all about
the love and roots in America’s history. It’s about
if the musician doesn’t love the blues, it’s not go-
ing to work.
highs and lows. My high was Bourbon Street
Cafe on Makati Avenue at the turn of last century,
BLUE WAVE
Archive photos of (L-R):
Grupong Pendong, Mike
Hanopol, and the facade of
70s Bistro.
created to serve Cajun cuisine, New Orleans Jazz,
and Blues. Idahoan Matt and Suzette Barrett had
gone all the way! Manila’s longest bar, 23 kinds
of Bourbon, and a mural of the what NOLA is
all about. I tried my best, and we had a fun run.
It failed even with the wonderful live music and
parties. Another blues bar in Malate running out
of a trailer outfitted with bathroom and grill died.
And on the third floor of GB3, Mike Besa and
Noelle Reyes had a club to match many in New
York. A dining area, bar, and outdoor band setup.
On the bright side, it was a slower fade to gone.
I produced dozens of “live-in studio jams,”  in
the NU107 FM studios for Crossroads from 1997
till today with Captain Eddie and The Penguin.
The best groups early on were showcased at
Bourbon Street. We had a couple NU Blues Con-
certs at Music Museum, and a Chicago Rib joint
in Eastwood held jams that served Chicago’s
finest influences. Barbecue and Blues. The point
is that there are dozens of venues for blues in
existence. They are like an endless refuge that
changes and moves on. Flourishing and fading. ⊲

IT WIll NEVER GET OlD. WAllY GONzAlEz IS STIll OUT THERE ON THE ROAD . . . JUN
lOPITO IS STIll JAMMING. DONDI lEDESMA, THE MAGICAl BASS PlAYER, HAS lOTS Of
VERY MODERN BlUES ON lINE . . . THE OlD WAVE IS NO MORE THAN JUST A PART Of ONE
PIECE Of THE PUzzlE. GROWING AND SPREADING.
tHe SeCond BlueS leSSon iS our
PHiliPPine HiStorY.
I discovered much about the American occupa-
tion of the Philippines from 1899-1912 while re-
searching on the internet, libraries, and U.S. Army
records. I set out to write the history of my own
family’s stake in General Aguinaldo’s capture in
March 1901. The American General Frederick
Funston had evicted my Grandfather and Grand-
mother from their home in San Isidro, Nueva
Ecija in December 1900. From here, he would
plot the capture of General Emilio Aguinaldo,
the one Filipino rebel who could end combat and
insurgency. How the blues comes into play is even
more fascinating.
The General had his staff in my grandparents
home—a close knit group of his nephew, an
Spanish ex-soldier, Lazaro Segovia (who spoke
Tagalog), the two American Hazzard brothers
who were officers, and a group of Macabebe
Scouts (Little Macs to the Americans). My Lolo’s
house staff served and did general house chores,
often listening and reporting to my Lolo. He was
a pharmacist who had used his stores to pass intel-
ligence on to American troops movements in a
store where prescriptions passed over the counter
daily as well as vital information on surviving
the American occupation, while my Lola cooked
48 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
bagoong and fresh pan de sal in her corner of the
compound that was their temporary home.
The American troops pitched tents and had ac-
cess to the grounds surrounding the house, and
it was not uncommon for my Lolo to chat with
the soldiers in the afternoons and share a glass
of Tanduay rum as the hot day ended. A black
U.S. volunteer soldier from Kansas, Private Greg
Odrap, would sit at sunset near my Lolo’s shaded
chair and play harmonica blues. My Lolo would
offer him a glass as his blues filled the coming
night, even teaching rudimentary blues lessons to
my Lolo. General Funston and his officers walked
through the compound at night, nodding and
greeting my grandparents. The harmonica blues
cut the humid dangerous darkness of San Isidro.
The point here is that the Blues was born a cen-
tury ago, born in the fields of Central Luzon dur-
ing the hunt for Aguinaldo. It continued on as the
American colonized the population and vaudville
and jazz became a part of Filipino culture leading
up to WWII.
tHe tHird BlueS leSSon iS tHat
Manila HaS inFluenCed MillionS
Let’s not forget that Bistro ‘70s is an icon and
Penguin Café on Remedios is legendary. Living
memories still soaking the night with cold beer
PAST fORWARD
Above: A photo of Yvonne Elliman
shot at the InterCon when she was
here in 1973 to publicize the movie
Jesus Christ Superstar (where she
played Mary Magdalene).
Left: Joey “Pepe” Smith
performing in the late ‘70s.
and blues.
I’ve been at Café Stagionale in the West Vil-
lage where our own icon, Annie Brazil, sings jazz
standards on Fridays and Saturdays for tips. Huge
Pop salaries and talent fees are not what the music
is about. I’ve seen blues/jazz bars turn into Sports
Bars in Bridgeport and New Haven.
I was introduced to two Scottish bankers, Bill
Renfro and John French, when the Crossroads
was still new. John could slap the bass lines, and
Bill’s love of blues sent him on many quests.
Traveling to Texas to hear Stevie Ray Vaughan
and set up a Blues Bar (called The Healer after the
song by John Lee Hooker) in Brisbane, Australia.
It was wonderful. They were bankers who loved
blues. An unlikely combo. Bill died suddenly in
Thailand, and John works in New York City today.
The players of today’s modern blues scene has
grown and expanded. Blues Rock band, the iconic
Juan De La Cruz, has remained the gold standard
of orignal Pinoy Blues Rock. Pepe Smith, Mike
Hanapol, and Wally Gonzalez have continued to
move forward, teaching and inspiring thousands
of kids and a new generations—on songs of trip-
ping in the garden, teachers, Project 4, and swim-
ming!
RJ AM debuted the original blues Juan de la Cruz
and Bosyo Fortuno’s music then, only to turn its
 thumbnails Tim de los Reyes
WANT TO GET YOUR CARTOONS PUBLISHED? EMAIL MARTIN@ROGUEMAG.NET FOR FORMAT DETAILS
time to beach music. The blues traveled to NU107
who gave the time and torch an enduring flame of
hope to air on its new rock station, reaching out to
one listener at a time. One hour a week to an hour
and a half today. Heading into its second decade.
The Crossroads.
We must speak of how that century ago seems
so disconnected to the very public sharing of
blues. It may have been passed on a hot evening
in Central Luzon between people who shared rum
and pan de sal in war. Yet, I recall the late G Bob
(Gary Hesler) of Alexandria, Virginia. He lived
in Manila in the early part of this century. He
walked into the studio of NU one night with his
steel dobro. The American, fired on alcohol with
stories of Muddy Waters and blues history, shared
his music many a Tuesday night. He walked into
my life many times. The traditions are passed to
the next generation. Then there was a retired harp
player from North Carolina named Tom Kat Col-
vin who worked in Manila and worked the bars
and clubs of our city with a passion. He now plays
in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
These random meetings not only affected my
life but others as well, made evident by the release
of a new Pinoy Blues CD: BluesKrieg—with a
direct relation to the influence of G Bob and ev-
eryone else mentioned. I attended G Bob’s funeral
this year, and his dobro guitar shined on the altar. 
I didn’t give a eulogy, but an interview/perfor-
mance of G Bob recorded at NU played before the
service for friends and family. I was taken to tears
of laugher, sadness, and blues.
It will never get old. Wally Gonzalez is still
out there on the road. He has even taken a young
singer, Paolo Santos, under his tutelage. Jun Lo-
pito is still jamming. Dondi Ledesma, the magical
bass player, has lots of very modern Blues on line.
Or Perf de Castro, now a California resident and
10 string guitar expert, continues to jam and teach.
The old wave is no more than just a part of one
piece of the puzzle. Growing and spreading. The
credits are not easy to assemble.
Maybe General Funston, the Hazzard Broth-
ers, and Lazaro Segovia (who brought the blues
through war to my Grandparents doorstep) were
gifts in a way. Well, we may have temporarily
lost our nationhood for another half century, but
the blues arrived to haunt those officers who cap-
tured Aguinaldo for the rest of their lives. Lazaro
Segovia was walking through Intramuros, his
pockets filled with silver, when someone put a
lead bullet in his brain. Captain Russell Hazzard,
was offered and refused America’s highest award
for bravery, the Congressional Medal of Honor,
in the Aguinaldo affair. He fought the depression
caused by what they had done in the Philippines
for another two decades. On September 4, 1921,
in a squalid Seattle hotel, Russell Hazzard took
the same Colt .45 automatic pistol he pointed at
Aguinaldo and ended his own life. The Blues had
overtaken him.
The blues in Manila is alive and well. It’s not
meant to be heard on any real pop level. Its per-
sonal sound will become a part of your own life
experience when you hear it. The best advice is to
go and support all the musicians who play blues
live. Buy their CD, and, if you find them sitting
on a stage, go and shake their hand. Salamat and
Mabuhay.  ☐
JOSE MARI
UGARTE
ON WHY HE LOVE S STEELY DAN
DESIGNED TO STIMUlATE
why any major dude will tell you that steely dan is the greatest non-Band in history
Y
es, that question struck me when I first
heard the name back in the fifth grade:
What the fuck is a Steely Dan, eh? Then
many years later, an aging hippie on Haight
Street gave me a tattered edition of Naked
Lunch, William Burroughs’s hallucinatory beatnik
masterpiece; and it was upon reading the book that
I discovered that a Steely Dan was a giant, metal-
lic, futuristic dildo—an industrial-strength clitoral
vibrator that looked like a space shuttle poised for
takeoff.
I was curious to know this because Steely Dan
also happens to be the pseudonym of one of the
most gifted and sophisticated songwriting, com-
posing, arranging, and recording collaborations
in the recent history of music. It’s funny to think
that a band of such intelligence and talent would
name themselves after a sex toy—but then I real-
ized it made perfect sense: This band, like a dildo,
was specifically and technically designed for no
other purpose but to stimulate the pleasure senses.
They don’t want legions of sweaty groupies; they
don’t want to start a countercultural revolution and
change the world; they don’t want to be MTV stars
or guests on Jay Leno—they just want to make
you come. They want to stimulate your ears and
mind and bring you to musical orgasm. And there-
in lies the rub, the joke, the sharp and sometimes
perverse humor, the gut-stabbing irony, the literary
allusions, many of them violent and drug-related,
that define the greatest non-band in history.
I didn’t make that up: I heard some jazz geek say
it at a wine party in the garment district of Man-
hattan, back in the mid-’90s when I was spending
some time in New York. I just thought it was worth
mentioning here because it seemed to hit the nail
squarely on the head in terms of really trying to
describe the nature of their immortality and their
invaluable contribution to music.
Here is the basic idea: Two dirty old intellectuals
from New York City devour enough jazz and liter-
ature over the years and develop an almost super-
naturally inspired ability to compose, arrange, and
play contemporary jazz-rock-pop music. With the
pointed intention of focusing directly on the qual-
ity of the music, they form a pseudo studio band,
where none of the members are permanent except
the brilliant and hilariously demented minds be-
hind the band itself—Donald Fagen and Walter
Becker.
Highly skilled jazz and rock sessionists like Mi-
chael McDonald, Mark Knopfler, and Lee Riten-
our come and go based on what they can contrib-
ute to a particular song or album. It’s almost like
they come to Steely Dan so they can work with
the best and, in so doing, they contribute some-
50 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
thing extra-special. In a Steely Dan production,
egos are set aside so that all the attention can be
placed on perfecting every aspect of the music.
Fagen and Becker write the songs, but they seek
out veritable prodigies from the jazz and rock
worlds to help bring them to life, extracting in
the process inspired guitar, horn, and keyboard
solos that might never have found a platform
anywhere else.
Further evidence of their obsessive-compul-
sive regard for sound quality is their unnerv-
ing reluctance to tour. Some of their songs are
simply too complex to justifiably replicate on
a live stage that they would rather not perform
HERE IS THE BASIC
IDEA: TWO DIRTY OlD
INTEllECTUAlS fROM NEW
YORK CITY DEVOUR ENOUGH
JAzz AND lITERATURE OVER
THE YEARS AND DEVElOP AN
AlMOST SUPERNATURAllY
INSPIRED ABIlITY TO
COMPOSE, ARRANGE, AND
PlAY CONTEMPORARY JAzz-
ROCK-POP MUSIC.
it, opting instead to keeping it in a temperature-
controlled studio where they can have absolute
control over the sound. And even when they are
in the studio, they won’t release an album until
they’re good and ready, even if it takes two de-
cades (their 2000 album, Two Against Nature, won
a Grammy for Album of the Year 20 years after
they released Gaucho). They’re more mad chem-
ists than rock stars, trading test tubes in a labo-
ratory and experimenting with a wide variety of
instruments, fusing together tracks of funk, jazz,
blues, reggae, and rock, and creating strange, fun,
and amusing hybrid songs that make your head
bob in a groovy rhythm. Kenny Vance, who first
hired them as back-up musicians in 1969, called
them “librarians on acid.”
Surprisingly, and perhaps even thankfully, not
ART BY JASON MOSS
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many people are familiar
with Steely Dan. Surprisingly because they may
well be the most harmonious band ever to be as-
sembled in a sound studio—from a purely objec-
tive standpoint, because the only true way to rec-
ognize excellence is through objectivity . . . and a
subjective observation would be useless because
there are probably just as many, if not more peo-
ple, who loathe their music than love it—and that
is usually because they don’t understand it.
I’m a sick fan, I admit it, but before I risk the
chance of rambling away like one, let me just say
that my reasons for being one have nothing to do
with personal experience or sentimental value—
even though these things do matter. They have
more to do with objective musical standards like
sheer quality of sound, melody, rhythm, and har-
mony; complexity of arrangements and the deft-
ness and timing of execution; the subject matter
of the songs, the poetry in the lyrics, and how the
vocals express and complement all these elements.
These are the exemplary standards that every mu-
sician should aspire for, not the Rolling Stone cov-
er or the MTV video, neither of which Steely Dan
has; and these are the standards that Fagen and
Becker have set and maintained for themselves for
the past 30 years. Here’s why you should listen to
them:
it’s intelligent music for intelligent people.
It came in the ‘70s when rock was burning out
in the west while something new was cooking in
the east; something smart and ironic and detached
from anything we’d heard thus far; something that
focused on smooth jazz chops and lyrics that read
like pulp fiction prose and philosophical poetry.
Listening to their lyrics is like reading a good
novel—but much better because it comes with a
complex, funky, and fun soundtrack. Dan satisfies
all the cravings of a true musicologist—interesting
doing lines Steely Dan’s Lyrical Romance With Dangerous Drugs

Children we have it right here
It’s the light in my eyes
It’s perfection and grace
It’s the smile on my face
Tonight when I chase the dragon
The water may change to cherry wine
And the silver will turn to gold
Time out of mind
That’s from “Time Out of Mind,” their
bright-eyed smooth-jazz party song about
the virtues of Buddhism and Cocaine.
The counterculture drug references are
a recurring theme: “Kid Charlemagne” is
based on an acid guru from San Francisco
in the ‘60s named Owsley. The lyrics below
describe the discovery of LSD and it’s
subsequent outlawing.
Just by chance you crossed the diamond with
the pearl
You turned it on the world
That’s when you turned the world around
On the hill the stuff was laced with kerosene
But yours was kitchen-clean
Everyone stopped to stare at your Technicolor
motor-home
Clean this mess up else we’ll all end up in jail
The test tubes and the scale
Just get them all out of here
From the Two Against Nature album, “Jack
of Speed” is about an ecstasy addict on the
brink of self-destruction:
Teddy’s rollin’ now most every night
Skatin’ backwards at the speed of light
“Dr. Wu” is a love story between a smack
dealer and his main customer, where the
Heroin seems to destroy the integrity of the
relationship; you’re never sure whether it’s a
love song for a woman or for a drug:
Katy tried
I was halfway crucified
I was on the other side of no tomorrow Just roll with the homeys
And knock on wood?
You walked in
And my life began again From 1980s Gaucho album, “Glamour
Just when I spent the last piaster I could borrow Profession” is about the big-money L.A.
Cocaine concession; the line below referring
It don’t seem right to a midnight purchase in Chinatown from a
I’ve been strung out here all night Columbian dealer:
I’ve been waiting for the taste you said you’d
bring to me Jive Miguel
He’s in from Bogota
In the only Dan song sung by Becker, the Meet me at midnight
bluesy “Slang of Ages,” dubious-looking E At Mr. Chow’s
tabs are purchased with reckless abandon
from a dealer who claims to be from Szechuan dumplings?
Amsterdam: Now that the deal has been done
Either one, either one
Did you say you were from the Netherlands
Or was that Netherworld? And who can forget the gorgeous
If you grew up in Amsterdam background vocals of “Hey Nineteen”?
Well then I’m the Duke of Earl
The Cuervo Gold
These tabs look iffy The Fine Colombian
But you say they’re good Make tonight a wonderful thing

their wisdom remains lodged in a deeply cerebral

corner of your mind and it never goes away. You
are educated.

No other band in recent memory has been

able to combine the two most important,
most prolific, and most stimulating musical
genres—jazz and rock—in the seamless and
imaginative way that the Dan has. They have
managed to squeeze the best out of both these
worlds and mold them into their own distinctly
weird shape and sound that is impossible to imi-
tate. Their songs employ the skill, dexterity, and
subtlety of jazz; and place them in the dramatic,
compressed format of a contemporary rock-pop
song—party songs with a heart of rock and roll
and a brain humming on smart jazz. It’s jazz
with prose, and not just typical ho-hum narra-
tives but real songs of the doomed: lurid tales of
child molesters, degenerate gamblers, drug deal-
ers, murderers, thieves, antiheroes, and whores.
They have the catchiness and familiarity you
can’t seem to find in jazz, but they are far more
complex and unpredictable than any rock song I
can think of.

Fagen and Becker’s music is of an excep-

lyrics, skillfully arranged music, and a steady, reli-
able groove.
They are more concerned with style rather than
expression, structure and form than sentimentality.
They don’t deliver profound social messages or
opinions about the real world and the people in it;
they are simply interested in recording great music
and telling fictional stories spun from a world that
exists only in their heads. They are auteurs, and
for this reason they intimidate listeners by being
too cryptic and far out, mixing in vague literary
references with deep slang and dark inside jokes. I
suppose you could say they are an acquired taste,
and it takes a special breed of man to acquire it—a
rare combination of musical intelligence, literary
knowledge, and a perverse beatnik sense of hu-
mor.
After a few years of listening I came to the con-
clusion that the only way to truly appreciate their
music, aside from being in the studio with them,
is through earphones, where you can really con-
centrate on the music and feel its full effect. Their
songs are not instantly gratifying pop formulas,
but complicated and insightful musical theorems
that would much rather be studied than merely
listened to. Because once studied and understood,
tional standard of clarity and an almost
frighteningly precise and detailed arrange-
ment of ensemble instruments. This is really
what it’s all about. Never mind the self-mocking
moniker or the weird, subversive lyrics; Steely
Dan is all about producing the richest, funniest,
grooviest, funnest, mellowest, slickest, coolest,
hippest, most interesting, stimulating, and satis-
fying music around, without using any electronic
sampling and mixing—just many musicians play-
ing many instruments, the way a song should be
recorded. Many audiophiles recommend you use
a Dan album if you really want to test the capa-
bilities of a new set of speakers. The layers upon
layers of detailed instrumentation and lush vocals
are both a stimulant and an opiate to the ears, and
certainly a field day for any hi-fi stereo system.
Don’t be afraid to jerk up the volume: the songs
are designed to remain pleasing to the auditory
danography 1972 – 2003
Can’t Buy a Thrill (1972)
The Dan’s debut album introduces them
as a “traditional Rock-Pop band” before
they started exploring jazz and expending
band members. The songs are naturally
not as complex as their later work, and
because of this they were still touring
regularly. The album features two of their
most popular hits—“Do it Again” and
“Reeling in the Years”—as well as the
worst looking album cover in the history of
recorded music.
Countdown to Ecstasy (1973)
Ranked No. 15 in Rolling Stone’s 50
Coolest Records, this is probably
their most daring album in terms of
experimentation with off-kilter melodies—
the bombastic, fast-paced, rock and roll
prayer “Bodhisattva”; the sinister chant
about going to Lost Wages in “Show Biz
Kids”; and the apocalyptic desert driving
tune about a man looking for life on Earth
after a worldwide nuclear war, “King of the
World.”
Pretzel Logic (1974)
Their third album showcases the
band’s style in full development—a bold
treatment of blues and rock ‘n’ roll that
defies existing musical conventions for an
unprecedented, freewheeling yet utterly
organized style. Any major dude will tell
you that this is an essential Dan album
with tracks like the holiday-resort love
song “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” and
the poignant and reassuring ballad “Any
Major Dude.” But the titular single is the
bluesiest and coolest song you’ll ever
hear about time travel: I have never met
Napoleon—but I plan to find the time.
Katy Lied (1975)
By the mid-’70s, the band was playing
smooth and snappy jazz, commissioning
the work of leading musicians in the jazz-
rock realm like Larry Carlton, Michael
McDonald, and Jeff Porcaro. Their music
hit new levels of sophistication and their
lyrics became more mysterious and
intriguing (I dare you to figure out “Throw
Back the Little Ones”). Check out the
nasty porn funk of “Daddy Don’t Live in
That New York City No More”: Lucy still
loves her coke and rum—but she sits
alone cause her daddy can’t cum. Or the
sweet irony of “Doctor Wu” where Fagen
and Becker write a song about Heroin
dependency and withdrawals and manage
to make it sound like an elegant, romantic
love song for the ages.
The Royal Scam (1976)
This is definitely their darkest album—and
the title and cover art shows it. The
songs are edgy, cynical, and full of
cinematic violence and heartbreak. “Kid
Charlemagne” is the infamous legend
of Owsley Stanley, an outlaw chemist
from San Francisco who accidentally
discovered the formula for LSD in the
early ‘60s. “Don’t Take Me Alive” is a
Dog Day Afternoon-inspired first-person
account of “a bookkeeper’s son” who is
being hunted down by the law for murder.
Both songs feature Larry Carlton grinding
out some incendiary axe-work, and the
album also introduces their first science
fiction song, “Sign in Stranger,” a languid
and playful piano bar number about an
intergalactic prison planet called Mizar
5, where ex-convicts have their criminal
records erased from their memories by a
guy named Pepe.
Aja (1977)
Considered the Dan’s greatest album
because of its exquisite production and
highly instrumental tracks, Aja marks the
culmination of the band’s long, strange
trip from rock and roll to their own unique
brand of soul jazz, incorporating more
horns and keyboards into a lineup of
luscious, multi-layered compositions.
This album was too complex to play live
so they kept it in the studio where it set
new standards of excellence and is often
used by hi-fi merchants to demonstrate
their sound systems. This album is
a real masterpiece with songs about
cheating spouses, unhappy priests, leggy
supermodels, and Homer’s Odyssey.
Gaucho (1980)
By the end of the ‘70s, the band’s sound
and style had reached a crystal and
almost mechanical clarity. The flawless
studio sound was almost too perfect for
its own good, inciting criticisms that the
Dan was losing its soul. Mark Knopfler
contributes his virtuoso guitar skills for
the mechanized blues of “Hey Nineteen.”
In what is probably their most accessible
album, Fagen and Becker crank up the
drug references by calling Hollywood
coke-dealing a “Glamour Profession.”
Two Against Nature (2000)
Although there was an absurd 20-year
hiatus since Gaucho, Fagen and Becker
pick up where they left off: the odd
couple of perfectionist pop maintain
their reputation as snarky heroes of
an entire generation of jazz nerds and
coffee-house intellectuals, by dishing
out the usual smartass licks and lyrics.
Although the sound quality is still a little
tense and brittle from a digital recording,
and slightly in need of some warm blood,
the album has some brilliant singles.
“Cousin Dupree,” their rural narrative
about backcountry incest alone is worth
the sticker price—but with “Gaslighting
Abbey,” a snappy jazz bass-plucker about
a man, his mistress, and their dubious
plan to murder his wife by slowly driving
her crazy or “gaslighting” her; and “Janie
Runaway,” the album more than lives up
to its four Grammys.
Everything Must Go (2003)
What a relief! The band decided to go
back to analog recording and what do you
know: the sound seems warm and natural
again, the drums less electronic-sounding,
and the horns deeper and with more
character. This is exactly the way Steely
Dan should sound—and could the title of
the album indicate a curtain call? With the
intoxicatingly feel-good “Blues Beach,”
the Armageddon blues anthem “The
Last Mall,” and the Walter Becker one-
hit-wonder “Slang of Ages,” we certainly
hope not.

