My folk dancing career started and ended in grade school in Bukidnon. Actually, I was drafted into it, like most of my classmates, because it was graded! The school principal had this idea of turning the school into a cultural showcase. She hired a gay choreographer from the city to train selected students, yes all kids, every weekend and after school to perform a variety of folk dances. We were then supposed to travel all over the housing camps and even outside, to perform for our families and relatives.
My homeroom teacher included me to be part of Lanceros de Negros. The boys were dressed like the sugar barons of the turn-of-the-century Negros, wearing immaculate off-white barongs with frilly laces typical of a Spanish land lord of the period (I felt so important then), while the girls donned Maria Clara gowns with skirts so wide and big, I thought it could house a poor family underneath. (Actually, we had our costumes tailored from fabrics meant for table cloths and curtains).
The school didn’t employ a make-up artist. The girls had their make-up and hair done at home. They looked decent. The boys, however, were like creatures from another planet. Our teachers simply took us aside, put some blood-red lipstick into their fingers and slapped these into our lips and cheeks, so that we won’t look like cadavers, they explained. I thought we looked like clowns.
The dance steps and movements were rather French. I mean, it’s really a rip-off of the gavotte: lots of stiff formal bows and three-quarter turns. It was like a waltz, only in Spanish-inspired costumes. It was fairly easy.
The others were not so fortunate. The tribal and Muslim dances were especially difficult and frightening. You see, one number featured girls performing a balancing act: half-kneeling on single bamboo supported atop the shoulders of two big boys on opposite ends, which always made the audience gasp and the parents squirm in their seats. The girls did fall to the floor a couple of times.
Others had to balance clay pots or lighted candles on their heads, or worse, dress like chickens. The latter was supposed to imitate a cockfighting match. Unfortunately, they appeared more like mad gorillas goring and knocking out each other.
When I stepped into high school, the head nun at our school entertained illusions of Broadway proportions: she put up a musical- Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. She initially wanted to let me play the piano accompaniment. When she found out I was not up to it, she hired a professional.
Our costumes were again made from curtain material. Our teacher was the choreographer and you could tell it was her first time. The sets were almost non-existent. The jars where the thieves were supposed to hide were clearly made of supermarket cartons, painted brown. The singing was third-rate, the leading lady even had to sing lip sync, while the “better” singer was backstage doing the vocals. I think it was a big flop. It was one of those school presentations where the parents had no choice but to watch them lest their kids resent them.
This nun was really ambitious, she didn’t let the flop discourage her from mounting another musical extravaganza, this time a piano recital. My older brother and I got featured along with others, including a piano teacher. My brother played Ernesto Lecouna’s dazzling Spanish dance, the Malagueña, while I played Muzio Clementi's Sonatina in F provided by my sister in Silliman.
Together with the piano teacher who played the 1st movement to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, we were the only ones who played classical. The others played popular melodies which were currently aired on the radio. One even had to bring her “imported” organ into the stage. I think my brother and I, who played the most difficult pieces, stole the show.
After that, I took up the banduria (lute) and played the national anthem during morning ceremonies, became the official organist during school masses and pianist for choral numbers on special events. I think I did well. The school gave me a special award during graduation rites.
The entire community seemed to think my family was like the von Trapp’s of the Sound of Music fame. You see, except for my mom, we became regular judges in amateur singing and choral contests, believe or not, even when we moved back to Bohol!
My homeroom teacher included me to be part of Lanceros de Negros. The boys were dressed like the sugar barons of the turn-of-the-century Negros, wearing immaculate off-white barongs with frilly laces typical of a Spanish land lord of the period (I felt so important then), while the girls donned Maria Clara gowns with skirts so wide and big, I thought it could house a poor family underneath. (Actually, we had our costumes tailored from fabrics meant for table cloths and curtains).
The school didn’t employ a make-up artist. The girls had their make-up and hair done at home. They looked decent. The boys, however, were like creatures from another planet. Our teachers simply took us aside, put some blood-red lipstick into their fingers and slapped these into our lips and cheeks, so that we won’t look like cadavers, they explained. I thought we looked like clowns.
The dance steps and movements were rather French. I mean, it’s really a rip-off of the gavotte: lots of stiff formal bows and three-quarter turns. It was like a waltz, only in Spanish-inspired costumes. It was fairly easy.
The others were not so fortunate. The tribal and Muslim dances were especially difficult and frightening. You see, one number featured girls performing a balancing act: half-kneeling on single bamboo supported atop the shoulders of two big boys on opposite ends, which always made the audience gasp and the parents squirm in their seats. The girls did fall to the floor a couple of times.
Others had to balance clay pots or lighted candles on their heads, or worse, dress like chickens. The latter was supposed to imitate a cockfighting match. Unfortunately, they appeared more like mad gorillas goring and knocking out each other.
When I stepped into high school, the head nun at our school entertained illusions of Broadway proportions: she put up a musical- Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. She initially wanted to let me play the piano accompaniment. When she found out I was not up to it, she hired a professional.
Our costumes were again made from curtain material. Our teacher was the choreographer and you could tell it was her first time. The sets were almost non-existent. The jars where the thieves were supposed to hide were clearly made of supermarket cartons, painted brown. The singing was third-rate, the leading lady even had to sing lip sync, while the “better” singer was backstage doing the vocals. I think it was a big flop. It was one of those school presentations where the parents had no choice but to watch them lest their kids resent them.
This nun was really ambitious, she didn’t let the flop discourage her from mounting another musical extravaganza, this time a piano recital. My older brother and I got featured along with others, including a piano teacher. My brother played Ernesto Lecouna’s dazzling Spanish dance, the Malagueña, while I played Muzio Clementi's Sonatina in F provided by my sister in Silliman.
Together with the piano teacher who played the 1st movement to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, we were the only ones who played classical. The others played popular melodies which were currently aired on the radio. One even had to bring her “imported” organ into the stage. I think my brother and I, who played the most difficult pieces, stole the show.
After that, I took up the banduria (lute) and played the national anthem during morning ceremonies, became the official organist during school masses and pianist for choral numbers on special events. I think I did well. The school gave me a special award during graduation rites.
The entire community seemed to think my family was like the von Trapp’s of the Sound of Music fame. You see, except for my mom, we became regular judges in amateur singing and choral contests, believe or not, even when we moved back to Bohol!
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