*430. FOLK SONGS OF THE KAPAMPANGAN REGION

I WANT TO TEACH THE WORLD TO SING. Kapampangans out on excursion trips usually brought their stringed instruments to make beautiful music while on the road, or while enjoying their picnic. People would sing along to add to the merriment of the moment. 

Pampanga’s musical traditions begin with folk songs and melodies. These are the first songs that you heard growing up, on your Ingkung’s knee; the lilting lullabye that Ima hummed in lulling you to sleep. These are also the songs that you sang in school, full of nonsense and made-up rhymes, songs about Atsing Rosing, Mariang Malagu and Kapitan Besyu.

They are the songs sang by peasant workers to fight off boredom and drudgery, to express pride in their labors, however humble. They are the stirring kantang Ukbu that galvanized a national movement, patriotic paeans to a country.

They are the dirgeful tunes you heard being chanted on Holy Week, the hymns and carols that you dutifully sang in church services and the frenetic beat that devotees danced to in annual kuraldals. From the plaintive serenatas of many a lovestruck swain, the sweet chords of a kundiman to the bawdy tunes that livened up many a drinking spree, these songs are a part of our race since time immemorial, wrought by anonymous wordsmiths, and handed down from generation to generation through oral tradition.

Folk songs we call them, music of the common people that says so much about how we live, love and laugh. There are various touchstones that define this kind of music.

First, the anonymity of authorship. Unlike formal poetry, where names like Crissot, Gallardo and Yuzon are associated, there are no such names to speak of in folk poetry. Because of the continuous transmission process, there are no fixed attributions and sources. Which means, the longer the transmission period, the more impossible it is to determine the originator.

Second, the language. Folk song lyrics are generated by common people who are largely untutored, with nary a care for the rigid disciplines of literature as taught in schools. They give free rein to ideas and emotions without a thought for forms, meters and aesthetics, telling stories with natural flair, earthy words and all. The lyrics are uninhibited, the language(s) raw, spontaneous and even mixed.

It is not:

Legwan king kaladua, legwan king katawan

Nung iti mikalu, sunlag ya ing legwan

Ugaling uliran, mayap a kaniwan

Selan at sampat lub, dit a pamagaral

Nung miakma iti king santing ning laman

Tunggen keng malagu, babai ninuman

But it is:

Y Mkaka kung Maria, mamuli yang tapis
Purung purung sutla, habing Camarines
Ninu ing tatalan, ninung talabitbit
I kaka kung Peping, anak ng Don Pedro

It is also:

Kabang teterak ku, lulundag, luluksu

Miyagnan ing sagakgak, pakpak ding gamat ku.

Emuku tiknangan, anggang mepagal ku

Susunga ku rugu, tutulung sipun ku..

And likewise:

One day, misan a aldo

I saw menakit ko,

A bird ayup kano

Flying susulapo

Third, folk songs are a work in progress. The Kapampangan folk song evolves by continuous alteration, as opposed to its formal literary counterpart where every word is fixed, the form precise and permanent. Folk songs are subject to versioning and customizing, in the course of their transference, a cultural process perfectly permissible to fit the needs of the times. Folk songs survive  because of effective adaptation and it is correct to sing:

Papatak, papatak

Magkanta la ring tugak

Lilintik-lilintik

Magkanta la ring itik

But it is also okay to sing:

Papatak, papatak

Magkanta la ring antak

Lilintik, lilintik

Magkanta la ring Instik!

With the ongoing cultural renaissance in Pampanga, Kapampangan folk songs are being rediscovered and enjoyed.  Folk songs are no longer just the interest of historians, musicologists and seekers of quaint entertainment, but of late, they have found favor as part of the repertoire of youth bands, mainstream singers local music icons led by Pampanga’s best known minstrel, Totoy Bato. After all, folk music has played a very important part in almost everyone’s life. Without a doubt, the folk songs we learned from our childhood, from our parents and friends have been instrumental in shaping our taste for music in all its melodious permutations. There is no better reason to start singing them again. So pick up a guitar, raise your voices, and sing your heart out!