senses no matter how high you turn up the knob. REElIN’ IN THE YEARS
Go on, give it a try: you should have the volume The Grammy-Award winning duo
of Donald Fagen and Walter Becker
high enough to capture all those eclectic sounds circa 1976
and instruments.
I never tire from music that I learn something new
from every time I listen to it. Each time I listen to a
Dan song, I notice something different. There are
so many elements to follow, so many instruments gen and Becker’s impossible
and vocals, and as you focus on each one, each demands as recording studio
particular arrangement or solo, each bass or drum perfectionists.
beat, each hook, riff, or chorus, you’ll notice that
each one is pure genius. Now imagine all these the lyrics and stories be-
tracks of genius arranged neatly in a contained hind the songs are just as
musical composition. It’s practically impossible to good as the music itself.
hold all these elements in one coherent thought in The music is very literary be-
your head because there is too much going on, too cause the songs tell interest-
many ideas; the texture is that rich. For me, this ing stories that cover a vast
is the essence of good music—well written, well range of subjects and that may not be immediately
executed songs that continue to surprise, amuse,
entertain, and inform; even after years of listening:
understood by someone who isn’t at least college
educated and semi-well-read in English literature.
fAGEN AND BECKER WRITE
the ultimate deserted island discography. That might sound a bit snobbish, but these guys lIKE INSPIRED BEAT
Their lack of a visual identity as a group further don’t care: they write what they know and what
reinforces the idea that the music comes before the they know is plenty—medieval history, crime sto- NOVElISTS, AND EACH
musician. With the more than 70 musicians that ries, science fiction, forbidden love, insanity; and
have played for the Dan at one point or another, that’s barely scratching the vinyl surface, so to Of THEIR SONGS IS A
only Fagen and Becker have remained through-
out. While boundaries are broken today through
speak.
Fagen and Becker write like inspired beat novel- BRIllIANT SHORT STORY
technological tinkering and electronic sampling
of existing music, Dan did it in the ‘70s with real
ists, and each of their songs is a brilliant short story
told with an almost cinematic soundtrack; the lyr- TOlD WITH AN AlMOST
human musicians playing real musical instru-
ments. It’s no wonder they had to keep replacing
ics are somewhat histrionic, each track a scene in
twisted film noir (now we dolly back, now we fade CINEMATIC SOUNDTRACK.
band members—a permanent crew simply did not to black). It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand
have the endurance and skill to keep up with Fa- the enigmatic, sarcastic lyrics at first because it’s

rogue magazine MAY 2008 53

endless fun trying to figure them out; and the mu-
sic is so spectacularly good—the long (but never
too long; tracks and solos on their albums never
last longer than you want them to), complex solos,
the tight and skillful drumming, the meticulously
arranged horn sections—that it renders the lyrics
almost insignificant. The music was so important
that the lyrics didn’t matter; they just spewed out
whatever was in the dark bowels of their mind.
Just think of them as a bunch of interesting words
that go well with the music and soon enough their
meaning will seep into your consciousness and a
new dimension is added to the song. (See the side-
bar for some excerpts.)
Donald Fagen’s nasal, sinewy voice sounds
like a saxophone blended into the speech of
a Brooklyn Jewish professor of hipster-beat
studies. It is the band’s most prominent identify-
ing mark because Fagen’s voice is perfect narra-
tion for his own strange and lurid tales—aching
and oozing with sardonic character (like a viper,
languid and bittersweet).
Their songs have a remarkable sense of hu-
mor. Fagen and Becker are the Coen Brothers of
jazz and rock. The lines in their songs are genuine-
ly hysterical, and oftentimes I find myself laugh-
ing out loud at how they tell these sleazy stories
with such exuberance and wit—the stark contrasts
between comedy and tragedy are absurdly bril-
liant. Upbeat rhythms plus dark storylines equal
razor-sharp wit and the blackest of comedy.
I’m not sure if this is supposed to be funny,
which makes it even funnier, but a recurring
theme in Fagen and Becker’s music is dirty old
men preying on impressionable young girls. Take
“Everyone’s Gone to the Movies,” for instance, a
perversely comic pedophile jingle about a child-
molesting neighbor who likes to “show his films
in the den,” while “everyone’s gone to the mov-
ies.” Both “Hey Nineteen” and “Janie Runaway”
are about little girls and scheming older men—and
so is “Cousin Dupree,” a bouncy single from the
Two Against Nature album about a couch-drifter
who tries to seduce his little cousin, puzzled with
the query: What’s so strange about a down-home
family romance?
And there are lyrics that simply don’t mean
anything—which makes it funny to think that they
would choose a line as mundane and as devoid of
poetry as “Is there gas in the car? Yes, there’s gas
in the car,” to be a defining phrase in their rock
single from 1976, “Kid Charlemagne.” The insis-
tence in finding art in everyday language is what I
find deeply amusing.
They design their songs to match the everyday
situations and circumstances you are most
likely to listen to them in, and they write lyr-
ics that are made to sing along to. Take “F.M.”,
a song about the radio on the radio. What better
way to emphasize the clarity and quality of a song
than by making the listeners sing it—NO STATIC
AT ALL. You should hear an amphitheater full of
fans sing this line at one of their concerts (I’ve
been to five). It sums it all up in a great chorus
line. And what self-respecting good-time hedo-
nist wouldn’t want to sing along to drink scotch
whiskey all night long—even though they don’t let
you off that easily by making you finish the line:
54 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
Both “Hey Nineteen”
and “Janie Runaway” are
about little girls and
scheming older men
and die behind the wheel. It’s all just straight to
the point, which makes it fun to sing because the
music is subtler. What a beautiful world this will
be. What a glorious time to be free. Lyrics that
could easily be sentimental if they weren’t sung in
the context of such unsentimental music. It’s just
words and notes—but goddamn good ones.
They don’t make albums that often. Fagen and
Becker are notorious for taking their time in the
studio. After a string of solid albums in the ‘70s,
they released Gaucho in 1980, and then hibernated
for 20 years before releasing Two Against Nature
in 2000, then Everything Must Go in 2003. Donald
Fagen released three solo albums—The Nightfly,
Kamakiriad, and Morph the Cat—which are just
as good if not better than any Steely Dan album,
steely don The Donald Fagen Trifecta
A Steely Dan story would not be complete without a
discussion on Donald Fagen’s solo career. After all, all
three albums were produced by Walter Becker, and
for all intents and purposes, Donald Fagen is Steely
Dan—not to mention the fact that Fagen’s albums are
just as good if not better than any Dan album, but the
common wisdom dictates that we lump them together
as a whole. Fagen’s three solo albums, released in three
different decades, are an epic trilogy in their entirety,
each album representing a different age in Fagen’s life.
The Nightfly
It is a widely held opinion that the quintessential Steely Dan
album is actually this one: Fagen’s first solo effort came off
as the most balanced out of all their albums, addressing
every shortcoming previous ones may have suffered from
and recording some very memorable compositions that
are all at once organic, thought-provoking, and euphoric.
The journey begins in the ‘50s, when Fagen was a young
boy and Eisenhower’s America was full of promise until
the Cold War began. The lush and elegant album has a
predominantly positive vibe with lots of joyous, optimistic
horns, gleeful backups, and relatively upbeat subject
matter. The album contains one of the more interesting
song titles: “I.G.Y. (International Geophysical Year),” which
sounds like something you would read on a navigator’s
world map; and a lyric from the song sets the tone of the
album: You’ve got to admit it, at this point in time, that it’s
clear—the future looks bright.
The joyful choruses continue with “Green Flower
Street,” which many say is a metaphor for the peaceful
nature of Marijuana: where the nights are bright and joy is
complete—keep a squeeze on Green Flower Street. Listen
to how precise and perfectly timed the horns, synthesizers,
and guitars come in the intro of “Ruby Baby.” And the
ingenious “party crowd” track that comes in later, which
sounds like a really fun party with just the right amount of
people.
But it’s the rich, engulfing, and exhilarating groove of
“New Frontier” that puts this album in high gear—the
quick-style drumming sounds like it’s trying to run away
from you, as if eager to reach the new frontier; and the
electric lead guitar strings and Fagen’s keys are bouncing
around in your head from one earphone to the other, trying
to keep up with the drums.
which unfortunately could not be said about Beck-
er’s one solo album, 11 Tracks of Whack.
Now that you know more about the Dan, you’re
ready to experience the music for yourself. Re-
member: they have a very distinct sound that may
not be comfortably familiar at first. In fact, on
first listening, some of their songs sound almost
absurdly ridiculous, like some kind of crazy carni-
val music. But be patient and open-minded, grass-
hopper: it takes a few intense and concentrated
listens to break through the initial ambiguity—but
once you get in and fall into that groove, you’re
doomed.
I think I may be ready to rest my case now. But if
there’s anything you should walk away from this
with, it’s this: Steely Dan is simply party music.
Whether you’re on a beach, yacht, or at a pool
party; in a Manhattan penthouse den from the ‘70s
with martinis and some lines on a table; at an all-
night beatnik wine and poetry party in the East
Village; or simply having some beers with bud-
dies. It’s party music plain and simple.
O.K. This expanded rant may have rambled on
longer than I thought, so I’ll chop this off right here
and leave you with a line from “Deacon Blues”—
This is the night of the expanding man. I take one
last drag as I approach the stand. I cried when I
wrote this song—so sue me if I play too long. ☐
Kamakiriad
This album represents the adventurous prime of Fagen’s
life and is the Dan’s first real science fiction concept
album. The concept being the Kamakiri—a space-traveling
Balinese sports car with a built-in hydroponic vegetable
garden in the back (presumably to grow things other than
tomatoes). Each track on the album matches the lyrics’
description of the Kamakiri and the eight episodes in this
22nd century synthetic jazz mini-series. It takes off on
the cool and confident (especially in the synchronization,
timing, and air-blow regulation of the saxophones) “Trans-
Island Skyway” not like a freeway bullet or a bug with
monster wheels but a cool rolling bubble that’s all set to
samba. Fagen’s keys call to mind sound effects you might
hear from a Star Wars droid. Obviously, and like pretty
much every other Dan album, this is great driving music—
smooth, fast, fun, and with lines you love to sing along to
because they describe exactly how the music makes you
feel: strap in tight ‘cause it’s a long, sweet ride. Relax, put
some sounds on . . . But what’s really remarkable about
this album is that it actually sounds like it was produced
entirely by computers—but it isn’t; it’s sound coming from
an actual band: human beings tapping on piano keys,
fingering steel and nylon strings, blowing on horns and
banging on drums.
Morph the Cat
If the first two albums were about Fagen’s youth and
middle age respectively, this latest one, which was
released last year, inevitably deals with death—which
isn’t to say that the music is dying, but the predominantly
bluesy mood of the album is reflective of Fagen’s age. But
even though he describes the grim reaper as the fella with
the brite nite gown, that track’s fairly upbeat, with Fagen’s
voice cooled down to a clean whisper and a cacophonous
collision of jerky guitar plucking, awkwardly high-pitched
piano notes, and trumpets that sound like they’re looking
for a place to jump in. It’s organized chaos: all meticulously
arranged to sound messy and scattered, like every
instrument doing whatever they wanted. And there are
other classic rock and roll bar dirges like “Security Joan,”
a wicked and slightly distorted guitar-based hand-clapper
about a man who finds love at the airport security check—a
reference to the post 9/11 era we now live in.
ADRIAN
CUENCA
O n W hy H e L oves P rodu c in g and
P er f ormin g O ur O wn M usi c

SONG AND DANCE

Despite its jingoistic origins, LOCAL//:e!, an electronic outfit that plays original Pinoy dance music, is
surprisingly listenable—and danceable. The collective eschews normal crowd-pleasing antics and instead
weaves its freshness into our habitual worship of the familiar sound of old warhorses, causing hips to
sway with thoughtful abandon

I
n August 2006, I met three like-minded DJs
at a Makati café. Muzak drifted in the air,
an annoying reminder of why we had con-
vened here in the first place. We represented
divergent music styles, but Juno Oebanda, DJ
Patch, Don don Renato, and I were united by what
you might think a pompous goal: Elevate a stagnant
local club scene. We weren’t being arrogant, really.
Like everyone else, we were just plain bored.
Anyone who went clubbing, even occasionally,
at that time could tell the scene was as stale as of-
fice coffee. DJs had limited artistic freedom—few
viable venues, a small market, and the general
resistance of establishments to showcase origi-
nal music. The club scene needed a jolt, that was
obvious enough. But who would flip the switch?
Messianic complexes aside, the answer seemed so
simple. Fresh dance music, not reheated Ibiza left-
overs, spun by local DJs like, well, us.
“We were all bitching about the scene at a forum
in a DJ website,” says Juno Oebanda, the main pro-
tagonist of the trickily spelled LOCAL//:e!, which
would eventually become the chosen vessel for
our sonic uprising.
Fast forward to May 2007, at the launch of a new
radio station—“Beep Beep,” that absolute Juan
dela Cruz classic, is roaring out of the speakers.
Except it’s a perplexing version, not quite the fa-
miliar rendition we listened to during our rebel-
lious youth, but a more kinetic, collaborative inter-
pretation. The dancing crowd howls its approval
at a group of local musicians intently perusing
their laptops and keyboards. A month later, the
same group performs a freakishly patriotic rendi-
tion of the national anthem at a URCC (Universal
Reality Combat Championship) event in front of a
mob hell-bent on hearing limbs snap. A few weeks
later, two members of the group perform at Ware-
house 135, peddling their wares to a dancefloor
frenetic enough to put many a mosh pit to shame.
Something is happening here. It’s what I like to
call original dance music.
See, LOCAL//:e!, our nebulous group of DJs and
musicians, this electronica collective that’s unex-
pectedly taking a life of its own, had just released
a CD . . . and we gave it away for free. Weird, I
know, but I assure you it makes sense. Even good
business sense.
“LOCAL//:e! is a movement that produces its own
music,” explains Juno. Here’s how I see it: in this
country, foreign music reigns supreme in a music
genre where no local musicians have really stood
up to be counted. So this is a giant step, at least
in the context of the prevailing inferiority com-
plex. Using new technology—computer software,
cutting-edge hardware—we perform original mu-
sic . . . live. We draw on diversified backgrounds,
from the beach-inspired sound of couchLab to the
bleepy electronica of Rubber, Inc. to the scratch-
ing and effects of Funk Avy. I remember thinking:
“There’s something wrong when a local artist like
Funk Avy has an international recording contract,
but is not well-known in his own country.” That
just plain sucks.
Any casual fan of electronic music knows that
successful DJs abroad become popular because
they produce their own music. It’s such a simple
equation—PLAY YOUR OWN MUSIC = CREDIBIL-
ITY. Tiesto, Miguel Migs, and Richie Hawtin, who

56 MAY 2008 rogue magazine


routinely release their own productions, are fine
examples of this truism. LOCAL//:e! decided to
do just that, but the problem of finding a venue
to flaunt this independence remained. We refused,
however, to be discouraged. We were electronic
bandits, after all, and if we needed to rape and pil-
lage to be heard, then so be it. The carnage would
be complete only if we united. So we did.
In November 2007, LOCAL//:e!, launching our
second CD called Assembly, played in front of
hundreds. Of all things, it was for an event that bla-
zoned the then-new Nokia Express Music phone.
Count ‘em—15 of us—jammed in the massive
stage at Makati’s Avenue. Ed Nevada; veteran DJ
Travis Monsod; music producer Silverfilter; Egg-
boy a.k.a. Diego Mapa of popular bands Pedicab
and Cambio; DJ Patch; Rubber, Inc. comprised of
well-known producers Noel de Brackinghe and
Malek Lopez; Suntheory of award-winning musi-
cal producer Brian Cua; couple Lady Trinity and
Funk Avy; and couchLab/03 of events director
Juno Oebanda; and video artists Scratchmedia
(Brando Umali and Shannen Torres). Pardon the
DANCE, DANCE
EVOLUTION
Clockwise from
opposite page:
Scratchmedia, Rubber,
Inc., Funk Avi, and
Silverfilter
“There’s something Manila. Then guitar god Jun Lopito, seasoned
violinist Jay Cayuca, and hyperkinetic Skarlet
wrong when a local joined us, their fabulous old-school talents mesh-
ing with our speculative use of laptops, keyboards,
artist like Funk Avy and whatever new or old electronic music gadget
we could get our hands on. Too many cooks spoil
has an international the broth? Hardly. You should’ve been there; the
music rocked; rapport was unmistakably present.
recording contract, I love it when a plan comes together, especially
when there wasn’t any plan in the first place, just
but is not well-known a vague optimism.
To me, musicians can innovate in two ways.
in his own country. Either introduce new genres, or perform hack-
neyed ones differently. Forgive the conceit, but
That just plain sucks.” LOCAL//:e! can—and does—both. Right now,
we’re touring the country, spreading the love, per-
forming live, collaborating with legends. If you
haven’t heard our live act, than at least check out
our free CD. You really ought to go out more if it
nom de plumes, it’s a habit DJs have. hasn’t yet landed on your lap. If it has, then love
We each contributed an original track and vid- us or hate us, just don’t’ straddle the fence. E-mail
eo produced by Scratchmedia. We must’ve been localemusic@yahoo.com if you’re the least bit in-
quite a sight. Big stage, so many DJs, at least for trigued. ☐
rogue magazine MAY 2008 57
58 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
 InFocus

OF Angels,
Bells, and
Bangaws:
Jingle Chordbook Remembered
photographed by Juan Caguicla at NORTH SY-QUIA ON APRIL 4, 2008

It could have been the published songs, whose lyrics and notes were already
transcribed for the convenience of aspiring (and maybe even expiring)
musicians. It could have been the articles, which not only featured sonic
personalities, events, and trends of the times, but—more crucially—
chronicled Pinoy music with more depth than any other publication had
cared to imbue. It could have been the spot cartoons and comic strips,
which tickled the eyes and brain as they did the ha-ha bone. It could, of
course, have been the record reviews—initially of vinyl records, later on
of cassette tapes—which prescribed anything from one bell (“poor”) to
four bells (“very good”), the little angel (“exceptional”) that was also the
magazine’s mascot, or the dreaded bangaw (“forget it”) to underscore
how trippy or shitty a local or foreign album of any genre was. Then
again, it could have been its overall attitude and spirit which, while not too
subversive, suggested that this was the bastard spawn of a marriage of the
popular and the putrid.
There are various reasons that Filipino music lovers of the ’70s and
’80s—even beyond, if we count buyers of reprints—can come up with to
explain why they ever scored a copy and dove into the newsprint pages of
Jingle Chordbook-Magazine. But there’s no denying the singular fact that
the magazine, which has been defunct for over 20 years, struck a chord
(no apologies for that pun) in countless lives. While not exactly as all-
encompassing as a newspaper, Jingle Chordbook was nonetheless picked
up and savored by the rich and the poor, male or female, young or old
alike—a reflection of how truly universal a language music is, even if the
only “music” you heard from Jingle per se was the rustling when its pages
were turned. Such was the power of the written word or the published
sketch that the magazine—the brainchild of a Beatles-loving entrepreneur
named Gilbert Guillermo—went on to attract generations of creative souls
to its fold . . . a revolving roster of writers, artists, editors, and a number of
musicians who added idiosyncratic flavor to Jingle month after month. In

. . . it could have been its overall

attitude and spirit which, while not
too subversive, suggested that this
was the bastard spawn of a marriage
of the popular and the putrid.

rogue magazine MAY 2008 59

return, Jingle became their cocoon, a place where they could
transmogrify before flying away and becoming full-blown
authors, painters, filmmakers, columnists, et cetera.
The Jingle Chordbook “alumni” shown in Rogue’s group
photo—most of whom had never seen each other, either for
so long or ever before—are just an utter few. Far many more
were absent, either because they were abroad or were around
but could not be reached—or, admittedly, remembered—
before press time began banging on this issue’s door. (At least
one alumnus had also passed on.) In fact, what was a rather
simple, innocent idea of including Jingle in our Music Issue

THANKS TO JUAN CAGUICLA FOR THE PHOTO MAP

has become a serendipitous experience: That is, Rogue and
Jingle folk alike now realize that Jingle was much more than
a music magazine: For lack of a better phrase, it was a good
trip, man.
Perhaps no one, not even Gilbert Guillermo himself, can
ever fathom or quantify how immense Jingle’s impact has
been to many, music lover and music maker alike. And, as
former Jingle contributor turned acclaimed director Lav Diaz
puts it, it’s a trip that will never stop: Even if the magazine
itself is no longer around to bestow an angel or a fly on
today’s recordings, its spirit continues to live on somehow—
not just among those who had been staffers and contributors, STRIKING A CHORD
1.Tony Maghirang, 2. Mike Jamir, 3. Emil Davocol, 4. Karina Lagdameo-Santillan, 5. Mon Habito,
but also among those who savor today’s noise. And maybe— 6. Rachel Patanne Mayo, 7. Anna Leah Sarabia, 8. Manny Espinola, 9. Eric David, 10. Red Mansueto,
just maybe—one can imagine how the music industry might 11. Eric Caruncho, 12. Dante Perez, 13. Romy Buen, 14. Louie Aseoche, 15. Edwin Sallan, 16. Bert Sulat Jr.,
17. Ces Rodriguez, 19. Roxlee
be if Jingle, biblical in following as it was, was still around.
BERT SULAT, JR.

Ang Trip na Ayaw Bumaba, Ang

Trip na Ayaw Mawala BY Lav Diaz
Relihiyon ng kalayaan ang Jingle. Inilathala naman. Tuwang-tuwa ako.
Ideyolohiya ng kalayaan ang Jingle. Nang makita kong nakaimprinta ang
Modelo ng paglaya ang Jingle. Hindi artikulo ko’t pangalan sa mga pahina ng
lang siya chordbook. Hindi lang siya Jingle, malaya na ako.
Beatles. Hindi lang siya Hendrix. Kailan lang kausap ko si Dante Perez,
Hindi lang siya Dylan. Hindi lang siya sabi niya, “Tol, gawa pa tayo.” Kailan
Springsteen. Hindi lang siya Stones. lang tumawag si Roxlee, sabi niya,
Hindi lang siya Sex Pistols. Hindi lang “Tol, ninong ka ni Zerox.” Kailan lang
siya Asin. Hindi lang siya Juan dela Cruz. tumawag si Eric Gamalinda, sabi niya,
Hindi lang siya rakenrol. Kultura ng “Kailan tayo magkakape?” Kailan lang
kalayaan ang ibinigay sa akin ng Jingle. nag-email si Pocholo Concepcion, sabi
Malayang pag-iisip, malayang paggalaw, niya, “Update mo ako kung nasaan ka,
malayang pananaw, malayang paggawa, kung ano’ng nangyayari.” Kailan lang
malayang anyo, malayang damo, nasalubong ko si Jing Garcia, sabi niya,
malayang paggitara, malayang musika, “Uy, pare.” Kailan lang ni-review ni
malayang bayan, malayang sex. Basta Juaniyo Arcellana ang isa kong pelikula,
sinasabi niya, uy, malaya ka, o lumaya sabi niya, “Gusto ko si Catalina.”
ka. Kalayaan sa lahat ng bagay—walang Kailan lang parang nakita ko ang multo
takot, walang kompromiso, na siyang ni Gilbert Guillermo, nalungkot ako.
naging prinsipyo at panuntunan ko sa Kahit wala na ang Jingle, hindi pa
buhay mula’t mula. bumababa ang trip. Ayaw bumaba ng trip,
Nang madiskubre ko ang Jingle nang man.
bata pa ako dun sa Mindanao, magic ang
dating nito. Parang unang diskubre mo ng
kalibugan. Yung laman, yung amoy, yung
lipad, yung sarap, wow. Nagdyakol agad
Parang unang
ako. Nagkantutan agad kami. Kumawala
na ako. Pwede na. Kahit na andyan ang
diskubre mo
putang-inang Martial Law ni Marcos.
Kahit na nagpapatayan ang Muslim ng kalibugan.
Yung laman,
at Kristiyano. Kahit na mula sa isang
tugtugan, hinampas ako ng militar ng
armalite niya sa aking sikmura at habol
ang hiningang gumagapang ako sa lupa,
hawak ko ang Jingle.
yung amoy, yung
OFF THE CHARTS
Top: 1975 issue of Jingle Magazine
Pangarap ko noong maging musikero
kaya bibliya ang Jingle. Pangarap kong lipad, yung
sarap, wow.
featuring Olivia Newton-John on the
cover maging manunulat kaya modelo ko
Above: Photo of The Boyfriends from ang Jingle. Kaya nang magkaroon ng
Jingle Magazine circa 1979
pagkakataon, nagpadala ako ng artikulo.

