when rock needs a rest

It's quite possible that you've "heard" what happened to the Eraserheads concert last Saturday. I am at least a thousand miles way but watching the you tube videos that shortly came out, I had goosebumps like everyone else after the final countdown and saw the fab 4 being elevated into the stage. Truly historic. It had all the makings of a good drama right from the start, and I have a funny feeling this isn't finished yet. Remember that feeling of a sudden break up you didn't quite see coming? It leaves you with a weird, floating feeling because you still have a lot of energy and emotion about it to dispose. Until you're done, you can't just "shake yer head and walk away"... I guess that's how everyone else feels right now. BUT, considering how things went down it feels almost selfish to suggest a part 2 this soon. Has anyone else noticed how well-behaved Eheads fans have been after the concert was cut short? They have treated it very sacredly with the collective message being, "just seeing them all in one stage was enough!".

The E needs a rest before the final rock out, and i think everyone is more than willing to give him that. In the meantime, read what the man has written below a few years ago in his column called "Cursor" for one of the broadsheets. As usual, his patent unfazed disposition mixed with silent rebellion over all things regular and expected shines through. Isn't that what we've always loved about him?


A Dystopian Holiday
By Ely Buendia

The skies have turned black. The wind is howling. It picks up your skin’s scent. Raindrops the size of bowling balls bombard your little nipa shelter. Everyone fears that a tsunami is coming. It’s only four o’ clock in the afternoon at the beach but already the signs of the impending apocalypse are everywhere. And this is not just any beach, and not just any day. This is Boracay in the middle of summer. You gotta feel really special.

Admittedly there’s nothing like swimming in the ocean while a storm rages all around you. A major existential conundrum presents itself: Should you bring an umbrella out into the sea? Our banana boat driver cowers beneath his speedboat’s dashboard, in a vain attempt to escape the rain. Nobody wants to get wet on the beach.

It was the third day of Pupil’s stay in what can only be described as a dystopian holiday at the country’s most popular beach resort. Of course, I was probably the only one in our party who considered a bleak future for this trip. I was never an outdoor person, definitely not a beach person, not a people person either. So why was I riding a rickety jetprop all the way to where I most certainly not rather be? Well, there’s certainly room for an exception. This one being a business trip, it’s quite easy to forego any other considerations. Plus, it was an MTV and Motorola gig, so you know you’re in good hands. Who knows? You might actually enjoy it.

On the airplane though, you actually remember why you hate traveling right smack in the middle of summer in the first place. There are simply too many people going to the exact same place that you are. There’s no exclusivity at all. Well I guess it was asking too much.

Upon landing in Caticlan, the first of many tests on my resolve began. You see, I didn’t pack anything that resembled beach attire at all, partly out of laziness, partly out of protest, mostly to see if I could get away with it. This was purely a business trip, dammit. I was a businessman, and I was going to dress the part no matter what.

But I could not stand the thought of getting sand in my pristine white Pony shoes. I secretly inched my way to a nearby store and bought a pair of cheap sandals. Well, who looks at feet anyways?

After freshening up at the hotel, we were told by the producers to go to the beach immediately for soundcheck. I put on a black shirt and jeans, feeling a bit too casual than necessary. I was in for a surprise. Walking along the well kept strip mall that served as the main pathway to the beach, I came to recognize how much people took summer seriously. Everyone was practically walking around half naked, while yours truly struggled to keep his chin up in the face of utter displacement. Frankly, I had never felt so naked by being overdressed. It was The Blue Lagoon everywhere. I bravely pushed on, thinking that what really mattered was that Diane was walking alongside of me and she was wearing a beautiful swimsuit. No one would notice how ridiculous I looked. I was wrong. Practically everyone I met at the soundcheck commented on my out-of-place outfit. Okay, they had a point. But I wasn’t going to perform in a pair of skimpy Speedos.

By nighttime, everyone was used to The Guy Who Liked Wearing Long Sleeves and Jeans To the Beach. The food was great, the weather lovely, the music out of this world and the crowd, primal. It was, as the song goes, almost paradise. I made it through without breaking a sweat. Like I always say, clothes make the man. And without it, are we not animals?