We twentysomethings are a sad lot when it comes to music: we were the generation who listened to 98 Degrees, The Moffatts, and yes, Hanson.  I’ve always defined “Mmmbop” along the lines of being “ba duba dop ba, do bop, ba duba dop ba do bop, ba duba dop ba do.”

   I didn’t have a boy band phase: in high school, I was a big fan of Alanis Morissette.  I still get chills listening to “Uninvited,” my own personal anthem is still “Hand in My Pocket,” and my idea of a love song is “Right Through You.”  Yup, old-school Alanis, late-1990s grunge.  But nonetheless, I was privy to 1990s boy band music.

   If there’s any one band that exemplifies ”boy band,” it’s definitely the Backstreet Boys.  So for this romantic experiment, here are Backstreet Boys answers to love’s toughest questions…

If your SO is telling you that she wants to eat at a McDonald’s, but you really want to eat out at Italianni’s because it’s a special day:

(Tell me why)
Ain’t nothing but a heartache
(Tell me why)
Ain’t nothing but a mistake
(Tell me why)
I never wanna hear you say
“I want it that way…”

Your SO was waiting for you at the fancy French pancake place for breakfast and you happen to be having a midnight affair, so she calls you up:

Listen baby I’m sorry
Just wanna tell you don’t worry
I won’t be late, don’t stay up
And wait for me
I’ll say again, you’re drying out
My battery it’s low
So you know, we’re going to a place nearby
I gotta go 

It’s your monthsary, and your girlfriend wants that Swarovski crystal-studded handbag.  You blew your money on last night’s drinking session:

But my love is all I have to give
Without you I don’t think I can live
I wish I could give the world to you
But love is all I have to give…

Your girlfriend is preparing adobo, but just at the last minute, she realizes she doesn’t have vinegar in her cupboard.  It’s 11:00 PM, and the sari-sari store is closed for the night.  The next open store is a taxi ride away:

I’d go anywhere for you
Anywhere you asked me to
I’d do anything for you
Anything you want me to
Your love’s as far as I can see
That’s all I’m ever gonna need
There’s one thing, for sure I know it’s true
Baby I’d go anywhere for you 

You’re a premature ejaculator:

I feel in heaven when I look in your eyes
I know that you are the one for me
You drive me crazy ’coz you’re one of a kind
I want your lovin’, and I want it right now 

Your and your SO got into a terrible fight that ended up with you having a curling iron hurled straight into your eyes:

I tried to hide it so that no one knows
But I guess it shows
When you look into my eyes
What you did and where you’re coming from
(I don’t care…)
As long as you love me baby…

It’s your first time to have sex, but your girlfriend realizes you have a rather small penis: 

I’m here with my confession
I got nothing to hide no more
I don’t know where to start
But to show you the shape of my heart…

Alternatively, you realize that your rather small penis can’t fit into her rather loose, sloppy vagina:

All you people can’t you see, can’t you see
How you’re love’s affecting our reality
Everytime we’re down, you can make it right
And that makes you larger than life 

You don’t care that your girlfriend comes home with the stench of alcohol in her breath.  Strangely enough, she’s beautiful when she’s drunk:

Everytime I breathe I take you in
But my heart beats again
Baby I can’t help it
You keep me drowning in your love
Everytime I try to rise above
I’m swept away by love
Baby I can’t help it
You keep me drowning in your love

Your girlfriend happened to see Derek Ramsay, or Jon Avila, or any other hunk, and she asked for his autograph:

I deserve a try honey just this once
Give me a chance and I’ll prove this all wrong
You walked in you were so quick to judge
Honey he’s nothing like me 

You suddenly realize you’re gay, but you can’t tell your girlfriend straight out:

Baby, please try to forgive me
Stay here, don’t put out the glow
Hold me now don’t bother
If every minute it makes me weaker
You can save me from the man that I’ve become

   For those of you who are lovestruck this Valentine’s Day, here’s a lyrics post.