60 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 Story by Malek Lopez
Photographs and Layout by Mark Nicdao
Styled By L.A. Consing Lopez
from venus with love
Welcome to the Future.
Well, at least the kind where every stylish man was also
a secret agent, travel to the Moon was via a fur-lined
spaceship, and a valley of dolls was there for the picking for
the interested swinger. Unfortunately, that vision has sadly
dimmed to the asphalt wasteland of the present. Worst of all,
the music was dire.
However, that Aldous Huxley-induced Brave New World
lives on in pop culture—more precisely in its leftovers.
Scour the bargain bins, the second hand video shops, or the
covers of pulp magazines and trashy novels, it seems like
you’re looking at the catalogue of a future that never arrived.
64 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
But, best of all, the music survives and has enjoyed constant
revivals—be it Easy Listening, muzak, polite jazz (as Sinatra
termed it), or just music to watch girls by—it denoted an
easy-going, casual lifestyle that was as chic as it was carefree.
It was a sound that was so sophisticated, it served only to
get people to relax. No wonder it was a favorite for escapist
entertainment like the cinema, providing the soundtrack
from the glamorous (Doris Day-Rock Hudson meet-cutes,
From Russia With Love, The Thomas Crown Affair) to the
debauched (film noir, Valley of the Dolls, ‘60s-’70s porno
flicks). Perhaps it’s most way-out permutation was called
“Space Age Bachelor Pad Music,” which took the glitz
and pomp of Hollywood and re-arranged them for alien
environments.
Electronic musician and film scorer Malek Lopez writes
about the latter and its continuing influence. But, added to
that, we’ve asked Mark Nicdao to whip up some visuals
for the “sleeve.” Our star is Maria Dolonius, sister of our
cover girl Sanya, who plays the Ann Margaret to an unseen
Elvis, Faye Dunaway with no chess pieces to play with, or
Scarface’s mistress but without the ugly dude.
***
“I don’t care much for the music, ITS THE HIGH FIDELITY
MAN!!!”  Probably from the beginning, they never intended
it to be a showcase of artistry, but rather a marketing tool
for selling equipment people wouldn’t have bothered with
at that time. STEREO. Composers were asked to write some
“nice” tunes, probably paid a lot too, to highlight this
great technological marvel at that time. Think SURROUND Opposite page: Trapeze dress
by Culte Femme at Rustan’s.
SOUND—WE NEED THAT MANY SPEAKERS, YEAH . . . two
ears . . . go figure. Anyway, somehow, a lifestyle of excess Above: Top by Fartatu at
Rustan’s, accessories from
and opulence based on “modernity” was born, and the space Tint.
age bachelor pad music or SABPM was the soundtrack.   Previous spread: Hat by
Kids nowadays wouldn’t have heard it by accident on Sinequanone at Rustan’s,
the radio or being played inside an elevator or a shopping garter belt by House of Laurel.
mall. They are most likely to catch it watching old movies,
cartoons, “period films,” or some oddball film like Brazil. 
The idealized setting for this music would probably have to
be The Jetsons. George had it all: the house, the maid, and all
the things that this sterile vision of the future could provide. 
If Hanna Barbera produced a prequel, then we would
probably see his “pad.” 
It’s probably better to describe Space Age Bachelor Pad
rogue magazine MAY 2008 65
The idealized setting for this music would probably have to be The Jetsons.
George had it all: the house, the maid, and all the things that this sterile
vision of the future could provide.
Perhaps it’s most way-out permutation was called “Space Age Bachelor
Pad Music,” which took the glitz and pomp of Hollywood and re-arranged
them for alien environments.
Music by what it isn’t rather than what it is. It isn’t rock.
It’s way more orchestrated than that. It won’t qualify as
prog rock either, since it lacks any of the seriousness that
prog rock has. It’s not jazz as well—too square maybe. Its
harmony is not “out” enough. And it’s too weird and esoteric
to be labeled as “pop.”  combined Afro Cuban rhythms with traditional, sometimes
By function, it’s probably safe to call it “ambient.” It sets a
mood. It’s unobtrusive. That said, it’s found its way as a part
of the ambience in certain places like elevators, cocktail
lounges, hotels, and airports. Nowadays we’ve adapted the
actual function as a way of describing certain music. “I need
a lounge act” or, to describe an instrumental that’s insipid
68 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
and uninspired, “it’s elevator music.”
There are several subgenres that have sprung. Some of them
sound too close to each other for an ordinary listener to
make a distinction. One of them is sometimes referred to as
Exotica, which can be divided into Tiki and “jungle.” Jungle
strange instrumentation. Think soundtrack to a Betty Page
striptease. Tiki is more of a “Hawaiian” soundtrack or Beach
Cocktail Music. Towards the end of its popularity, the sound
tried to merge itself with the upcoming “pop” of the time,
which was bossa nova.
Mexican bandleader, composer, and arranger Juan Garcia
Esquivel is probably the poster child of Space Age Bachelor
Pad Music. Lush orchestration, extreme use of panning—
bass on the left, drums on the right kinda thing (sometimes).
Listening to this stuff makes you feel like you’re part of
some cartoon like Tom and Jerry. Not too heady, nice and
light, almost brainless. Interestingly enough, the competency
of the execution is nothing short of brilliant. It’s nicely
recorded, well written, and probably performed with the best
studio musicians at that time.
Recently, well, in the ‘90s, “alternative” musicians started
quoting a lot of the idioms of the music. Stereolab was one
of them. Their influences included kraut rock, ‘60s pop,
and lounge. Part of Stereolab’s sound was the High Fidelity,
and even went as far as naming their 1993 EP Space Age
Bachelor Pad. In the booklet, there were instructions to
wire one of the speakers in your system out of phase in
order to listen to their material. From the U.S., there was
Combustible Edison who quoted more directly from the
genre. Guitar player The Millionaire originally wrote a stage
show The Tiki Wonder Hour, featuring the band Combustible
Edison Heliotropic Oriental Mambo and Foxtrot Orchestra Above: Gown by Glam at Tint,
accessories from House of
doing the music. He later trimmed the lineup down to five, Laurel.
and renamed it Combustible Edison. The band scored the
film Four Rooms as well as a jingle to OK Soda. Mark
Robinson of Unrest also collaborated with Tsunami’s Jenny
Toomey to create the cocktail/punk/indie act Grenadine. In
Japan, acts like Pizzicato 5 and Fantastic Plastic Machine
were also toying with this sound. There are the compilations
Sushi 3003 and Sushi 4004, which is a modern take on the
sound. Also in this collection is Cornelius, 5th Garden,
Tokyo’s Coolest Combo, etc. In Europe, electronic musicians
Dimitri From Paris and Koop come to mind. 
Somehow, this music has stayed alive. Even the lifestyle
and function that it helped pioneer has managed to stay on
to this day. Old records are being sampled and reused. Its
functionality, though, hasn’t changed. Music is still played in
some elevators, hotel lounges, and airports. It sounds nothing
like the ‘50s, of course. Nevertheless, it still has a unique
vibe that most people still subconsciously want to feel every
now and then.  ☐
rogue magazine MAY 2008 69
. . . it denoted
an easy-going,
casual lifestyle
that was as
chic as it was
carefree. It was a
sound that was
so sophisticated,
it served only
to get people to
relax.

Right: Eyelet top by XOXO at

Rustan’s, accessories from Tint

Model is Maria Dolonius

Make-Up by Solenn Heussaff
Hair by Ricky Diokno of
Kiehl’s Stylist Series

70 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

rogue magazine MAY 2008 71
lust
for
life
In the early nineties, Karl Roy was a cult figure, a
frontman whose powerhouse live performances in even
the smallest of venues became the stuff of legend. By
the latter half of the decade, his extraordinary talent as
a performer and his range as a vocalist had taken him
from the underground to dizzying heights of widespread,
popular acclaim. A rock ‘n’ roll animal, his bombast as
a showman often obscured the fragile psyche evident
in his own songwriting. Coming off a string of missed
opportunities, his misfortunes continued when he
suffered a stroke last year. PHILBERT DY spends some
time with the singer and asks him about his past, his
music, and the possibility of a comeback . . .
PHOTOGRAPH BY JUAN CAGUICLA
LIVE AND LOUD
Karl hamming it up during an Advent
Call gig in the ‘90s.
Opposite Page: Taken in November
2001, this was in Big Sky Mind, and
was one of the Kapatid’s first gigs.
the story goes that In September last year, Karl Roy was just
outside his apartment in Wack Wack, Greenhills, carrying a
case of beer. That’s when it happened.
A thrombus cut the blood flow to his brain,

everything went dark


and he collapsed. 

Karl Roy then, body in shock and barely aware of
his surroundings, picked up the case of beer and
proceeded to take the stairs up to his apartment.
He managed to get in and put the case down on
the floor before finally laying still, letting the
stroke take its course.  starting until P.O.T. marched onto the stage.
“So you were having a stroke, and you
brought the beer up? That’s pretty amazing,” I
say.  “Yugyugan na.” And everybody answered with
Karl Roy looks up at me. He chuckles. “Beer,”
he says, letting the word roll in his mouth. He
takes extra effort to form the word, incredibly
conscious of the shape his mouth takes as he
enunciates the “r” at the end of it.  only made it to Grade 4 before he had been
His wife Dena later clarifies that Karl had just
come home from an all-day shoot with Red
Horse and was already inside the apartment.
He wasn’t more than a few minutes into telling
her how the shoot went when, mid-sentence, he
went blank. “It took almost ten minutes for me
to get help because Karl would not sit still long
enough for me to call or run to get anyone. I
finally yelled out the window for somebody to
please help me because he was picking things
up—our laptop and the case of beer—pushing
me out of the way when I tried to get him to sit
down. He dragged himself up the stairs in the
apartment to our bedroom with a grip so tight
on the banister, I had no choice but to let him
keep going.” He knocked over an electric fan,
picked it up, and then removed his jacket and
shirt. It wasn’t until they got him into the car
that he collapsed.
Years of bad music and sparkly t-shirts have
me confused over what a rock star truly is, but
there’s little doubt here. Putting up a fight while
your body succumbs to a stroke? That, my
friends, is the stuff of legend.  one of those odd school fair shows that had
Everyone who grew up listening to music in the
nineties knows who Karl Roy is. They would
have seen him at least once live, and remember
being mesmerized as Karl Roy took over the
stage, jumping, dancing, bringing people
to their feet. They remember shows with a
hundred bands in the line-up, but never really
They might have never heard of P.O.T. before
that night, may have never kept up with local
music before then, but after just thirty minutes
of funk grooves, they would be talking about it
for months afterwards.  to face his reflection and ask “Am I a person
I remember being in first year high school
when I first saw Karl Roy live. P.O.T. was
playing at the Xavier School variety show,
Wolfgang in the same bill as RETROspect. The
show had been pretty dead until P.O.T. came on.
The first few chords of “Yugyugan Na” were
quickly followed by the sound of a thousand
asses abandoning their monobloc chairs.
Adolescent Chinese boys and girls quickly lost
their inhibitions and danced right in front of the
stage in ways that would cause their families
to lose face. Karl Roy came on, shirtless and
sweaty from the strangely humid February
night. “Sige na, pipol,” he pleaded in song.
their bodies, moving with the music, completely
rapt with the sheer presence of the frontman. 
It had been a kind of a homecoming for him.
Karl Roy had studied in Xavier once, but he
expelled. During the flag ceremony, he stole the
keys from Student Services and locked all the
classrooms. Then he hid the keys. 
I asked him why he did that. “I don’t know,”
he replies. “I guess I was just . . . mischievous.”
He gives a wry smile. 
From across the room, Dena says “That’s the
same answer you give me all the time.” 
“You’re still naughty,” she says to him. Karl
can only nod. By the time he was fourteen,
Karl’s “naughtiness” had landed him in rehab,
working a cocktail of drug dependencies out of
his system. He, along with a couple of friends,
spent their school days getting high on whatever
they could get their hands on. By the time the
dismissal bell rang, Karl and his friends would
be drooling on their tables. 
It was around this time, working off the
chemicals in his system, that Karl was forced
that’s going to amount to nothing?” It wouldn’t
be long before Karl found his way into his first
band, the new wave Advent Call. 
Advent Call was one of those bands that came
out of the early nineties band explosion. Like
many bands of that era, they rose from the swirl
of chaos and creativity that was the original

rogue magazine MAY 2008 75


“We were fighting over girls. And other things, too. We rocked
everything. We wrecked everything.”
Club Dredd. Alongside the likes of Datu’s
Tribe, Rizal Underground, Tame the Tikbalang,
Color It Red, Teeth, Yano, the Eraserheads, and
a bunch of other great bands, Advent Call was
changing the landscape of Philippine music.
These bands were creating a scene, an entire
culture rising from live performance in small,
intimate venues, where a whole generation
found their voices. To this day, there are still
people who lament the dissolution of Advent
Call, who will spend hours sharing memories
about those magical Club Dredd nights and
whining about how the music of today pales
in comparison to the music of the nineties.
Advent Call is still around, but with only one
of the original members still in the band, even
their biggest, most loyal fans have to confess
that it just isn’t the same.  of Karl, Ian Umali, Mally Paraguya, and
“We were really tight,” Karl says. “We spent,
like, Christmas together. Our holidays together.
We were always together.” He can only speak
fondly of his days with Advent Call, but he
was moving on to bigger things. Advent Call
had set the stage, but it would be in P.O.T. that
76 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
DON’T INK TWICE
Above: Karl and former
Kapatid bassist, Nathan
Azarcon, showing off
matching Alibata tattoos.
Top Right: Tattoo artist
Mike Sambahon adds to
Karl’s collection of body
art in 2002.
the population would really get to know Karl
Roy.   the stage, he assaulted the music. He showed
By 1995, the band explosion had died down, and
what were left were a few stalwarts who had
survived the underground nature of their
emergence and made it into the mainstream.
By ’96, there was very little coming out of
the local scene, and some would say that local
music was stagnating.  impossible to just sit through it, to simply
And then came P.O.T. With P.O.T., Karl Roy
truly unleashed his own unique voice. The
band’s sound, an unmistakable mix of funk,
soul, acid jazz, and a hearty dollop of good
old rock ‘n’ roll, was definitely closer to Karl
and gave him a chance to really expand as a
performer. The band, most famously composed
Harley Alarcon, had something really special
going on. They were the buzz of Manila, a shot
in the arm for the local scene. People would
flock to Mayric’s to see what the big fuss was,
and they would leave those gigs as lifelong
fans.  his words. He’s made it pretty far in the six
It was the energy, really. Karl Roy attacked
a passion and an aggressiveness and a wild
manic streak that woke up a bored listening
public. People say that Karl Roy in P.O.T. was
“better than Kiedis,” that he exhibited more
talent and intensity than the vocalist of the Red
Hot Chili Peppers ever could. 
A P.O.T. gig was participatory. It was
remain a bystander to the music. Roy charmed
people on stage, he would challenge them,
connect with them. He’d have people on their
feet before they knew it, and the funk would
do the rest. They had massive crossover
appeal, selling a ton of albums and getting
a lot of radio airplay. They were completely
unstoppable, and as long as Karl Roy took the
stage with P.O.T., people would flock to see
them. 
It’s pretty strange to see him now, years later,
off the stage and struggling to enunciate
 STATE OF PLAY
Right: Monkeying around
for the camera in 2000.
Above: With some friends
in Tagaytay.

months of recovery. His doctors failed to give “No need na,” Karl replies. He pauses, still members eventually tore them apart. 
him medication for his blood clot right away, trying to remember.  “We were fighting over girls. And other
leading to a pretty severe paralysis of the entire “Is it any good?” he asks after a moment.  things, too. We rocked everything. We wrecked
right side of his body. It wasn’t too long ago “Yes,” Dena replies, without having to think everything.” There is a tinge of regret in Karl
when Karl was lying in his hospital bed, feeling about it.  Roy’s voice. 
like he was about to die. “I couldn’t speak, and I But he’s actually doing pretty well, “I really miss P.O.T.,” he says later. In 2006,
just kept thinking ‘this is it.’”   considering that just a few months ago, doctors P.O.T. played a one-off reunion gig at ‘70s
He’s made it pretty far, but not everything were telling them not to expect anything. But Bistro, and the blogosphere’s general consensus
has come back yet. He’s had to learn to write he’s walking, and he’s really working at getting was that the band was still something else. Their
with his left hand because his right hand still better every day, diving into all sorts of physical reunion had filled up the Bistro, and people had
isn’t fully cooperating. He still has aphasia, and therapy. “I feel really lucky,” Karl says. “I sit in to be turned away for fear of asphyxiation inside
struggles to find words to complete his thoughts. waiting rooms with people in pain that I can’t the venue. Years after they had broken up, it was
He often stops mid-sentence, frustrated that his even imagine.”  like they hadn’t missed a beat. The night went
vocabulary can’t keep up with what he’s trying “I’m lucky,” he says again, feeling the words exactly the same as it would have in the nineties:
to say. “It’s on the tip of my tongue,” he says in his mouth, liking how they taste.  people dancing, singing along to all the lyrics,
often. He’s had to rely on his wife to complete everybody watching Karl Roy do his thing. 
some of his sentences. “[Dena] reads my tongue Disappointment has been a running theme of Karl “[I’d get back with P.O.T.] in a flick of a
for me.” He then turns his head to his wife and Roy’s life. In his career, he’s always been on the finger,” he says. “There’s no more bitterness
quite literally sticks his tongue out, expecting verge of something greater, but always falling between us.” He’s recently worked with P.O.T.
Dena to find the word he’s looking for engraved short because of something life threw in the guitarist Ian Umali again in the studio for the re-
on the tip.  way. Early in the band’s life, P.O.T. had gathered release of the P.O.T. album, and he admits that it
His memory isn’t all there, either. I asked him enough buzz and cash to make a stab at taking was great—that he loved working with him. 
if he’s written any songs during the stroke. He the act international, but their promoter had “But we’re all so far away from each other
says no.  spent all their money on drugs. “We thought now,” he says, almost sadly, explaining that a
“You did write a song,” Dena pipes up.  [our promoter] was setting things up. We just myriad of reasons, some professional, others
“I did?”  got an email one day. It said ‘we’re broke.’” geographical, that keep P.O.T. from getting back
“Yes you did. I filed it.”  Later on, at the height of their popularity in the together. “The drummer’s in Saipan . . . Ian’s
Karl furrows his brow.  local scene, Karl Roy was diagnosed with an got his studio going . . . it would just be really
“I don’t remember. Are you sure?”  infected heart valve which put the band on a unlikely.” 
“Yes. You want me to get it?”  short hiatus. And then conflict between the band
UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL
Karl poses with wife Dena
at a party.
Opposite Page: Walking
on water in Davao.
 “Wait for me,” he says to his fans. “I’m coming back.”
“It was a band that was never meant to be,” Karl
says, almost wearily. He’s talking about Kapatid,
his latest band, which has had a troubled history
so far. Karl was surfing his life away when
some friends that he’d jammed with told him
that they ought to start a band. These friends
turned out to be J-Hoon Balbuena (of Kjwan),
Ira Cruz (Passage, and currently in Bamboo),
Nathan Azarcon (formerly of Rivermaya and
currently, Bamboo), and Chico Molina. As
soon as they emerged, people started calling
them a “supergroup,” and it felt apt. These were
all people of immense talent, and there was a
lot of optimism back then about recapturing
lightning in a bottle for Karl Roy. They released
an eponymous first album which was rather
cheap looking with its photocopy insert, but
the music was exciting. There was lots of talk
about brotherhood and respect and the joy of
playing music together. Unfortunately, things
didn’t turn that way. The band split apart rather
quickly, as a couple of members left for another
band, under less then amicable circumstances.
First, Ira left, and then Nathan followed, and
the two eventually hooked up with Bamboo.
This little kerfuffle became the source of much
intrigue in the rock scene, with rumors flying
rampant that Karl wrote “Noypi” (originally as
a reggae song) and that Nathan stole the song
from him. The truth is much simpler than that.
Nathan had originally written the megahit rock
anthem “Noypi” for Kapatid, but Karl didn’t like
it. “It takes a while for me to like a song,” Karl
explains, and to this day, he regrets not paying
enough attention to what Nathan was doing.
And then, after all that, tragedy struck: guitarist
Chico Molina had taken his own life.  really looking up for the Roys financially. But
But Karl carried on with the band, eventually
enlisting legendary bassist and producer
Louie Talan to form a new brotherhood. On
the strength of the new creative collaboration,
Kapatid was able to release a second album,
Luha. Things were clicking again for the band,
even with an almost completely new line up, and
they had started work on their third album.  He talks of studying to become a chef, pursuing
But then Kapatid was derailed by Karl’s stroke.
“Never meant to be,” Karl intones, trying to get
the words through his still somewhat atrophied
mouth muscles. But Karl insists that Kapatid
isn’t going to break up. “I just want something
to last,” he says, with just a hint of desperation.
After years of watching things he loves go up
in flames, from his friendships in Advent Call
to the joy of P.O.T. to just the first few heady
days of Kapatid—Karl Roy is taking a stand and
sticking by this group.  “Wait for me,” he says to his fans. “I’m coming
The Roys are moving. “We had no health insurance,”
Dena explains as she lays out some books that
they won’t have any space for any longer. A
stroke is an expensive malady to have, and they
can no longer afford to stay in their home. At
the time of Karl’s stroke, he had just taken part
in a national ad campaign for a beer alongside
a bunch of other rock legends, and things were
in true Karl Roy fashion, it could never be that
easy. 
But Karl takes it in stride. In truth, it would
appear that he’s more concerned about finding
homes for his three cats than what the future
holds for him. He’s been taking voice training,
trying to get himself ready to get back on stage.
his love for cooking. 
“I like the sound of oil. It’s like a mini
concert,” he says. No, these are not the plans
of a defeated man, one worn down by the
misfortunes life had placed in his way. These are
the words of what Karl Roy really is, what he’s
always been: a dreamer, a fighter, a veritable
force of nature. “I just keep coming back for
more,” he says, with both pride and weary
acceptance. 
back.” And for all the uncertainties in the world,
these words ring unmistakably true. ☐
rogue magazine MAY 2008 79
 t annual
rogue’s firs

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 T he J O U R N E Y M E N
J un Lopito , M anue l Legarda , K akoi Legaspi , J unji Lerma / G uitar p l ayers

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y WAW I N AVA R R O Z A in S A G U I J O , M A K A T I O N M A R C H 2 6 , 2 0 0 8

