Take it from Romy Comoda, who has been tuning Cecile Licad’s piano whenever she has a concert in her home country, “Maski na yung walang hilig sa classical music, pagnarinig siyang tumugtog, magugustuhan.” His duties used to take him to distant cities and towns, especially when music writer-retired impresario Pablo Tariman organized provincial tours for her.
The year 2003 was personally significant to me. Pablo gave me access to her, and she let me act out my fantasy of being her groupie. I had been following her rise since I saw her as a chubby, bespectacled child of 11 perform as a soloist with the University of the Philippines Orchestra under the baton of Regalado Jose in June 1973. The occasion was our freshman orientation program. Then UP President Salvador Lopez led the standing ovation.
I watched nearly all of Cecile’s performances in ’03 at Philamlife Auditorium in Manila, the Carabao Center auditorium at the Central Luzon State University (CLSU) in Muñoz, Nueva Ecija, at neurosurgeon Joven Cuanang’s residence in Antipolo and at St. Paul University in Tuguegarao, Cagayan. (When Irene Marcos-Araneta heard this, she said, “If one must be a groupie, might as well be a classical music groupie, di ba?”)
There were only two similar words for Cecile’s performances everywhere: electric and electrifying.
I listened to her rehearse and give technical instructions. She was worried that the gray carpet on the CLSU auditorium stage would muffle the sound of the piano and deprive people at the back of the hall of their listening pleasure. She politely requested that it be removed.
Earlier, Muñoz Mayor Nestor Alvarez laid out a breakfast buffet for her party that included her son Otavio. Hizzoner had his cook prepare white cheese, fried eggs sunny side up and easy over, longganisa, daing na bangus, eggplant omelette, corned beef, chopped tomatoes, mangoes, rambutan and bananas. And rice, of course. Cecile went back to the buffet table twice, each time piling her plate high with rice and various viands she was homesick for.
“I eat a lot of rice,” she said unapologetically in her husky smoker’s voice. Naturally she has to because she plays the piano “athletically so I burn off all that carbo.”
In Antipolo, her mother Rosario Buencamino Licad confirmed that “if Cecile eats well, she plays well.” She added that her daughter’s house in New York was full of culinary books and magazines.
Mrs. Licad repeatedly tells Cecile: “Never forget who helped you in your career because it wasn’t just one person responsible for you.”
Fred Mendoza, a family friend and once the producer of “Concert at the Park,” boasted of his complete collection of Cecile’s recordings that he built up since she was nine. He said whenever she arrives for a scheduled performance in the Philippines, her very first question is: “Meron ba tayong piano?”
Almost miraculously, a quality piano always turns up—at Philamlife it was a Steinway worth P7 million; for the outreach, there was a Yamaha.
Mendoza said those who could afford to give scholarships should do so. “Without scholarships,” he said, “there would be no Doctor Cuanang, no Cecile Licad. Many young Filipinos are forced to work because of abject poverty when they should be in school.”
Sr. Angela Barrios, SPC, echoed his views. In faraway Cagayan, she was on a mission to “make art and culture important in people’s lives. Talent shared by the likes of Cecile can make life meaningful.” It was Cecile’s second time to perform in her university, and the nun described her guest as possessing “audacious musical instincts” that reflect her “fabulous training.”
And after giving her all at those music halls, what happened to Cecile and her small party (son Otavio, film director Marilou Diaz-Abaya, who’s like an older sis to the pianist, Pablo, painter Alain Llaguno and me) in Banawe, Ifugao? We were almost trapped by a mudslide.
Gamely, we rolled up our pants and waded through the brown slush. Cecile knew her priority. Assured that Otavio could cross what was left of the road without falling into a ravine, she held on tightly to her music sheets and made it to the van of Mayor Alvarez waiting for us on the safe side of the highway.
Upon reading my published account of what happened, a male admirer of Cecile working at UP Baguio sent this text message: ”I read Licad stories. If I were you, those would have been tales of chivalry. Sa bawat yapak ni Cecile sa putik, pupunasan ko ang kanyang hita at binti, at siguro habang ginagawa ko yun ay binabasbasan niya naman ako ng sagradong usok ng kanyang sigarilyo!”
Pablo may have retired as impresario, but I still dream of the day when he can bring her back to Baguio and fill up another auditorium to the rafters.
Meanwhile, it's time to save up again for Cecile's concert at the Cultural Center of the Philippines Sept. 15 and 16.
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