The passing of Filipino artists Nora Aunor, Rico J. Puno, Pilita Corrales, and Hajji Alejandro has sparked a profound reckoning with our musical heritage. They weren’t just singers; they were cultural architects who built the foundation of “Manila Sound,” a genre that became the bedrock of the “Original Pilipino Music” that followed.
While contemporary artists dominate today’s streaming charts, these legends crafted a body of work so sonically and emotionally rich that it continues to shape Filipino music decades after their prime. Today, as we mourn their physical absence, we must also celebrate how their artistic DNA continues to course through modern Filipino music.
‘Superstar ng Buhay Ko’
Aunor’s staggering legacy — 200 films, 500 songs, a National Artist recognition — transcends mere statistics to embody the very soul of Filipino entertainment. Her journey from provincial ingénue singing “Pearly Shells” to cultural icon mirrors the nation’s own post-war transformation. The 1975 classic “Superstar ng Buhay Ko,” originally penned by Manila Sound pioneers Cinderella, became her accidental anthem. Aunor eventually took the singing role to cover the song. The result: the song’s soaring baroque-pop arrangement finding its perfect vessel in Aunor’s voice.
What made Aunor truly revolutionary was her ability to bridge high art and mass appeal. She demonstrated classical training while her pop covers maintained grassroots authenticity. This duality inspired generations, from Regine Velasquez’s vocal stylings to Sarah Geronimo’s crossover appeal. Even today, her influence manifests in artists like Moira Dela Torre, who similarly blends technical skill with emotional transparency.
Disco Still Shines
The 1970s Olongapo music scene was where the Filipino brand of disco was popularized through the nightclubs that catered to U.S. servicemen looking for entertainment. The local iteration of the genre was immortalized in the seminal Gapô compilation released in 1978, introducing Filipino audiences to disco’s cathartic pulse. But it was acts like Hajji Alejandro and the band Hotdog who transformed the genre into a vehicle for sharp social and cultural observation.
Alejandro’s “Nakapagtataka,” released in 1978, wrapped martial law-era disillusionment in shimmering strings, while Hotdog’s “Manila,” released in 1976, turned urban nostalgia into a national anthem. Alejandro’s velvet voice became a big hit in nightclubs. Contemporary acts like Ben&Ben and UDD owe much to this blueprint of embedding Filipino identity within global sounds.
The Soul in Manila Sound
Puno didn’t just sing soul; he reimagined it for Filipino sensibilities. His 1976 classic
“Kapalaran” blended Motown grooves with Kundiman’s melancholy, creating a template that would influence everyone from Basil Valdez to Bruno Mars. But it was his Taglish rendition of “The Way We Were” that truly showcased his innovation — code-switching years before it became commonplace, proving Filipino emotion needed both languages to fully express itself.
Puno’s late-career resurgence on variety shows revealed his enduring relevance. Where modern R&B artists like Zack Tabudlo focus on studio perfection, Puno championed live spontaneity where his adlibs and banter made each performance uniquely alive. This ethos continues in the jam session culture of venues like 12 Monkeys, where musicians honor his legacy through improvisation.
‘Philippine Love Songs’
Before “hugot” songs dominated the airwaves, there was Corrales, the original architect of Filipino romantic longing. Her interpretations of “Dahil Sa ‘Yo” and “May Bukas Pa” didn’t just showcase technical mastery (that legendary three-octave range); they established an emotional vocabulary for love songs that artists still reference today.
Corrales’ international career from winning the Tokyo Music Festival to opening for The Beatles gave Filipino music global credibility. Contemporary jazz artists like Mishka Adams and The Company follow in her footsteps, proving that Filipino vocal artistry can stand alongside global greats. Her influence even extends to theatrical pop performers like Lea Salonga, who similarly balances technical precision with raw emotion.
The careers of Aunor, Puno, Corrales, and Alejandro serve as compass points, reminding us that great music balances innovation with cultural roots, and technical skill with emotional truth.
The Living Legacy
Modern OPM thrives because of these pioneers. When Dela Torre’s “Paubaya” topped the charts, it channeled Aunor’s emotional intimacy. When SB19 fuses EDM with folk melodies, they’re walking the path Alejandro paved. The jazz revival led by groups like The Company owes their sophistication to Puno and their technical brilliance to Corrales.
Streaming platforms have unexpectedly become time machines – Alejandro’s “Nakapagtataka” finds new life on a Wish Bus performance years before his passing, while Gen-Z discovers Puno’s single reuploads on YouTube. This digital afterlife proves their work wasn’t just “of its time,” was foundational to the Filipino musical identity.
The challenge now is active preservation. While tributes and covers have value, true honor comes from contextualizing their contributions. What if universities taught Aunor’s early career covers as Philippine Studies? Music schools should analyze Corrales’ vibrato control. DJs ought to mix Alejandro’s disco with modern hits not as novelty, but as a dialogue between generations.
Filipino music stands at a crossroads where algorithms favor fleeting virality over lasting artistry. In this climate, the careers of Aunor, Puno, Corrales, and Alejandro serve as compass points, reminding us that great music balances innovation with cultural roots, and technical skill with emotional truth. Their physical voices may be stilled, but their artistic voices? Those remain immortal, echoing through every new artist who dares to be both authentically Filipino and universally resonant.
As we press play on “Superstar ng Buhay Ko” or sway to “Manila,” we’re actively participating in a living tradition. The greatest tribute isn’t mourning what’s lost, but nurturing what remains. In this way, the golden age of OPM never truly ends, it simply transforms, one generation at a time.
