Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
There is a word in music that feels like an apt description for the way pianist Horacio Nuguid plays: “cantabile”—which means the smooth quality of making the instrument sing. This was the thought that stayed with me through Sound Scapes, his piano recital of rare and resplendent works from the Filipino classical repertoire, which unfolded simply and beautifully on the Claire Isabel McGill Luce Auditorium stage last 6 August 2025—a respite we didn’t think we needed in the middle of the week. In an age where music-making often feels like a gladiatorial sport—faster, louder, more technically dazzling—Nuguid sat before the instrument with the calm assurance of someone who had nothing to prove. And in that unhurried humility, there was magic.
Nuguid is no stranger to the world’s stages. Trained at the University of Santo Tomas, he would later take his craft to the University of Northern Iowa and to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. His career has taken him from solo recitals to orchestral collaborations in the Philippines, Mexico, and the United States, and into close musical partnerships with distinguished singers and instrumentalists.
As artistic director of the Rochester Chamber Music Society, he has carved out a space for music-making that is both intimate and expansive. Honors have followed—among them the Ardee Award for outstanding artist in Rochester—and so has a commitment to teaching: master classes across continents, decades of shaping young pianists at the Young Artist World Piano Festival in Minnesota, and mentorship at the Philippine High School for the Arts. Recently, he has taken on the role of co-artistic director at the Bethel University Summer Piano Academy, continuing the work of nurturing the next generation, even as he brings the voices of our past composers back into the light.
It is with that pedigree that Nuguid makes his debut in Dumaguete, on the Luce stage. The program of Sound Scapes was itself an act of reclamation, designed that way by the pianist. According to him, in the Philippines, so much of our music’s history lies in dust and disappearance—scores lost to war, to neglect, to the indifference of cultural gatekeepers. Nuguid has made it his mission to retrieve these works from obscurity, curating and publishing an anthology—Philippine Piano Pieces (2023)—that has suddenly opened a long-closed window into our pianistic past. Sound Scapes at the Luce was the living and breathing embodiment of that project: nine pieces by nine Filipino composers, spanning decades, styles, and sensibilities, each given a voice on this night in Dumaguete. He proceeded through the program like a lecturer, introducing the importance of each piece at the podium, and then sitting down before the grand piano to demonstrate the wonderfully musicality he had just described.
From the very first notes of “Caricias (Danza)” by Juan de Saliagun Hernandez (1881–1945), who was known as a composer of dances, marches, and music for theatrical performances, it was clear that Nuguid was not merely reproducing what was on the score. His left hand, rich with warm bass resonance, grounded the dance’s rhythm; his right hand let the melody float in the air with limpid clarity. The contrast was a quiet marvel—you could almost “see” the separation of musical notes, and yet they conversed so naturally.
“Poeme” by Carmencita Arambulo (1938–2023) was another personal highlight for me. The 1957 piece is, like what it subtitle claims, “a song without words,” which Nuguid rendered with a tenderness that felt almost private, like overhearing someone’s cherished memory. He let the melody breathe, resisting the temptation to rush. At his age—seasoned, yes, with perhaps the occasional elasticity in tempo—there was no need for metronomic precision. Instead, there was the deeper rhythm of someone shaping a phrase to match the heartbeat of this beautiful song.
“Okaka (Theme and Variations)” by Rodolfo Cornejo (1909–1991) was the program’s playful centerpiece, an intricate work that tested the pianist’s dexterity and interpretive range. Nuguid navigated its shifting moods with ease, from the almost childlike charm of the theme to the more dramatic, harmonically adventurous variations. And then there was “Bontok Ili” by Rosendo Santos Jr. (1922–1994), a piece steeped in indigenous echoes, where Nuguid’s left-hand ostinatos—a continually repeated musical phrase or rhythm—pulsed like ritual drumbeats while the right hand spun modal melodies like threads of smoke.
One of the evening’s most quietly moving moments, at least for me, was “Meditacion (Nocturno)” by Filemon Sotto (1872–1966). Here, Nuguid leaned into the music’s meditative intent, letting each chord shimmer and fade, as if allowing the audience to listen not only to the sound but also to the silence that followed. In contrast, “Tarantelle No. 2” by Lucino Sacramento (1908–1984), which the composer wrote for a NAMCYA competition in 1978, burst forth with kinetic energy—and though Nuguid’s tempo was, by necessity, tempered, the rhythmic drive and the joy in the playing were intact.
When Nuguid arrived at “Kundiman” by Felipe Padilla de Leon (1912–1992), the recital shifted into something unmistakably Filipino. The bittersweet lyricism, the gentle swells of emotion… Nuguid played it as though telling a love story across generations. Nuguid’s rendition of “Malikmata” by Antonio Molina (1894–1980) shimmered with impressionistic colors, like a heavy dream one tries to recall in the morning light, unsettling but also bemusing. And finally, “Mayon (Fantasia de Concierto)” by Francisco Buencamino Sr. (1883–1952) closed the concert with a sense of Pinoy grandeur, its elevated folksiness made beautiful with Nuguid weaving together the virtuosity and lyricism that mark the best of our piano literature.
