Allen Samsuya: Detuned, Chromatic

Music plays a big role in society. It is a part of culture, arts, and literature. It reflects the events engulfed around and within each individual – ranging from the rabid emotions pent up inside to the tensions of equal disarray struggling to get in from the outside. It serves as both a cocoon in which one turns into in times when one is broken; and a weapon which one uses in times when one decides to break something. It serves as the only cure and the most malignant disease at the same time. One which pushes an individual to the dreams of tomorrow and pulls the same individual to the shadows if the future deems too bright as to burn eyes. A single binary opposition in itself, so to speak. A very real irony that somehow defines, redefines, and undefines each individual and in turn the community in which the individual finds him/herself in.

I, myself, have seen this trend in society and was, and still am, fascinated with its potency to mold wo/men to who they are. In fact, I could safely say that it has played the largest role in molding me. It has turned me from a “hiphopper” – who takes pleasure in simple, three note melodies and rapid vocal gymnastics – to a “metalhead” who despises the melodic mediocrity of the former. In the end, I fall in love with those two extremes of the musical spectrum. No, I fell in love with the spectrum itself. From the melodies, simple to complex, that, alone, somehow have the power to bring forth catharsis, to the lyrics of, more often than never, beautiful poetry. This is how I fell in love with music. That is how I fell in love with writing.

This passion has driven me into exploring more the universe of the musicians and their respective genre. In turn, wanting to be what I loved, started to emulate what they did. I immersed myself in their, lack of a better term, “poetry” and wrote down words of same meaning defining the same concepts. I loved what I “wrote” and fell in love with them each passing day. Noticing that I was somehow alone in a conservative Philippine society that denies what I often wrote about – its “jadedness,” so to speak – I found myself elated upon noticing that another wrote like me in this same society. That is how I met Allen Samsuya.

Allen Faw Samsuya was born April 1988, along with an approximate of 145 million other babies who’ll grow up under the influence of mass media, in Cotabato City, a then [until now, most probably] turbulant city shrouded with a cloud of misunderstanding in its own nation’s eyes.


~ by saikow on October 6, 2007.

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