The author’s copy of the album: The APO were the Beatles of the Pinoys who came of age in the ’70s, ’80s, connecting with the Pinoy psyche
Although I was also born in Abuyog and I have a paternal aunt who married a Javier, I never really knew Danny Javier. It’s a different thing altogether musically given the many decades that Danny, Jim and Boboy, collectively known as the Apo Hiking Society, or simply APO, wrote and sang the songs that became the soundtrack of my life, and if I may say so, the soundtrack of many Pinoys who grew up in the ’70s and the ’80s.
My father, who was an avid fan of Pinoy music as far back as I can remember, introduced me to the music of the APO by way of Lumang Tugtugin, their infectious homage to old Filipino songs which they aptly described as “madaling sabayan…masarap pakinggan.” They might as well have referred to the enduring body of work that they would write in the coming decades.
That could very well explain why my first 45rpm record was Batang-bata Ka Pa. Before that single came along, I had never known of a song with such a striking dialogical structure and a melodic counterpoint to boot. I remember asking my mother after I first heard it on the radio if it was possible to buy me the 45 despite our tight budget. To her credit, Mama wisely positioned it as a reward of sorts should I do well in school.
My first time to sing solo onstage would not have happened had it not been for Danny’s Kaibigan
My first time to sing solo onstage would not have happened had it not been for Danny’s composition Kaibigan. I used to obsess about getting the timing of its first line right given its subtle orchestral intro. “Kaibigan…tila yata matamlay ang yong pakiramdam…” That was the only line I remember hearing myself sing at that time because, to my surprise, the entire high school auditorium erupted in wild applause. “Bagay yung boses mo sa kanta, bro!” a classmate kindly remarked after. Alas, unlike Danny, Jim and Boboy, I never went on to pursue a successful singing career. That experience, however, was enough to give me the confidence and motivation to pick up a guitar.
Thanks to the “sipra” masters of Jingle Magazine and that beat-up Lumanog guitar at home, I learned to strum and later pluck the chords to such APO classics as Pumapatak Na Naman ang Ulan, Ewan, Show Me a Smile, Nakapagtataka, and Pag-ibig.
I guess you could say that the APO were the Beatles of the Pinoys who came of age in the ’70s and ’80s. They wrote one hit after another and hardly missed a mark in connecting with the Pinoy psyche. Okay, I do still take issue with their I-told-you-so attitude in Blue Jeans. Coming from a family which put a lot of premium on studying diligently, I have a hard time singing along to “sige sige kayod sa skwela at balang araw makikita nyo, (Blue jeans) pagkatapos ng iyong paghihirap, di ka rin makakahanap ng trabaho.” My wife though has fond memories of that song as it was part of their high school cheer.
In college, my classmates and I practically adopted Awit ng Barkada as our class anthem since it came out as we neared our final year. Perusing its lyrics now while reflecting on the long and winding uncertainty that comes after graduation, I now understand why. “Nandirito kami ang barkada mong tunay, aawit sa yo, sa lungkot at ligaya, hirap at ginhawa kami’y kasama mo.”
Years later, their San Na Nga Ba’ng Barkada had a compelling way of reminding me that the older we grow, the more we realize that our time is finite. You never really know how much time you have left. And so despite the distance between Manila where I now live and Pampanga, I would make time for those occasional class get-togethers whenever my work schedule would permit. “Napakahirap malimutan ang saya ng aming samahan, kahit lumipas na ang iilang taon magkabarkada pa rin ngayon.”
I wonder though if Danny’s light-hearted treatment of dying in Lahat Tayo is the fitting sequel to San Na Nga Ba’ng Barkada Ngayon? “Sige akong mauuna, pangakong susunod ka ha; malungkot ang nag-iisa, mas masayang kasama ka…bitbit-bitbit ko’ng barkada.” While its definitive stance towards the certainty of mortality is in stark contrast to the open-endedness of the question posed in San Na Nga Ba…, like Awit ng Barkada and San Na Nga Ba…, Lahat Tayo suggests that Gabriel Marcel (whose writings the APO must have studied in their philosophy classes at the Ateneo) was right all along: “esse est co-esse”—to be is to be with.
Feeling nostalgic after hearing of Danny’s passing, I recently played the APO’s 1978 album Pagkatapos na ng Palabas. As I stood to return the album to the record shelf after the closing track, a line from its back cover caught my eye. It was easy to miss because it was embedded among the names of the many Filipino talents who made that album happen. But there it was. It read: “Pagkatapos na ng Palabas, di kaya kami mangungupas…”
Now we know that in the grand scheme of things, that is not what matters most.