What struck me most, across all these works, was the utter lack of pretension in Nuguid’s playing. Nuguid did not play to impress. He played because this music deserved to be heard again. He played because these scores—many of them once teetering on the edge of oblivion—still had beauty to give. He played because, quite simply, he loved them. And we, listening, were made to love them too.
There were no flamboyant gestures, no exaggerated rubatos meant to elicit gasps. Even the occasional unevenness in tempo seemed part of the music’s lived-in honesty. In an era obsessed with perfection, this was a concert that embraced humanity—its frailty, yes, but also its capacity for grace.
By the final applause—and I was really surprised by the gusto of the audience after many years of watching piano recitals eliciting only tepid responses—I realized what Sound Scapes truly was: not just a recital, but an act of cultural memory. Nuguid had taken us on a journey through our own musical heritage, dusting off forgotten pages and giving them breath again. And as we filed out of the Luce, it felt less like leaving a performance and more like emerging from a long, nourishing conversation, one where every melody had been clear, every note had mattered, and the silences between them had spoken volumes.
Truth to tell, I was not really aware of Philippine piano music much until last Wednesday night. What the concert taught me is that it is a most curious and beautiful thing, a garden of melodies where Spanish-European grace, American verve, and the deep earthiness of our own indigenous rhythms mingle in unexpected bloom. (Forgive the flowery metaphor!) But apparently, like many gardens in our history, much of it has been left untended, its flowers hidden from view. The tragedy is partly logistical: pianists have simply not had access to the printed scores. The few that made it into print—often through the composer’s own efforts—have long since slipped out of circulation, their surviving copies asleep in library archives, or kept as delicate heirlooms, or ravaged by World War II, a fraught period when untold manuscripts and printed scores vanished in the fire and rubble.
But Nuguid’s work tells us that this story does not end in loss. In recent years, there has been a gathering tide of interest in finding these scattered notes, in piecing together a legacy nearly lost. And in August 2023, Nuguid stepped into this story with something remarkable: a published anthology of twenty-five piano pieces by sixteen Filipino composers, each work lovingly rescued, critically edited, and annotated for a new generation. The book and the concert are both an act of scholarship and an act of devotion.
You can listen to most of these piece in Horacio Nuguid’s YouTube channel. The concert was sponsored by the Silliman University Culture and Arts Council. Thanks to Dr. Elizabeth Susan Vista-Suarez for explaining the technicalities of the piano-playing for me.
[1] An American missionary in Calvary Chapel [my former church] seems to be a COVID conspiracy theorist, and MAGA to boot. [Sigh.] How is this guy a “missionary”? [Worse: some people I know like his posts regularly.]
[3] Dear God, my poor country. The chaotic scene at SM San Lazaro in Manila early this morning, as people ran to secure vaccine slots. The system is so broken, so heartbreaking.
[Video by Anthony Llegue Norcio]
[4] I hate feeling like a spy, but when I see establishments breaking COVID protocol, I report. Even my favorite establishments, I report. I am concerned about COVID above all. The staff usually gets reprimanded when these things get reported. Which is why I feel guilty — but it also feels like a barbed necessity. Because I know a lot of these staff people, and they’re nice. But they’re also steeped in a cultural fix that makes them timid in front of intimidating and demanding customers they see as “important,” especially foreigners. There are class issues at play here.
[5] The Olympic athletes this year have been so amazing and inspiring. [Except you, Novak Djokovic.]
[6] Listening to opera singer Zofia Kilanowicz sing “Symfonia piesni zalosnych” from Henryk Górecki’s ̄Symphony No. 3, Op. 36 while on Ritalin rush is absolute mental orgasm.
The choir started singing Mozart’s Requiem on an early Sunday evening—it was the June 17th, at the tail-end of Father’s Day—and we were transfixed by the music until the very end. When the performance was over, no one moved; no one could quite believe it was finished and felt there should have been more. More music, another piece perhaps. [There was alas no encore.]
That pregnant expectation for more was very much a testament to the performance by Ating Pamana/Silliman University Gratitude and Goodwill Ambassador, directed by Elizabeth Susan Vista-Suarez—and it was without question superb, the kind of performance you know has been wrought by someone who is equal to the passion and to the demands of the music.
Once again, Dr. Suarez has demonstrated the immense gift she has in conducting music: exquisitely aware of how to “timpla” sound [her word], eschewing the loudness that has come to characterize much of the country’s choral efforts and believing instead in precision, in massaging the notes and the spaces between them just enough to create a richness that is also about finesse. In her program, the famously unfinished piece by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart felt quite finished—although she did take care to include the pieces composed by Francois Xavier Süssmayer to finish out the composition after Mozart’s death. (Süssmayer had been a pupil of Mozart and had been much with him during the time he had worked on the Requiem.) From Dies Irae to Tuba Mirum to Rex Tremendae Majestatis, from Recordare to Confutatis Maledictis to Domine Jesu, from Hostias to Lacrymosa to Sanctus and Hosanna, and from Benedictus to Agnus Dei, the choir conquered each movement with panache, each voice vibrant—and I could only imagine the what-if had this also have been accompanied by a full orchestra. But I’ll take my blessings where I can. As it is, the choir was the star.
