It is one of those names in the music world that conjure images of youth, beauty, and spring. It is a name that summons to the mind, through the owner's romantic ballads, a recollection of feelings and emotions long forgotten. It is a name intrinsically connected to a string of youthful remembrances that transforms the aged soul as it embarks into an unfettered journey to half-buried joys of long ago. It has the sound of an ordinary name but has an uncommon commonness that when spoken makes it unmistakably belonging to the owner alone. It is success personified owing to the owner's myriad accomplishments in the field of music, from record labels of world acclaim to a distinct place in the highest echelons of fame that few have ever achieved. All American, tall, handsome in that wholesome, heart-stopping kind of way, Jack Jones, in his heyday, was a luminous singing sensation whose brilliance had outshone many of his peers during his illustrious career.
So I had somewhat high, though reasonable expectation when we went to see his performance at the Southpoint Casino Theater tonight. I first saw him performed live in 1966 at the Araneta Coliseum in Manila when I was a college student. A vocalist who was also a consummate performer, he connected and dazzled his audience with his renditions of the hit songs of that period, "Lorelei", "A Time For Us", "Lollipops and Roses", "Dear Heart", "Call Me Irresponsible", to name a few. That was 45 long years ago and, fully cognizant of the toll of the unkind years that manifested itself even in the gifts endowed to the greatest talents, I was prepared to make allowances and had conditioned myself for a less grand presentation. And yet, there was a certain degree of expectation that I held on to, a scale above the usual and ordinary, a range beyond the drab and staid. I went there to be entertained if not to be dazzled once more, because that, even for a Jack Jones at this stage of the game might be a tall order.
At 7:30 PM, the the drum rolled from his 5-man band and the curtain parted. The older, white-haired, still lanky image of his old self came into view and walked to center stage with a wave of the hand and a "how's-everyone" greeting to his mostly senior audience. There was an enthusiastic applause that reverberated within the theater as Jack belted out his initial number, "I'm a Singer". Dressed in a black suit, red tie and a shirt as white as his middle-of the-nape hair, the singer still possessed that confident stride of the quintessential performer that captured the heart of millions a few decades ago. But his voice, the voice that haunted many a young girls' dream betrayed the years that crept surreptitiously between the timbre and the forte and the result was a voice devoid of spirit and life. At first, I thought it was just the song. After all, it was one of his less known pieces. So I waited and clapped as expected after each number that included his all-time greats. The minutes passed and I felt myself trying to keep my eyes open as song after song left me disappointed. I was expecting the "wow" and it didn't come; I was anticipating an "it's -me-again" moment and as time passed, hope became unsustainable. He did his best, I would give him that. There was still that imperturbable aura, that I'm-master-of-the-stage-once confidence that did not fail to show like a dreg in a cup of a long-gone luscious-tasting wine. He dismounted from the stage and walked and shook the hands of his fans while belting out some bouncy numbers. He expressed his gratitude to some special people in the audience and as a whole, they responded ardently more because of the man I supposed, than because of his music. It was a response he clearly deserved because of the sweet, gentle nature that emanated in the way he showed his appreciation to us who cared to come and shared the evening with him.
It was a long two hours. There were a few who left halfway or so through the performance but despite the languorous numbers, I could not bring myself to walk out. I was no longer expecting to be entertained but I stayed more out of a sense of respect for someone who was obviously giving his best. He might not be the Jack Jones of old, his halcyon days might be a distant memory, but there was no denying that during his prime, few could hold a candle to him. His myriad accomplishments, his unadulterated success in the music and entertainment industry during the not-too-distant past were indisputable. The Jack Jones that sang on that garishly lighted stage tonight might just be a penumbra of his old self, but his fame would remain gloriously untarnished, despite tonight, as he was hailed by his loyal fans though clad in that image of some faded glory. For, sometimes, in a burst of uncharacteristic tenderness and consideration, the cruel world could make allowances for one whose "today" was a reflecting pool where it might view a "someday" which could be its very own. Jack Jones: the name, the man, the music. Not tonight, but the glory days, those were the ones I would choose to remember.
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