Ely

How do you say good bye to someone like Ely? The first time I have heard of him was in college. Way back, when my musical preference was bouncing between folk and country and the hits of the 70’s were for me, the greatest music discovery of this age, I may have simply dismissed him as noise. I thought that he was too loud for me, if not mundane. His style was pathetic and his songs were reflective of people who could insensitively wear unwashed pair of jeans for months and would drool just by the thought of liquor. As Ely would admit years later of their music being tunog kalye, I thought that was even an understatement. See I didn’t know who Ely was. I had no affinity for him. That being the case, I may have never really noticed whether at a certain point he was already standing in front of me. I didn’t care. But as prophecies were destined to fulfill themselves, I met Art, a forever-loyalEly-stricken fan and with his elyism being so infectious, I have come to know Ely in almost every sense of the word-to later love what he is in the eyes of millions. It was over a phone conversation one night when I was, by intimidation convinced to listen to this filler in

Eheads’

album.

Almost

naturally,

I

put

on

Chiz

Escudero’s signature smirk and prepared myself to endure some desperate case of bathroom singing. To my surprise though, there was neither the usual heavy strumming of the band member pouring his angst over the guitar, nor was there the voice of someone who’s ingested too much pepper. Quite the reverse, Filler came softly like moonrise and sweet as rain. It didn’t last for more than 2 minutes on the phone but it my heart it did. Long after I’ve hung up, the melody still played over and over like tortune. I felt that somewhere in that song, Ely attempted to free his invisible side. I imagined his words and I was awed of how liberating, as well as revealing it must have been for him, as it was for me. In a figurative sense, we were in a crowded alley and I looked at him for the first time and saw what his soul was like, and it was beautiful.

In

the

next

few

years

that

the

band

climbed

phenomenal heights as their songs hit MTV screens like forces

of

nature,

Art

and

the

crowd

went

ultraelectromagneticfanatic. As for Ely, he was stoically nobody but a member of the Philippine alternative rock

almighty. Nonetheless, while he was an icon to the many, he remained a mystery to me. I have wished to understand how his face could disguise the brilliance of his stardom and the fire in his music. Better yet, how could there be remoteness in his eyes when he sang of the unkind and complex realities of his generation. Yes, to a certain extent, Ely was our bed spacer. I allowed myself to be filled and consumed to grasp the meaning of his words and even those in between. I listened to him and though sometimes I still thought he was too loud, he was no longer plain.

In the songs Magasin and Ligaya, he added pun to what was ordinarily, a classic love theme. Though impressed with the complexity of human emotions, they cried out, albeit with grace, the signs of the changing times. In Maling Akala, he gave me something to think about but in Overdrive, things to smile about.

I also find it

profound that though Ely may have never consciously considered before the ultimate break up of the band, his Spoliarium proved to be an overture. In conclusion were his songs Minsan and Para sa Masa which offered the meaningful tribute to the Eraserheads that was Ely, Marcus, Buddy and Raimund as well as to the millions

of people behind them and those that remain at their feet despite the passage of time. In what is truly an irony, the splendor in Ely’s music is that he could be at the same time, senseless and sweet, sincere and crazy, man and child. Of the most remarkable however, I found Huling El Bimbo truly engaging for even the video has splendidly captured love

in

such

wretched

condition

over

a

silent

melodrama that was Ely. Fair enough, it has launched the greatness of the Filipino talent in the realms of International Music television.

If indeed Ely’s stars paled the last few years, I have no personal way of knowing. Given that I woke up one day with Eheads being history and Ely was already a certain Jesus “Dizzy” Ventura who called his band, the Mongols, I never noticed the transition. Think that it was not even surprising when he switched to being Ely again with Pupil. For sticker happy-Art and millions like him who breathe

carbon

stereoxide

while

munching

on

fruitcakes, he is forever a true legend and a burning torch. In fact, on the few occasions that Ely guested on Game ka na ba? and reached third level, Art froze in his own time and dimension. He always had the biggest blush whenever Ely would lose while I find most

entertaining, his immediate attempt to justify Ely’s defeat. When I think of Ely now, I do believe that he is a wonderful person far beyond his name and stellar character. With the millions of pieces of Ely that were bared in his songs and significantly influenced the critical perception of the masses, he is one gifted creature. Though Art must have known this all along, I, on my part, fully realized the greatness of the man on that blessed autumn day. For in that fine weather, while his guitar played the best rhythms, nobody noticed that he was missing beats inside. How wry that his heart must have been failing him a little sooner than his music will, but I could only see him up there, with his far away eyes and a carefree smile.

As I recall writing the first part of this, several months back, I had that honest thought then that his heart condition would begin the last years of his career. Never have I imagined that there could actually be a reunion concert. While for the most hopeful fans, it was next to impossible, for the people on the side like me, it

was already unbelievable as a myth. Thus, when news of the reunion circulated, I went from being seriously skeptical to ultimately enthralled. But I never got to watch the concert unlike the 20 to 30 thousands with lucky stars in their pockets. Eventually the shocking story of its termination would find its way through every available medium and the heads became even larger than

life.

Interestingly,

it

was

only

after

this

"phenomenon" that I became interested about the other bandmates Rayms, Markus and Buddy and their kalayaan dorm at UP. As I get to read the blogs and comments about them, I was like re-introduced to the magnitude of their music and the depth of their souls. And in my heart was conceived the silent wish of the band's reunion album, reunion tour or just plain and simple reunion.

Finally, on March 7, 2009 at the Mall of Asia, I swam across an ocean of a hundred thousand faces to see Ely and the E-heads play the final set of their last music together. And when Ely said goodnight I called out his name like it was a way for me to breathe and my life depended on it. But it was the end, the supposed culmination to the mania that survived generations, the light at the end of

the tunnel, the edge of forever. To some, it was Eheads’ mi ultimo adios with the ceremonial burning of the sticker happy piano, but I remain in the limbo of denial. While for Art, it was the time of letting go, I still hang in there, suspended in mid-air with the chant, the smoke and pyrotechnics filling my mind.

Photos courtesy of flickr.com