S U N D AY : M A R C H 2 2 : 2 0 1 5
C2
LIFE
BAMBINA OLIVARES WISE EDITOR
g l w e e ke n d @ g m a i l . c o m
WHAT’S IN A STANDARD?
DEBATABLE STANDARD stand ard
noun
principles of conduct informed by notions of honor and decency
REMEMBRANCE OF ISSUES PAST
READING STANDARD stand ard
noun
a form of language that is widely accepted as the correct form
At some point, I have been judged by people who know me for having either ludicrously high standards or shamefully low ones bereft of any JAMI self-respect. Let’s not get LEDESMA into what those are, but some of those observations admittedly hold water while others, in my opinion, do not. Eventually, that got me asking myself: what’s in a standard? It was during the FIFA World Cup in Mexico some ten thousand throwback Thursdays ago that I found myself glued to the television watching in awe as Diego Maradona weaved his magic on the pitch. At the time, all I knew was that he was the greatest footballer of that era and I somehow concluded that there was no reason my standard of play couldn’t be like his. My epiphany lasted all of five minutes and came to a grinding halt after I stepped outside with a ball and discovered that running while dribbling it entailed too much multi-tasking, not to mention skill and coordination. The year was 1986 and I credit it as the epoch when I first understood what
standards truly meant. I am not a deeply religious person, but I concede that this revelation would not have been possible without some help from the “Hand of God”. Of course, setting one’s standards is not as sophomoric as the eye-opener I experienced that summer. Standards are subjective, dictated by myriad factors that possibly begin in one’s subconscious while still in the womb, developed throughout the formative years, influenced by peers, professors, the media, and so on. Soon after my delusions of football greatness, I then set the standards of my ambitions sky high—literally—when I decided I should become an airline pilot. After writing a letter to PAL inquiring what the requirements and qualifications were, I was ecstatic to receive a reply from them saying all that was needed was a degree in engineering or physics. This whim, however, was shot down in a fiery blaze like a drone by a surface-to-air missile after two years of drudgery under an obnoxious physics professor with halitosis convinced that Newton’s laws of motion were child’s play. Then, there was the English literature professor, a sadist of sorts who seemed to
take great pleasure in making me read the work of Geoffrey Chaucer whose poetry may as well have been written in Greek as far as my adolescent mind was concerned. Sheer torture. Prior to deciphering “The Canterbury Tales”, my literary standard was an ‘80s “classic” called “Choose Your Own Adventure” and unlike reading Chaucer, not only would it not give me a nosebleed, I could even decide how the story ended. That way, all my standards were satisfactorily met. So what’s in a standard? I guess it can be said that like destiny, there are times that standards are in fact in our own hands. We can either raise them or lower them to suit the occasion, go with the flow, or just because. Alcohol has a knack for lubricating standards and opening our minds to setting new ones—be it higher or lower. Our standards for cuisine, humor, and even members of the opposite sex can either shoot up the charts or go down the drain after one too many (more often the latter, in my experience). Anyone who has been tipsy can attest to this. In vino veritas. Let’s raise a glass to new standards. Cheers!
The late Louie Beltran and I were invited to join the Manila Standard In 1988—he to write his top-rating daily column “Straight CHIT from the Shoulder”, I to L. LIJAUCO edit a new concept for a Sunday supplement to the fairly young daily broadsheet. The invitation came from Josine Elizalde, Beltran’s producer of the television version of his newspaper column and the sisterin-law of the businessman behind Manila Standard News, publisher of the broadsheet, the late Manda Elizalde. The concept given me was exciting. It replicated the broadsheet size of W magazine, the successful monthly fashion magazine in the United States. I called the magazine S, for Sunday Standard. The first cover featured Patricia Panlilio, photographed by Mandy Navasero, and though the printing had much to be desired, S created quite a stir for being the first of its kind in the local industry and the impact such a huge cover made.
