“Here’s a Gen Z take on Martin Nievera.”
“Flowers for you on this lovely evening; though we have no words, they share my feelings” are the first few lines of a famous love song I have made myself familiar with in the last few years or so. Since I’ve heard this being performed in videoke nights by my parents’ church acquaintances, I’ve tried in my own way to explore this track. Now, whenever I’d be given the chance to sing in my home on Sundays, I would never miss the beat of Each Day with You.
Funny you should ask, why in the world would a Gen Z-er listen to songs of Martin Nievera, let alone the ones from his first few albums? People my age would come to know him as the voice of any male OPM song that induces an American-accented, baritone-like way of belting. To give you an idea of what his voice would sound like, you might need to rediscover his cover songs like Kahit Isang Saglit and You Are My Song, both of which he brought enduring popularity to today’s listeners. But there is something in his early set of albums that made me want to imitate him – his voice, his style, and his tone.
Sometime during the pandemic, I got acquainted with a collection of crossover songs from a certain YouTube channel. There was a track, sung by him, that was played at a different pace. The thoughts of you I always treasure, the good times and the bad we’ll share forevermore. Pain, despite of the person begging and hoping for her old flame to come back in its arms, appealed to me as if I was taken into a drive along the streets of Makati at night. It was lighthearted and upbeat, layered with key changes that happened twice with the same set of verses and refrains. Maybe that drove me into my own desire to sing in a similar tone as he does.
I am a self-confessed, self-proclaimed baritone. I have sung into my own depth and thickness since I had my first serving of jazz a few years back. I got to acquaint myself with Sinatra and Michael Buble through their songs, once unfamiliar to my sentimental-laden Spotify playlists, that are now staples in my once-in-a-blue-moon gigs. People around the choir I was once part of as a trainee would insist that I was a tenor, yet I could not seem to match the texture of the voice type assigned to me despite the range I could reach.
So, yes, I wanted to be like Martin Nievera.
Apart from Pain and Each Day, I went back into my own pain of non-romance by exploring another track written by Ryan Cayabyab. I thought of recalling my past musings in seeking unrequited relationships that made me listen to a soulful ballad of his. While it appeared to me as if something was bitin, over time I found the chords reasonable enough to inject a sense of disjuncture, a loss brought by a love that died down, as evident in its ever-evoking question – How Can I.
I enjoyed singing that song, but only as a way to escape from the smoothness of romance brought by the songs earlier mentioned here. This brought me to his standard birit, something soulful enough that allowed me to express whatever I had regardless of how annoying it could be. Yes, some of his hits sounded annoying. It is as if a bee punctured a sting into your ear and produced a buzzing sound that would spin a ring inside your head for a long time. Yet that belt of his endeared the most to his fans and listeners. It is in his high notes that made him renowned vocally, that many singers now try to imitate and learn.
I can’t help but reminisce about the Mad Man’s musical legacy. I am also sad that people my age would reduce him to someone who knew how to put a stamp in covering songs as if these were his in the first place. I wish his repertoire could be explored further and marvel at his way of setting the mood for a perfect night, whether you are on a date or on the road cruising.
Rolando Ng III loves to write about politics, music, and anything that interests him.