Legend has it that if you take your guitar to a crossroads at midnight, the devil will come, tune it, and gift you with the
ability to play like never before. But the deal is that in a year’s time, he will come back to claim your soul. Perhaps that’s
why many guitarists—like the great bluesman Robert Johnson, who’s the supposed protagonist of this tale—always
played as if they were hunted and haunted, playing for their lives, running, keeping only a few steps ahead of that
hell-hound. Sometimes pegged as the Bodhisattva (enlightened one), Jun Lopito knows this restlessness only too well.
Hailed as one of the greatest players of his time, he’s gone through many changes, playing for bands like Airwaves,
Sampaguita, The Jerks, and Cocojam. Originally from blues band Mr. Crayon, Kakoi Legaspi seems to know this as
well—joining pop act Rivermaya and later Barbie’s Cradle before turning to session work. Currently he is the lead
guitarist of Salindawa, a multi-genre fusion group, as well as agit-rock group Periodiko. Manuel Legarda left Spain
to form Wolfgang, the hard rock/metal outfit that reigned in the ‘90s. Twice nominated at the NU Rock Awards for
“Guitarist of the Year,” he balanced his enduring commitment to the riffage of Black Sabbath with the pyrotechnics
of Dokken and a shade of bluesy rock in the course of five studio albums. After the band’s dissolution, he played with
rock band DRT, and is now currently a member of Razorback. Aside from Radioactive Sago Project, Junji Lerma also
plays for electronic/exotica collective Trip M, leads Latin-jazz group Wahijuara, and is a faculty member of the Ryan
Cayabyab School of Music. Getting his start with infamous thrash band Bazurak (with friend, Nathan Azarcon of
Bamboo), he offers his own take on the myth, and his own continuing journey as well as those of his peers. “[It’s] the
search for the one elusive note that’s needed for that particular moment—and that’s never the same.” That’s the true
curse of the crossroads: no matter which path you take, you’re never gonna stop traveling.
 THE REVIVALIST
CHIN-CHIN GUTIERREZ / SINGER

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y WAW I N AVA R R O Z A
in C A S A N A K P I L , M A N I L A O N A P R I L 2 , 2 0 0 8

Chin-Chin Gutierrez, the smart-mouthed matriarch from ABS-CBN’s class-

warring soap Maging Sino Ka Man, has an uncanny knack for seeming
to be two celebrities at once: an award-winning thespian of mainstream
acclaim and an optimistic proponent of conservationist endeavors. Still,
star-powered green advocacy is hardly novel. But Gutierrez manages
to do the same while maintaining her credibility as a stage and screen
performer, iconoclastically reconfiguring the notion of celebrity as total
performance. Her relentless presence on planet-sensitive initiatives
have branded her an airy kook by those who are content to dismiss her
S T Y L I N G A N D C L O T H I N G BY PU E Y Q U I Ñ O N E S

pursuits as interchangeable with fashionable Buddhism and adopting

Third World children. But few will deny her the export success of Uyayi, a
2003 collection of folk lullabies from around the archipelago interpreted
and arranged by an all-star pantheon of musical witch doctors such as
Joey Ayala, saxophone virtuoso Tots Tolentino, and Third World Project’s
Rachel Conanan. In Uyayi, her crusade of conservationism extends its scope
from the material of the planet to the ephemeral of culture. Of course, for
Gutierrez, singing songs from a bygone era is not for mere nostalgia, but an
evocation. Attired in full Filipiniana, she embodies its legacy, her beauty that
of an apparition blooming into life, her talent the specter at the feast, her
convictions the ghost in the machine.
 T H E E X T R A -T E R R E S T R I A L
M O O N F E A R M O O N / e l ectronica artist & producer

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y J U A N C A G U I C L A in Valle verde I I I , P asig O N N O V E M B E R 2 3 , 2 0 0 6

Standing over 6-feet and weighing around 300 pounds, John Sobrepeña’s physical presence can be intimidating.
But as Moon Fear Moon—his musical nom de guerre—he commands an almost apocalyptic power, standing well
apart as the most distinct, uncompromising electronic artist emerging from the club scene: the specter at the
post-’90s after-party feast, foretelling change. Originally a hip-hop head, he produced tracks with MCs that were
met with mild interest. Angry and dejected, he spent time scaring the s**t out of audiences by fronting a Baguio-
based death metal outfit. Coming back, he found himself at Club Kemistry, meeting Erick Ong a.k.a. DJ Mulan.
Under the latter’s influence, he got introduced to the sounds of Autechre and Steve Reich, and to local pioneers
Rubber Inc. Killing time on a Technics keyboard (and later a laptop), he enjoyed the sounds they made under
his hand and found his weapon-of-choice. Having just finished work for the NCCA, Sobrepeña is now working
on music based on Jose Legaspi’s paintings, as well as music on “architecture and spaces.” At one exhibition,
he once told a famous actress that she was “ugly and had bad breath” after she accosted him for his “weird
sounds.” (They parted as friends by the end of the evening.) He reckons he still has a few scores to settle, but the
uninitiated shouldn’t expect his shadow darkening their doors any time soon. He’s sworn off live performances
for the time being. His influence may be penumbral—but nonetheless encompassing for that.
 THE BEAT POETS
A . M . P. O . N . / hip - hop co l l ective

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y P A U L M O N D O K in S A G U I J O , M A K A T I O N M A R C H 2 7, 2 0 0 8

Formed in 2003, the collective known as A.M.P.O.N (Absolute Messages Personified

Over Noise) are decidedly left field or off center to what any popular notions of what
hip-hop’s supposed to be. The group’s composed of stellar emcees, producers,
DJ’s, graff bombers, poets, and beatboxers—all committed to plow their own native
ground for their growth rather than misguidedly aspire to the “bling” brandished by
ghetto moguls abroad who deal in no currency but dollars. Drawing an entirely new
blueprint of music in the country, whether it’s branded as progressive, avant-garde,
futuristic, alien, weird, abnormal—it’s essentially hip-hop. “Whatever you may call
it,” says Pao Chec, an A.M.P.O.N. member, “we’re just being ourselves.”
 THE MODERN PRIMITIVES
K adangyan / band

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y S T E V E T I R O N A in U . P. O N A P R I L 1 5 , 2 0 0 8

Emerging as if from some wormhole from our primeval past, the ethnic-rock outfit
Kadangyan isn’t an atavistic throwback from a lost Eden or the musical equivalent of the
Tasaday in Mindanao, with their cotton underwear peeking beneath their costume of
leaves. Rather, they are modern-day warriors of a living heritage, purveyors of a sound
that lies underneath the din of urban noise, like the beating of a heart. Armed with mostly
handcrafted local indigenous instruments, they espouse universalism; the target is not
merely cultural preservation but to encourage the culture to evolve. Taking their name from
an Ifugao term, meaning “rich in culture,” they celebrate their roots but are never weighed
down by them. But, if there’s one cliché that applies—yes, they are restless.
T he R E V O L U T I O N A R Y
S ammy A suncion / B A N D L E A D E R

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y J U A N C A G U I C L A in N O R T H S Y- Q U I A , M A L A T E
ON MARCH 26, 2008

Influenced by ‘60s revolutionary Jimi Hendrix’s psychedelic blues

freakouts during his formative years, Sammy Asuncion felt he had
already exhausted himself in the local rock scene in the ‘70s. He
ventured in the milieu of Europe’s smorgasbord of music, opening
his ears to samba, jazz, Latin, and reggae for the next thirteen years.
Reasoning that a real musician would not confine himself to just one
genre, he set about starting his own revolution by transfusing these
new influences with rock. The result of this, Eurasia came about in the
eighties, which traveled and toured all across Europe. Along with a
French black bass player and an Austrian drummer, Spy was formed in
Paris. In 1993, Asuncion took their unusual sound of reggae, rock, and
fusion music to the Philippines. Parallel to Spy, he is also the musical
director of ethnic-rock ensemble, Pinikpikan, blending indigenous and
contemporary music styles. Today, he is still actively composing and
producing music for artists like Mishka Adams and even scores for
Connie S. Macatuno’s film, Rome and Juliet. He says, “I don’t believe
in living in someone else’s shadow. I step out. And to fellow Pinoy
musicians: we just need to keep playing until we can’t play anymore.”
 T H E J A ZZ P L A Y E R
J ohnny A l egre / composer , arranger , producer , and guitar p l ayer

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y J U A N C A G U I C L A in M A L A T E , M A N I L A O N A P R I L 2 , 2 0 0 8

Johnny Alegre started his music career as a “folkie,” singing and playing his compositions on acoustic
guitar. But, impressed with the electric performances of the Juan dela Cruz band—especially the
idiosyncratic cool of Joey “Pepe” Smith—he found himself becoming their stage manager and later on the
axeman for Sampaguita. A self-taught guitarist, he attended the U.P. College of Music in the late 1970s,
studying composition. By this time, he had already heard Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew and fell under its spell.
A founding member of the U.P. Jazz Ensemble, he maintains that he’s no snob. True to his word, Alegre
and his band Affinity play in rock venues like Saguijo, playing music as raunchy and incendiary as any of
the other young acts on the bill. His most recent project finds him collaborating with Gerard Salonga and
the Global Studio Orchestra. The album, Eastern Skies, is a majestic piece of work that even contains
hints of Alegre’s folk roots, his blues background, as well as being a showcase for his soaring ambition as a
composer. For Alegre, the sky’s the limit.
 THE BLUESMAN
B inky Lampano / b l ues singer

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y J A K E V E R Z O S A in H O B B I T H O U S E O N M A R C H 3 0 , 2 0 0 8

“They got a tradition over there,” Binky Lampano tells the crowd gathered at 70’s Bistro, referring to lyrical
themes of traditional blues. “Before, they called it rape, loot, pillage . . . then, it became sex, drugs, and rock
‘n’ roll . . . that’s not original to them, I say. Here, we have alak, sugal, babae . . . ” These spiels in between
songs amply demonstrate Lampano’s fierce intelligence and wit, but it’s when he opens his mouth to sing the
blues that the punch lines really dig in deep. Lampano started singing with his band, Dean’s December, during
the ‘80s. He wasn’t singing Muddy Waters then, but rather Morrissey, in venues like local punk HQ Katrina’s.
The only thing that prevented him from getting killed was the fact that its patrons acknowledged that, if
anything, the man certainly had balls. Later on, Lampano turned to the blues, discovering in its archaic but
resonant structure a more natural platform to express himself. With his band, Lampano Alley, he performs
sets whenever he’s in town (he’s currently based in L.A. as a teacher). Watching him onstage—not bothering
to use his microphone half the time, berating/cajoling the crowd to join in, or confiscating cell-phones during
his set—one can’t say he’s only remarkable for having balls, but that he possesses an even more impressive
instrument: his voice. Hallelujah!
 THE CONDUCTOR
G erard S a l onga / conductor & C O M P O S E R

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y WAW I N AVA R R O Z A in G E R A R D salonga’ S A L A B A N G S T U D I O O N M A R C H 2 7,

2008

Musically inclined from the get go, which came as no big surprise since he has famed Lea Salonga as a
sibling, Gerard Salonga has been engaged in the arts since the age of five, playing the keys of the piano.
Since then, his craft has been heard all over, although he prefers to be more of a behind-the-scenes
kind of musician. A lover of jazz and the romantic period of classical music, Salonga’s been influenced
by the four legendary B’s, namely Beethoven, Brahms, Bill Evans, and (Leonard) Bernstein. Graduating
summa cum laude from Berklee College of Music (where he received Berklee’s Contemporary Writing and
Production Achievement Award), he is also a three-time recipient for Best Musical Director in the Aliw
Awards. Currently, he is doing recordings of music by Filipino composers, such as Angel Peña and Lucio
San Pedro, whose works are otherwise unavailable in recorded form. Of the series, collectively known as
Musika Natin, he says, “I feel very lucky to be able to share this music with my fellow Filipinos, as well as
everyone else around the world.” A quiet revolution perhaps—but no less resounding for that.
 THE INGÉNUES
K atwo Librando , Loube l l e Luis , Lougee B asabas / singers

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y J . A . T A D E N A in D P I S T U D I O S , M A K A T I O N M A R C H 2 9 , 2 0 0 8

On stage, they are in a constant state of animation: melodic crooning and jarring shrieks,
swaying and whirling to the beat. Off-stage, they can seem coy, sweet, and helpless even.
With her Kewpie good looks and soft-spoken voice, Loubelle Luis says that, “one cannot be
judged on the basis of one aspect of their being.” Indeed, what she says becomes evident
after hearing her guttural vocal delivery for metal act Descant Gott. Self-named “punk
skunk” Katwo Librando-Puertollano, who fronted the highly danceable but now defunct
Narda, carries herself like a more restrained version of Audrey Hepburn. It’s a demeanor
she only interrupts with mouth-palmed laughter. These days, she’s in the pop punk
supergroup Duster with fellow chick rockers Kris Dancel and Myrene Academia. Mojofly’s
Lougee Basabas takes on both singing and writing responsibilities for her band while
managing an ubiquitous presence on billboards, TV shows, and music videos. No mere
innocents, these chanteuse darlings are image-savvy queens setting the timbre and tempo
of their careers underneath their demure charms.
 THE GODFATHER
E mi l io T uason / disc jock E Y & R A D I O station owner

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y A T M A C U L A N G A N in S A N L O R E N Z O , M A K A T I O N M A R C H 2 6 , 2 0 0 8

Most people believe the radio station, 99.5 RT—which served its listeners best from the late seventies to the hot
New Wave era and down to the cutting-edge nineties—died when its head honcho Emilio “E.T.” Tuason left. Under
his helm, his station started broadcasting in 1976, and it soon became a very crucial medium that was responsible
for shaping the music sensibilities of an entire generation. With the call name “E.T.,” the man was a proverbial
force to reckon with: a purveyor of cool who seemingly held the Holy Grail for definitive music. Dubbed by many
as the coolest station owner ever, Tuason lived and breathed the music that he also liked to share. Advance vinyl
pressings direct from record labels in the United States were usually on hand in the booth. Even cooler, they
weren’t off-limits to curious kids dropping by the station. That was his ultimate goal: to separate the good from
the bad and letting you decide (but without giving you much of an option to choose badly). To those of us who
remember “the rhythm of the city,” his legacy is undoubtedly assured.
 THE SVENGALIS
Li z z a G . N akpi l , T ommy T anchanco , R ichard T an / ta l ent managers

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y J . A . T A D E N A in D P I S T U D I O S , M A K A T I O N M A R C H 2 9 , 2 0 0 8

Managers are a dime-a-dozen. Many of them abound in every nook and cranny in the entertainment industry: any pair of
tits-and-ass or abs willing to perform has one. But in the local industry, only a chosen few can claim to be a Svengali—that
frequently misunderstood figure often maligned but also feared in equal measure. They’re not just pencil pushers, but
rather creative mavericks who choose to mold talent and present them to an eager market. Richard Tan started out as
music journalist and reviewer for Rock & Rhythm magazine before meeting The Youth’s Robert Javier. Eventually he
started managing them as they notched up hits like “Multong Bakla.” He shifted his music publishing company, Backbeat,
into artist management, handling acts like Tribal Fish, The Teeth, Parokya Ni Edgar, and Kamikazee. Acknowledged as
the “godfather of local punk,” Tommy Tanchanco founded the pioneering independent label, Twisted Red Cross that put
out seminal albums by Betrayed, Urban Bandits, and Dead Ends. He then surprised everyone by taking on pop-rock act
Introvoys, and later Barbie Almalbis and Kitchie Nadal. He’s since put up another label, 12 Stone Records, that manages
Almalbis and electro-pop outfit Vince Noir Project. The only lady who can lay claim to the distinction, Lizza G. Nakpil, was
a financial analyst or—as her mother, author Carmen Guerrero-Nakpil, terms it—a “conceptual marketer” before getting
the idea to form a rock band. Knowing nothing about music, she and partner Chito Roño auditioned musicians. After
many false starts and breaks, Nakpil steered her charges into getting an album out. Their first single was “Ulan”; the band
was called Rivermaya. Although they all protest that they’re nice people, being a Svengali requires a bit of ruthlessness as
well as finesse. At the Rogue shoot, they smiled and exchanged niceties, knowing that the games were just
 THE METALHEADS
S u l tans o f S nap / band

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y J . A . T A D E N A in D P I S T U D I O S O N M A R C H 2 9 , 2 0 0 8

Metal refuses to die. To apply admittedly dubious Darwinian standards, the genre itself should be
extinct, given the finite permutations of the kick-ass riff available on the fret board and the redundancy
of its themes. But like cockroaches, it survives—evolving even. For metal act Sultans of Snap, those
changes are rung, not with exploring exotic scales (although they do make detours into Eastern
melodicism) but with attitude. Their LP, All Must Bow, was released in 2004 with little or no fanfare in
the general media. Those who listened, though, paid attention: there was no mistaking the intent or the
bravura their honed chops brought to the music. They were unapologetic for playing a particular virulent
strain of metal: thrash. But best of all, they played with a sense of fun. As anyone who’s been witness to
their live shows will attest, they put on one helluva show, an anarchic showcase of the Sultans’ flair for
performance and their dedication to metal’s past acts.
 THE “KID”
R ico V e l e z / bass p l ayers

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y A T M A C U L A N G A N in R I C O velez ’ S R E S I D E N C E
ON MARCH 26, 2008

There will never be any end to the array of nostalgically tinted period
dramas and white-knuckle adventure fiction set to trappings of the
American Wild West. Its charms are predicated on the allure of a past
fraught with danger and an untamed frontier lacking the civilized trappings
of institutionalized law and order. Nor will anyone forget the mythic
yearning that drove hundreds and thousands of individuals from around
the globe to relocate to Silicon Valley and find their own piece of dot-com
adventure. Rico Velez is an everlasting legend all his own. While Velez
played throughout the late 20th century with the likes of Sampaguita and
Jun Lopito, music remains his New Mexico. As certain territories of popular
music become increasingly refined, Velez charges forward into those where
the canon is not so rigidly defined, through his long lasting association with
the reggae rock fusion of Coco Jam and Tropical Depression. Like a certain
baby-faced gunfighter ambivalent to the factions of his day, Velez operates
outside of the traditional binary opposition between the easy-listening
ballads of OPM and the folk hedonism of rock. They say legends never die,
but it’s the rebels who never get old.
 THE PUNK
A R N O L D M O R A L E S / voca l ist & songwriter

PHOTOGRAPHED BY STEVE TIRONA

in C L U B D R E D D O N A P R I L 1 5 , 2 0 0 8

“This isn’t punk rock,” declares Arnold Morales from the stage,
surveying the crowd with a hint of the demon of old in his eyes,
“This is PUNK!” Characteristically, Morales has always stood
apart, but only because he always stood his ground. Whether it
was wearing red socks onstage with his band College while the
government was cracking down on suspected communists or
brandishing a golf club during the Urban Bandits’ guest stint on
Channel 7’s Discorama, he epitomized his own statement, “We
don’t read the news—we make it!” In the ‘90s he led another
musical subculture with his group Put3Ska. These days he heads
Music Front, whose music he mischievously but not flippantly
calls “power pop” and whose credo when it was first formed in
the ‘80s was: “We’re not a band; we’re modern newscasters.”
The shift from being the news to the ones delivering it isn’t
indicative of any mellowing down. In fact, it’s rather more borne
out of a reluctance to play to people’s expectations or that
Morales has always been an astute observer of the seismic shifts
of the cultural landscape, no matter how banal its portents.
Like that one early morning some time ago when he couldn’t
sleep and sat outside his house—surveying his surroundings,
he spotted words on a wall. From this he would pen what was
to become the definitive anthem of an era: the apocalyptic, “No
Future Sa Pader.” As Music Front’s MySpace site says: “It is still
not a band. Times have not changed. The news has not, either.”
Indeed, the writing is on the wall.
 THE
flAVOR Of
THE MONTH
MOCHA / SINGER & PERfORMER

P H O T O G R A P H E D BY M A R K N I C DAO
I N D P I S T U D I O S , M A K AT I O N M A R C H 2 9, 2 0 0 8

Few sights can command the kind of reaction that

belly-baring, scantily clad gals shakin’ their thang
to an insistent rhythm does. When Margaux Uson
a.k.a. Mocha, takes the stage, she does it with her
own unique flavor which makes the rest literally
paler in comparison. Her EP, A Taste of Mocha,
is just that: a sampling. To savor her talents fully,
one need only catch her live. Together with her
dancers, this former med student serves up the
best dish on the menu—no matter the size of
the stage or venue. But when the lights start to
pulse and the music starts, she’s the star of that
moment. Offer good while supplies last.
 THE DANCE MERCHANTS
DJ ElMER , MANOlET DARIO, NIKKI, OWENS SUN / DJS

PHOTOGRAPHED BY STEVE TIRONA

I N E M B A S S Y, T A G U I G O N A P R I L 1 6 , 2 0 0 8

Before the advent of the rave culture in the country, disc jockeys usually played records that were probably only as
significant as the mirror balls hanging from the ceiling. Beginning in the ‘90s, warehouse parties brought people—
clubbers—together, promising a new revolution that wasn’t only musical but fancied itself a social one, too. In dance
culture, the DJ reigns. Superstars like Manolet Dario, DJ Elmer, Owens Sun, and Nikki embody the evolution of Manila’s
club scene, from that of aural wallpaper to being the event itself. Armed with their own particular styles, they keep the
party going well past its supposed sell-by date.
THE
SESSIONISTS
Louie T a l an A N D D ondi Ledesma / session
p l ayers

L O U I E P H O T O G R A P H E D BY AT M AC U L A N GA N
ON MARCH 26, 2008 / DONDI PHOTOGRAPHED BY
PAU L M O N D O K O N A P R I L 1 , 2 0 0 8

Rock mythology is built around a haze of romanticism,

in which guitar heroes and percussion freaks are
enshrined as individualist champions. A musician’s
acclaim is contingent on his or her role as poet warrior
or troubled balladeer. Those largely un-congratulated
are the unrelenting soldiers of fortune. For them
the sheer act of playing well, whenever they can and
as often as they can, takes precedence. “You want
to deliver what is needed,” says Louie Talan, the
gregariously versatile bassist who initially gained fame
playing for Razorback. He now puts his fingers to work
with acts that include world fusion outfit Pinikpikan and
the ever-grooving rockers of Kapatid, while contracting
himself out to jazzy ingénue Mishka Adams and folksy
iconoclast Cynthia Alexander. “I like the sense of
shifting from one genre to another. The spectrum of
music is so broad that it’s a shame to limit oneself.”
Soft-spoken Dondi Ledesma, the lone wolf eccentric
with nine independent albums under his belt, takes the
term “workaholic” to a level of epic poetry: he runs a
one-man recording studio and teaches lessons on-line
while inspiring awe with his virtuosic command of the
bass. His restless nature is borne out by his CV, listing a
veritable who’s who of Pinoy Rock as past collaborators
(among them Asin, Anakbayan, and Mike Hanopol.)
In recent years, he’s played and even arranged for
Pepe Smith’s debut solo record Idiosyncrasies as well
performed live for Wally Gonzales and for the Juan dela
Cruz reunion. Like mercenary operatives, these two
heroes for hire take their skills wherever they can be
used, not only because they feel needed—but because
they can.
 THE NEUROMANCER
W A LL Y C H A M S A Y / music e x ecutive

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y A T M A C U L A N G A N in WA L L Y chamsay ’ S
ORTIGAS OFFICE ON MARCH 26, 2008

Portable culture is crucial to a society in motion. This was just as true in the
past as it is now. In the 20th century, the handheld forms of media were
the pocket book, the disposable camera, and the handheld stereo cassette
player. In the age of mobile telephony, Kindle-based digital literature,
and sleek multimedia players that induce enamel-colored envy among
the consumer have-nots—personal consumption is not only becoming
increasingly portable but transcendental as well. Wally Chamsay takes this
cultural shift seriously; the old ways of business have been completely tilted
while diminishing sales have led to an increasing sense of panic among
recording labels over their imminent obsolescence. A former managing
director at Sony Music Philippines, whose parent company invented last
millenia’s iPod, Chamsay once signed a hard-hitting rock act with grungy,
metallic aspirations called Wolfgang. Maintaining his reputation for infusing
enthusiasm with pragmatism, Chamsay has embraced the future. At EGG, he
is forging relationships with mobile companies to distribute the multimedia
that keeps the pods of gadgeteers full and content.
 THE ENGINEER
A ngee R o z u l / engineer & producer

