Songbirds of a Feather: Exploring the Impact of Karaoke and "Birit Culture" on Filipino Musicians

Singing. It's more fun in the Philippines. (Or is it?)

We all know that one person at karaoke night who always goes the extra mile and delivers a heart-stopping, emotionally charged, pitch-perfect rendition of their selected song. Chances are, they’ve chosen one of those songs with a huge climax, a big high note at the end, or a chorus repeated once more in a higher key. Their performance is so outstanding that you’re convinced they should immediately sign a record contract and share their stunning voice with the world.

In the Philippines, these musicians seem to be a dime a dozen.

As a Filipino-Canadian performer myself (albeit a pianist and not a singer), I’ve witnessed and accompanied so many talented Filipinos at numerous karaoke nights and open mics. Lots of my non-Filipino friends always joke around that “it’s just in the genes” or even “the Filipinos always make karaoke night a competition.” Eventually, it got me thinking: how did vocal gymnastics become the norm among Filipino performers? And why does karaoke play such a significant role in our culture?

Let’s explore the development of Filipino performance culture into what it is today, and the impacts of riffs, runs, belts, and whistle notes on Filipino singers, both amateur and professional.

When Filipinos met karaoke:

If you’ve ever been among any group of Filipinos, you’ll realize how much we value community and camaraderie. Maybe you’ve seen us gossip amongst ourselves for hours or attended one of our energetic Christmas parties; either way, you’ll come to realize that Filipinos just love doing things together.

Naturally, this sense of togetherness went hand in hand with making music. Even among the earliest Indigenous Filipino communities, improvised communal work songs encouraged creativity and interaction with one another, according to Felipe de Leon Jr., a professor of art studies at the University of the Philippines Diliman. As the Philippines was changed under the influence of Spain and the United States, so did the styles of music change; free improvisation eventually gave way to Spanish-influenced genres like the kundiman and the danza, which in turn gave way to a wide array of American-influenced musical styles. By the mid-1970s, Filipinos began to develop a disco-inspired genre known as Manila Sound, characterized by catchy melodic phrases, simple production, and a humourous atmosphere.

“Manila” by Filipino band The Hotdogs, is an example of the laid-back feel of Manila Sound.

And the mid-1970s brought with it one of the biggest game-changers in the Filipino music world: the karaoke machine.

Although karaoke was developed and invented in Japan (the word itself combines “kara (空)” meaning “empty” and “okesutora (オーケストラ)” meaning “orchestra” referring to an empty orchestra pit) a Filipino inventor named Roberto del Rosario held the first patent for any sort of karaoke machine. Its groundbreaking technology and easy accessibility made it a hit with Filipinos everywhere. Soon, almost every Filipino, whether they lived in the city or in the country, would have a karaoke machine in their house, and karaoke became a common pastime among families and communities.

While karaoke rose in popularity through the 1970s and 1980s, the Philippines saw the rise of a bold, intricate, and dramatic musical genre that changed the Filipino music scene forever.

Karaoke night would never be the same.

Ballads, OPMs, and vocal showcases galore:

By the 1980s, the simple and catchy Manila Sound was no more. In its place was the shiny, brand-new, ballad-focused OPM, or Original Pilipino Music. A term originally coined by Danny Javier of the Filipino musical group APO Hiking Society and popularized by artists like Regine Velasquez, Sharon Cuneta, and Ryan Cayabyab, ballads from the OPM genre were polar opposites to their Manila Sound predecessors, often featuring lush orchestration, dramatic key changes, and notes higher than the Mayon Volcano.

OPMs were also influenced by the evolving adult contemporary genre in the Western world throughout the 1980s and 1990s; from Air Supply and Lionel Ritchie to Celine Dion and Bryan Adams, power ballads and soft rock ballads dominated radio waves everywhere.

Regine Velasquez’s cover of “On the Wings of Love” features many characteristics of a typical OPM ballad.

Filipinos immediately embraced both local OPM artists and well-established vocal superstars, applauding every riff, run, and key change. Even to this day, a Filipino karaoke night is often never complete without at least one ballad (and at the events I’ve gone to, somehow it’s always “I Have Nothing”).