*409. A BIRD IN THE HAND

BIRDS OF THE SAME FEATHER. A Kapampangan girl holds a fake dove ("pati pati"), a painted flock of which are shown flying or resting on the steps as part of the studio scenography. Our feathered friends have always been an important part of our culture, traditional beliefs, everyday livelihood and folklore. ca. 1917.

They have always been a source of jokes for my Tagalog-speaking friends—these soundalike words “ayup-hayop” and “ibon-ebon” that hold different, but related meanings. “Ibon” is the Tagalog term for “bird”, but its near-homophone –“ebun”—is but an egg in Kapampangan. Similarly, that which Tagalogs call “hayop” (animal), is a mere ‘bird’ (ayup) in Kapampangan.

 In the days of yore, however, the secondary definition of “ayop”, as noted in Bergaño’s compilation of Kapampangan words, included brute animals such as cows and carabaos, amphibians, reptiles and insects. Today, “ayup” is a word solely used for our fine-feathered friends.

 The wetlands of Candaba are famed for being bird sanctuaries, where migratory birds from other lands leave their original habitat temporarily to escape harsh weather conditions and seek food in the environs of our marshlands.

Birdwatchers from all over the Philippines and around the world have started to discover Candaba’s bird sanctuary, which is being developed as a tourist destination. A collateral event—the Ibon-Ebun (Bird-Egg) Festival is celebrated annually, from Feb. 1-2, to honor not only the town patron, the pugo (quail)-carrying San Nicolas, but also to promote eco-tourism using its varied species of birds as attraction.

 Aside from Candaba, there was a time in the 1950s when the sleepy town of San Luis came alive with birdhunters coming in droves to hunt for jack snipes, locally known as “pasdan”. The season for snipes begin in September, when the chill of the northern countries send these birds southbound, with millions finding refuge in Pampanga and Tarlac.

“Pasdans” are prized for their tasty meat, so they are avidly hunted by locals as well as hobbysts from nearby Clark Air Base. The birds often perched on trees that fringed the vast rice paddies and marshes of Pampanga; in fact, they could be found all the way to Concepcion, Tarlac. The small birds are easy to spot by their sheer number. A bigger and more colorful variety—the “pakubo”—is rarer and more elusive. In 1955, the gaming limit for “pasdan” was limited to 50 birds per person.

“Pasdans” are either grilled or cooked adobo-style, a delicacy seldom seen on Pampanga tables today. Our province was once blessed with an abundance of birds of the most bewildering assortment—we even had local names for them.

We had eagles, falcons, hawks (agila, alibasbas, balawe), parrot varieties (katala loru, abukai or Philippine cockatoo, kilakil or white parrot, kulasisi), doves and pigeons ( pati-pati, batubato, the white-eared alimukun ), sparrows (denas paking, denas costa, denas bale, maya) and swallows (layang-layang, sibad, timpapalis). There were marsh birds ( patirik-tirik, uis, dumara), pelicans (kasili, pagala), long-legged herons and egrets (tagak, tikling, kandungangu, bako).

Then, there were birds noted for their colorful and unusual plumage (kuliawan or oriole, luklak or yellow vented bulbul, kansusuit or lyre bird, pabo real or peacock, silingsilingan or pied fantail) and for the cacophony of sounds they create (pipit, siabukut or Philippine coucal, tarat, martinis).

Much of our natural environment have changed irrevocably—caused by years of thoughtless land developments and conversions, illegal logging and deforestation, and of course, global warming. The devastating effects of the Pinatubo eruption also had far-reaching effects on our bird habitats, such that these creatures are no longer familiar to today’s generations, for they are rarely heard or sighted.

Their important roles in our culture and folklore are remembered in myths of old, as in the case of that sacred blue kingfisher from the marshlands of Pampanga, whose appearance foreshadowed events of profound significance--either gainful or grim—to humankind. This revered bird was called “batala”, who gave his name to the mightiest of ancient gods—Bathala.

*404. Pwera Asug: BABIES AGAINST EVIL

BABY LOVE. A Kapampangan baby from Sta. Rita wears a coral bracelet to ward off afflictions of unnatural causes, like "asug". Corals were believed to be imbued with divine powers.

