Only Lyrically

Tag: Project 52




[twentieth life-in-music post]



Yes, Selma, you’re singing the last song.


And if I may borrow from NU 107’s DJs —

and in anticipation of the real good work that lies ahead —

Project 52 is now signing off.

And A New Dawn Fades

[nineteenth life-in-music post]


Dear Santa,


It would really make me happy if you could give me a copy of 24 Hour Party People for Christmas.

Thank you very much. And Merry Christmas!







Fave From Fame

[eighteenth life-in-music post]



I remember being in high school and learning about this Alan Parker musical for the first time and not being able to make sense of “help me need you”.

Was even worried that maybe I’ve been hearing the lyrics wrong all the while. Maybe she’s singing something else. No google-check-for-correct-lyrics back in those days.

But we can check now…

Hmmmyep it’s “help me need you” alright.

Thing is, Out Here On My Own is not really my favorite Fame song, it’s I Sing The Body Electric which I truly love. But the scene where they play Out Here On My Own is the one which tugs at my heartstrings the most, particularly between 0:50 to 1:00 –



– because that’s when you know he’s falling for her, and he knows it.

Though she refuses to face it.

But we know what she really wants because she sings it.

And he knows it.

Maybe it’s the body electric.



Oh, and this one. Had to learn how to do the D minor chord back in high school so I could play this one on the guitar.




I want a guitar.




a diptych – second half

[seventeenth life-in-music post]

The Sound Of Music is anything but a comedy.

Both fell for the other – so previously, sometime somewhere, could Maria and the captain really have done something good?


And what happened after they climbed those mountains?

And for all my love for all their songs, may I play a joke?


a diptych – first half

[sixteenth life-in-music post]

Dancer In The Dark is anything but a tragedy.

Selma beat the tribunal — by giving in.

I can see her son seeing.

I can hear his heart sing ‘thank you’.


Once And For All

[fifteenth life-in-music post]

“take this sinking boat and point it home” — sings the duo

and he gave her a piano

and I sing along — “it’s time that you won”

and it’s 7:57, and it’s time to go


Hey, Fear, Hear

[fourteenth life-in-music post]




Something’s shaking my boat.

I acknowledge my fault in the matter, I earned some of the  nudging.

But I believe my sail is being lashed more than deserved this time. Or mistakenly. The wind murmured something hurtful.

I’d like to give the wind some benefit of the doubt. He must just be tired. From this point on he’ll have to blow on all the rest of the boats. You’d wonder where he’d get all that air to blow.

And then this.

I am not afraid.

I can’t afford to be afraid.

Something good always always always happens when something like this happens.

I’ll be taken care of.

I’ve got me a song.

I am cared for.





And The Wild Rumpus Goes On

[thirteenth life-in-music post]

There was a time when a girl named White Wave lived with her mother whose name meant row boat. And with her brother who was named after the prophet who got swallowed by the whale. And with her father whose name simply meant ‘the king’ — not a liquid name, yes, but given that a record inspired by ‘Max the king’ is at hand, ‘the king’ should fit right well in too. And that wild mix of characters all lived together in the murky flood lands of Sampaloc. And that was a long time ago.

Recently, for four days and three nights, White Wave rolled to another island. She did not camp this time. Again, she was sent off by the powers, to the powers. She was housed in a white palace and was treated like a goddess.

She is right now making an inventory of all her riches. She has a lot, more than she’ll ever know — she’s pretty goddamned blessed.

And she’s seeing it glitter, she’s seeing it shine, her brightest gem at the moment – her freedom. How she fought so hard for it.

She has to remember this every time she tends to whine and pout and throw tantrums about not being with the man of her house yet and other crap like or related to that.

Not alone, never alone — free.


Oh what a comfort…

And she ought to wrap up the inventory tonight by unpacking the luggage and checking if she did not forget a bikini in the island.

I don’t feel like writing for the powers yet, but I feel like drawing —

— to the tune of Where The Wild Things Are’s humming. Drawing from the wild!

Thank you to the wild and the forces of life and Whatchamacallit laughing from home above.

Send me off again! Quick! Weeeeeeeeeeee!


“…transparent, weightless, luminous…”

[twelfth life-in-music post]

she’s alright she’s alright she’s been lonely before she sings

and yes she sounds like Billie a Billie who can play the guitar

tears don’t leave any scars she’s alright she’s alright


can I just skip ahead to Half The Perfect World?

how did she get Ned to write her a song?

she lost something to the summer wind she sings and I’m skipping


oh this one is golden

sorry, blue, it’s blue

“she tells you no and no again”


I sought her because of her take on this one

I don’t want to write I just want to sing along even along with the piano solo

tun tun tun tun everybody’s talkin’


for the first time, last week in Calaguas, I gave Tori Amos’ 1000 Oceans a rest

I sang Everybody’s Talkin’ and Half The Perfect World alternately instead, while in the waters

will sing these same songs in Marinduque


and we’re not at Half The Perfect World yet


I’m sleeping the next few ones off


caught just a few strains of the last song



I missed half the perfect world



Did she really live on the second floor? I did.

[eleventh life-in-music post]




Since I dished Wilco’s self-titled album anyway for their oldie Summerteeth in the previous post, I’ll deviate from the schedule a bit here yet again.

Doing away with Beauty & Crime. Taking up Solitude Standing.

Jesus Christ, there’s a video! All these years and I didn’t know there’s a video!

And that was my first Suzanne. And she sang true. You really just won’t be able to argue.

Suzanne, the storyteller, the minstrel.

I really don’t feel like writing today. It’s raining.

Back neck shoulder ache. And so cold.

I’m getting me some bread and soup.

Her songs work like bread and soup.

I can stand solitude with bread and soup.




I love you Miss Vega. Thank you.