ONE NIGHT, ONE STAR
by Bayani S. San Diego Jr., September 8, 2001

The Megastar revisits her "love affair" with the concert stage, five years after her last series of shows in Metro Manila.

It's such a rare gift, a rare treat.

There are only a handful among our concert artists who have successfully cultivated (and maintained) a "relationship" with the Pinoy audience -- finicky and austere as they generally are.

Martin Nievera, Concert King, stands out in a short list. So does Gary Valenciano, Mr. Total Performer.

And then there's the Megastar.

In a title-crazy country, Sharon Cuneta has earned her famous monicker not just through sheer hard work and the brilliance of her talent, but more importantly because of her enduring "love affair" with the audience -- whether a card-carrying NASODA (National-Solid-Darling) member or not.

You really have to see her easy rapport with the audience in a concert setting, to truly comprehend and appreciate the Megastar Mystique.

You don't need elaborate sets, dizzying dance numbers, not even a dazzling light and sound system. All you need are the Mega-Band, a microphone, and of course the one and only Miss Shawie, to witness Megastar Appeal in action. Of course, it wouldn't hurt if you have a venue as spiffy as Onstage in Greenbelt Makati.

Last August 28, Sharon again revisited her "love affair" with the concert stage. It was Sharon's first concert in Manila since the Mega Up Close series in Music Museum in August 1996 and the Valentine Wish shows at the Philippine Plaza in February 1997. And to make it extra special, it was a "one-night-only" show that was free of charge -- never mind if it was only a mini-concert of a dozen or so songs, not a full-blown extravaganza of 20 plus ditties. The gig was mounted to promote Sharon's latest album of '80s revivals, Nothing I Want More, under home studio Viva Records.

Because of the above reasons it was quite understandable why Sharonians from all walks of life (from mini-skirted office girls to bejeweled motherly matrons) were scrambling for a much-coveted seat for the Onstage show.

A l-o-n-g line snaked through the second floor of the Greenbelt mall. A number of people, in fact, had to sit in the aisles because the 800-plus seats of Onstage were all occupied. (Some weren't able to gain entry and had to content themselves with a fleeting glimpse of the star, as she exited the theater around one a.m.)

It was electric.

So when Miss Sharon finally sauntered onstage (after two songs by guest Rannie Raymundo), well, the Onstage crowd was more than appreciative. They went wild--prompting Sharon to jest: "I know half of the people here."

Hah!

That is precisely the secret of Miss Mega's charisma. Yes, she has impeccable stage manners, exuding elan and elegance effortlessly. But she is also unafraid to poke fun at herself. (She cracked jokes about her weight, among other trivial things, that night.) Her quick wit allows her to reach out to her audience and endows her with an endearing humanity.

Onstage, she is no aloof diva. No larger-than-life megastar. She's just one of us. Everyone's kid sister. Everyone's beloved daughter. Everywoman.

With her mostly impromptu spiels, she could have been talking about everyone else's life.

She worries about the same things most of the women in the audience lose sleep over: her figure, her daughter, her job, her family.

Between songs, she had all the sass and zest of a stand-up comic -- skewering everything, including a willful ear monitor (courtesy of good friend Zsazsa Padilla), a wayward Bad Boy (her next movie's co-star Robin Padilla), and a wandering fly ("There's a fast-food next door!") with heartfelt humor.

But when she was singing, she had all the pain and pathos of a tragedienne.

A wise man once said that all the great singers were also great actors. Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holliday, Edith Piaf, all the great song stylists of yesteryears, didn't just sing a song, they acted it out onstage. That was the advice this wise man gave to Barbra Streisand, who complied and made music history.

Sharon, Grandslam Best Actress that she is, knows this secret all too well. That a single line could resonate with so much meaning (and history), just because of a certain facial expression, a solitary gesture.

More than kilometric lyrics, a twinkle of the eyes and a curved smile could speak volumes--invalidating the need for vocal acrobatics and high-tech gadgetry.

When she sings "Unti-unting mararating kalangitan at bituin" ("Pangarap na Bituin"), she shares with her audience the success she now savors after years of struggle.

When she sighs "Letting go is just another way to say I'll always love you so" ("The Road Medley": "Even Now"/"Somewhere Down the Road"), she closes, with courage and intelligence, a sad chapter in her and her audience's parallel lives.

Sharon herself acknowledged in her spiel that the closing songs in her old musical-variety show TSCS usually reflected and "chronicled" her sometimes turbulent, sometimes tranquil personal life.

So if the songs in the Onstage concert were any indication, Sharon circa 2001, is a woman on the verge of pure bliss (if she's not already basking in it). The Viva album's carrier single "Nothing I Want More" succinctly summarizes the state of her art, the state of her heart.

As a singer, she has reached that exalted stage where she can sing old favorites ("Maging Sino Ka Man") as confidently as new classics ("Overjoyed" and "It's Only Love")--without fretting about audience acceptance. As an artist, she has also earned the right to sing whatever she damn well pleases: "Simply Jessie", "If I'm Not in Love With You", and "Kahit Ika'y Panaginip Lang". The last one was a Basil Valdez standard that she's been raring to interpret since she was 13 or thereabouts.

As a woman, she is clearly in love--with love, life, her daughters Kaycee and Frankie, and her husband Kiko (to whom she dedicated the wedding songs "Ikaw" and "The Promise" that night).

It was supposed to be a mini-concert, but with the crowds' repeated requests for "More! More!", it could have been a full repertoire, after all. Sharon could have sung all night--warbling one song after another until the Mega-Band had to give up from dire exhaustion. (And this had actually occurred a number of times in the past.)

There were, in fact, four more songs in the playlist (of stand-by Encore songs), but Sharon judiciously chose to conserve her golden voice for the Grand Finale instead.

Of course, she could never close a concert, without belting out "Sana'y Wala Nang Wakas", the national anthem of Sharonians everywhere.

Sharon once quipped, between takes of her TV gabfest Sharon: "Every time I sing 'Sana'y,' my entire career flashes before my eyes."

And the same holds true for her audience.

When she reached the powerful climax of "Sana'y Wala Nang Wakas" that warm August night, it became evident that she had also taken her audience to the zenith of a magical journey, an odyssey of music and memories--love, laughter, and the secret to a happy life in a nutshell.

With or without the shower of confetti that capped the evening, it was such a rare treat, a rare gift indeed.