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y S T E V E T I R O N A in T R A C K S S T U D I O O N A P R I L 1 5 , 2 0 0 8

Possessing a sharp ear for distinguishing the quality of sound, a sense of pitch, timing
and rhythm, an encyclopedic knowledge of electronics and acoustics, an ability to
cope with long grueling hours and tight uncompromising deadlines, and, lastly, but
just as importantly, patience even in the face of petulance—the definition of this in the
local music scene is none other than Angee Rozul. Working sub-rosa except to those in
the recording industry or to anyone who bothers to read the liner notes on just about
any local album in the last decade or so, Rozul has in truth collaborated with everyone
from South Border to Rivermaya, Hale to Jolina Magdangal. “He understands, man. He
just understands,” declares Razorback’s Tirso Ripoll, “and he’ll do whatever it takes
to make sure you get that perfect sound. If you needed to slaughter an animal in the
studio for the sake of a great recording, he’d probably do it for you!”
 THE JOINTS:
SAGUIJO AND CLUB DREDD
D an Lim , G e l C ar l os , H ank P a l en z ue l a , P atrick R eidenbach

P H O T O G R A P H E D B Y WAW I N AVA R R O Z A in S A G U I J O , M A K A T I O N M A R C H 2 6 , 2 0 0 8

As rampant as mushrooms sprouting by the droves in the most unlikely places, countless musicians appear in
almost every corner of the country. If they’re fortunate enough to be heard, most often than not, their audiences are
comprised of their folks, maybe their friendly neighborhood sari-sari store vendors and drunken tambays, their venues
no bigger than the confines of their garage. Patrick Reidenbach decided to put up Club Dredd in the ‘90s, a little more
than a hole-in-the-wall haunt in Timog, it was named after his favorite comic book character, the fascistic lawman
Judge Dredd, who no doubt would’ve put away the riff-raff of aspiring musicians that congregated there. Some of the
most successful bands of the country such as the Eraserheads, Parokya Ni Edgar and Yano started to play there when
they were still unknown and had nowhere else to perform. They were encouraged to play their original compositions
and were encouraged in their precocity. It was an alternative hangout for those who couldn’t disco-dance or didn’t
care to hear another show-band cover of Toto’s “Rosanna.” Though it has already closed its doors twice in the past,
Reidenbach and old regular Hank Palenzuela reopened the bar’s third incarnation last year in Eastwood. Before that
though, Dredd’s spirit was kept very much alive at saGuijo. Headed by Gel Carlos and Daniel Lim, it became the focal
point of a renascent post-’90s OPM scene with jazz, blues, electronica, hip-hop and rock converging in its environs.
But it’s become a venue—not just for music—but also for the burgeoning “indie” community as a whole, encompassing
the visual arts and even fashion. The best gauge of saGuijo’s success is that it has undeniably been embraced by the
mainstream but, like Dredd, never pandered to it. Best of all, both of them are still at it.
110 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
 P H OTOGRA P H ED A ND STYLED BY JU A N C A GU ICLA

SANYA SAYS
Hair and Make-up by JUAN CAGUICLA / ALL CLOTHING FROM PAUL SMITH

As the daughter of Pinoy rock legend Joey “Pepe” Smith, the spirit of rock
‘n’ roll steadily courses through her veins. But despite her brag-worthy
bloodline and automatic genetic advantage, model and MYX VJ Sanya Smith
is no attention-hungry celebutante with an attitude. In fact, as LUIS KATIGBAK
discovers, there is more to the marvelous Miss Smith than the strangely
beautiful face, stylish bob, and sonic pedigree
 You’re on your way to meet her
when the storm hits.
Sitting in a cab en route to Ortigas, with the sound of the
sudden downpour almost drowning out the AM radio, you
start texting her, telling her where you are, letting her know
that you might be a little late, while in the back of your head
you’re thinking that the turn the weather has taken is fitting, in a
way—heavy rainfall and instant traffic-blare acting as an oddly
appropriate soundtrack for your first encounter with Sanya
Smith.
This is what you know about Sanya: she’s the daughter of
musical icon Joey “Pepe” Smith, which makes her rock ‘n’ roll
royalty. She was one of the winners of the MYX VJ search, which
makes her one of the regular hosts you come across on the MYX
music channel’s shows and events. She’s a model, which makes
her an attention magnet, a head-turner, and someone who in
all likelihood is a lot taller than you. These three facts, taken
together, act like three points defining a two-dimensional shape,
giving you an incomplete idea of what she might be like; and the
idea is more wild and turbulent than it is tranquil and sunny.
When you get to the café, though, the weather has calmed
down considerably, and Sanya’s sitting there at one of the
outdoor tables, a presence patient and quiet yet near-impossible
to ignore. Even if you had never seen any pictures, you would
know it was her: stylish bob framing a strangely beautiful
face, long lean figure, distinctive yet not overly-planned outfit
consisting of chunky boots, a short skirt, and a predominantly
red sweater.
You sit down with her and you have coffee and you talk. She’s
tough and cool and funny without trying to be tough and cool
and funny—she’s tough because of the shit she’s been through,
she’s cool precisely because she’s unaware of how cool she is,
and she’s funny because, well, who knows where a sense of
humor comes from? And as you talk, that two-dimensional idea
you had of her in your head starts to extend, to become a little
less incomplete.
“Me, I’m just pretty much floating around, constantly looking
for a new adventure, something new to do,” Sanya says, by way
of explaining why she joined the MYX VJ search. “I don’t know
if I can say that I’m a jack of all trades, but I take interest in a
lot of different things, in different fields, and then I’ll discover
something else and I’ll move on to that without finishing the
other thing, and move on and on and on . . . So that led me
to where I am now.” Where she is now seems like a pretty
sweet place to be: she enjoys being a VJ, and she enjoys being
a model, and how many of us can claim to have two jobs we
enjoy? It’s easy to assume Sanya is one of those people who
coasts through life, blessed with an automatic genetic and
financial advantage, who never has to really work for whatever
they want nor do anything they don’t want to do. It’s easy to be
so totally wrong.
“I was a telemarketer,” she confesses. It’s hard enough to
imagine Sanya Smith—model, VJ, rock royalty—as a regular
office employee, much less as a telemarketer “cooped up in
this little office on España,” but that’s what she was, for almost
half a year. “Right after I graduated high school, my stepdad,
he’s pretty old school, he’s like—once you hit 18, you’re on
your own. He gave me two weeks to find a place and a job.”
She ended up renting a room in the Sampaloc area, “a shitty
112 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
little room I was paying three thousand pesos a month for,” she
laughs, and taking public transportation every day, even “going
to work when the floods were up to my knees.” It wasn’t the
best of career choices, to be honest. “I wasn’t earning very
much, I wasn’t earning enough to save up . . . My goal was to
save up for college.” You ask her if she had any extraordinarily
bad experiences while living there, and she tells you about the
time she barely escaped getting mugged or worse, when a dirt-
stained man in tattered clothes and wielding a bolo came at her,
and she got away by clambering into an FX and locking the
door.
Still, she has fond memories of her stint in Sampaloc. She
describes the “adorable old couple” who owned the house she
was living in, and she chuckles as she remembers the old man
with an eye ailment, who happened to own a dog with the
exact same eye ailment, so that they “looked like something
from a movie.” She even got along with the local basketball-
playing, gin-swilling slackers. “The guys from the kanto, yeah
I made friends with them,” she says. She admits that “at first I
was scared—‘white girl in the ghetto!’” she laughs. “But I did
fine.” They ended up getting along, hanging out. “We’d all sing
karaoke.”
The crack about being a white girl leads to a talk about her
background. “My mom’s a full Pinay, with a little Spanish
blood, maybe,” she says. “My biological dad is half-American
and half-Filipino.” She was born here in the Philippines, and
then her mother took her to Singapore when she was one or
two years old. That was where her mom met the Swedish
fellow that her mom ended up marrying, the man who for over
a decade Sanya believed to be her one and only father. He had
a daughter by a previous marriage, and he and Sanya’s mom
would have three more children together. The family moved to
Kuala Lumpur in 1993, and Sanya wound up in the Philippines
around the year 2000. “It’s weird because here I’m considered
a Caucasian-looking person, or I look white,” she says. “In KL,
I was ‘the Filipino,’ you know what I mean? I had long black
hair, I was tan. Dorky little Filipino girl. I come here, and all of
a sudden, I’m a white girl! It’s so weird.”
Sanya’s sisters, however, were always "whiter" than she was—
with light brown hair, fairer skin. “I stuck out like a sore thumb.”
It was one of the things that led her to imagine that a secret was
being kept from her. “I kind of suspected,” she says. “Under the
bed, there was this box of pictures, baby pictures, we’d look
through them together every once in a while. There’d be one
picture of this old guy with my mom, obviously a musician.
I’d ask, ‘Who is this man?’ It was a very '80s photo too, his
Hair and Make-up by Xeng Zulueta
hair was all like that, and he’s got eyeliner, there’s red lighting
everywhere—[and my dad said] ‘Oh, that’s your mother’s
ex-boyfriend.'” It wasn’t a lie, but more explanation would be
called for soon enough. “There was another picture of him and
my mom holding a baby, and on the back it said: Sanya, two
days old. ‘Why is my Mom’s ex-boyfriend holding me?’” Sanya
at the time, suspecting the truth but not willing to face it yet, just
“shook it off. Maybe he visited when I was born.”
It was after her parents’ marriage broke up, when she was
14 or 15, that her dad ended up telling her everything. “I
remember the day like it was yesterday,” Sanya says—the
rogue magazine MAY 2008 113

day that her Swedish dad told her about her biological father,
Joey “Pepe” Smith, the Pinoy rock star. (“Goddammit, this is
weird,” Sanya recalls thinking.) It was around this time that
Sanya went through what might be euphemistically termed a
difficult teenage phase. It could be summed up quite simply by
the statement she used to describe her attitude then: “I hate the
world and the world hates me.”
Sanya would eventually join her mother, who had returned
to the Philippines. They lived in Baguio for a year, then Sanya
studied for a year in Bicol and finally finished high school in
Cavite. She remembers the night she met her Pinoy dad. “My
mom kidnapped him from a gig in Manila, and took him to
Baguio at 4 A.M.,” she says. “Mom said, ‘Someone’s here to
see you.’ Then there was this tall man with long gray hair. He
looked really tired from the gig . . . I knew exactly who he was.”
Sanya got up and gave him a hug. They spent the next day
telling each other about their lives, and rejoicing in similarities
major and minor (“He loves Japanese food! So do I. I play the
drums—he plays the drums!”). To this day, they still hang out
114 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
RIGHT: Hair and Make-up by JUAN CAGUICLA LEFT: HAIR AND MAKE-UP BY XENG ZULUETA
when they can, though both are of course very busy, given the
nature of their work. Happily, the nature of their work also
means that they bump into each other, at concerts, events, at the
Fete de la Musique.
It was in Bicol that Sanya “picked up more Tagalog, and
learned to eat Bicol Express.” She stayed with her grandmother
(“I love my Lola.”) and finished third year high school at La
Consolacion. “There were some good times and some horrible
times . . . I made a lot of friends there.” She finished her fourth
year of high school in Silang, Cavite. Sent to live at the school’s
dorm the Friday before classes started, with no money—just a
fistful of meal tickets—and no idea where the cafeteria was, she
spent most of the weekend starving half to death. On Sunday,
when her dorm mates arrived, she was lying on the bed—
“Someone feed me.”
In Cavite, she made some more friends, learned some more of
the Filipino language. She even had a band, for a while. They
played “the usual teenage punk rock I-hate-the-world music.”
She had learned to play the drums earlier, in KL when she was
rogue magazine MAY 2008 115
“I wanted to be a zoologist, a vet, an astronaut, a cop,

116 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

I wanted to be in the army, I wanted to be a filmmakeR”

rogue magazine MAY 2008 117

118 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
 She remembers the night she met her Pinoy dad. “My mom kidnapped him
from a gig in Manila, and took him to Baguio at 4 A.M”
13 or 14 years old—“There was a guy in band class, he played
the drums, he was my Kurt Cobain. He sort of inspired me to
start playing the drums, and after that it just took off from there.”
She claims that she’s “a lousy drummer,” though. “I didn’t really
continue it, y’know what I mean?” And as for her inspiration,
she says that “he didn’t even know I existed.”
Looking back at high school, Sanya says that “I wasn’t part of
the popular crowd. I never was, actually—I was a dork! I’m still
a dork at heart. Bad skin, really horrible hair, I was a fashion
victim, I was just—uuuh! If you saw pictures . . . ”
Much like her brief career in telemarketing, it’s hard to
believe. If you saw pictures. Looking at pictures of her now,
you see someone effortlessly stylish and supremely confident,
someone utterly comfortable in their own skin. Without relying
on conventional ideas of what’s attractive or seductive, she
Hair and Make-up by XENG ZULUETA
commands your attention, draws you in. Even in a position
that’s ostensibly vulnerable, she’s the one with the power,
a creature of mystery and strength, like an otherworldly
collaboration between Modigliani and Jack Kirby.
After high school and the telemarketing gig, which she
quit when she turned 19, Sanya ended up doing radio work
at RX 93.1, which she enjoyed a great deal. Soon after, she
was persuaded by friends—a friend from Chameleon Models
International in particular—to try her hand at being a model.
“So far it’s been fun . . . I enjoy modeling now!” she exclaims.
“I had no idea it was going to be like this. It’s not really a bad
industry—it’s a cutthroat industry, but it’s not that bad at all.”
After amassing a body of work on runways and magazine
fashion spreads, she’s a proud member of PMAP now.
And then there’s the MYX gig, which she seems eminently
suited to as well, as a music lover and as someone with hosting
experience who’s relaxed and articulate before a crowd. (“I love
that I get to host Rock MYX, it’s right up my alley.”) Things are
definitely getting better for a girl who once upon a time used
to wade through floodwaters and eat nothing but oatmeal every
day.
“You know what? I’m kind of thankful for everything that’s
happened. After all of that, I’m not as spoiled as I was. We were
pretty fortunate growing up—we had top-notch education, living
in a beautiful apartment in KL, traveling to Europe. In fifth
grade, I went to Vietnam for a field trip! Who does that? You
know what I mean?”
Sanya’s plans for the future include saving up for a computer
and for a course in Multimedia Arts. When she was little, she
says, “I wanted to be a zoologist, a vet, an astronaut, a cop,
I wanted to be in the army, I wanted to be a filmmaker . . . I
still want to be a filmmaker!” Not to mention a photographer,
a writer, an artist: she has an affinity for all types of artistic
expression. You have no doubt that she has the will and the
talent to do what she wants, for as long as she wants to do it.
You check your watch. The hours have flown by. The rain has
passed. ☐
rogue magazine MAY 2008 119
 stylish and supremely confident, someone utterly comfortable in their
own skin. Without relying on conventional ideas of what’s attractive or
seductive, she commands your attention, draws you in.

Hair and Make-up by XENG ZULUETA

120 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
rogue magazine MAY 2008 121
thumbnails Carlos Celdran
WANT TO GET YOUR CARTOONS PUBLISHED?
EMAIL MARTIN@ROGUEMAG.NET FOR FORMAT DETAILS

122 MAY 2008 rogue magazine


PLAY IT AGAIN . . . AND AGAIN
Sand ra Lim Viray and Z ena i da C eld r a n photographed by J uan Caguicla at N O RT H SY- QU IA O N A P R IL 2 , 2 0 0 8
“In the late months of 2005, I chanced on an
acquaintance in a jazz bar—Sandra Lim Viray,”
recounts Zenaida Celdran on how the First Philippine
Jazz Festival came to be. “[She] casually asked me if
I wanted to help her get a jazz festival off the ground.
After a few songs, she invited me over for a meeting
to discuss the matter further.”
Known as the “Queen of Philippine jazz,” Viray
is also the president of the Philippine International
Jazz and Arts Festival Foundation, the country’s most
important organization dedicated to the promotion
and development of jazz. A singer of Ella Fitzgerald-
like pathos and range, her enthusiasm and passion
for the endeavor won Celdran over. After that fateful
meeting with Viray, she writes, “my life has never
been the same again . . . believe that.”
Now on its third year, the Philippine International
Jazz Festival has played host to an impressive list
of international artists. This includes husband-and-
wife percussionist Airto Moreira and vocalist Flora
Purim—the former was involved in the seminal Miles
Davis LP, Bitches Brew and played with the famed
jazz trumpeter for his legendary performance for the
Isle of Wight Festival. Moreira’s wife, Purim, has
played with, among others, Chick Corea and Stanley
Clarke for their band Return To Forever. Other
Known as the “Queen of Philippine jazz,”
Viray . . . a singer of Ella Fitzgerald-like
pathos and range . . . won Celdran over.
she writes, “my life has never been the
same again . . . believe that.”
InFocus
notable guests include Captain Fingers himself, Lee
Ritenour, David Benoit and jazz singer Diane Schur.
Of course it’s also the best place to watch local jazz
talent, such as the internationally acclaimed Mon
David, local heroes Johnny Alegre’s Affinity, and
saxophonist Tots Tolentino. There are also younger
talents who showcased their stuff at the festival,
including Up Dharma Down, Saxophoro, Radioactive
Sago Project and even Rogue cover girl Solenn
Heussaff.
But it’s very much an intimate gathering of jazz
artists and aficionados in the country. Veterans
like guitarist Edgar Avenir or “Koyang” as Viray
affectionately calls him, world music proponent Bob
Aves, and singer Tillie Moreno have performed at one
time or the other.
Of course, the “stars” are the original gals who
helped put it together, who have done much to keep
jazz in the limelight. (Viray’s especially used to it
though, having been hand-picked to perform for jazz
greats Boy Katindig and Bong Peñera.) The PIJ azz
Fest, as it’s abbreviated, is indeed a landmark event,
much anticipated by everyone who appreciates good
music. To borrow an expression from jazz’s more
raucous cousin, they rock.
rogue magazine MAY 2008 123
180 miles (288 Km) south of
Anchorage on the Kenai Penisula
is the town of Ninilchik. An old
Russian settlement established
around the turn of the century.
Today it is mostly abandonded
but relics of the past still remain
like this old fishing boat.
 TRAVEL
log
SNOWBlINd
Inspired to embark on his own version of Into the Wild, GUTSY TUASON boards an
Alaska-bound plane to chase the Aurora Borealis. But before he gets a glimpse of the
trippy Northern Lights, he goes on a beer-soaked road trip with an old friend (whom he
reconnected with on Facebook), meets a friendly Pinoy who invites him to watch a live
Pacquiao fight on TV, and plays nosy spectator to a bunch of barking dogs competing
in the U.S. Championship for, uh, dog sledding . . .
Left: A self-portrait of
the author, taken in
downtown Fairbanks;
temperature that
morning was -18°C.
 MAR
12
7:10 a.M.
On board Alaskan Airlines 351 from San Francisco to
Seattle. I have a mental short list of things to do before I pass
on to the next realm: see the Galapagos Islands, swim with
Orcas, visit Antartica, and go on an African Safari, just to name
a few—and included in that list is to one day view the Northern
Lights or Aurora Borealis. Funny thing was that all those years
I lived in the States, I never got around to even getting near to
planning it. I guess it must be because I've always been drawn
to the sea, and going somewhere like Alaska was kinda put on
the bottom of my long list of things to see. But, when I turned
40 last February 23, I figured there was no better time to do
it—especially since I was going to be in Seattle for a story
on the Tuna Hand-line Fishing industry. So close to Alaska, I
said, "Fuck it, I'm going." So, I guess I am doing my own mini
version of Into the Wild (which I haven't seen) and which might
turn into my version of Insomnia.
I am on my way to Fairbanks, Alaska—the city with the
widest temperature range on the planet (from -53ºC to 37ºC).
My first stop is Seattle (am spending 12 hours there, don't ask
me why) until I catch my connect flight to Anchorage, my first
destination in Alaska. Maybe I should go watch Into the Wild in
Seattle.
I spent the day in San Francisco yesterday gearing up for
the trip, buying thermal underwear, borrowing jackets, gloves,
headgear, the works. It's cold, cold, cold in Fairbanks, and it
happens to be one of the best places to see the Aurora Borealis.
My plan: spend two days in Anchorage and then five days in
Fairbanks. While in Fairbanks, I'll rent a car and just go around
and chase the lights. There is a lodge about 20 miles (32 km)
north of Fairbanks that caters to Aurora viewing, open from
10:30 P.M. to 2:00 A.M. (apparently people around there don't
get much sleep). Fuck! Someone on the plane is blasting me
with nasty farts!
Anyway, for like US $20, you drive yourself up to the lodge
and view the Aurora. My buddy Ron Davis was able to hook
me up with a hotel for four nights ($260) and a car for five days
($205), not bad at all. Am on my own, and it should be a pretty
interesting trip.

12:53 P.M.
On-board flight CO 235 Seattle to Anchorage
Managed to get my ass on the flight, saved me the 12-hour wait
in Seattle. The three-hour wait at the airport was pretty much
uneventful. Had a tuna melt, cafe mocha, smoked a couple of
fags, bought an Alaskan guide book, and waited at the wrong
gate for like an hour until I realized I was at Continental
Airlines and not Alaskan. Sometimes I feel like I operate better

Above: Virgin snow-pack covers the

mountains on the Kenai Pennisula.
Due to its proximity to the ocean,
the Kenai gets more snow than other
areas that are colder in Alaska.
Right: A souvenier shop in downtown
Anchorage, complete with a Grizzly
bear replica.

rogue magazine MAY 2008 127

An abandoned house near the
Russian settlement of Ninilchik.
Above: Even in spring, the
mountains that line the highway on
the Kenai Peninsula are packed with
fresh snow.
when I'm hung-over, but then
again—as usual—I didn't sleep
last night. Maybe too excited,
plus I'm still jet-lagging from
Manila. So, here I am on the
plane and, in around two hours
more, will finally be in the
last frontier after all this time.
Forecast for Anchorage during
arrival: -2°C, light snow, and
five-mile visibility.
5:40 P.M.
5th Ave Mall, Downtown
Anchorage
The flight in before landing
was just stellar—just from
looking at clouds outside the window. Suddenly,
snow-covered mountains appeared like giant
pieces of dry ice. Bags were late getting off the
plane. Scared the shit out of me, thought I would
be stranded in Alaska with only my camera and
one thin, light jacket.
Anyway, funny story from San Francisco. Ron
had this funky contraption in the shower: a
hose was connected to the shower-head and
was shooting out water while the shower was
on. Since I figured I needed special instructions
on how to use it, I never quite got around to
showering until the morning just before I left for
the airport. Anyway, sure enough, the fucking
thing was shooting water all over the bathroom
while I was showering and caused quite a mess. I
left without saying a word to Ron. He's going to
wonder what the hell happened.
Anyway, just had a turkey sub at Subway, and
now am off to check out the downtown area to
buy a cellphone with a local number.
9:00 P.M.
Eagles Nest Motel
It's -1°C. Just got back from walking around
downtown. A couple interesting sights include
the 4th Ave theater that was damaged in the
big earthquake of 1964, a few cool shops (one
with a huge bear), a humpback metal sculpture,
the artisan center, an Arctic poppy shop, and a
Captain Cook monument. Great place to watch
the sunset and flight path of the airplanes. The
monument overlooks Cook Inlet, and it was dead
quiet there. Even in downtown Anchorage, you
get the feeling of this quiet tranquility and sense
of "into the wild." It's cold but bearable. I take a
bus back to the hotel, and the room is hot as shit.
So, I ask the girl at the front desk how to control
the heater. (It was so hot, I was afraid to fall
asleep for fear that I may not wake up from a heat
stroke.) She said that there was an air-conditioner
at the back of the room, to turn it on . . . what the
fuck. It's sub-zero outside and I got the A/C on in
the room. As both the A/C and the heater battle
it out for a comfortable temperature, I check my
Facebook, and Carlos Gaspar—a friend from
Manila—sends me a message. He has to take his
son to Ninilchik in the Kenai Peninsula (about
180 miles) away. He asks me if I want to go for
a road trip. Man, did that save the day? Hell, yes.
It's supposed to be scenic and has some interesting
places (like Cooper's Landing which is world-
famous for salmon fishing and the old Russian
 WE WENT THROUGH SOmE AmAZING vIEWS Of SEA WITH CHUNKS Of ICE
lIKE A SlURpEE. mOUNTAINS ANd mOUNTAINS JUST pACKEd WITH SNOW,
SNOW, ANd mORE SNOW THAN I HAvE EvER SEEN.

