Bicol’s lesser-known folk songs find new life through cultural preservation

Across Bicol, folk songs carry stories of communities, livelihoods, and ways of life. But when the people who remember them are gone, some of these songs may disappear with them. A decade-long collection by cultural worker Plok Chavenia seeks to keep that from happening.

For Bicolano folk song collector and cultural worker Plok Chavenia, the possibility of losing a song is not just about forgetting a melody. It is about losing the stories, experiences, and cultural knowledge that generations of Bicolanos have carried in music.

“They will die with the person carrying the song,” Chavenia said.

Some of these songs are familiar, passed down through classrooms, performances, and community gatherings. Others are less widely known, surviving in the memories of elders in rural communities — people who may be among the few remaining who know how to sing them.

Chavenia has spent a decade collecting Bicolano folk songs, documenting their lyrics and melodies before they disappear. His work has led him to songs he had never encountered elsewhere, as well as different versions of familiar pieces that reveal how music changes with the lives of the people who sing it.

His collection raises a question that goes beyond preserving old music: How much of Bicol’s cultural memory could be lost simply because no one thought to keep singing?

Chavenia’s collection began with an interest in the stories reflected in folk song lyrics. Each community, he found, had its own stories to tell through music. The similarities between melodies could be striking, but the words often differed from one group to another.

To find these songs, he turned to elders in rural communities, whom he considered important sources of authentic Bicolano folk music. But collecting them was not always straightforward. Some sources could no longer sing or perform the songs they remembered; others knew the songs but were not singers themselves.

One discovery stood out: two elderly women singing a duet for a harana, a traditional courtship serenade. Chavenia had not encountered their songs through his other sources.

The encounter showed him how much music could remain outside the versions that circulate more widely. A song might continue to live in one household or community without ever reaching a recording, a classroom, or a larger audience.

Even songs with familiar titles can carry different histories. Chavenia cited variations of “Ilong Pagkamoot,” whose lyrics change depending on the singer. In one version, the beloved’s nose is compared to a bird; in another, it is compared to a banwit, a fishing implement. The difference, he explained, reflects the singer’s experience of growing up in a coastal community.

These variations are more than differences in wording. They can offer glimpses into a community’s surroundings, occupation, religious life, and everyday experiences. The songs are not fixed artifacts detached from their makers; they are shaped by the people who remember and perform them.

But that connection also makes them vulnerable. When the person who carries a song can no longer sing it, and no one else has learned it, the song risks disappearing.

For many young Bicolanos, traditional music may be encountered first in school or through performances. Alyssa De Guzman, a member of the Bicol University Chorale, remembers learning “Cadena de Amor,” composed by Maestro Lutgardo Antiado Sr., during a singing workshop in third grade. She later performed it at a school recital, making it a song she has carried with her since childhood.

Its familiarity illustrates how songs can endure when they are actively taught and performed. De Guzman also recognizes other traditional pieces, including “Sarung Banggi,” “Salampating Guminaro,” and “Kudut-Kudutan.”

But she believes that young Bicolanos may be less familiar with lesser-known songs and the work of local folk artists. Some pieces make it into school activities and become part of what children know; others never receive the same opportunity.

That gap matters because the songs that become familiar are not necessarily the only ones worth remembering. Beyond well-known titles are songs whose lyrics and melodies reflect particular communities and experiences — parts of Bicolano life that may not be captured by the region’s most recognizable cultural symbols.

Bicol is often represented through its iconic landmarks, food, festivals, and stories. Folk songs offer another way of understanding the region: through the everyday lives of the people who made and sang them.

For Chavenia, popular music alone cannot fully communicate the culture and traditions of earlier generations. Learning folk songs, he said, is one way for Bicolanos to better understand their identity.

The challenge is not to ask younger people to abandon the music they enjoy today. De Guzman acknowledges that musical tastes change and that contemporary listeners have access to many genres. Instead, she believes traditional music should be introduced in ways that help young people see it as part of their own lives.

“Bicolano songs are more than just learnings from school. We must let them feel that it’s theirs, hindi lang sa mga lolo at lola nila,” she said.

Recording a song can help keep its lyrics and melody from being lost. But for Chavenia, documentation alone is not the end goal. Music, he believes, must also be performed if it is to remain alive.

That principle informs his compilation of choral arrangements, which draws on his decade-long collection of Bicolano folk songs. The project brings the songs into a form that chorale groups can learn and perform, creating another path for the music to reach audiences.

The arrangements aim to preserve the original material’s melodic and lyrical character while adapting it for choral performance. As described in the book, attention was given to musical elements such as rhythm, melody, and harmony so that the arrangements could retain the simplicity and integrity of the traditional songs. Music editor Darren Vega also contributed expressive markings to help shape the character of each piece.

For Chavenia, the purpose is not simply to place the songs in an archive. It is to give them opportunities to be heard again.

Choral groups in both rural and urban communities could help carry the music beyond the people who first sang it. Each performance creates another opportunity for listeners to encounter songs they may not have heard at home or in school.

De Guzman sees young singers as part of that effort. Performing traditional music, she said, can help preserve and promote it. She also believes that education plays an important role in ensuring songs reach the next generation.

The work, however, cannot rest on individual collectors and performers alone. Chavenia points to the lack of sustainable programs supporting Bicolano culture and the limited support given to local music, including in broadcasting. Without sustained attention from educational institutions, local governments, media organizations, and community groups, many songs may never reach a wider audience.

A collection can preserve what has been found. It cannot guarantee that every song still living in a remote community will be discovered in time.

What disappears when a song is forgotten? The stakes extend beyond music.

Folk songs can carry traces of the lives that produced them: the language people used, the places they inhabited, the work they did, the relationships they valued, and the beliefs that shaped their communities. When lyrics change across locations, those differences can also reveal how people make a shared tradition their own.

For Chavenia, preserving the songs means helping future generations understand the richness of Bicolano cultural heritage. His hope is that the music will continue to be performed and appreciated long after the people who first carried it are gone.

De Guzman shares the concern that future generations could lose part of their identity if they stop learning and singing traditional songs. Music, she said, communicates stories across generations; forgetting it risks leaving part of that history behind.

Neither collecting nor performing folk songs can freeze culture in time. Traditions evolve, and younger generations will continue to make music of their own. But keeping older songs accessible gives them the chance to understand what came before — and to decide what they want to carry forward.

Chavenia’s decade-long effort is a reminder that cultural preservation often begins with something small: asking an elder to sing, recording a lyric, or learning a melody before it is forgotten.

Some songs have already found their way into schools and performances. Others may still be waiting in communities where only a few people remember the words.

The question is whether those songs will be heard while their singers are still here to share them.

Because when a song disappears, Bicol loses more than a tune. It loses one more way of remembering itself.