Since the dawn of time, man has been warding off earthly perils— the elements, disease, and threats from fellow human beings—arming himself with tools, weapons and all sorts of ammunitions. But when the danger is unexplained and unusual, he seeks assistance from other worlds—the supernatural. Thus, in our recorded history, we transformed through rituals and incantations-- metals, wood, stone, cloth, barks and herbs into weapons against evil.

Urban legends recount how revolucionarios went to the battlefields protected by oracions (prayers) written on their undershirts. In recent memory, the fantastic escapes of the 50s Cavite gangster Nardong Putik (Leonardo Manecio) were attributed to the power of his anting-anting that he inherited from Santiago Ronquillo (alias Tiagong Akyat). The government threw everything it had into capturing him, but to no avail.

 Closer to home, Jose Maria Henson (1820/d.1867) of Angeles was said to possess a magic sword that can render a person immobile just by pointing the sword or throwing the sword at him.

But what about helpless babies brought out into this world? How can he protect himself from the “evil eye” of a stranger which can hex a baby’s health? “Asug” ("usug" in Tagalog) is a term for such an affliction characterized by fever, convulsion, stomach ache and colic. This unintentionally inflicted folk illness is also widely known in Caribbean countries and Mexico as “mal de ojo” It is the belief that the child’s distress can be eased by asking the stranger to rub his saliva on the baby's tummy, shoulder or forehead and other body parts before leaving the house, while muttering “pwera asug…pwera asug” several times.

In the 19th century, newborn babies were protected from maladies by having them wear coral bracelets. Corals were believed to possess divine powers. A Greek legend has it that that when Perseus beheaded Medusa, he laid the Gorgon’s bloodied head on a bed of seaweeds, turning them into corals.

 In the Middle Ages, people kept pieces of corals in their purses, as talismans against witchcraft. Because of their shape, coral branches were also thought to protect the bearer from lightning strikes. For Tibetans and American Indians, the coral was an effective protection against the evil eye, while for Christians, the coral pink color symbolized the blood of Christ.

No wonder, coral jewelry became traditional gifts to both expectant mothers (for its blood-rejuvenating property) and their newborn babies (as protective amulets). Greek mothers hung coral strands on babies’ cradles while Romans strung coral necklaces for their kids. Coral was also used to prevent teething problems, which, in the early 19th century was believed to be responsible for many infant deaths. It was incorporated into teething rings to prevent bleeding gums.

 Silver objects were popular christening gifts in early 18th century Europe, as the precious metal was believed not only to have purifying effects but also repulsed evil of supernatural origin effectively. Silver rattles, bells, whistles and teethers –many made with coral trims--were standard presents to children of wealthy families, a tradition that did not catch on in the Philippines.

Of course, while Catholic sacramentals like medals (St. Benedict, patron against contagious diseases, is a popular choice) have replaced expensive coral and silver charms, there are still a few charms to help safeguard babies’ health and wellness.

Currently available is a “kontra-asug” bracelet that mimics those rarer and more expensive coral jewelry. Made of red plastic and black plastic beads, the bracelet comes with a red cloth sachet with a cross outside, containing seeds and dried plants, which can be pinned on the baby’s shirt. The bracelet serves to prevent “asug” as well sorcery.

So next time you bring baby out, never fear! He is not just powered by his vitamins and minerals to help build his ‘resistensya’, but--according to the old folks--he has sure protection against all sorts of maledictions, thanks to a charm bracelet that even Wonder Woman would want to wear. “Pwera asug!”.

*297. UMBRELLA SEASON

 SUKLAB KA LALAM NING PAYUNG KU. A Filipina poses with her day's catch while carrying her bilao of vegetables and her umbrella, her one reliable protection from the elements. Ca. 1915.

To brave wind, sun and rain—such is the function of the umbrella—the indispensable “payong” that we bring out, most specially when the rainy season comes along. But of course, the umbrella is more than that as its long history shows—from being a mere shade and sartorial accessory to becoming a part of global pop culture. In Japan, the umbrella is known as koumorigasa, in France—a parapluie. Italians had their ‘parapioggias’ , the Dutch their ‘paraplus’ and the Portuguese toted ‘guarda-chuvas’. 