Sunset in Anchorage over-

looking the Cook Inlet. Large
chunks of ice still clog the
passage during early spring.
The Great Alaskan Railroad
tracks that runs between
Seward on the south coast to
Fairbanks, deep in the Alaskan
interior.
Top: Low hanging clouds
between the Kenai Pennisula
and the Alaskan mainland.
Settlement of Ninilchik). Game on. I pop a valium
to help me sleep because I'm starting to feel like
Al Pacino in Insomnia.
9:45 P.M.
Eagles Nest Motel
-3°C. What a solid road trip! Am so grateful to
Carlos. We went through some amazing views of
sea with chunks of ice like a slurpee. Mountains
and mountains just packed with snow, snow, and
more snow than I have ever seen. Frozen lakes,
half-frozen streams. The eight-hour drive went
by like a breeze. The view from Ninilchik is
stellar. Across the Cook Inlet, facing the Alaskan
The view of Redoubt
Volcano seen from across
Cook Inlet in Ninilchik.
Top: The local Music
Mart near downtown
Fairbanks.
mainland, are snow-covered mountains from
top to bottom where it meets the sea. The old
settlement town of Ninilchik is interesting, and
on top of the town is a very cool turn-of-the-
century Russian Orthodox Church and cemetery.
Ninilchik was a Russian settlement around the
time when Russia sold Alaska to the United
States for peanuts. There is a nice beach with
boats covered with snow laying around. The
house of Carlos' in-laws has a great view of the
mountains across the inlet, and they have a cool
dog—half Rott, half Chow (blue tongue). As we
turn around and drive back, I fall asleep for like
45 minutes—and when I wake up, the scenery
is just awesome. I reach for my camera and start
shooting. It was truly overwhelming. Carlos and
I chat a lot about what is going on in Manila
because he hasn't been back in five years. I am
glad we connected on Facebook—it was good
catching up, and his hospitality was great.
We drive to Outback Steakhouse, have a couple
of beers, Carlos has to take a leak, and when he
comes back—he says that he just saw his baby-
sitter having dinner with friends. I was like, is
that the same baby-sitter who was at death's door?
The one who was the reason why you had to drive
eight hours to drop your son off? Yup. Where is
she? I should thank her . . .
A few beers and ribs capped off my only day in
Anchorage, and it was a beauty.
5:45 a.M
Anchorage International Airport, outdoor
smoking area
-8°C. Having a fag before my flight to Fairbanks.
All checked in.
3:35 P.M.
Westmark Hotel, Fairbanks
-8°C. Flight to Fairbanks was short and sweet.
Caught the sunrise, but the de-ice spray on the
wings made the windows foggy. Could not really
get any good shots out of the plane window. Got
to the airport, temp was -14.4ºC. Fucking cold,
had a fag outside just to feel it, and it hurt. Sorted
out my rental car, and had no problems driving to
the hotel. Special instruction was to always plug
in your engine heater when parked. Something
new—must remember to unplug it before driving
off. Checked into the hotel, really nice room, and
rogue magazine MAY 2008 131
 The Aurora cabin, 1500 meters above
sea-level on Cleary Summit, 20 miles
north of Fairbanks.
Top: Bulletin board at the Fairbanks
visitors center. In centigrade,
temperature high was -7ºC and low
of -22ºC.
then went for a walkabout around town. When my shoes
came undone at the soles, I had to go to the mall to buy
a new pair ($30 job at Payless)—but had to stop at Taco
Bell to warm up my fingers. Felt like they were about to
fall off. This place is like walking around in a freezer filled
with dry ice, and the ground is slippery as hell. The crew
in Taco Bell were really nice, and one girl even offered
her husband to drive me around town since he wasn't
doing anything. Poor girl—she's slaving away at Taco Bell
while he is probably nursing a hangover. Had the whole
crew talking to me until the manager came out and told
everybody to get the hell back to work. Got to the mall,
scored my shoes at Payless. (Hey, my car is from Payless
as well—twenty-five bucks a day!) Then had a chat with
the guy selling sunglasses. He is from even further up
north, and he told me that the cold is all relative. He's right,
but there is about a ninety degree swing in temp between
Manila and Fairbanks! He was such a nice guy, I scored
a $30 pair of sunglasses from him. It wasn't out of a back
of a truck, but a legit transaction with a receipt (which I
said I didn't need, just to give him the option to pocket
the money). Call it goodwill. Walked back to the hotel
then, and, low and behold, I see a dive shop, smack in the
middle of goddamn Fairbanks!
So, I rock in and shoot the breeze with the guy. Turns
out he was stationed in Clark in the '80s. And you guessed
it . . . he had nothing but praises for good old Angeles
City. I can only imagine how many hoes he had there.
He probably thought he had died and gone to heaven. As
I was nearing the hotel, I heard a whole bunch of dogs
barking, and guess what—it was the start of the three-
132 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
Cooper's Landing is where the Russian
Ariver
captured Howitzer
intersects with the Kenai river.
gun
It ison theworld
also deckfamous
of the for Salmon
Nippon
fishingMaru;
whichdepth
peaks in July.
150ft. (46mts.)
day U.S. Championship for Dog Sledding. Fucking cool! So,
shot some pics of the race and got so excited, I busted my ass
on the pavement and hit my D3. It still works, thank God. I
proceeded to the tourist center and got some info on the Arctic
Circle flights and Aurora. At least I have an option to go up
to a ski resort to shoot the Aurora if the guys from the cabin
don't have space. There is even the place where the locals go.
Not sure what the road conditions are like, but might try it out
later in the week. I think I will book the flight now. Also met
a Pinoy who works at the hotel. He invited me to his house
tomorrow at 4:00 P.M. to watch the Pacquiao fight. Man, this
trip is just so fucking "Bang." Am loving life, and at times it's
overwhelming—especially when you are alone and don't have
anyone to immediately share it with. But it's also a different
trip. I guess it's like when I go diving, everything is on auto-
pilot; while here it's all new and I really feel like it's all foreign
 I GUESS IT'S lIKE WHEN I GO dIvING, EvERyTHING IS ON AUTO-pIlOT;
WHIlE HERE IT'S All NEW ANd I REAlly fEEl lIKE IT'S All fOREIGN
TO mE. IT'S HARd TO pUT INTO WORdS SOmETImES, ANd my HANd CAN'T
KEEp Up WITH my BRAIN WITH REGARdS TO WHAT I WANT TO WRITE.

to me. It's hard to put into words sometimes, and my hand can't
keep up with my brain with regards to what I want to write.
1:05 a.M.
-6°C. After I got back to the hotel room, I called a bunch of
places about flights to the Arctic Circle. It's not cheap, but shit,
it's morning here already. So, I tried to charge it to my credit card
($300), and it won't go through. Turns out I have to drive over to
the hangar and pay for it in cash. I get there and then I realize why
it won't go through. They have my name down as Scott Puason!
The girl tells me about the trip: We fly in a nine-seater twin prop
plane to a town called Coldfoot in the Arctic Circle, hang out there
for like an hour, and fly back. It's a good opportunity to shoot
aerial shots of the terrain and of some mountain ranges (Brooks
Range). I ask the significance of the town, and she tells me that if
she told me now, she would be giving away the secret. She also
tells me there will be three other people on the flight, but they will
be staying there (and I would be coming back with the pilot alone).
Great! So I asked her to be straight with me and tell me
what the chances were of me flying the plane for a bit on
the way back. Absolutely zero, she says. I take a drive
towards Anchorage to shoot some pics of the Denali
National Park from afar, and then head back to the hotel
to get ready for the big day ahead.
The Aurora viewing! The plan is to drive 20 miles to
the Aurora Lodge, a cabin up in the mountains where
you can watch the Aurora from 10:30 P.M. to 2:00 A.M.
It's heated, there are hot drinks and snacks, and no city
lights around. Plus, it's cheap ($20).
MAR
11:30 P.M.
Aurora Cabin 14
-14°C. This is the coldest I have ever been, but also
the most excited . . .
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT ISSUE
 FICTION
BOUND DESire is a bitch.
STORY BY NIKKI ALFAR
Now, you have me.
Now you have me, and I am helpless before you—tender as
a new-sprung shoot, fragile as an evening bloom, hopeless as a
seed cast upon the whims of wind.
It should not have worked, your binding—not even with your
clever cord, cunningly woven of cobwebs and children’s cries,
fowler’s nets and siren songs, need and greed; things meant to
call, confound, confine. By chance or by destiny, though, you
have managed to bind me to myself; so that it does not dissolve,
your cord, does not fall apart and melt away like the ephemeral
thing that it is, stuff of hope and gossamer and longing.
Instead, it chafes my skin—not only the skin that you see, soft
and easily marked, human-seeming; but my secret skin, rough
and brittle and all too easily bruised, all the same. You are the
first in millennia, or in moments. My understanding of time is
fluid, like sap, like shadows, like semblance.
I understand enough to know that it heals. Skin will grow
over wounds in time, erasing proof of your presence. Wounds
will heal and I will heal and still I cannot help but struggle
against your bindings, as if your cord not only constrains but
compels—and you like it, I see. You like watching me, naked
as I was not, earlier, for I was unclothed but not exposed until
the harshness of your cord, the hunger of your gaze stripped
me defenseless.
You smile. You revel in the power you have found for your-
ART BY CRISTINA DY
self, the power you have gained over me. You can do what you
want, have what you want, have me in any and every way that
you want. You can even kill me, you perhaps think, once you
are done, once you have taken all that you desire.
But you won’t.
I would tell you, if I had your speech. I would tell you that it
is not too late, still, even now, to change your mind; to let be
what you cannot understand; to free me, flee me, forget me. I
would try and tell you all of this with my eyes, if only you were
looking at my eyes, but you are not.
Of course you are not.
You are looking at the place where the slenderness of my neck
meets the sweep of my shoulder, vulnerable hollow shaped
by bone and shadow, wondering, if you bury your face there,
whether I will smell like fresh-cut grass, or flowers, or only
salt.
You are looking at the way your bindings thrust my breasts up
and out, like ripe fruit offered for your delectation—biting your
lip already, unconsciously, anticipating the taste of me between
your teeth, the tautness of my nipples beneath your tongue.
You are looking at the slope of my waist, span of sleek flesh
reddened by a constricting strand of your clever cord, purpled
by the clasping marks of your calloused hands, proof positive
of your mastery, your victory, your conquest.
You are looking at the curve of my lips, the curve of my hips,
 You should not touch me, any more than you
have. But you will, and then it will be too late.
You will.
And you do.
the compelling curve nestled by my thighs.
You are looking at the hair between my legs, wilder, coarser,
more curled than the hair on my head, a tangle, a thicket. A
challenge.
You should not touch me, any more than you have. But you
will, and then it will be too late.
You will.
And you do.
A scant few steps and your hands are everywhere, immedi-
ately, exploring, grasping, demanding—rough as a farmer’s,
sure as a fisherman’s, strong as a hunter’s. You take hold of my
breast as if it were fruit, truly; clutching, kneading, drawing a
gasp from me though I try to remind myself that it is only my
seeming skin, only my semblance of self.
Even so, your touch is intoxicating, hotter than sunlight, more
insinuating than rain, possessive as the embrace of earth. Our
tongues entwine like vines seeking sustenance—intimate, ex-
quisite, devouring—and my secret skin responds, shuddering,
trembling, raining leaves around and on us, benediction or
curse or both, I am no longer able to care.
I am a creature of imperatives—to grow, to seed, to blossom—
and I cannot resist my needs any more than you can yours.
Less, perhaps. One of your hands passes over a mark you made
on my flank, earlier; and I am making sounds with no words,
a siren song of my own, pleasure and sorrow and hunger, all at
once, all one.
You cannot wait; and I am keening my own impatience as
your other hand travels lower, lower, fingers finally finding the
core of me and plunging in, pushing past the tangle, tearing
through the thicket, diving into the challenge. I am wet there,
like the moist hollow revealed when a root lifts itself from the
ground—wet and sticky, hot and earthy, dark and dangerous—
but you are heedless now, fearless and reckless and too far gone
from sense to wonder at my wanting what you want, as fiercely
as you want it.
You raise a hand to your mouth and gather spit in your palm;
I stare as you bring it back down to slick your manhood, en-
tranced by the rawness of the gesture, the simple savagery of
you.
You thrust into me with the fervor of boughs seeking sunlight,
roots seeking water below ground, greedy, unthinking, unhesi-
tating. There is some pain—it has been some time—but I revel
in it, in the sensation of being pierced, impaled, taken. You pull
out and push in, plunging and rasping and pounding, impla-
cable as a seed springing forth from its covering, a bud bursting
136 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
into bloom, a sapling breaking through rocky ground.
There is no teasing rhythm to your thrusting—only fast, and
faster, and faster still; and though I cannot move my arms,
bound as I am, my hips buck toward yours. Our bellies slap
against one another with increasing frenzy; my legs lock
around your waist; and I clench and unclench, clasp and un-
clasp, desperately striving to draw you within, deep and deeper
and deeper still.
You respond by slamming into me, harder and harder, over
and over, again and again; and it is delicious agony and destruc-
tive ecstasy and delirious insanity, until finally you cry out, and
spill forth inside of me, and I cry out as well, throwing my
head back against the trunk of my self—feeling my emptiness
begin to fill, my need begin to be answered, my hunger begin
to be sated.
To grow. To seed. To blossom.
And because of what I am, because of what we have become,
because my seeming skin and my secret skin are all one, all at
once, you have spent but are not spent; and you meet my eyes at
last, startled perhaps, as you find yourself thrusting once more,
amazed and gratified by your own resilience, only a little bit
unwilling this second time.
That will change.
Later, when we are both raw and every stroke is more pain
than pleasure. Later, when you have no seed left to spend and
still cannot stop yourself from plunging, pulling out and push-
ing in even when you are blinded by sweat pouring into your
eyes, deafened by the thunder of your own beleaguered heart,
unable to taste anything beyond the loamy fullness of fear in
your mouth. Later, when you come to understand that you will
never survive doing what I want, having me in any and every
way that I want, giving me all that I desire.
You will look me in the eyes again, then—and your own eyes
will beg and plead, but it will be too late; it has already been
much too late, for much too long. Perhaps it was too late from
the moment you first caught sight of me, heard of me, dreamt
of me.
I cannot resist my needs, any more than you can yours. I did
try to flee you, free you; but you will not remember that you
chose your doom, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, again
and again. Your clever cord will not hold me forever; I fear
you will not outlast your cord, but I will hold you as long as I
may—ephemeral as you are, stuff of hope and gossamer and
longing.
For now, I have you. ☐
styleguide
M AY 2008
Fashion & Music Baby!
WOUlD MICHAEl JACKSON’S MOONWAlK have been as
riveting without his rebellious white socks-black
shoes combo? Would you have been as hooked
on “Raspberry Beret” if Prince were singing
about the kitchen sink? Would those EMO kids
be MTV-worthy without skinny suits and fancy
Vans? Fashion and music are inseparable; they
stick like white on rice because they exist for the
same purpose; to inspire, create, and enhance.
rogue
EDITED BY L.A. CONSING LOPEZ
Both art forms fulfill our basic needs to express
ourselves, convey feelings, and ignite desires.
No more evident is the connection of fashion
and music than in the proliferation of music vid-
eos. The future of music is indeed a visual one,
and fashion plays the important role of making
the images created relevant, hip, and memorable.
Musicians also actively participate in the fashion
spectrum—from Jennifer Lopez and Pharrel
David Bowie shirt by De Puta Madre at Theodore's
Photgraphed by Dac Rivera
Williams cashing it in as the onetime faces for
Louis Vuitton to Gwen Stefani’s line called
L.A.M.B (Love Angel Music Baby), P. Diddy’s
successful menswear brand Sean Combs, or
Madonna’s sold-out capsule collection for H&M.
Fashion and music are the perfect tandem to
bring creative energies together—not to mention
an ideal match in taking a share of the consum-
er’s pocket. ☐
 Retro
Spect

Taking Flight
The bomber jacket is the sartorial solution to man’s
never ceasing desire to soar into the heavens. You may
not be reaching high altitudes, but when wearing this
impressive piece of outerwear, you’re surely touching on
a higher plane of style

As earthbound creatures, we are fixated on the concept

of flight. Birds gliding through the skies remind us of our
limitations and, as thinking and radical creatures, we are drawn
to the challenge of overcoming our natural circumstances.
While the past is filled with failed attempts to fly—from the
Greek mythological tale of the over-ambitious Icarus to the
ill-fated journey of Amelia Earhart—the present and future is
bright with aerial innovation. We may not all be as lucky as
John Travolta who flies his own jet, but that doesn’t stop us
from pretending we can. This explains why stories about flight
feed our fascination, from the Hindenburg to Tom Cruise’s
adventures in Top Gun. Fashion realizes this desire and does
its part to play on our childhood dreams with pieces that take
inspiration from air travel. Such is the logic behind the creation
of the bomber jacket.
Known also as the flight jacket, this outerwear was created
as the perfect piece of clothing for pilots and men in the air
force. As most planes in the First World War did not have an
enclosed cockpit, a jacket was required as a necessary garment
to keep pilots warm. Features like high wrap-around collars,
gartered waists and cuffs, zipper closures, and fur lining were
indeed interesting features—but were also quite necessary to

P H OTO GR A PH CO UR T ESY O F GU CCI

shield aeronauts. In fact, as aero-technology advanced, so did
the requirements of the jacket. As planes rose higher and flew
faster, there was a need for warmer and more durable materials
to protect pilots from the harsh conditions. The bomber jacket
style we recognize from Top Gun is referred to in the U.S. Air
Force as the Type A2 Bomber Jacket, and was made standard
in 1931. This waist length jacket typically comes in leather and
features two prominent pockets in front and gartered openings
at the waist and sleeves to keep air from entering. Shoulder
epaulets, patches, and any other “official” embellishments
only came later on, but it was these add-ons that contributed
to the wide appeal of the jacket. In addition to the obvious
military appeal, there’s a perceived tough-boy/bad-ass attraction
with the jacket—in the same way that a biker jacket carries a
rebellious notion. Or maybe it’s the unconventional aspect of
the garment, its departure from the traditional nature of a blazer
and the preppiness of a sports coat—since it does away with
elements like labels and buttons. A banker wears a suit, but the
hip rogue wears a bomber.
Looking at the evolution of the flight jacket is also a lesson
in the use of leather. While today most leather items are
considered “luxury” pieces, hides were valued in the past more
for their practical and durable qualities. The U.S. Navy issued
their own version of the army’s bomber style using seal-skin
leather. The material wasn’t only thick enough to protect its
wearer, but the significance of the animal (navy seals?) also
played a part in its popularity. Eventually, the Navy deemed
the material as too much of a burden on its expenses and were
also unable to supply the large quantities needed. Later on,
the Type A-2 bomber was issued in horsehide, which was
readily available in the U.S. leather tanning markets before
more economical skins like goatskin and cowhide were used.
It’s interesting to note how these “economical skins” fetch a high price as
accessories in today’s market, but the reality is that anything made of natural
materials these days is considered a rare resource. Sign of the times.
The bomber jacket today in its leather form is rare in the military scene as
it is now produced in technological and synthetic materials, and so original
leather styles of the bomber are sought after by collectors worldwide. Authentic
pieces in beat-up leather are the most in demand. Some fashion historians have
even compared this military style jacket as the “little black dress” of menswear
because of its classic appeal and timelessness. Modern interpretations of the
jacket still come in leather but also in cotton twill, denim, and even raincoat
material. Take Gucci’s bomber jacket for spring/summer 2008 for instance, it
boasts clean, tailored lines in lieu of the traditional bulkiness and uses innovative
materials like checkered cotton, stripes, and prints.
While the bomber jacket does in fact elicit fanciful and valiant imagery of
bygone heroes darting through the skies in fast planes, what makes this piece
of outerwear so relevant is that it shows us a different side of war. In today’s
time of conflict and uncertainty, when global security is at risk, seeing or even
wearing a bomber jacket brings us back to a period that possibly held a stronger
sense of honor and pride that seems lacking in modern notions of war. Though
clothes cover and conceal, they are also revealing of the values we seek—honor,
strength, patriotism. In any case, maybe the bomber jacket will take fashion to a
whole new plane.
L.A. Consing Lopez

140 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 the anatomy of a bomber jacket
Cotton pleated bomber jacket by Black Label Homme at Rustan’s

High Life.
A semi raised collar gives
the bomber clout, but not so
The Thin much as to give you a sweaty
Pleated Line. neck.
In lieu of patches
and other military
influences, elegant
pleats create the
illusion of a bib.
Sophisticated for a
night about town.

The Cotton Club.

On chilly nights and in
freezing cinemas, light
cotton is the perfect
material to have for any
cover-up.
P H OTO G RA P H b y da c r iv e r a

This Baby’s Got Ribs.

The gartered feature adds
texture to the jacket while giving
the appearance of a nipped and
trim waist.

