Credited personally by music obsessive/film director Quark Henares as a formative influence, the DJ who we knew as Myrene looks back on a 13-year career in radio, one marked by several sea-changes in the scene, and wonders how she got into it at all.

DWNU 107.5 co-founder Mike Pedero in the DJ’s booth

I never wanted to go into radio.

Having an acute fear of public speaking, it wasn’t a career option for someone who hated reporting in high school or dreaded performance classes for my Mass Communications course in U.P. This awful terror would just get a hold of me, my mind would shut down, and I would just have to race through whatever it was I had to say. My first audition for radio (for 97.1WLS), I was such a wreck that I just sped through the whole reading. I don’t remember a thing, and neither did anyone listening I’m sure. (Obviously I didn’t get that job.) Speaking in front of an audience was just an ordeal.

But my career in radio (or, in my case, F.M.) was really an offshoot of my love for music. If I had to pinpoint the beginning of it all, it was when I was seven years old, trawling A.M. for Andy Gibb’s “Everlasting Love.” You had this big old knob on your stereo, and with the needle at the far end of the dial, you slowly crept across the numbers until you hit a station. You’d do this so you could go through each and every one of them looking for your favorite song. If you were lucky, you’d have a cassette player attached to that stereo, so that song would go straight to tape. And if you were really lucky, the jock wouldn’t go and talk all over the intro or cut the tail end because he had to squeeze in as many “singles” as he could in his shift. (I probably spent too much time doing this, becoming a bit anti-social. That’s another reason why I had no ambition to be on the radio.)

I got a real kick out of putting on records. I started out playing my parents’ stuff—Simon and Garfunkel, Jesus Christ Superstar, Crosby, Stills and Nash, Donovan. (The soundtrack to The Sound of Music was probably the first LP I ever asked for.) There was that brief stint with Shaun Cassidy and Leif Garrett in the third grade. Then when high school came along, Thriller exploded.

By then, I couldn’t live without radio.

I needed it to feed my love for new music. These days, if you have the inclination, you go online and find just about anything. But back then, you either had cool uncles who turned you onto the good stuff or you listened to what the Wea dancers happened to be promoting on TV that month.

I had radio.

The summer I turned 13, a bunch of older kids down the block took me in and told me to switch stations. “Baduy yan! Sa R.T. ka makinig, mas maganda.” They stopped hanging out with me after that. But their legacy was significant—I’d discovered Top 40.

Fortunately for me, my best friend Sylvia was a little more sociable than I was. I would have been content with flooding R.T. with letters, but she just went ahead and dragged both of us to the station. R.T. was the shit then, and the jocks were rock stars. Jeremiah Jr, Al W. Leader, Joey Pizza, Vince St. Price . . . They played stuff you couldn’t hear anywhere else, and it always made sense. Looking back, half the DJ’s probably thought we were just a couple of snotty kids. But a couple of them were amused enough to let us hang out on Saturday afternoons. Chris Hermosisima, their production guy, would later hire me at NU107 when he became its station manager.

I talked to Billy Corgan on the phone for a total of eight seconds (because I admitted I hadn’t heard Siamese Dream and he said I would just ask him about drugs. I know—I should’ve lied.) 

Apart from Michael Jackson, high school was Journey, The Go-Go’s, and Duran Duran. By the time I entered college, it was also Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cure, U2, The British Council, and Melody Maker—and, of course, DWXB.

Atom Henares presents an award with Rosanna Roces at the Nu107 Rock Awards

Whereas at RT I witnessed how a professional FM station was run (with playlists and merch plugs and weekly staff meets), XB showed me that you could do it the punk rock way too. It was a dinky little room in a house near Harrison Plaza with cassette players and “volunteer” DJ’s who just spun whatever they wanted. There were dance parties and concerts. Punk and New Wave. It was great while it lasted, but it was borrowed airtime and the owners wanted it back. Sylvia and I even attended a pro-XB rally in front of the Philcomcen. Twenty goth kids picketing on Ortigas must have been a sight to see.

In a class being taught by Robin Rivera (before he started producing the Eraserheads’ albums), I had a buddy named Lee who was a DJ at a new rock station, NU 107.5. He told me they needed a newscaster. Despite my fears, I thought, fuck it, I’m in mass communications, I have to get over it. And so I auditioned and got the job.

I must have bluffed my way through the thing—or maybe they thought I’d get along well with the staff and the skills would come later. The thing with NU back then was the camaraderie. I think we tended to size up potential announcers by how much fun they’d be to have around, and it was a great bunch to be around: Major Tom, Jerry Why, Cris Cruise, Francis Brew, Gerry Dris, John Gregory, Jet Crane, Lee Rosi, and Cathy. No one ever went home after his or her shift, choosing either to hang out at Greenbelt, or sneaking some drinks up to the booth. There was a sleeping bag because you tended to stay way past decent commuting hours (especially if, like Francis, you lived in Batangas). After 10 P.M., Ayala was deserted. After hours, the only two choices for food delivery was the Wendy’s on Makati Avenue or, if you had a little cash, this great Japanese counter near Jupiter.

Again, even then, it didn’t cross my mind to be a jock. Cathy, who listeners may remember as Roxy, was the reason I ended up as one. She really wanted to be a DJ, but back then you couldn’t do that on FM. No matter how great you sounded, if you were a chick, you did the news. But NU was about to go 24 hours and “we” were willing to work the extra shifts without extra pay. Pretty soon I was on the 10 P.M. slot, and she was doing pinch.

Looking back, I can say it didn’t feel like 13 years. See you don’t really stay at NU because it’s, er, lucrative. You do it because you love the people and the music. It wasn’t all hunky dory, of course. We are talking about people, so there were the usual tantrums, in fighting, love affairs, weddings, births, deaths, embezzling accountants, and drug-induced paranoid knife-wielding attacks. Fodder for blogs, something we didn’t have back in those dial-up days. For the most part, I’m pretty thankful and happy.

Why? Because I was there.

I got to do programs like Not Radio and the Groove Nation Sessions.

I got to play Nirvana. (Later I would announce Kurt Cobain’s death—ironically because someone from the jazz station upstairs was nice enough to send down the news they’d gotten fresh from the wire.)

I was there when Vic Valenciano personally delivered the first Eraserheads single.

I was at the foot of the stage when Rosanna Roces announced Band of the Year at the Rock Awards in a see-through mesh shirt with nothing underneath. (Wolfgang took home the trophy that year. They’d win it alternately with the ‘Heads for the first five Rock Awards.)

I awarded Best New Artist to Parokya Ni Edgar.

I talked to Billy Corgan on the phone for a total of eight seconds (because I admitted I hadn’t heard the Siamese Dream and he said I would just ask him about drugs. I know—I should’ve lied.)

I had breakfast with Jason Newsted.

I was there when Rivermaya started giving away their album. (Heck, I was there when an on-air plug looking for members of Rivermaya first aired.)

I met Diego Castillo through Not Radio, and proceeded to be in the Aga Muhlach Experience and Sandwich with him.

And I met Quark Henares when he was a nine-year-old brat hacking into the playlist generator. Now he directs my bands’ videos.

I wish there was a way I could name-drop every single wonderful person I ever had the chance to work with without it sounding like an acceptance speech at the Oscars.

When I finally did leave, I knew it was time. I wanted to see more of Raymund and our baby girl. My band was going to release an independent album, and I knew I was going to be in for a different trip.

People always ask me if I want to go back to radio. I seriously don’t. Do I miss it? I miss my friends more than being a jock. So, once in a while, I just go back and catch up. The time I spent there was perfect as it was—and for now I’m just going to let it stay that way.