Love ’em or hate ‘em, election campaign jingles are like reverse firemen: permanently on call to fire up the chances of political hopefuls.

I still remember repeatedly listening to the 1985 release of Independence Day—the one and only full-length “album” by the Filipino band named Urban Bandits—and experiencing an epiphany in my life as a teenager-slash-word nerd. “Do You Rebel Rebel,” the final track on the said Pinoy punk group’s album, closes lyrically with a militant chant that goes: “And I know why! / Oi, oi, oi! / And I know why! / Oi, oi, oi! . . . ” After hearing this about 10 times a day, it soon dawned on me that it actually doubled as an ode to the nation’s then recently assassinated “yellow” hero: “N-I-No-Y! / Oy oy oy! / N-I-No-Y! / Oy oy oy! . . . ”

I had met the song’s composer, vocalist-guitarist Arnold Sanchez Morales, during the salad days of his 1990s band Put3Ska, but I never bothered to verify if what I heard was what I heard. I could go ahead and ask him now, but I really don’t feel like it, the way I avoid learning the correct lyrics to cryptic songs by, say, Steely Dan. I have this fear—unfounded maybe, but I let it linger anyway—that what a song is actually about is probably not as fun or fantastic as what I think it is about.

If only election jingles (eTunes?) were as subtle and flavorful as “Do You Rebel Rebel”; though not a campaign song, it had the mix of relevant politics and catchy music that typify truly memorable political tracks. Campaign jingles, on the other hand, have been synonymous with novelty, the candidates often pandering to the masses via shallow, syllabicated rhymes that even elementary pupils can grasp.

The political songbook was not always too shabby, though. Many of our parents or grandparents would point to “Mambo Magsaysay” as the gold standard when it comes to campaign jingles. In 1953, it helped rock the vote in Ramon Magsaysay Sr.’s favor, serving up a combo of syncopated sound and lyrics that were a tad contrived (e.g., “Peace and order was a joke / ’Til Magsaysay pumasok”) yet worked. But as pointed out by George S. Caparas, in his superlative article “Songs in the Key of Politics” (http://www.pcij.org/imag/2004Elections/Campaign/songs.html), the Magsaysay ditty was preceded by what Caparas says is the Philippines’ first real campaign jingle: “Lacson Mambo,” which led to Arsenio H. Lacson’s election as Manila mayor. And like many things Filipino, the campaign jingle is actually an American import: as Caparas notes, the 1780s had “God Save George Washington,” whose use of the music of “God Save the Queen” has long served as the template for the “sung to the tune of” quality of election songs.

Since then, however, campaign jingle “composers” have too often turned to the safety of either the hits that just won’t die (such as Ritchie Valens’ “La Bamba”) or the pop dreck of the moment. It doesn’t matter if it is a Pinoy song, an American song, a Brazilian song—it could have been written by a Martian, for all the candidates could care. (Do they even remember their own campaign jingles? And while we’re at it, I wonder if former President Cory Aquino ever heard “Do You Rebel Rebel.”) What does matter is that the jingle is catchy as hell, with as barebones a melody and as butt-shaking a rhythm as possible; that’s why they’re called jingles, not arias, yes. And it is one thing to piggyback on a memorable ditty, as Bill Clinton did back in 1992 with Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop,” and quite another to bastardize a tune by penciling in new lyrics that encapsulate a candidate’s supposed electability.

The result has been a continual smattering of utterly silly tunes that should have filled up a novelty-record store to the hilt by now. (There are a few collected on Youtube, uploaded by an enterprising “ripper” codenamed Fiscalplyder.) As a college student during the 1987 senatorial campaign, I even kept boredom at bay by tape-recording some of the hopefuls’ radio commercials, including one by then San Juan mayor Joseph Estrada—he didn’t sing, thankfully, instead mumbling some promise with festive Pinoy music in the background. (That tape is lost among hundreds back home, with the likes of Chick Corea, Slayer, and Air Supply keeping it company.) As recently as last year’s local elections, I laughed and hurled at an aspiring barangay chairman’s choice of source music: “Axel F.” Nothing wrong with that rather cool instrumental that Harold Faltermeyer composed for Beverly Hills Cop; what was stupefying was the said aspirant’s lyrical infusion, which made for an awkward dance between schlocky words and snappy notes. Oh well, such a dance has been the hallmark of many a kitschy election number; Joey Lina’s “Body Dancer”-based jingle (“Joey Joey Lina . . . . ”) is another such perverse marriage.

Incidentally, artists—some, if not all—supposedly get royalty checks for their songs that get used or remade into vote-for-me material. Some, like Sarah Geronimo for senatorial bet Edgardo Angara, even become campaigners-for-hire, singing the “remakes” themselves in the candidates’ radio and/or TV spots. Others, such as Ely Buendia for now Congressman Teodoro Locsin Jr. and Lito Kaimo for Malacañang’s current resident, even get commissioned to pen a new tune for candidates with campaign contributions to burn. I wouldn’t blame the artists for answering the call of commerce: high art is good, but we all need cash. Heck, if they can compose something not easily disposable, even soul-stirring, God bless ’em.

Of course, election jingles and other political songs are smash hits on the campaign trail because they take away the profundity and deadly seriousness that people deem honest-to-goodness lawmaking and governance should be. Hell would have frozen over if the masses—at least given our nationwide predilection for vapid noontime shows—were to mob a candidate who would harp on his or her bona fide smarts and other elective qualities without indulging the sing-for-our-vote (or make-us-laugh-by-dancing) whims of Juan and Juana Botante. But the ultimate reason for this goes beyond effective name recall the way, say, the former Leticia Ramos’s “Sha Sha Sha Shaha-ni” can sha-sha-shatter one’s psyche: in utilizing a song embraced by the majority of the populace, the candidate conversely aims to be embraced by the majority as well.

Interestingly, political tunes are not confined to election periods. It is not a campaign period as of this writing—although, given the ongoing crisis of governance, there has at least been enough talk of snap elections to induce déjà vu like it’s 1985—yet there has been music, even a few new compositions, in the massive rallies and other gatherings of late that have also harkened to the heady early weeks of 1986. Noel Cabangon, as a member of the artists group Dakila, has even written “Dakila Ka” recently, which could well be the “Magkaisa” of this era. Also gaining momentum via word of mouth and Youtube is a two-year-old, hard-hitting rap track by Lemuel “Peter Parkher” Semblero; the tune, “Mahiya Ka Naman,” won the grand prize in the 2006 Anti-Corruption Songwriting Competition conducted by the British Council of the Philippines in cooperation with the Office of the Ombudsman (!). If these don’t stress that, in our country especially, politics and music have been longtime bedfellows—and, of course, I’m not talking about erstwhile singer Leah Navarro’s Black and White Movement movements—then let’s ask Pete Townsend to reassemble every guitar he has ever smashed.

All this talk of political music takes me back anew, this time to 1994, when the folk-rock duo Yano hit the airwaves nationwide with “Kumusta Na?” The tune—one of the best ever Filipino songs to make it to commercial radio—invited serious introspection about the aftermath of the first People Power Revolution, the ditty deriving its power from the simple (but not silly) combo of terse yet critical lyrics and head-bobbing acoustic strumming. That immortal song offers this meaningful suggestion as well: that the Filipino voter should not just be an audience to electionists during campaigns but should be an audience throughout the elected officials’ stints—to prove that their vote, courted through literal song and dance, did not go to waste. “Kumusta na, kandidato ko,” in effect.

But then, given the lack of voter education on our shores—heck, the lack of basic education here in fucking general—that idea remains a pipe dream. And, given many a candidate’s selfish intentions, we know why, oy oy oy.