Many Filipinos define a successful performance of these songs with whether they have the “hugot” factor or not; hugot is a slang term in Tagalog that can be translated as “the pulling out of powerful emotions from deep within your soul.” Some have also used the term “money note(s)”; a money note is a big, dramatic, often improvised high note in a song that (if done right) results in an emotional and dramatic effect; naturally, OPMs were full of the hugot factor and money notes.

Emotion aside, the concurrent development of the OPM and soft rock ballad made radio hits much more difficult to sing casually—especially for amateur singers—and even more difficult for aspiring singers in competitions, contests, or TV shows (Tawag ng Tanghalan, anyone?).

And as the songs got harder and harder to pull off, so did Filipino performance standards.

Harder songs, harsher performance standards:

You could say that Filipinos learned to belt and riff by idolizing these ballad performers. The more they tried to replicate their voices while singing their songs on the karaoke machine, the more they got used to belting out high notes and developing their vocal agility. Indeed, there have been some incredibly successful Filipino talent show competitors who have had almost no legitimate vocal training, learning to sing solely through the karaoke machine.

A Manila boy singing Mariah Carey’s Emotions on a karaoke machine.

But this wasn’t the only impact OPMs and soft rock ballads had in terms of performance culture. As a result of incredible vocalists like Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston dominating the airwaves for a substantial period of time, Filipino performance culture changed immensely. More and more performers were sprinkling money notes everywhere in their songs to make them as full of the hugot factor as possible, and audiences would crave higher money notes and pitch-perfect performances.

It all culminated in where Filipino expectations lie today: a performance isn’t perfect unless it achieves that hugot factor through money notes, riffs, runs, and everything in between.

Even in something as simple as karaoke.

Is that just the way it is?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to generalize Filipino performers and audiences here; every audience is different, taste is subjective, and of course, it’s always good to strive for perfection. But somehow, this idea that the money notes need to be higher or the hugot factor needs to be even more emphasized seems destructive.

And it’s not just me; some Filipinos on internet message boards have started using the term “birit culture” or “biritan” to describe these rising standards and how Filipinos are obsessed with these high belted notes in performances (“birit” is a Tagalog word used to describe a high, sustained belt in a song). Even as Filipino music moved away from OPMs and soft rock ballads in the 2000s and 2010s, birit culture is still prevalent with Filipino artists like Morissette Amon, Katrina Velarde, and Jona Viray.

The point I wanna make is that Filipino performers shouldn’t have to “over-sing” in order to satisfy audiences; likewise, Filipino audiences should be more receptive toward different styles of singing, even if it doesn’t contain money notes, riffs, or runs. Besides, we were able to do that before, can’t we do that again?

Thankfully, we seem to be heading that way.

Take a look at Filipino artist Moira Dela Torre, who rose to popularity in the late-2010s and early-2020s. Her singing style subverts everything related to the soft rock ballads of the past, with a soft, angelic-like quality and an emphasis on the simplicity of the melody. In lieu of belting, she uses her stunning head voice to hit higher notes. Even without the biritan, her performance successfully achieves the hugot factor and resonates with audiences in a captivating way.

Paubaya (“Release”) by Moira Dela Torre, a song that showcases Torre’s “angelic” singing style.

Or Filipino artist Gabri Panlilio, who is striving to slowly introduce bel canto singing to the Filipino pop scene by combining her classical voice training with a contemporary musical style. She states in an interview:

“I want to show that aside from hitting high notes and just screaming to the top of your lungs…you can just sing…you can just showcase your beautiful voice.”

Like Torre, she uses her head voice rather than belting in order to hit higher notes in her songs, only with a classical sound. The result is a unique combination of musical styles that some have described as a combination of New Age and modern pop, while also achieving the hugot factor and wowing audiences in its own way.

Let Me by Gabri Panlilio, displaying her fusion of bel canto singing with contemporary pop.

In the end, Filipino performers and audiences can enjoy money notes and biritan, but the more they widen their horizons to other styles of singing and performance, the more they’ll be able to appreciate artists beyond the belts, riffs, and runs.

Let’s perform Whitney and Moira next karaoke night!