Brief encounters with Pablo Tariman

It has been a year since eminent writer, critic, and music impresario Pablo Tariman passed away. If not for him, this writer probably would not have dabbled so much in writing about classical music and its performance, or about the arts, for that matter.

I had my first encounter with Sir Pablo in 2022. In October of that year, UP Visayas hosted a concert featuring tenor Arthur Espiritu, accompanied by pianist GJ Frias and clarinetist Andrew Constantino. At the end of that concert, then-mayor Jerry P. Treñas and Sen. Franklin Drilon conferred on the impresario an honorary Ilonggo citizenship. I applauded, knowing little of who he was or his involvements with the nation’s art and literary scene. All the while, I was still caught up with the tenor of Mr. Espiritu’s singing and the virtuosity of the two instrumentalists.

For some vile reason, I fell incredibly sick the following week, the irony of having survived two years of daily commute and on-site school work throughout Covid-19’s onslaught with nary a cough and sneeze, only to suffer intense fever at the waning days of the pandemic. So I stayed at home, sick and suffering from inactivity, and regretting my decisions which led to that sorry state. But I cannot just waste my hours in bed: I drafted a review of the recent concert, submitted it to Daily Guardian, and awaited the feature to be published. Upon its publication, I brazenly contacted Sir Pablo via Messenger, asking if I can tag him in the posted article. He readily said yes, and by evening, he was sharing my article as if it was a New Yorker review.

I was humbled yet also elated: I did not expect that he would like what I had written about the musicians.

We started to converse about music and art over social media, and that started a lively albeit protracted dialogue about classical music and its criticism. Each time I would share a reel of Beethoven, Prokofiev, Shostakovich, or Rachmaninoff on social media, he would react and comment about it.

November 2024 brought the Lopez collection of paintings by Juan Luna, Felix Resurrection Hidalgo, Fernando Amorsolo, and Juan Arellano to UPV’s Museum of Arts and Cultural Heritage. I received a late invitation to the event; it was he who insisted that I should attend, adding that he would introduce me to historian Ambeth R. Ocampo, who would also be present during the vernissage. I was doubly excited: I shall be meeting one of our notable historians, and for the first time since our online conversations, I will be meeting Sir Pablo in person. Little did I know that it would be our only meeting.

Amid the crowds milling about the gallery, we had snatches of conversations about the country’s art scene. Sir Ambeth gave a running commentary about Luna’s techniques used in the paintings on display, and in between mouthfuls of food, Sir Pablo regaled us with stories of artistes and art personalities in the capital. He hinted on a forthcoming concert by pianist Cecile Licad: expect a piano recital sometime next year in Iloilo City, he confided.

In December of that year, he published his autobiographical compilation of art reviews and articles. He sent me a copy of his ‘Encounters with the Arts’ and eagerly told me to check out a commentary about the state of music criticism in the country. To my surprise, he cited my review about Arthur Espiritu’s performance in 2022. I was flattered, more so that he has been insisting that I should come over to Manila to cover and write about the classical performances in the capital.

In the subsequent months, the conversations and online interactions somehow waned. Nonetheless, I had hoped that I shall see him again in the forthcoming piano recital to thank him personally for the book and for supporting my writing.

The concert happened in October of last year. I attended both evenings of Ms. Licad’s performance: the first at Molo Church, the next one on a rainy evening at UP Visayas again. But Sir Pablo was nowhere to be found. During the intermissions, I asked some of the organizers for his whereabouts: apparently, he was recovering from an accident and did not make it to the concert at all.

Two days later—a year to the day—we received word of Sir Pablo’s passing. We were more stunned than mournful, especially with the suddenness of it. In a manner of saying, that piano concert which he helped arrange was his musical elegy, an apotheotic artistic endeavor that others may partake of beauty and talent.

In all the brief encounters we’ve had, Pablo Tariman always posed a challenge to the art writer and their craft. He was straightforward about not being able to read music, but one sensed the candid depth and honesty of his musical appreciation. As such, he encouraged others to take on the mantle of music criticism—and he kept on writing through all that. For my part and with my paltry scribblings and compositions, I just hope I’d prove him wrong about music critics being on their way out.

(The writer is a humanities teacher in one of the private schools of the city.)