Title of the Song (A Rhetorical and Structural Analysis of Boy Group Ballads of the Mid- to Late-1990s)
Da Vinci’s Notebook
The Life and Times of Mike Fanning

Declaration of my feelings for you
Elaboration on those feelings
Description of how long these feelings have existed
Belief that no one else could feel the same as I

Reminiscence of the pleasant times we shared
And our relationship’s perfection (a-hwu-ah)
Recounting of the steps that led to our love’s dissolution
Mostly involving my unfaithfulness and lies

Penitent admission of wrongdoing
Discovery of the depth of my affection
Regret over the lateness of my epiphany

Chorus
Title of the song
Naïve expression of love
Reluctance to accept that you are gone
Request to turn back time
And rectify my wrongs
Repetition of the title of the song

Enumeration of my various transgressive actions
Of insufficient motivation
Realization that these actions led to your departure
And my resultant lack of sleep and appetite

Renunciation of my past insensitive behavior
Promise of my reformation (ooh…)
Reassurance that you still are foremost in my thoughts now
Need for instructions how to gain your trust again

Request for reconciliation
Listing of the numerous tasks that I’d perform
Of physical and emotional compensation

Repeat chorus

Acknowledgment that I acted foolishly
Increasingly desperate pleas for your return
Sorrow for my infidelity (Sorry, sorry)
Vain hope that my sins are forgivable
Appeal for one more opportunity
Drop to my knees to elicit crowd response
Prayers to my chosen deity
Modulation and I hold a high note…

Repeat chorus to fade

   I was taking a walk last night when I came across a bunch of girls singing “Beautiful Girls” - Jojo’s version - while drunk.  I was just taking a walk, which means I was not drunk, so my senses are not impaired by alcohol.  They didn’t look beautiful at all: you can’t throw on tube tops and mini-shorts on a bunch of inebriated girls and make beautiful people out of them.  Had they been whores, they weren’t worth the P500 in my pocket even if they had crab lice, chronic yeast infections, and vaginal boils.

   Besides, I am irritated by that song.  So here goes:

*     *     * 

You really look like a boy
That’s why it will never work
I’ll have you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over
Damn you ain’t beautiful, girl
You really really look like dirt
I’ll have you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over

I remember when
I was hanging out with friends
That’s when I caught your eye
I thought you looked like a big fly
Right then I wished that you would get away from me

No I didn’t ask for game
And I don’t wanna know your name
I would hang you from a chain
Bet you wanna do the same
Something tells me you sniff paint thinner

You are so easy to find
Girl I’m really not that blind
Oh I could use some wine
Knowing that you look like swine
Tonight you look this way
Tomorrow you’ll stay that way

You really get me annoyed
That’s why it will never work
I’ll get you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over
Damn you ain’t beautiful, girl
You really really smell like dirt
I’ll get you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over

Don’t even call me
Don’t leave messages for me
Was it your kind of ugly
That is the scab on my knee
Girl you look like a man
You got me in confusion

Don’t take me to the floor
‘Coz you remind me of a whore
And that was my queue to go
So I hit the door
I let you hot
With your body burning in an inferno

You are so easy to find
Girl I’m really not that blind
Oh I could use some wine
Knowing that you look like swine
Tonight you look this way
Tomorrow you’ll stay that way

I really started to hurl
That’s why it will never work
I’ll get you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over
Damn you ain’t beautiful, girl
You even really feel like dirt
I’ll get you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over

Now a couple months have passed
And I still don’t know it lasts
Oh everybody asked
How I saw a girl like that
But I should have really known
That memories last forever

You messed up my mind
When I saw you last time
But I was never that surprised
That the cancer in your eyes
And the herpes in your lips
Will stay there forever

You really turned me to stone
That’s why it will never work
I’ll get you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over
Damn you ain’t beautiful, girl
I want to bury you in dirt
I’ll get you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over

   In the spirit of sending the emo genre to hell, I have an alternative: “ego.”  This is when you take the usual love song and sing it in the first person.  Since I’m lazy today after a dental procedure that involved analgesic, I’m posting some of these “transformed” lyrics, albeit just snippets of them.  Enjoy.

*     *     * 

Example 1: I find that “I Make Love To You” by Boyz II Men can be transformed into a perfectly good S&M song…

Girl relax, take it slow
You ain’t got nowhere to go
You’re gonna concentrate on me
Girl are you ready, it’s gonna be a long night

Throw my clothes on the floor
And you’ll take my clothes off too
You made plans to be with me
Girl whatever I ask I know that you’ll do

You’ll make love to me
Like I want you to
And you’ll hold me tight
Baby all through the night
You’ll make love to me
When I want you to
And you will not let go
Till I tell you to…

Example 2.  Like me, and if you’re a guy, you’re probably annoyed with Sean Kingston’s “Beautiful Girls.”  Probably because your girlfriend is singing it.  Here’s the ego version.