Though clothes cover and conceal, they are also revealing of

the values we seek—honor, strength, patriotism.
rogue magazine MAY 2008 141
 the mod squad
The London-based shirt company Ben Sherman has kept up with the beat
of the ever changing music scene, offering fashion over the years that’s
true to the brand’s quirky DNA and in tune with the pulse of youth culture
This month Rogue celebrates music, its creators, supporters, and
the things that influence this particular art form. There’s no doubt
that fashion and music are closely tied, but, as I learned recently,
sometimes music can be the very fabric of a clothing brand’s
image. A few months ago, I sat down with Miles Gray, CEO of
Ben Sherman, to talk about the brand and its close ties with the
music industry. The label’s look is one that is undeniably British,
incorporating symbols and emblems of the United Kingdom.
A quick look around any one of their boutiques is a pleasant
introduction to British pop culture, with an obvious leaning
towards their rich music scene. It was in the ‘60s when “modern”
music as we know it today was born, with influential artists like
Herman’s Hermits, Petula Clark, and, of course, The Beatles—
hitting local airwaves and eventually the American mainstream,
dubbing this cross-Atlantic phenomenon as the British Invasion.
It was during this time as well that Arthur Bernard Sugarman, an
Englishman from Brighton, moved to America where he changed
his name to Ben Sherman (which sounded more “American”)
while applying for U.S. citizenship. While there, he witnessed
the popularity of button-down shirts among American youth
and decided to come back home and introduce the style to the
kids of the burgeoning Mod (short for Modernist) movement.
It was relatively easy to gain popularity among the youth as
the times called for change. People felt empowered by radical
music, and were looking for a change in wardrobe as well. Ben
Sherman was founded in 1963, and quickly became the go-to
place for quirky Ivy League-type Oxford shirts with details like
a button-down collar and back pleating in fabric ranging from
small checks to colourful stripes. The shirt gained cult status
especially among leading groups like The Who, The Kinks, and
The Rolling Stones—elevating Ben Sherman to become the
uniform of Swinging London and cementing it as an iconic name
in 1960s fashion worldwide. Miles Gray sheds some light on the
brand and the mood of sixties, “Ben Sherman’s connection has
always been with contemporary music of the times, so the people
who took the brand first were the Mods and bands in small
places—those sixties groups—and they were the ones wearing it.
They took it on like some kind of uniform.”
Even after the heydays of the ‘60s, the brand remained hip
among select groups of people and music insiders. “In the ‘70s
and ‘80s, you could always find it, but Ben Sherman became
more of an aficionado or niche brand,” explains Gray. “In the
‘70s punk movement, if you look at the hair and all that, that
isn’t Ben Sherman—but if they were wearing shirts that were
tight fitting with small checks, then that was generally the
Ben Sherman style. Ten years later is when we had more of a
connection with the Ska and 2 Tone movements and groups like
Madness or The Jam—they were wearing our stuff.” It was in
the ‘90s that another wave of the British Invasion referred to as
Cool Britannia hit the global scene. Musical artists like the Spice
ART by OLIVER SARABIA
House
of
Style
Girls, Suede, and Supergrass reminded the world that Britain was
on beat with the rhythm of street and youth culture. “It was the
‘90s big explosion that was really that whole Britpop evolution
of Damon Albarn of Blur and Oasis and that whole Cool
Britannia. Now, again sort of in our fortune really, we’re kind or
re-emerging through these British indie bands like Babyshambles
and Razorlight. I’m not saying they’re always in Ben Sherman,
but their look is very Ben Sherman, very British.”
Ben Sherman’s association with music is well incorporated
into their marketing efforts. For instance, just last year the brand
commissioned 20 limited edition Gibson guitars designed by
various artists to be distributed among 20 stores worldwide.
These customized pieces were displayed in the windows of the
stores before being auctioned off for local charities. Musicians
recognize the significance of this fashion brand and the music
industry as well, with Paul Weller of The Jam (and subsequently
The Style Council) recently approaching Ben Sherman to help
design and endorse a line of striped candy colored dress shirts.
On a more intimate scale, the label remains true to and in sync
with the authentic and more independent side of music scene in
London by hosting small events at places like Proud Gallery in
Camden Town.
What makes Ben Sherman so appealing and attractive
especially to creative types like musicians, actors, and writers
is that there is a serious attempt by the brand to avoid being
too serious. The vibe of the brand is playful, irreverent, and
nostalgic—using iconic symbols of the United Kingdom wittily,
like a silkscreened image of the Queen, the Union Jack painted
on a shirt, or the roundel in colors of the British Air Force (also
known as the Mod Target). “We are seen as the original British
shirt maker. We are seen as proudly British but not too serious, a
bit cheeky. We always have a bit of humor in our products. One
of the key things we were told is that our brand is associated
with camaraderie. Ben Sherman passes the so-called ‘pub test.’
So, a guy can enter a pub wearing a Ben Sherman shirt and feel
like he’s in fashion but not too crazy. So we try to keep that in
our collection to make sure that it’s edgy, smart, but not too
outlandish.”
What makes a brand successful in a market place that’s full
of mindless production development and hyped up marketing
campaigns is a link to something that’s real; safeguarding and
valuing their heritage and roots. In Ben Sherman’s case, it is
the youth and their music. Gray sums it up, saying, “I think this
music thing really plays in Ben Sherman’s direction. Britain
really has a disproportionate influence in world music and has for
the last 40 years, so that puts Britain on the radar with the young
generation worldwide. People want to identify with that hipness.
London has really reinvented itself over the years to become the
coolest place in the world.”
L.A. Consing Lopez
rogue magazine MAY 2008 143
 The
Look A Gray Anatomy.
Mixing of darker and lighter
shades of gray is a modern
expression of elegance. ▼
⊳ Hats Off.
There’s something
about a hat that’s just
proper . . . especially in
a country with such a
harsh sun.
Slim Shady.
Star power is indeed
blinding. ▼

Sheen Machine.
When done in a matte
finish, silver sneakers
The Odd Coupling. are sophisticated. ▼
In the business of music,
a mismatched suit is the
way to go. Wear your
blazer with a pair of dark,
slim denims. ⊲

the svelte savior

Justin Timberlake has not only resurrected the sonic energy of
dance beats past, but he has also brought forward a contemporary
approach to retro dressing that moves across and between high
fashion and the rhythm of the streets

WHITE BOYS MAY NOT JUMP, but as the unstoppable Justin Timberlake
continuously proves—boy, can they dance! The world of dance music (or
“disco” in the Studio 54 era) is experiencing a second coming of sorts in
a more refined and modern approach, with beats and arrangements that
hold less cheese factor and more sexiness. The Timberlake of N’Sync’s
Euro-pop days is now a YouTube memory (“Tearing Up My Heart” is
bubblegum at its most potent), replaced with vivid imagery of an elegant
crooner in chic tailored jackets and streamlined silhouettes. The former
Mousketeer has traded in his sleeveless shirts and paisley bandanas for
fine apparel by Dior Homme and Yves Saint Laurent, transforming the
singer into the ultimate smooth operator with the confidence and sex
appeal to match. Timberlake opts for sleek designs and luxurious fabrics,
the kind that not only allows movement but demands attention. He also
has a preference for old world, traditional menswear like waistcoats,
neckties, and suspenders—but worn with a twist (Timberlake is a
notorious sneaker fanatic, wearing them with practically everything he
Off-white pinstriped blazer by Soul Edge at Rustan’s (P4,650)
owns). What makes this Grammy Award winner’s style so outstanding Grey button-down by 4 You at Rustan’s (P3,450)
PHoToGrAPH by DAc riVerA

is that he understands the appeal and strength of a good wardrobe. He
needed to establish credibility as a grown-up male artist and not simply a
pretty boy with songbird qualities. By jazzing it up and attaching himself
to a classy yet unapologetic masculine image, Justin—as his song
goes—brought sexy back.
Hounds-tooth neck tie by Gucci (P7,950)
Black denims by Diesel
Sunglasses by Salvatore Ferragamo
Off-white studded belt (P1,898), silver rhino necklace (P1,098), and
silver leather sneakers (P3,998) all from Carbon
Blue hat by F by Friis at Theodore’s (P3,350)

144 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 Prints Charming.
Second Skin. Leave it to the artsy to
This season’s appreciate the dizzying
bomber jacket in appeal of mixed prints
reptilian skin. ⊲ and textures. ▼

▲ That ‘70s Homeboy.

These retro inspired shades
are the markings of a true
rockstar.

Express
Yourself.
These “F*ck
Everything” denims ⊳Heavy
from PRPS say it all.  Metals.
Make some noise for
silver add-ons.

the stylings of
a musical mongrel World Traveler
Whether on tour or simply
vacation bound, globe
trotting in high-style is
Lenny Kravitz masterfully mixes fashion inspired by his art with his
imperative. 
multicultural influences to come up with a signature look that’s not only
memorable but also meaningful

IN THE PlETHORA Of STUDIO MANUfACTURED SINGERS that defines a shocking

majority of today’s global music scene, true and genuine artists like Lenny
Kravitz are indeed a rare breed. This musician’s pleasing hodgepodge of
⊳ Step Up.
styles include everything from rock and roll to ‘60s funk, paying homage Raise the rock
to some of the greatest performers from Jimi Henrix to Bob Marley. His quotient with black
music is enough to make him an authentic rock star, but his play on fashion leather boots
and expressions of personal styles that are in sync with his brand of sound
truly make him a superstar. In addition to the awe-inspiring effects of
music, another factor that contributes to the singer’s artistic expression
lies in his culturally rich and ethnically diverse background. Born to a
Bahamian actress and a Russian Jewish news producer, Kravitz wears his
heritage proudly, sporting an afro paired with luxurious silk outfits and
vintage furs. The sound and vibe of his music is also an indicator of the
singer-songwriter’s mood and style direction, for instance his hit “Let Love
Rule” moved the singer to favour bell-bottoms, vests, and fringes—while
his modern rock anthem “American Woman” had him gravitate towards Not keen on wearing Limited edition blue bomber jacket by Gucci
thrift shop clothing? Floral button down (P3,595) and pinstriped
leather pants, ‘70s rock garments, and outfits reminiscent of Easy Rider. Why not rummage through double-breasted vest (P2,995) both by
Kravitz definitely took inspiration from the past to make his fashion your own relatives’ closets. Randy Ortiz at Myth
PHoToGrAPH by DAc riVerA

forward statements, and when he wasn’t wearing genuine flea-market finds, With every generation comes
a wardrobe full of bygone-
you could be sure he was in something vintage-inspired. Take some artistic era goodies—from your
liberties in fashion and combine articles of clothing and accessories that grandfather’s vintage Patek
represent who you are or hold a special meaning. Your clothes should tell to your father’s Cacharel
shirts.
people about who you are and where you’ve come from.
“F*ck Everything” denims by PRPS at
Theodore’s (P21,995)
Silver cross (P998), leather and silver chains
(P2,298) both from Carbon
Shades by Salvatore Ferragamo
Leather boots and monogram carryall by
Louis Vuitton

rogue magazine MAY 2008 145

 The t-shirt
is often viewe
the fashion d as the lazy
world. Made -boy of
materials an of the simpl
d in the plain est of
tee has been est of cuts
written off , the cotton
teens, bums as the offic
, and obsess ial garb of
graphic desig ive St arbucks-co
ners. While nsuming
with being a there’s noth
casual critt ing wrong
comfort?), er (hey who
the t-shirt doesn’t love
the prolife has raised its
ration of st game with
necessarily at em en t tees. We’re
talking abou not
campaign sh t protest and
irts (althou political
yellow NINO gh we love
Y shirt), but an authentic
and reveal rather print
something ab s that expr
ou ess
consciously t its wearer, whet
or not. In a her
with informa blogged ou
tion and unhe t wo rld filled
best way to ard voices,
speak your sometimes th
min d e
your back . is thro ugh the shirt
. . even if al on
the return l yo u’r e clamoring
of Knight Rid for is
er.

PHoToGrAPHs by DAc riVerA

ROUTINE PLAYER.
Night Owl.
Night Shift.

“Work Hard. Play Hard” shirt

by Analog Soul at Archaeology
 Sure
Thing
NO HASSLE HERE. You
love your ‘80s icons,
and truth be told, you
can never have too
much Hoff.

“Take If Off 4 The Hoff” shirt

by Mighty Fine at Rustan’s
(P 1,250)

THE BEAT OF A DIFFERENT

DRUM. My life. My rules.

“Moving To The Rhythm of My Analog

Beat Machine” shirt by Analog
Soul at Archaeology

rogue magazine MAY 2008 147

 MY T-SHIRT, MY
HERO. Beneath this
gawky telemarketer is a
true “Man of Steel.”
“Superhero” shirt by De Puta
Madre at Theodore’s (P 6,195)

THAT ‘70s
MANTRA. Life is
complicated, I have
very few needs to
get me by.
“Sex, Drugs, and Rock &
Roll” shirt at Rustan’s

148 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 STYLE TIP: While we’re
giving the t-shirt a lot of
loving, wear it with a suit
and you can expect a lot
of snubbing.

LITTLE NAUGTY BOY.

I’m a middle child.
“Super-villain” shirt by Too
Cute at Theodore’s (P
3,750)

READ THE FINE PRINT. I

believe in the free press
. . . and also in freebies.
“Newspaper print” shirt by
Morphine Generation at
Theodore’s (P 5,995)
 LANCÔME AqUA
FUSION. oil-free, water-
infused formula with 16
skin essential elements.
This light-weight cream
continually moisturizes all
day long. ⊲

⊳ CLINIqUE
DRAMATICALLY ⊳ MARIO BADESCU SEAWEED
DIFFERENT NIGHT CREAM. non-greasy cream
MOISTURIZING LOTION. enriched with seaweed, collagen,
The equivalent of a tall and hyaluronic acid, leaving skin
drink of water for your skin. nourished and soft. >For Combina-
>For Very dry to dry Skin tion, oily, and Sensitive Skin

the foundations
Why don’t you build it up? Your skin regimen, that is.
Moisturizing is key in achieving optimum levels of health
for your skin. Put your best face forward with these
moisturizer “building blocks”

IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING, SKIN IS IN. And not just skin, mind you,
CLINIqUE SUPERDE-
but near-perfect and healthy complexions. All vanity aside, FENSE ⊲
good skin is a reflection of your overall state of health and Helps skin defend itself
from environmental ag-
good personal hygiene (i.e. getting enough sleep, exercise, gressors. neutralizes the
avoiding smoking and alcohol, etc.). While we won’t bore negative effects of uVA/
uVB rays. >For Combina-
you with scientific facts and mumbo jumbo on layers and tion to oily Skin
pores, we will stand by the statement that moisturizing isn’t a ▲ KIEHL’S BLUE HERBAL
MOISTURIZER.
far-out routine that’s alien to your daily life. While there are eliminates and heals
various treatments and topical products out there that promise blemishes while reducing oily
skin’s shine with mattifying
to improve and better the quality of our skin, moisturizing is qualities. >For Acne Prone
a rule-number-one necessity. It’s as basic as butter. An even Skin
application of moisturizer after cleansing your face is enough to
keep you skin in decent shape. Our skin’s condition is affected
by internal factors like diet and hormones while enduring harsh
external aspects like pollution and changes in weather. A daily
slathering of moisturizer is just what the skin needs; not only
PHoToGrAPH by DAc riVerA

does it lubricate our skin, but it also promotes cell regeneration

and healing. Facial moisturizing isn’t a “girly” whim, it’s a
grooming prerequisite.

Clinique, Mario Badescu, and lancôme available at Rustan’s. kiehl’s available at the Kiehl’s boutique.
the diving belle & the seahorse
The Seamaster family is
a core range of Omega’s
watch making heritage
and the sportiest member
of the 1950s trio, which
also includes the classic
Railmaster and the Speed-
master, the first and only
watch worn on the moon.
All three share design fea-
tures such as the distinct
case design, the curved
horns, and contrasting
polished and brushed
surfaces.
Whether you’re actually exploring the deep blue seas or simply a fan of the life aquatic, the Omega Seamaster
Planet Ocean Chronograph stands out as an exquisite timepiece
THE OMEGA SEAMASTER PlANET OCEAN, with its rugged and
functional styling, adds a chronograph edition to its range.
Originally conceived as an evolution of the 1957 Seamaster
300 model, this second-generation Co-Axial Planet Ocean
surpasses all the requisites of a professional diver’s watch, and
is further enhanced by a superlative column-wheel chronograph
mechanism. Additional features that distinguish this model
include an “He” embossed helium escape valve positioned at
10 o’clock that allows the gas to escape during decompression,
a vital function when using a diving bell as minuscule helium
atoms can penetrate the case and damage the watch. The
chronograph push-buttons, made of steel and decorated with a
colored aluminum ring, are functional to 600 metres/2000 feet
while the domed scratch-resistant sapphire crystal has received
an anti-reflective treatment on both sides for optimum clarity.
SuperLuminova inserts and a highly visible orange tip further
enhance the luminous arrowhead seconds hand. Along with the
luminous dot on the bezel, the high visibility of the markers
and hands are invaluable for measuring precise dive times, even
when descending to the darkest depths of the ocean. True to the
Seamaster’s roots, the Caliber 3313 high-quality self-winding
mechanical movement with a power reserve of 52 hours drives
this timepiece. The Co-Axial escapement considerably reduces
friction in the heart of the watch mechanism and offers im-
proved long-term reliability and accuracy.
For all the technological advances, this latest addition to the
Planet Ocean range is a Seamaster through and through. We are
reminded of its origins by the Seamaster’s traditional Seahorse
emblem on the screw-down back, the fluted bezel, smooth link
bracelet, and strong use of contrasting colors on the dial. The
appeal of this watch lies not only in its precision and quality
craftsmanship, but also in the simple fact that it draws inspira-
tion from the tranquility and complexity of the deep sea. ☐
rogue magazine MAY 2008 151
 Buy
Now

CARRIED White travel bag by Gucci

AWAY
Pack light, go Luxe
Taking that long overdue mini-break? There is no better way to do so than with
this fine carry-on bag from the House of Gucci. Since its founding in 1921
when Guccio Gucci opened his esteemed leather shop in Florence, this label has
built a following of cultured jetsetters by combining impeccable workmanship
and Italian design whilst inducing status and elegance. This bag is packed with
style: practical design, convenient compartments, subtle monogram on white
PVC canvas, signature black and green stripe detail—all the right components
to make this a surefire summer hit. It is classic without being too conservative,
stylishly Italian without the obvious machismo. Evoke that wealthy (read:
not nouveau riche) lifestyle, one that carefully makes a bold statement whilst
remaining tasteful.
Bianca P. Santos

152 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

White driving loafers by Salvatore Ferragamo

WHITE
WASHED
Take that sophisticated step with these blanche beauties
Trust Salvatore Ferragamo to deliver footwear of refined elegance with a
modern touch. Quiet confidence and poise are fine characteristics in a man—and
this pair of Ferragamos exudes both. These finely crafted, impeccably stylish
white leather loafers with the added detail of braided leather and silver buckle
are more marina and less nurses station. Indulge yourself in Italian-made
comfort on long drives to the beach, cruising around town, or hopping from
party scene to scene. Evoke chilled European summer days by adding these
classic driving shoes with a twist; true summer essentials to make you feel like a
modern-day Cassanova.
bianca p. santos

rogue magazine MAY 2008 153

 Buy
Now
PAST
CHANCE
International Watch Co. Schaff-
hausen is celebrating its anniver-
sary with legendary wristwatch-
es from its past—with the Pilot’s
Watch as one of six styles that
have been brought out again as a
tribute to its history
Six milestones have been brought back as vintage
models from the company’s proud history into the
modern day for the manufacturer’s 140th anniversary—
even if it is not a “round” one. Not as copies, something
that IWC has never done, but as new interpretations of
good old friends. Some with ultra-modern, up-to-date
automatic IWC movements which are also used in
the current series-produced models. Where historical
accuracy demands it, they have been equipped with hand-
wound pocket watch movements based on the 98-calibre,
the most famous IWC calibre and the one that has been
made for the longest—but they have also been expanded,
incorporating some of the elements of the earliest Jones
movements. The case of some of the vintage models
has increased in size on its journey through time,
which on first sight makes them distinguishable from
the originals—but in this way they have also taken on
completely new watch personalities.
Pilot’s Watch Hand-Wound
The first Pilot’s Watch of 1936 boasted of a black dial
Thinking making
your first “serious”
watch purchase? Start
things off with a less
formal piece like a sports
watch, one you can wear
on a daily basis and not
something you need to
hold off on using till the
next suit and tie occasion.
with strong, luminescent hands and numerals, and
a movement with antimagnetic parts. The first of a
long series of professional pilot’s watches, it also
had a rotating ring with a luminous triangle which
helped with roughly calculating the flight time and
thus fuel consumption. The modern interpretation of
this mother of all IWC pilot’s watches has the dial of
the original model, increased in size to that of the 44
mm case, a small seconds hand and a bidirectional
adjustable rotating ring with the luminous triangle
fitted from the inside. Instead of the 83-calibre,
which was used in 1936, the Pilot’s Watch Hand-
Wound is equipped with a special watchmaking
gem—the 98300-calibre: a hand-wound pocket
watch movement, a balance frequency of 2.5 Hz,
large screw balance and Breguet balance spring. The
98-calibre family, the design of which dates from the
1930s, is one of the IWC watch movements that have
been series-produced over the longest time.
Along with the Pilot’s Watch, the Portuguese,
Ingenieur, Da Vinci, Aquatimer, and Portofino styles
are available in stainless steel with a black dial and in
limited numbers in platinum with a silver-plated dial.
These are more than just a “Best of” the wristwatch
era at IWC. Each one of them essentially embodies
the founding legends of the manufacturer’s current
watch families. ☐
Beosound 9000 is available exclusively Bang and Olufsen at Greenbelt V
SEE YE,
HEAR THIS!
If you’re the guy with an ear for perfect
harmony and an eye for symmetry, then
this Bang & Olufsen beauty was made
just for you
Bang & Olufsen is undoubtedly a master in musical engineering; its sculptural qualities are what
makes all their models so incredible. Since its creation in 1925 by two young Danish engineers, Peter
Bang and Svend Olufsen, the brand has continuously offered products that uplift and elicit emotional
response for both its performance and flawless presentation. The Beosound 9000 is no exception,
it instantly draws attention to its strong, sleek lines and attracts with the bold colors of the clearly
visible CDs inside it. Technologically, this model boasts of unbeatable quality of sound and top-notch
mechanical engineering that can jump from “Enter Sandman” on the first CD to “I’m A Slave 4 U”
on the sixth without a noticeable pause. But the most obvious reason to get this sculptural music
machine is sheer boasting rights. Slap yourself right now if you’re still entertaining with your iPod
attached to your speakers. Whether mounted on the wall or given prime floor space in your living
room, The Beosound 9000 is as an excellent conversation piece that you can use to enjoy the quality
of your impressive CD collection with—while relishing the “oohs” and “aahs” of your envious
guests.
rogue magazine MAY 2008 155
time for the
new generation
In the world of luxury, acquiring a Tudor watch is an accessible, rewarding yet exciting choice.

THE NEW TUDOR SPORTS WATCH COllECTION has been designed with
a young, active, urban, vibrant lifestyle in mind: for people who
are passionate about freedom and innovation and for whom a
watch means daring, performance, and design as well as robust-
ness, precision, and reliability. The new Sport collection includes
models for men and women, available in steel or in gold and steel.
The Hydronaut II and Aeronaut models have all taken a resolutely
technical and high-performance approach in their design and in
their various functions. Everything about these models makes them
a pleasure to wear and to handle: the pushers, the rotatable bezels,
the leather or solid bracelets, and the ergonomic clasps. The aes-
thetics are daring, giving each model its own bold identity through
a variety of innovative details, which include striking colors,
contrasting combinations, subtle branding on certain components,
a mix of materials, and eye-catching dial graphics. This new col-
lection is readily identifiable by the case shape and bracelet design
characteristic of all models and by bezels with specific functions.
All Tudor pieces undergo high-quality finishing both technically
and aesthetically. Their precision meets exacting criteria and is the
result of rigorous testing. The movements are adorned with distinc-
tive decorations. The creativity of this new collection is strikingly
evident in a wide range of dial options making way for creative
combinations of colors, indices, counters, and hand styles. These
choices complement the technical excellence of the watches with a
fresh new look.

