As the band asked for a moment of silence for Eraserheads frontman Ely Bendia who had been rushed to the hospital, the emos and non-Manalo jologs outside the venue were jeering.
Had this been the ’90s, a riot would have erupted with 40,000 loyal E-heads fans beating the snot out of them. But the crowd’s calm, almost sedate reaction to organizers asking them to go home echoed Ely’s adlib on Toyang: they tried to tell us we’re too old.
And we were. Which made each song last night as precious as the P800 to P1300 we shelled out for tickets to the reunion concert. Each chord, each chorus, tapped into our collective memory of our youth, and even from the general admission section, it was beautiful.
For a few minutes, at least, we weren’t wage slaves with bills to pay and work on Monday, we were whoever we were when we first heard the E-heads: full of hope and grab-the-world-by-the-balls spunk, full of love that could be captured by silly lyrics and simple chord progressions.
My girlfriend had earlier predicted that the show would be cut short, “bago sila mag fade away.” And when they announced that the show was over because Ely was in the hospital, you could feel the disappointment of waking up to the reality that this was a one-time thing.
Sure, there were some people who shouted for refunds, but this was drowned out by the silence of thousands of hearts breaking. It was like having a new toy (or pencil case) confiscated by a teacher, and knowing that you might never get it back.
We ended the night sitting dejectedly at the Goodah! in Libis in a last half-hearted bid at recapturing the ’90s. My girlfriend said that even if there was another reunion concert, she wouldn’t go anymore. The pain of losing them again was too much for her tiny heart.
–OneTamad, emotional correspondent