The vibrant motif in this unique Quezon City shop offers guests another level of awakening.
Motherland PH is branded as a collective store that sells world ethnic instruments, brands, crafts and workshops. Here, a sharp slap on the hand-drum by store owner Jason Gildore cuts through the room. It’s followed by a low and resonant bass that seems to settle somewhere beneath the surface of the ‘dyandi” percussion, Gildore’s own instrument creation that’s an ingenious modification of the djembe, a West African rope-tuned, skin-covered drum.
The beat comes from the heart and the soul-measured, like a prayer.
Gildore’s hands move masterfully, sharpened by years of repetition, as he leads a basic percussion session. He strikes the drum, pauses, then listens, before striking again, gently pressing the skin surface with his fingers, as if asking whether the instrument is ready to speak again.
Then, it was my turn.
‘Kindly hold it downward a bit, and try to follow me,’ Gildore, our instructor, said. ‘Slap it with your hands to produce a beat.’ My offbeat rhythm only made us laugh.
Life played a different beat
Long before there was a shop filled with instruments and training sessions, there was only a curious teenager from Davao.
‘At 17, I was just a normal kid,’ Gildore said. There was basketball and the ordinary distractions of adolescence. Music was not part of his formal education, and he never imagined himself becoming a professional percussionist.
Everything changed when he became active in the Redemptorist church in Davao City. Through youth gatherings and theater productions, he encountered the music of the legendary singer-songwriter/ cultural advocate Joey Ayala, along with the distinctive sounds of ethnic instruments. Instead of guitars, which he admitted never interested him, it was the kubing, bamboo flutes, rain sticks and other indigenous instruments woven into theatrical performances that caught his fancy.
‘I was looking for something meaningful and artistic in my life, probably something deeper,’ he said. Gildore was particularly fascinated by people who could create music without formal schooling-those who didn’t study, but were able to mimic sounds, even those by rain or wind, through instruments.
Gildore studied electrical technology for two years and considered pursuing engineering. Although he eventually abandoned that direction, the discipline of measuring, experimenting and solving problems stuck with him into instrument making. From Davao, he went to Manila, where his unusual combination of skills as a performer, arranger, craftsman and percussionist harmonized and crescendoed.
A friend allowed him to borrow a djembe, the African hand-drum, for a church rally. He knew the instrument’s value and took good care of it, only to be met by heavy rains, soaking the drumhead made of animal skin. The surface got drenched. Not long after, it began to smell. Eventually, it rotted.
Gildore could not afford to replace the drum outright, so he decided to repair it himself. ‘There was no YouTube yet,’ he said, laughing. ‘I really had to figure it out by myself.’
What followed was nearly a year of frustration, trying to fix the instrument on his own. He dismantled it, studied its construction, experimented with tension, and repeatedly hurt his hands while learning how to weave and stretch the drumhead.
Instead of calling attempts ‘failures,’ Gildore described those years with an engineer’s vocabulary: ‘Research and development.’
He kept going. The workshop became his laboratory, and music the experiment. Gildore’s persuasion paid off, as he learned how to work with animal skin, how to stretch it, how to balance tension, how to tune a drum, and how to make it strong enough to survive the hands of a professional performer.
Gildore found a part of himself in that tedious, painstaking process. He dedicated himself to creating more drums and learning more about music.
In 2006, he joined Prof. Edru Abraham and Kontra-Gapi, a musical ensemble connected with the University of the Philippines community, where he advanced as a professional performer. He realized it was not enough to know how to play. He had to learn the entire process, from the discipline to the timing to the responsibility of performing with other musicians.
His biggest takeaway from that intense training: ‘You have to have skills. You have to be professional.’
Birth of Motherland PH and a community that continues to grow
Gildore’s path would eventually cross with his musical hero, Joey Ayala, working with him as a percussionist. The opportunity also led him to meet more masters of indigenous instruments.
Aside from being a performer, Gildore became whatever the work demanded him to be, from arranger to stage manager and more. He was learning not only how to play an instrument, but how instruments could speak with one another and tell stories on their own.
They were on a roll. But when the pandemic hit, much like the rest of the world, the beat stopped. There were no gigs, no projects, nothing. He felt lost and wanted to come home to Davao.
Things turned when a friend advised him to market his expertise in drum-making on social media to create a brand. He would post videos of himself making drums from scratch and playing afterwards. He found the exercise therapeutic, as his following grew steadily. Before long, Gildore was teaching basic drum lessons, which led to the creation of a local djembe community called AdingKra.
He also started his own band, Anima Tierra. Their music can involve numerous instruments, sometimes as many as 11 in a piece. They already recorded three songs and have more in the wings. The band used to have eight regular members, and now they have four, as the rest come and go.
Together with some of his bandmates, friends, and new business partners, Gildore opened Motherland PH inside Z Compound in Malingap St., Teachers Village in Quezon City.
The space represents nearly everything that has shaped Gildore’s life. There are handcrafted percussion instruments and musical accessories alongside tribal and ethnic ornaments, jewelry, stones, cards, clothing, coffee and merchandise connected with his band, Anima Tierra.
Walking into the space, it’s difficult to call Motherland PH merely a store. It feels more like a gathering place for people drawn to peace, soul, music and alternative creative energy. Visitors come not only to buy, but also to listen and learn.
Back to our basic percussion session, Gildore reflects that after 20 years of experience, creating and playing drums has become second nature.
‘Dati matagal ang paggawa, ngayon kahit nakapikit pa,’ he said, laughing, before shifting to a more serious tone. ‘Para bang bawat isang dyandi, may kaluluwa ni Jason.’