I am too beautiful, girl
That’s why it will never work
I’ll have you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over
Damn all you beautiful girls
I only wanna do you dirt
I’ll have you suicidal, suicidal
When I say it’s over…

Example 3.  Tamia’s “Officially Missing You” is the song of heartbroken fools who think they can’t get over their past relationships.  Maybe if we tweak it a bit…

All you do is lay around
Two ears full of tears
From looking at my face on the wall
Just a week ago I was your baby
Now you don’t even know me now
Don’t know me at all
Well you wish that I would call you right now
So that you could get through to me somehow
But I guess it’s safe to say, baby
Safe to say
That you (that you)
You’re officially missing me

Ooooh, can’t nobody do it like me
Said every little thing I did
Hey baby it stays on your mind
And you (and you)
You’re officially…

Example 3.  “Dreaming of You” by Selena is romantic and all, but it can be the perfect song for an egomaniac…

Late at night when all the world’s sleeping
You stay up to think of me
And you wish on a star
That somewhere I am thinking of you too

‘Coz you’re dreaming of me tonight
‘Till tomorrow you’ll be holding me tight
And there’s nowhere in the world you’d rather be
Than here in my room, dreaming about you and me…

Example 4.  Because James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” is, well, pitiful, it is necessary to make an ego-boosting song out of it…

Yes I caught your eye
As I walked on by
I can see from your face that you were
Fuckin’ high
And you don’t think that you’ll see me again
But we shared a moment that will last ’till the end

I’m beautiful
I’m beautiful
I’m beautiful, it’s true
You saw my face on a crowded place
And you don’t know what to do
‘Coz I’ll never be with you

Example 5: Emo - the musical genre sang and lived by animal food trough wipers - is best represented by Fall Out Boy.  In “A Little Less Sixteen Candles,” I find opportunities to make it right for self-mutilating manic-depressive feces from the rectal cavities of baboons…

You confess, you’re just messed up
Dropping “I’m sorry’s” like I’m still around
And you know I dressed up
Said, “Hey kid, you’ll never live this down”

And I’m just the boy all the girls want to dance with
And you’re just the girl who’s had too many chances

   My sister’s boyfriend is a band member: the drawer full of pocket-sized bottles of mouthwash in her room were freebies that came with a gig sponsored by Astring-o-Sol Ice Extreme.  There are fringe benefits to having a subservient sister who comes home at 1:00 in the morning, especially when you have a toothache.

   While I was there gargling mouthwash from one of the bigger bottles, I was looking at the posters from last year’s gigs.  My sister often argues with me whenever I call her boyfriend’s band “emo:” she insists on them being called “new hardcore.”  Maybe there’s really something derogatory or insulting about being called “emo,” no matter how much you like Fall Out Boy or Saosin (whoever the hell they are).  The names of the bands were rather interesting: Youthanasia, Sorry for Sorrow, Butter Like Jelly, Heart of Succubus.  The only band familiar to me was Saving Private Jimberly, who performs often in UP Baguio concerts: I didn’t know they were emo.

   No, I have nothing against emo people: I listen to Willie Revillame novelty songs, for crying out loud.

   Music is an acquired taste.  I was listening to some of my sister’s MP3s the other night and found myself quite pissed off: there was nothing “hardcore” about it.  Maybe it’s my recent musical milieu: nowadays I listen to more of The Doors, Alanis Morissette, and Crash Test Dummies… with a little bit of Boyz II Men thrown on the side.  Maybe I grew up to the music of OPM legends like Wolfgang and The Dawn.

   Or maybe it was just mouthwash.

   This is an old trick that you can do with Winamp or CoolEdit: look for a plugin that can lower the song’s pitch, and any “girly” song would sound like it was sang by Boyz II Men.  This works especially on Monica’s “Angel of Mine,” Tamia’s “Officially Missing You,” and Selena’s “Dreaming of You.”  Lowering pitch has been a rather lingering obsession with me: I get a ton of laughs whenever I lower the pitch of Christina Aguilera’s “Reflection.”

   Which brings me to ask: why isn’t there a group of male singers/dancers who dress in revealing outfits and sing songs that are thinly-disguised sexual innuendos?  Like, lowering the pitch of songs sang by The Pussycat Dolls?