▲ HYDRONAUT II at a Glance:
Men’s watch in steel (41mm) and Polished Case
Unidirectional engraved rotatable bezel
Sapphire crystal, screw-down crown
Rubber strap
Self-winding mechanical movement
Waterproof to a depth of 200 meters (660 feet)

⊳ AERONAUT at a Glance:
Polished case and satin-finished 24-hour graduated bezel
Pushers at 2 o’clock and 4 o’clock to reset the hour hand
for a different time zone
Pusher at 8 o’clock to correct the date
Blue leather strap
Self-winding mechanical movement
Waterproof to a depth of 150 meters (490 feet)

156 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

PROMOTIONS AND ITEMS OF NOTE, DIRECT FROM OUR ADVERTISERS

PGA CARS, INC., GOING

STRONGER FOR THE
PHILIPPINES
Back in 1995, the Philippines was considered a tiger economy. It was
a great time for good ideas because foreign investors were encouraged
by the stability of the new government and were throwing large wads of
cash around. The Philippines was thrown onto the world’s stage after
overcoming some incredible hurdles and were emerging as a new force
to be reckoned with in Asia. Democracy had been restored and business
was finally booming.
Robert Coyiuto, Jr., PGA Cars, Inc. founding chairman, saw an
opportunity to fulfill a personal dream. But he needed to be quick. It was
like one of those gaps you see in traffic, or that split-second chance that
opens up for you to overtake your opponent on the race track – blink
and you’ll miss it. So in November of 1995, PGA Cars, Inc. boldly opened
their doors to an enthusiastic public. More than a Porsche dealership, it
was a statement, a daring yet powerful message that the Philippines had
prospered and were on the way to an even stronger republic.
In 1997, the formal inauguration of the first Porsche Center was held,
and in 1998, Porsche’s CEO, Dr. Wendelin Wiedeking, visited Manila to
personally inspect the Porsche Center and give it his personal seal of
approval.
As a certified Porsche fanatic, Coyiuto saw more than just a business
opportunity; he wanted to share his passion with the country. The first
year was very promising - 12 Porsche sport cars were sold, with PGA
breaking quotas and lobbying Stuttgart for a bigger allocation. Robert
Coyiuto was living the dream and it looked like the only problem PGA
faced was meeting demand. Then came the Asian financial crisis in 1997.
No area was hit harder than the automotive industry, especially the luxury
and sports-car segment. It took three long years before the economy
revived, and in 2000, after many sacrifices coupled with the strong
leadership by Coyiuto, all that hard work and commitment to the brand
finally started to pay off. PGA Cars found itself back on the map, with a
record-breaking year and 18 Porsches delivered to their proud owners.
It was cause for celebration, surely, but before PGA could even enjoy
its renewed success, a new problem began to unfold. Just as it had
weathered the storm and was witnessing the new dawn of sports-car
culture on the road, everyone else seemed to be getting the same idea.
There was a lot of money around again, and everyone wanted in on the
action. Enterprising businessmen, encouraged by the lack of any strong
government policy, began trading in the gray market, and built up a
thriving business on this new fertile ground.
There were new challenges to face. But rather than just jump on the
“if-you-can’t-beat-‘em-join-‘em” bandwagon, like many had chosen to do,
Robert Coyiuto, Jr. embraced the situation and began to weave his magic.
While his competitors traded in the shadows with minimal overhead,
attractive pricing and no accountability, Coyiuto chose to build even more
value into the Porsche experience, invested even more into his dealership,
and started to work very closely with the press. It was very out-of-the-box
thinking at that time, but he soon convinced buyers, with the help of the
press, that with the PGA experience, every Porsche owner doesn’t just get
a terrific car, but also a piece of the Porsche experience.
New programs were developed; a state-of-the-art service center was
built; an official Porsche Club of the Philippines, recognized by Porsche
AG, was established; members of the press were flown off for the first
time to experience the Porsche brand firsthand at international launches.
And in 2005, Mr. Hans Riedel, Porsche AG’s Vice President Sales and
Marketing, launched a new showroom, with a very modern and hip café’
in a 7,000-square-meter facility on EDSA, Manila’s main and busiest
thoroughfare, creating a lot of hype and exposing itself to over 200,000
motorists a day. The Porsche brand was absolutely buzzing in Manila, and
the gray market failed to compete.
Today, despite the influx of new brands, PGA Cars stays firmly on its
growth path and is aiming for annual sales of more than 100 Porsches for
the first time ever.

rogue magazine MAY 2008 157

Shop List
180 degrees – Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center, Makati
7 FOR ALL MANKIND – Power Plant Mall, Rockwell
AC+632 – 2/f Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati
City
AGENT PROVOCATEUR lingerie- Lane Crawford, Hong
Kong
ALOHA BOARDSPORTS - 3/F Powerplant Mall, Rockwell,
Makati City
AMERICAN TOURISTER luggages/ THE TRAVEL CLUB – at
malls nationwide
ANALOG SOUL – 2/F Archaeology, Power Plant Mall,
Rockwell, Makati City
ANNE KLEIN – Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center; Shangri-la
Plaza Mall; Power Plant Mall, Rockwell
ANTHOLOGY – 2/F Archaeology, Power Plant Mall,
Rockwell, Makati City.
ARMANI EXCHANGE – Power Plant Mall, Rockwell;
Glorietta 4, Ayala Center; Shangri-la Plaza Mall
BARBA by Vic Barba – Available soon at BARBA,
Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati City
BARE ESSENTIALS – Makati Cinema Square.  JOEY SAMSON – (0918-9592541) Available soon at
BEN SHERMAN - Shangri-la Plaza Mall
BETTER THAN BARE – www.betterthanbarephils.com
BVLGARI – Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center; 6750, Ayala
Center
CALVIN KLEIN Underwear - Power Plant Mall, Rockwell
Ck CALVIN KLEIN – Power Plant Mall, Rockwell;
Rustan’s Department Store, Makati City.
CAMADIV - 2/F Archaeology, Power Plant Mall,
Rockwell, Makati City.
CARBON – Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center; Power Plant
Mall, Rockwell
CMG – Podium, Ortigas, Pasig City.
COSABELLA lingerie - Lane Crawford, Hong Kong
CROSSINGS DEPARTMENT STORE – Shangri-la Plaza Mall
DEBENHAMS – Shangri-La Plaza Mall; Rustan’s
Department Store, Makati City.
DEXTER ALAZAS - 09204107705
DKNY underwear - Lane Crawford, Hong Kong
DR. MARTENS – Glorietta, Ayala Center
Dotdotdot (...) – G/f Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center,
Makati City
DUNHILL - Rustan’s Makati
ELLE MACPHERSON INTIMATES - Lane Crawford, Hong
Kong
ENZO ANGIOLINI –Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center; Rustan’s
Department Store, Makati City
ERIC PINEDA – (02)7323790.
FIRMA – Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center
158 MAY 2008 rogue magazine
FRANCK MULLER - 2/F Silver Vault, Rustan’s
Department Store, Makati City
FRESHLOOK COLOR BLENDS One-Day color contact lenses
– available at optical shops nationwide
GAS – Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center; Shangri-la Plaza
Mall; Rustan’s Department Store, Makati City
GUCCI - Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center
HANS BRUMANN JEWELLER – G/F, Makati Shangri-La
Hotel, Makati City
HOMME ET FEMME – Shangri-la Plaza Mall
HOT PINK Lingerie – 2/F Archaeology, Power Plant
Mall, Rockwell, Makati City.
HOUSE OF LAUREL – 6013 Villena cor. Manalac St.
Poblacion, Makati City
I LOVE COCO – 2/F Eastwood Cybermall, Libis, Q.C.
KENNETH COLE – Power Plant Mall, Rockwell;
Greenbelt 3; Shangri-la Mall
K2 – Glorietta, Ayala Center
JANYLIN - at select malls nationwide.
JEROME SALAYA ANG – (0917-5408097).
MYTH, Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati City
JOHN HERRERA – (02) 632-7504.
JON FERNANDO – (0917-8137010)
KIEHL’S – Greenbelt V, Ayala Center, Makati
LA COPA - 5F Mancor Corp. Ctr., 32nd St. Fort
Bonifacio, Tel: 8564261
LAUNDRY - 2/F, Rustan’s Department Store, Makati
City
LEWRE /CMG - Glorietta 4
Little Cigar Store – G-4, Bel-Air Soho
Condominium, 45 Polaris cor. Badajos Streets.
T/F: 897-2113. Mobile: 0918-9369787. www.
littlecigarstore.com
LOUIS CLAPAROLS at Marni’s Room – 2/F Archaeology,
Power Plant Mall, Rockwell, Makati City
LOUIS VUITTON – Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center
LUCERNE - Glorietta 4, Ayala Cebu, Shangri-la Plaza
Mall
LZ PUNZALAN – (0905-2823416)
MAIDENFORM – at select department stores
nationwide.
MANGO – Power Plant Mall, Rockwell; Glorietta 3,
Ayala Center; Shangri-la Plaza Mall
MARITHÉ + FRANCOIS GIRBAUD - Glorietta 3
MINX by Charina Sarte - House of Laurel; MIX,
Greenbelt 3; Rustan’s Department Store, Makati
City
MIX – Greenbelt 3 Mall, Ayala Center
MOANA –Power Plant Mall, Rockwell
Myth – 2/f Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati City
MUMBAKKI – Megamall, Bldg. B, Ortigas
NINE WEST – G/F, Glorietta 4, Ayala Center, Makati
City.
OAKLEY – G Force Bonifacio Highstreet, G Force
Trinoma, G Force SM Mall of Asia, G Force SM
Cebu, TiO2 Greenbelt 3
OMEGA - Glorietta 1, Ayala Center, Makati City;
TriNoma, EDSA cor. North Avenue, Quezon City.
PAUL SMITH – Glorietta 4, Ayala Center; Shangri-la
Plaza Mall
PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE – G/F Glorietta 4, Ayala Center,
Makati City.
PIANEGONDA– 2/F Silver Vault, Rustan’s Department
Store, Makati City
POLO RALPH LAUREN – Shangri-la Plaza Mall; Rustan’s
Department Store, Makati City; 158 Designer’s
Blvd, Alabang Town Center
PRADA – Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center
Rafael Jewelry – 2nd Level, Shangri-La Plaza Mall
RANDY ORTIZ – (02-922-8375) Available soon at
MYTH, Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati City
SALVATORE FERRAGAMO – Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center;
Power Plant Mall, Rockwell; Rustan’s Department
Store, Makati City.
SCHU - Glorietta 3
SPRINGFIELD - Power Plant Mall, Rockwell; Greenbelt
3; Rustan’s Department Store, Makati City.
STOKED – Power Plant Mall, Rockwell
STYLE OPTIX – 2/F Serendra Shops, The Fort
TAN GAN –SM Megamall Bldg. A, Mandaluyong City.
TERRANOVA – at select malls nationwide.
THE FACE SHOP – Gloreitta 3, Ayala Center; High
Street, The Fort
Theodore’s The Store G/F Quadrant 4, Bonifacio
Highstreet, Bonifacio GLobal City
Topman at Powerplant Mall, Rockwell
TINT – Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center
TOD’S - Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center
TRAFFIC –Power Plant Mall, Rockwell
VIKTOR JEANS – Podium, Ortigas, Pasig City;
Trinoma, North Edsa, Q.C.
WADE - at select malls nationwide.
WSW Shoes - Building 3, Jannov Plaza, 2229 Pasong
Tamo Extension, Makati
X by VIC BARBA –Glorietta 3, Ayala Center
ZARA - Power Plant Mall, Rockwell
ZONA SUL – 2F Power Plant Mall, Rockwell, Makati
thewire
M AY 2008 EV E N T S , PA RT I E S , PROMO T ION S , A N D OPP ORT U N I T I E S
Press
Play!

Gus Aguirre

THe goLD mine

THE AGUIRRE GOLD CUP 2008
The tough get going when you’re rushing for gold, literally—
which was the case at the annual Aguirre Gold Cup last
February 17, when heated matches between the Los
Tamaraos and the Zobel Team ensued for the much coveted
gold prizes in the most awaited tournament in this year’s
Philippine polo calendar.

rogue magazine MAY 2008 159

THe goLD mine
ConTinueD . . .

The eventful day opened with the low-goal match

between the Red and Green teams. The Red team
consisted of Jun Eusebio, Alfonso Araneta, Anthony
Filamor, and Alberto Lopez; while Jerome Hernandez,
Adrian Garcia, Antonio Veloso, and Dondi Santos
completed the Green team. The end result of the 2-goal
match saw the Green team lead by 10-2.
But the highlight of the day was the high-goal match
which left spectators breathless. The 12-goal game
had the Los Tamaraos vying for gold against the Zobels.
There was a 1 goal handicap advantage on the board
for Los Tamaraos. Cole Aguirre, -1; Gus Aguirre, -1;
Argentina professionals Polito Pieres and Joaquin
Pittaluga, both 6; made up the Los Tamaraos. The Zobel
team comprised of English patron Mark Austin, 0; Jake
Zobel, 0; Chilean Jose Donoso, 7; and Australian pro
Mark Field, 4.
At the final chukker, Jose Donoso made the last point
through conversion for the Zobel team, giving Los
Tamaraos victory at 19-12. For lack of superlatives, the
game was phenomenal and action-packed. Spectators
were treated to a clear display of defense and evasive,
skillful offense.
It was time to wind down and exhale but the
excitement continued. Gold trophies and solid gold
prizes of cuff links and belt buckles were awarded. The
pure gold spurs went to Joaquin Pittaluga for bagging
the MVP title. Best Playing Pony was Bobby Aguirre’s
Murphy, played by Polito Pieres.
Spectators and players joined in the celebration at the
elegantly furnished marquee fieldside. A sumptuous
dinner was served as Dom Perignon flowed endlessly.
Absolut Vodka, co-sponsor for the Aguirre Gold Cup
along with official sponsor BF Citiland, also poured all
night while the spirited crowd danced to the music of
different bands. This year’s Aguirre Gold Cup outdid
the last, in a tourney that left us looking forward to next
year’s celebration.
lORNA lOPEz

160 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 Chari Legarda, Tweetie de Leon, Carmen Gonzalez, Ines
Lobregat, and Marta Araneta with daughter Tamara

Marta Araneta, Eloise Piardi, Rose

Fernandez, and Analu Araujo

Angelique and Jen La’O of Swim

BiKini in THe CiTY

ENDLESS SUMMER FASHION SHOW
Maricris Zobel with Dimples and Julia La’O
Swim and Nothing But Water recently launched their
Summer 2008 collections with a sunset cocktail
fashion show that revealed a fluid display of the latest
offerings from VIX, Sophia, and Hermanny brands, as
well as Vitamin A, Lspace, and Michael Kors. Owner
Dimples Balaguer La’O hosted the affair, while guest
models Ines Lobregat, Marta Araneta, Chari Legarda,
and Tweetie de Leon-Gonzalez commanded the
runway. The 45-piece ensemble consisted of suits,
cover-ups, dresses, including children’s swimsuits
modeled by Carmen Gonzalez and Tamara Araneta,
Chari Legarda shoes by Schu of Ruby Gan, and bags by Talimaya.
Bianca Valerio, Gary Dulatas, and Dindi de Leon

Maite Matute, Cay Araneta, and Paolo Araneta

Romina and Monchu Gonzalez

Tweetie de Leon-Gonzalez,
Jackie Aquino, and Suyen Chi

Ines Lobregat

rogue magazine MAY 2008 161

 Jazz Do iT
P.I. JAZZFEST 2008

For 16 straight days last March, Manila

Chico and the Gypsies
experienced a one-of-a-kind jazz festival which
played out in various venues across the metropolis.
The festival was produced by the Philippine
International Jazz and Arts Festival Foundation
and spearheaded by Sandra Viray, Jun Viray, Edgar
Avenir, Zenaida Celdran, and Chona Ampil. Now
on its third successive year, the P.I. Jazzfest 2008
flexed its muscles and brought with it an eclectic
selection of foreign, local, and balikbayan jazz
artists and musicians. Performers included Kevyn
Lettau, Incognito, Omar Sosa, Kurt Elling, and the
late Toti Fuentes, among others.

Edgar Avenir and David Starck hold a workshop in Strumm’s

Raul Midon

Sara Gazarek

Lee Ritenour

Omar Sosa
 Tessa Valdez with Elen Flores, Lorraine Ho, Diana and Toot Limjuco,
Franco Limjuco, Jeffrey Roleda, and Warren Sy

UP Dance Troupe entertains guests with cultural dances

Colorful shoe display Toot Limjuco with Ryan Eigenmann

WorLD oF
CoLor
CROCS SPRING-SUMMER
SHOW ‘08

Crocs unveiled their Spring-Summer

2008 collection to eager guests last
March. Tessa Prieto-Valdes hosted the
event as scrumptious hors d’ oeuvres
from all over the world were served.
Models sashayed down the runway
sporting the new, sleek designs of
Malindi, Santa Cruz, and Tikali. The
U.P. Dance Troop wowed the crowd with
their fancy footwork and unforgettable
choreography. Spotted at the event
were Ernie and Jeena Lopez, Philip
Cu-Unjieng, Liza Ilarde, Janine Cuenca-
Dario, Ryan Eigenmann, Paolo and
Bubbles Paraiso, and Marco Alcaraz.

Tessa Valdez with Lorraine Ho

rogue magazine MAY 2008 163

 Thinline President Frank Briones

Bruno Alvez of Brazil Canon’s Balot Amechachurra

Rich Herrera and MTV VJ Kat Alano

PiCTure PerFeCT
CANON’S BORACAY IMAGENATION PARTY

During Holy Week last March, Canon flew to the powdery, white shores
of Boracay for the annual Beach House event which they presented
together with Studio 23. Canon redefined the concept of summer colors
Luna de Lima and Dan Mateo by launching the sleek and stylish Digital IXUS 80 IS, with its smooth and
sensual curves, thin interface, seductive metallic colors, and powerhouse
functionality. Canon Digital IXUS 80 IS was there to photograph the
sun-kissed personalities who visited the Canon Outdoor Chillout Studio at
Guilly’s Island.

rogue magazine MAY 2008 165

 HungrY LiKe THe WoLF
DURAN DURAN DINES AT RED KIMONO

During their recent visit to Manila, iconic rock band Duran enjoyed a
sumptuous Japanese dinner with Michael and Nameeta Dargani, owners
of Red Kimono restaurant. The band dined there after their well-attended
“Red Carpet Massacre” performance at the Araneta Coliseum. At the
exclusive dinner, lead vocalist Simon Le Bon’s favorites were the Crabstick
rolls with Wasabi Mayo, Layered Spinach and Tofu with miso, Gindara and
Uni sashimi. Saxophonist Simon Willescroft recommended that the owners
open a branch in London after being floored by his meal. Red Kimono has
branches in Frontera Verde, Pasig and at the Fort Strip, Fort Bonifacio,
Taguig.
Nameeta Dargani, Michael Dargani, and
Simon Le Bon

Duran Duran at Red Kimono

Michael Dargani and Simon Le Bon

Rhey Huergas of TGIF, Rosa Liamzon of Fish & Co,

and Junjun De Ocampo of Bistro Group

Rogue’s Kat Tuason-Cruz

and Appetite’s Annie Nisce

TiLL We meaT again

SNAKE RIVER FARMS DINNER AT LEMURIA

Snake River Farms (SRF) recently gathered an intimate group of foodies

In-yo’s Nino Lauz, Alternatives Food’s Ysa Tolentino,
Pino’s Bjorn Ching, and Ilustrado’s Luis Chikiamco
at Lemuria. Guest chefs and select friends from the media were treated to
Amuse Bouche of SRF Kurobuta Mini Carvers Ham and Deep-fried Ravioli
of SRF Kalbi Eye as they sipped wine at the courtyard. Lemuria chef Golda
Ranada also served SRF Kurobuta Pork Belly and SRF Rib Eye with Foie
Torchon and Porcini Dust. The complex flavors, subtle sweetness, and
lingering finish of the beef were hard to ignore—mainly attributed to the
heritage-steeped Japanese cattle feeding method that Snake River Farms
has adopted. For orders and inquiries, call 631-7228.

166 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

 PROMOTIONS AND ITEMS OF NOTE, DIRECT FROM OUR ADVERTISERS
Up Dharma Down
SOUND WAVES
THE fIESTA NG mUSIKANG fIlIpINO SENdS SOmE Opm lOvE
On May 2, 3, and 4 at the CCP Main Theater, the Fiesta ng Musikang
Filipino takes you on a spectacular trip through aural sensibilities. Featuring
performances by violin vixen Lucia Micarelli, Sugarfree, Up Dharma Down,
Radioactive Sago Project, The Jerks, Sinosikat?, and The Dawn, each band’s
set ends sensationally with an OPM song arranged by the Manila Philharmonic
Orchestra. The production is under the supervision of renowned musical
producer Dong Alegre and musical director Leo Rialp. For tickets, visit
Odyssey and Music1 outlets or call 817-2628 to 30.
COLD COMFORTS
STARBUCKS’ dUlCE dE lECHE
fRAppUCCINO BlENdEd COffEE
This summer, cool off with the Dulce de Leche
Frappuccino Blended Coffee of Starbucks. Dulce
de leche, a milk-based syrup, translates to “milk
candy” in the Spanish tongue. Found as both
a sauce and a caramel-like candy, it is widely
popular across Latin America. It is prepared
by slowly heating sweetened milk to create a
product similar in taste to caramel. Combined
with coffee and blended with ice, topped
with whipped cream and a caramel topping,
Starbucks’ Dulce de Leche Frappuccino Blended
Coffee is a sweet, indulgent treat.
HOME AND AWAY
THE vAyU HOmE STORE IN TRINOmA
Exquisitely embroidered cushions, luxurious quilts, and intricately
beaded shams are among the plush line of items featured at the VAYU
Home Store in Trinoma. This unique store for the discriminating
homemaker also sells 100% French linen tablemats, napkins, and
tablecloths creatively crafted by talented Indian designer Ranjit Ahuja.
VAYU Home is located at 3/F, Trinoma Mall, EDSA corner North Ave.,
Quezon City. For inquiries, call 916-6719.
rogue magazine MAY 2008 167
 PROMOTIONS AND ITEMS OF NOTE, DIRECT FROM OUR ADVERTISERS

DOT’s Eduardo Jarque, Jr., Philippine Ambassador to Japan Domingo Siazon Jr.,
Hello Kitty, Secretary Durano, and DOT Japan Marketing Head Benito Bengzon

OH, TOKYO!
dOT UNvEIlS HEllO KITTy AS pHIlIppINE TOURISm ENdORSER IN
JApAN

At the Grand Hyatt Tokyo, the Department of Tourism recently tapped the popularity
of Japanese cultural icon Hello Kitty to entice more tourists from the Land of the
Rising Sun. The cute and cuddly endorser is part of the DOT’s latest campaign that
bears the tagline “Kokoro Somaru” (or “Color My Heart”). As a special endorser for
the Philippines, Hello Kitty will appear in all major travel and tourism events of the DOT
in Japan. The Hello Kitty logo will likewise appear in the brochures, posters and other Secretary of Tourism Ace Durano
promotional materials for Japanese travelers. Joining Hello Kitty as one of the faces in a light moment with Hello Kitty
endorsing the Philippines is actress Rin Takanashi, one of the “it” girls of Japanese
show business.

SUN PLAY FUN

STylISH SWImSUITS ANd mORE AT THE Spf ClOTHING STORE

In a sun-drenched country such as ours, clothes with built-in sun protection (or
UPF-rated swimwear) are a swell idea. The SPF Clothing Store proudly carries a
drool-worthy range of Philippine-made swimwear whose fabrics have their own
chemical-free sunblocking action. Apart from stylish bikinis, tankinis, board shorts,
and one-piece children’s sunsuits, they also sell a wide selection of rash guards,
flip-flops, legionnaire’s caps, waterproof bags, mesh cover-ups, and sun hats. SPF is
located at Glorietta 4, Alabang Town Center, and Robinson’s Galleria. Call 850-2713,
752-7013, and 637-8591.

174 MAY 2008 rogue magazine

Famous Rogues

FRANK SINATRA, Singer

In his lifetime, Ol’ Blue Eyes went by many monikers: The Man, The Leader, The
King, and most famously—The Chairman of the Board. But in the august annals of You gotta love livin’,
music history, Frank Sinatra will always go down as the world’s first modern pop
star. Yet unlike the engineered studio babies of the digital age, he possessed a golden, baby, ‘cause dyin’ is a pain
in the ass.
velvety voice that would put any handsome but half-baked performer to shame.
In 1935, he secured a job as a singing waiter—and for $15 a week, the prodigious
20-year-old turned a random New Jersey restaurant into a show-stopping destination
where the dishes were, most probably, only a bonus to the unfolding star in their
midst. — Frank Sinatra
Of course, Sinatra definitely was no stranger in the night. In the 1960s, when
Sinatramania was in full swing, he fraternized and rubbed friendly elbows with the
contentious figures of his day: the gun-toting members of the Mafia, John F. Kennedy,
and a velvet-roped clique called the Rat Pack—an influential group of entertainers
(including Dean Martin, Joey Bishop, and Sammy Davis, Jr.) that painted Tinsletown
red and promoted a neon-lit Nevada casino town into a melting pot of musical artists.
A philanthropist as well as a thug, the legendary crooner was widely regarded to
be the totem of mid-century masculinity. Yet, he managed to carry the weight of
personal history in his swoony voice, infusing time-worn lyrics with an intimacy that
would make his starry-eyed spectators choke with emotion, or more likely, weak in
the knees. There was always that immediacy, that idiosyncrasy, that genuineness of
expression.
“His songs are his home and he lets you in—but to sing like that, you gotta have lost
a couple of fights, to know tenderness and romance you’ve gotta have had your heart
broken,” said U2 frontman Bono during 1994 Grammy Awards, where the 79-year-
old singer was honored. “Rock ‘n’ roll plays at being tough, but this guy, well, he’s
the boss . . . the boss of bosses . . . the big bang of pop. I’m not gonna mess with him,
are you?” One thing’s for sure, he definitely did it his way. ☐

176 MAY 2008 rogue magazine