Matrikula by Gloc-9: A Brilliant Album from A Pinoy Rapper with a Protest Singer’s Sensibility
by The Whimsical Man
Written on 08/15/2009
A TIME feature article some years back observed that hip-hop culture had invaded the globe, and that indeed seems to be the case. But in every country where rap and hip-hop have taken a foothold, the genre’s leading artists and performers have refashioned it according to their own culture, mixed it with elements uniquely theirs, and have thus been able to offer up something new.
Pinoy rap, of course, will always have to credit the American hip-hop movement for its inspiration, but it has also evolved into something radically different. While many American rappers are now bragging about their bling and expensive cars (a far cry from the serious, hefty topics of such forerunners as Public Enemy), Pinoy rappers such as Gloc-9 are using the genre to vent their frustrations (and there are many) about inequity and other aspects of life in this country.
Of the entire generation of young rappers inspired by the late Francis M (and to whom he dedicates one, possibly even two songs on this album), Gloc-9 is arguably the most relevant, and certainly one of the most visible. Again, I have to confess my bias here towards lyrically articulate, sometimes verbose songwriters who also happen to have madskills, either as singers or rappers. And there is no doubt that Gloc-9 has mad skills, as even a cursory review of his latest album will establish.
As is the wont of rappers and hip-hop artists, this CD is full of guest performers, and in the lead single’s case, Upuan, it’s Jeazell Grutas, who sings the chorus and injects the song with the appropriate mood, at once resigned and accusing. It’s this song that is making the rounds of radio stations and music channels at the moment. The video could have been better, though – as it is, the only lasting visual impression it leaves you with is that Gloc-9’s head is somewhat large for his body.
But never mind that. What really matters is the songwriting, and Gloc-9 doesn’t disappoint, taking on the topic of inequity by pointing a finger at the irresponsible lifestyles of the rich and famous: Tao po, nandyan po ba kayo sa loob ng/ Malaking bahay at malawak na bakuran/ Mataas na pader pinapaligiran/ At nakapilang mga mamahaling sasakyan/ Mga bantay na laging bulong ng bulong/ Wala namang kasal pero marami ang nakabarong.
The first few tracks establish the album’s mission – one that, with the possible exception of the introduction by Mike Swift (which I will come back to later), takes an unflinching and unapologetic look at how hard life can be in the Philippines, and takes note of its many readily observable signs of inequity. In Martilyo, for example, while he declares his unrelenting ambition as a rapper, he tempers it with an awareness of one who knows fully well that he is living in a third-world country: Pero di tumataas aking mga paa / Nakatungtong sa lupa dahil alam ko na / Ako’y nasa Pinas, may pila sa bigas / Ilan lang ang sikat na bulsa’y di butas.
One might argue that it’s easy to complain about the country’s current circumstances, and that’s true. But to write about these things in verse, making poignant sense and never coming across as preachy, whiny or ungrateful, that’s entirely another matter.
There is evidence throughout the CD that this guy has his head screwed on straight. In Tinta and at several other points throughout, he acknowledges his mother’s importance in his life: Nagsimula ang lahat nang aking mahawakan / Ang papel at panulat habang ako’y tinuturuan / Ni Nanay habang sya’y naglalaba ng damit sa poso / Paulit-ulit isinusulat at dapat diretso ang mga / Letra na parang petsa sa kalendaryo. In the liner notes, he expresses his devotion to his wife and kids as well. In this Eminem-influenced world of commonplace female-bashing, where giving a shout-out to one’s mother, wife and kids is uncool, this rapper doesn’t hesitate.
In fact, he takes it several steps further by commenting particularly on the cruelty of child labor. In Balita, which appropriates the Asin classic for its chorus, he observes: Mga bata na ang dapat na ginagawa’y maglaro/ Bagkus ay agos ng pawis at magbanat ng buto/ Upang kumita ng ilang pirasong pisong madungis/ Kalyo sa kamay at paa na manhid sa matulis/ Hindi manika ang hawak ng kanyang mumunting braso.
But hearing these grim messages and exhortations one after another can be a little overwhelming.
So, lest the CD get too dreary, Gloc-9 thankfully injects some welcome humor right in the middle. Bahala Na is single-ready, fast and furious, featuring his trademark mile-a-minute rapping with a lighthearted tone (for a change), and some throwaway but obviously meticulously crafted lines that are not meant to be taken too seriously: Niligawan ang klasmeyt mo/ Pag nilalapitan ang sinasabi nya sa ‘yo Pwe!/ Ngayon ang enrolment nyo/ Humingi ka ng pera sabi ng Itay mo Che!
Then he goes right back into social-commentary mode. In The Bobo Song, he rants about Pinoys’ penchant for watching TV shows that are, in a word, nakakabobo: Mga chismis na nahuli na ng isang dekada/ May pelikula kaya ngayon sila’y magsyota/ Da who itong starlet na sa banyo nadulas/ Huwag na huwag mong ililipat, susunod na sa The Buzz/ 1, 2, 3 teka lang, nauna me/ Makakakita ka ng mga natapakan sa TV/ Habang kumakain ng kanin, chicken adobo/ Ayoko ng ganito, nakakabobo.
He does go on to clarify, however, that his intention is not merely criticism for its own sake: Di naman importanteng magpaka-dalubhasa/ Ang sakin lang naman ikaw ay maliwanagan/ Huwag na huwag mong gawing dahilan ang kahirapan.
Pangarap is written from his own perspective, and it chronicles his difficulties as a young, struggling rapper, but matter-of-factly, without any hint of self-pity or bitterness: Naranasan mo na bang sayo’y walang kumakamay/ Kasama ka sa motorcade pero walang kumakaway/ Para kang gago, mikoropono’y laging dispalinghado/ Tumatalon na CD, sira na entablado.
Of course, given his recent success, the tone evolves into an appropriately grateful one in the song’s second half: Labing-isang taon ang sa akin ay lumipas/ Ngayon ay masasabi kong matamis nga ang ubas.
Ever heard the phrase, “All killer, no filler?” It’s used to describe an album filled with good songs, with no space or (in this digital era) bytes wasted on inferior tracks. Well, this album is it, down to every spoken interlude, down to the very last track. Tao is an ode to loved ones who have passed away, with a genuinely affecting sampled chorus sung by Cookie Chua, who has, over the years, acquired a Sampaguita-like rasp, which makes for a very appealing addition to the song.
All killer, indeed. This is a rap album even for people who do not normally listen to rap, and definitely a sound purchase for those who want to know that the spirit of protest music is alive and well in OPM.
Curiously enough, the album does not start with a track by Gloc-9, but with a short intro by fellow rapper Mike Swift, who pronounces, “Alam ko classic ang album na yan, kailangan makasingit ako dyan.”
As with all albums and all works of art, only time will tell. But Mike Swift just might be right.
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