   I’m not gay: it’s just the subject of intrigue for me.  The Viva Hot Men once exemplified this, and ended up singing “Pandesal.”  We almost had it done with Jordan Herrera, if not that he’s now doing that rather epileptic-looking warm-up in “Pinoy Mano-Mano: The Celebrity Boxing Challenge.”  I’m talking about men demanding you to loosen up their buttons… baby.

   My idea for “The WoofyDog Men” is technically the male version of The Pussycat Dolls: a male burlesque group, a band of macho-dancer type singers who do The Backstreet Boys’ folding-chair routines half-nude.  Dances where pelvic thrusts are the norm.  Such an idea will go over the gay community.

   I was thinking about many ways to earn P20,000 courtesy of the “Extreme Papaya” contest in “Pilipinas: Game KNB?”  I’ve narrowed my long list to three options.  I could do any one of the following for P20,000:

• Fire Papaya: Set myself on fire dancing “Papaya;”
• Chicken Papaya: Have a chicken dance the “Papaya;”
• Sex Papaya: Do the “Papaya” while having sex.

   They’ve done everything with Urszula Dudziak’s “Papaya:” the Silent Drill team of the Philippine Military Academy just did the “Papaya” for their routine, inmates in a Visayas prison just won P20,000 for doing the “Papaya.”  It begs the question: how extreme can “Papaya” get?  Boy, Edu Manzano didn’t know what he unleashed upon the world.

   “Fire Papaya” is, for all intents and purposes, extreme.  I’m not talking about Rachel Lobangco’s Micronesian fire-dances: I’m talking about dousing yourself in gasoline, setting yourself ablaze, and do the requisite dance steps of the “Papaya.”  Now that’s work P20,000.

   As far as “Chicken Papaya” goes, I had some problems trying to narrow down my list of animals that could dance the “Papaya.”  I thought about dogs, but that’s too obvious.  Cats, too, are obvious choices.  My list included horses, worms, snakes, butterflies, cows.  Pigs are cute, but they can’t dance.  Sheep, maybe, but that’s even cuter.  Now chickens dancing the “Papaya…” now that’s an idea.  After all, both fowl and fruit have to establish a good rapport by the time they get dunked into the pot for a tinola dinner.  Besides, “Fish Papaya” is a bit, well, gross.  Especially when you actually have to eat it.

   Which brings me to the best/worst idea for an “Extreme Papaya” video: why not do it while having sex?  All 45 positions of the Kamasutra are possible take-off points for dancing the “Papaya:” you can take any sexual position and dance the “Papaya.”  Why stop there: why not have a 30-person orgy and do the “Papaya” in the middle of mass orgasm?  Again, don’t get me started.

   I was watching “Wowowee” awhile ago… no wait, I watch “Wowowee” almost every day.  I suppose part of my brain has already died and got reabsorbed as testosterone because of scantily-clad Anna S. Feliciano/ASF Dancers (I have my eye on that girl who carries the Liveraide package).  Talk about the pervasive influence of popular culture.

   Because Willie Revillame panders to the poor by way of giving away big bucks, the dream of big money becomes synonymous with a new dream that has reared its ugly head on the collective subconscious: to see “Papi.”  The “Willie of Fortune” contestant - usually a poor, downtrodden person who has walked the proverbial pool of quicksand that is hard time - would profess, “Matagal ko nang pangarap na makasali dito sa WOWOWEEEEEE!!!”  This may sound “elitist,” but you have got to be kidding me.

   I was buying samalamig from a roadside vendor when I heard her talking to her kid:

   Manang selling cold melon juice: Anong dream mo, anak?
   Kid of manang selling cold melon juice: (dances “Sayaw Darling”)

   Damn, I thought.  I suppose that the ambition of children have long since surrendered their innocence in favor of dreams that aim as low as height requirements for rollercoaster rides.  Back when I was a kid, all boys shared the same dream: to be an astronaut.  Girls were more noble: they all wanted to be nurses.  While we boys still try our darndest to be Captain Kirk, almost every girl who wanted to be a nurse back then is probably already a nurse now.

   Yet there are kids who still aim for the stars, if not to be stars themselves.  To be an “artista” is the most common dream I hear from girls nowadays.  I’ll be damned if they look like Maja Salvador by the time they grow up.