Because of this visual impact, S was able to draw the support of master photographers in the industry who agreed to lend their skill to the magazine for the measly budget that was allowed by management. Wig Tysmans, Patrick Koenigswarter, Neal Oshima, Bien Bautista, and Jun de Leon took turns photographing the cover and the cover story. It stood out among other Sunday magazines until, through changes in ownership, it was shrunk to the size of an ordinary magazine, then changed to a fortnightly stand-alone magazine under the name Savvy, until its discontinuance in 1999. My life in Manila Standard counted 11 years. Apart from producing the weekly and fortnightly publications, there was also one experience that will always be a high point in my years with the company. On 31 August 1997, the world was shocked by the news of Princess Diana’s tragic death. A week later management asked me if I could produce a special magazine about the beloved princess. My daughter, who was then in high school, was a British royalty fan. For years she collected
books about the royal family, beautiful tomes brought home to her from abroad by her aunts living outside the Philippines. Of course she had a lot of coffee table books on Diana. I got materials from my daughter’s books to use in the special 8-page magazine I simply called Diana. After I put it to bed nearing midnight, I went home satisfied that I accomplished the task given me...and fell asleep exhausted. The next morning, I was awakened by the incessant ringing of my mobile phone. It was the production manager and the circulation manager calling to tell me to go to office early to see something Manila Standard has not seen before. Newspaper dealers were queuing at the office, all wanting to get the Diana special issues. It was selling like hot cakes on the street. The office had to promise to reprint as the dealers placed additional orders. The reprinting was done for a few more days until the demand dwindled and died. But that was such a great feeling: to come out with a product that had such a high demand from the reading public.
Basie Orchestra to name a few. Her list of collaborators also includes Barry Manilow, Jose Feliciano and Stevie Wonder. She has also performed at the White House twice. For this concert, she took her place at the piano, and accompanied by a small rhythm section, belted out songs from her latest album, I Remember You (with Love to Stan and Frank), which was released last year. The album is a tribute to two men who were major influences on her music and her career: the jazz saxophonist Stan Getz and the crooner Frank Sinatra. Schuur called them “two of my most important mentors. All the songs were previously recorded by one or both of them… This is a very personal album about my life experiences.” Getz, in fact, is credited with discovering her at the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1979, when she was 26 years old. As the story goes, Getz was in the audience when Schuur came on stage and belted out a gospel suite with the late drummer Ed Shaughnessy’s band. He was blown over by what he’d heard. Victor L. Schermer, a critic writing for allaboutjazz.com, called Schuur “that rare songbird who is equally competent as a jazz singer and a pops entertainer. While some
vocalists go with more lucrative popular music and some take the road of jazz artist in the pure sense, Schuur is able to straddle the two careers.” And that perhaps explains the enduring appeal of Diane Schuur. There is something simultaneously approachable and haughty about her, the way she chooses music that most everyone above the age of 40 is familiar with, and performs them flawlessly, as a seasoned entertainer would. Yet she infuses her performances with jazzy rhythms and emotional depth without melodrama or histrionics, often scatting with confidence, like a true artist would. She was destined to be a musical artist. She may have been born blind, but she had perfect pitch, and even taught herself piano initially by ear. Now wheelchair bound, Schuur grew up surrounded by jazz, with an amateur pianist for a father and a mother who had amassed an impressive collection of Duke Ellington and Dinah Washington albums and home, and played them often. In fact, as a toddler, Schuur had already learned Washington’s iconic “What a Difference a Day Makes.” Listen to her sing the standards live, or stream her music, and you’ll see what a difference Diane makes.
THE “W SCHUUR THING BY BAMBINA OLIVARES WISE
JAZZ STANDARD stand ard
noun
a level of quality or attainment
e’ve all been there,” said Diane Schuur in between songs that chronicled the inevitable cycle of love, from the heady early days of infatuation to the moments of despair and regret. Her voice at 61 is still limpid, even if at times it faltered, mostly at the beginning. In Manila recently for the Philippine International Jazz Festival at Solaire, the Grammy Award-winner found the time to sing at an intimate, private concert at the Philamlife Tower. Starting out with “S’ Wonderful,” Deedles, as the queen of contemporary jazz from Tacoma, Washington, was nicknamed as a child, segued smoothly to “How Insensitive,” “I Remember You,” and “I Get Along without You Very Well,” tackling all the great American standards with ease. “Here we become a little more spontaneous,” she remarked, performing a bit of Gershwin, a bit of Jobim, a bit of Stan Getz and even a bit of Miles Davis. Her rendition of “Louisiana Sunday Afternoon” brought the house down, followed by her final number, “For Once in My Life.” Deedles, who has been coming to the Philippines since 1988 for various concerts, has sung with all the greats – Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Stan Getz, B.B. King and the Count