Where do seniors go while waiting for the final bell? What do they do as they face the final curtain? I know where some of them go. They congregate in a videoke bar in a mall somewhere in Mandaluyong City to sing their hearts out.
Remember that popular song about Annie Batungbakal, a retail salesgirl by day and a disco queen by night? In a way these folks are living a double life: Frank Sinatra or Martin Nievera by day, Tatay Berto by night, Peggy Lee or Sarah Geronimo in the morning, Lola Vina in the afternoon.
Every day, seven days a week, patrons from ages 50 to late 70 come here, get their names listed down, and then sit in the chairs, patiently waiting for their turn to go to the center of the room, hold the mic and sing the songs they had pre-selected, P5 for each song.
It’s a videoke bar but no food or drinks are served here; just a spacious room, practically bare, with nothing but plastic chairs on both sides of the room and a lone videoke screen and player at the front center. There’s a song by Anita Bryant called “My little corner of the world.” That’s what it is, a seniors’ singing club in a little corner of the world.
Just like the scene in the Lloyd-Webber musical “Phantom of the Opera ”where the mysterious masked impresario repeatedly commands the young diva to sing towards the highest note, it seems to me that something or someone unseen is goading each of these old folks to come up to the spotlight to sing their hearts out, to lose themselves in the fervor of the moment. They may be singers but they’re no longer young and there’s no actual spotlight, except in their minds.
What is it in videoke singing that makes these folks come day after day to this place rather than stay at home, watch TV, prepare meals, repair the leaking roof or even make a living?
Singing is like an elixir they crave and their daily trips here bring out the other personality that somehow makes real their respective daydreams and fantasies. Even I who is blasé about these things can see that once the next performer begins to sing, his self becomes fully vested in it.
We all know, of course, that music has the power to evoke an emotional response within us, but it’s even truer with the act of performing music such as singing. It is said to release happy hormones called endorphins. This is why one feels so good when singing. In this one corner of the universe, the performer is able to disconnect with the news and to let the endorphins flow.
Videoke singing may also be therapeutic and restorative with the release of endorphins in the body. And there’s no pressure. Nobody gets booed here for atrocious singing. No Simon Cowell to critique a performance. Every performer gets duly applauded. After all, this is not a talent competition. At the end of the day, each of these elderly performers probably goes home feeling happier, more relaxed, and convivial.
Beyond the self, there’s the palpable sense of community. This is because it’s a convergence point, akin to the “tindahan sa kanto” or the big tree in the village square and even a second home to some. Here they make new friends or sometimes a new lover as one old lady unabashedly confessed to me.
It also serves as a support network that’s non-threatening, non-judgmental. “Magulo sa bahay” (“no peace and quiet at home”), says one. “Lagi kaming nag-aaway o nagtatalo. Dito masaya.” (My partner likes to pick a fight. Here it’s a happy place.)
One is among friends in whose company everyone is comfortable to be able to say things he or she cannot say at home. They freely talk about their present and past and find a ready listening ear to their current concerns and even dalliances. Old folks are only too predisposed to tell their stories to anyone willing to listen.
Of course, the songs play a large role in building camaraderie. Many select songs that they know well will also resonate within the room. The emotional connection to these songs is what keeps those present engaged.
The choice of a song can sometimes be self-revealing as when a 60-plus-year-old lady had tears running down her face as she sang “The Winner Takes It All” by ABBA. I’m sure, there’s a back-story we don’t know. Truth to tell, that place is a treasury of colorful and insightful stories that can be mined by any perceptive writer.
I’m sure there’s a lot of history too, for these aged folks embody a past that is now vanishing. Come to think of it, that room represents a peculiar subculture that will whet the interest of any sociology major looking for a subject for her college thesis.
Seriously, aside from building more homes for the aged, we should open more of these kinds of videoke nooks for seniors all over the city. It would be a great rejuvenating and healing space even for the elderly who are not into singing.
Later on, it dawned on me that nobody sang the inevitable videoke staple “My Way.” Was it because no one wanted to mouth such words as “the end is near, and I face the final curtain?” Understandably. It would probably have dampened the ebullient mood in the room.
Maybe choosing not to sing that song is a statement.
All their life until now, many of them didn’t get to step on center stage or get to be the center of attention. For people who don’t regularly get a chance to adequately express themselves, singing in front of strangers in a roomful of people can be the next best thing; an exciting way to own their individual voices. In the pre-departure lounge of their lives, they prefer to sing passionately against being forgotten too soon.
I’m still here. My mic. My song. My life.