But long before them, some eleven centuries before Christ, there were the inventive Chinese who warded off the elements by mounting a sort of a pagoda on a stick. These first umbrellas were symbols of honor and prestige, and old prints show them made of embroidered silk. Athens and Rome too, had a similar adornment; poets described umbrellas being used in religious festivals, balanced by hand by priestesses.

Umbrellas were mentioned in Indian writings, and appeared as illustrations in a ancient Codex in 12th century Venice. So prized were umbrellas that Charlemagne was once gifted by the Caliph of Baghdad, Haroun al Raschid, with a fabulous umbrella of purple and gold that inspired awe and dazzled the crowd who bowed before it as if it were a precious relic.

No wonder, the umbrella formed part of the papal regalia and was used in Roman Catholic liturgy; a decorated umbrella—an ‘umbraculum’—covered and protected the Holy Eucharist in short, indoor processions. In France, they were used at the court of Henry II, and in 1650, the umbrella was recognized as a symbol of style in the country. Its manufacture, however, was restricted by a special act. The “Robinson”, which served as a portable shelter for royalty weighed more than 3 kilos and was fastened to the arm by a massive copper ring. Later versions doubled as lightning rods, making them even heavier. 

Credit goes to an unnamed mechanic from Lyons for making the first modern umbrella by replacing the whalebone ribs with hinged steel tubes. But it took an Englishman—Mr. Fox of Sheffield—to take out a patent for a similar invention which he named “Paragon”. It only weighed 400 grams and by the end of the 19th century, it was being used all over the world.

 Spaniards introduced the “paraguas’ to the Philippines, who used accessories such as wide conical hats (turung), salakots, nipa raincoats and even extra-large anahaw leaves for protection against pelting rains. The standard black umbrella came into common use by Filipinos who carried them in bright sunshine or in heavy downpours. Kapampangans, Tagalogs and even their Indonesian neighbors soon had a name for this contraption--“payung”—a shade. Down South, Muslim royalty took umbrellas and transformed them into colorful and bejeweled parasols called ‘payong-a-diyakatan’.

 The ‘payung’, like in European countries, became a status symbol for many Filipinos, and was treated as a fashion accessory. Men and women not only posed for pictures with their feathery fans and handsome walking canes but also flaunted their umbrellas, shown either open or closed. Ladies favored the Japanese paper parasols, delicately pleated and decorated with prints.

 The shape of the "payung”“ inspired names for places, plants and things. “Telapayung” is an alternative term for the almendras (walnut) tree, which sports a thick canopy of leaves that resembles an umbrella’s coverage. There is also a barrio of that name in Arayat, which was either named after the almendras or for its umbrella-like geographical silhouette. Mushrooms in Kapampangan, are called “payung-payungan” (faux umbrellas) and a smaller specie is known as “payung-payungan daguis" (mouse mushroom).

 In folklore, the ‘payung” has found its way into our riddles, and it is the answer to this cryptic puzzle: “Inyang minukyat ya ing senyora, mibukadkad ya ing sampaga” (When the señora climbed up, the flower bloomed). When Rihanna’s song “Umbrella” took the country, literally by storm, a Kapampangan version composed by Jason Paul Laxamana and sung by the girl-band Mernuts, became an instant favorite: “Ngening atiu ne ing kauran/ Pangaku e kakalinguan/ Suklab ka lalam ning payung ku/ Suklab ka lalam ning payung ku/(Yung ku yung ku eh eh eh)/ Lalam ning payung ku/ (Yung ku yung ku eh eh eh)/ Lalam ning payung ku..”

There are so many umbrella variants today, like the “Chamberlain”, with its trademark long and slender handle; the “Tom Thumb”, a small folding umbrella that can be operated by one hand. There are dome-shaped umbrellas, square umbrellas, made of plastic, nylon, oil cloth. Some outfitted with electric fans, others come with drip-dry tips. And, of course, there are fantasy umbrellas designed to double as weapons of attack and deadly espionage devices, thanks to Hollywood spy movies. But they have never ceased to retain their original purpose. Once the typhoon season sets in, it will be time to get the trusty ‘payung’ ready again and start singing in the rain!