It goes without saying that Dr. Suarez and the Ating Pamana/Silliman University Gratitude and Goodwill Ambassador deserved the applause they finally got: hearty—and grateful. It did feel that way, the applause. Because listening to music such as this was indeed a gift.
Was this a good choice to open the 56th Cultural Season of Silliman University? By all accounts, it was. As a season opener, it was a good harbinger for things still come—and the cultural calendar is without question chockfull of delightfully anticipated events, including the Philippine Madrigal Singers, the ABS-CBN Philharmonic Orchestra, and Ballet Philippines.
But to go back to Mozart Requiem…
The sound. Let us talk about that heavenly sound which reverberated around the Ariniego Art Gallery in a kind of fullness I have never heard before in any other venue in Dumaguete City. There was an uncanny precision even to the echoes. Can you imagine music “soaring”? I have always read that description, and it is in fact a cliché. But the performance demonstrated exactly this effect, and it made all the difference.
And it occurred to me that this was always the dream. Once upon a time, in 2014, a group of us—Diomar Abrio, Grace Sumalpong, Leo Mamicpic, Edna Mijares, Annabelle Lee Adriano, Moses JoshuaAtega, and a bunch of others—went to Tagaytay City for dinner with Dr. Romeo Ariniego after having invaded his art collection at his house in Dasmariñas, Cavite, which later on became his fondest donation to Silliman University.
We were frank with our wishes: that perhaps we could have an art gallery to house it all, and that perhaps we could have an art gallery to also function as a venue where we could have a more intimate time with chamber music and choral music, even poetry readings, surrounded by great art. (The Luce was beautiful and grand—but it was too big for certain things.)
We had no idea Dr. Ariniego was listening to us intently in Tagaytay, and three years later, we now have that building that the Silliman University Culture and Arts Council and a bunch of Manila alumni were only wishing about years ago.
This was always the plan for the Ariniego Art Gallery—and when we approved the final architectural design, we took note of that as well, first in giving the specifications, and then finally in choosing the design that best fitted all our expectations.
But there’s art here, and there’s finally music in it too.
And tonight, listening to Ating Pamana sing so magnificently, the genius of Mozart splendidly evoked, all was right in the world.
8:04 AM |
Film Log 11: Mozart in the Jungle Season Two
Amazon's first season of Mozart in the Jungle, the raunchy and comedic series that follows the lives and loves of the musicians and administrators behind the fictional New York Symphony Orchestra, was a totally unexpected surprise -- and it endeared itself quickly to me, given the fact that in the world of television, we've had too many shows following lawyers and cops and medical professionals and serial killers, but never musicians. That it followed the biting drama of the memoir by Blair Tindall was also fodder for interest, and I couldn't wait for the second season to start: this was drama made for binge-watching. I did binge-watch the ten-episode-long second season, and while I liked it, there was less to admire. It has considerably slowed down in terms of compelling momentum. For some reason, how we follow the show's major characters -- Gael García Bernal as the tempestuous conductor, Lola Kirke as the newbie oboist, Saffron Burrows as the world-weary cellist, Malcolm McDowell as the high-strung former conductor, and Bernadette Peters as the elegant but harried president of the orchestra -- seemed half-bake, noncommittal, bordering on boring, which is preposterous given the kind of actors we have in the cast. There is a minor arc, for example, for Ms. Peters' character who has suddenly rekindled a love for singing (as it should -- the voice of this Broadway legend was wasted and unused in the first season), but it's a storyline that's quickly dropped and serves only as a halfhearted device to introduce some illicit love affair to her character. For the most part, we follow a story that revolves around contract negotiations, a strike, a tour through South America (with Mexico as the main stop), a dance reality show, a stolen violin, a lesbian affair, a photographic fetish, a less-than-steller attempt at a new career at composition, an attempt to declutter, motion capture, PR battles, and a host of cameos from the classical music world's rock stars including Gustavo Dudamel, Emanuel Ax, Blair Tindall, Anton Coppola, Lang Lang, Joshua Bell, Alan Gilbert, Bernard Uzan, and Brian D’Arcy James. But it gels along with the gravity of its own narrative, and for the most part, it's fine -- just not spectacular. It is what it is: a sophomore season. I hope the third season is better, if there is one. ★★★☆☆
One of the best young pianists I know, Lorenzo Medel, plays Igor Stravinsky's famously difficult The Firebird. Here, he goes through "Danse Infernale" at 0:01, "Berceuse (Lullaby)" at 4:55, and the "Finale" at 8:36, and does each movement justice.
9:52 PM |
The Pianist as Pinoy
