Down South
The call of the kudyapi
(First of two parts)
“There’s an American waiting for you, Ma’m,” Albert greeted me as I came through the door of my basement office. I nodded my thanks and strode over to my workspace to find a giant of a man rooting around my bookshelves.
“May I help you?” I asked.
“I’m good, thanks,” said the man as he turned to face me, a twinkle to his eyes and a warm smile on his face. “Ug dili ko Americano. I’m German.” He sat himself down on my seat. I found myself smiling back at his audacity. We were now at eye level but I was suddenly the guest in my office, standing as I was on the wrong side of my desk.
“What’s your name?”
“Hans Brandeis,” he said.
“Well, Hans, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Gail Ilagan,” I held out my hand across the table.
“We’ve met before?” He asked, taking my hand for a brief shake. Finally, I said something to throw his confidence a bit.
“Not face-to-face, no. I was in the alibata forum years ago. We exchanged some on certain threads. I looked up your website,” I explained. “What brings you here? What are you looking to find?” I waved him back to the books. Friends – especially virtual ones who suddenly become real - are entitled to a measure of familiarity.
He went back to the shelves. “Oh, I am interested in anything and everything. You have this article on the kaligaon, for instance,” he said, holding up a copy of Tambara volume 23.
“I’ve got an index,” I said, walking over to the shelf where I kept the copies. “Is there anything in particular that you’re searching for?”
“Thanks, but this actually works for me,” he called after me. “I’m interested in the two-stringed lute.”
“Nope. Don’t have anything on that.”
“That’s all right. There’s not much on it,” he replied. He followed me to the worktable and took out a heavy volume from his bag. “Here’s what I’ve been working on. It’s in German, so maybe you can just look at the pictures and read it like it’s a comic book.”
Daunting. The author’s engaging self-deprecation couldn’t take way the fact that the two-inch hardbound tome he placed on the table in front of me could double as a dangerous weapon. It looked like – oh, Lord - someone’s lifework. For a moment, I was humbled by the thought that I might not be able to appreciate what I would find there. A German and a lute. Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin?
I opened the book.
“Hans? How long have you been working on the two-stringed lute?”
“Since 1993. Before that I came to the Philippines for different reasons. I researched the kudyapi all over Mindanao and Palawan. Thirteen trips so far.”
So this is the kudyapi. This is part of my cultural heritage. Hans Brandeis knows more about it than I do. Han Brandeis, German scholar, has spent more time and effort than anyone else to bring the kudyapi to the rest of the world.
He said he’d wanted to be a psychologist. But he entered the university at a time when the emphasis was on test construction and statistical innovation. All he wanted, on the other hand, was to understand people and what moved them. He found both in music. Hans went on to be trained as an ethnomusicologist. He was among those who pioneered world music that introduced the use of indigenous musical instruments to modern recordings.
“Does the kudyapi play well in accompaniment or is it strictly a solo instrument?” I asked.
“More for solo. Here, let me show you.”
(To be continued)