Introduction

It’s April 1952. The Eastman-Rochester Symphony Orchestra, conducted by the school’s music director Howard Hanson, is gearing up for a marathon concert of student composers’ orchestral works. On the program are two new concertos for cello and bassoon, an elegy for strings, a concert overture, and—the Philippine Symphony by Eliseo Pajaro. The piece begins with a soft, mysterious cello and bass soli–the “dark” strings colors as his professor Bernard Rogers puts it. B-flat seems like the tonal center, but it’s difficult to parse out a mode. Our sense of time is also off-kilter, given the irregular 5/4 meter. Perhaps Pajaro was inspired by the “limping waltz” in Tchaikovsky’s “Pathetique” Symphony. Or maybe Pajaro wanted the listener to feel “lost,” as if we’re wandering in the dark and can’t quite find our sense of direction. Measure 9 puts us back in our place, for the whole orchestra joins forces and asserts the opening melody at a forte dynamic. Our sense of unity is maintained until the music climaxes at measure 24, after which the winds change direction with lyrical melody. The piece takes many twists and turns, but one thing is certain–Pajaro strives for extreme contrasts in harmony and orchestration. 

Eastman Graduate Class of 1953. Pajaro: second row from the top, fifth from the left. Source: University of Rochester Digital Collections

That year, Pajaro was finishing his PhD in composition at the Eastman School of Music, with this very symphony serving as his dissertation. He was set to graduate in January 1953 and return to the Philippines soon after, becoming one of the first Filipinos to graduate from Eastman. He then spent the rest of his career teaching music theory and composition at the University of the Philippines Conservatory of Music and conducting the Philippine National Symphony Orchestra while advocating for the study and creation of “serious music” in the Philippines. In 1955, he, along with ten other counterparts, founded the League of Philippine Composers and the Philippine Music Educators Group. The goal of the League was to write major works in Western forms like the symphony or opera while incorporating Filipino folk songs and instruments, whereas the Music Educators Group strived to “Filipinize teaching materials” through the incorporation of folk songs and dance in the public schools. He even won the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship in 1959 to compose his opera Binhi ng Kalayaan, which told the story of the Filipino nationalist José Rizal. To Pajaro, the role of a composer in the post-colonial Philippines was a serious matter. For one, the composer, through the writing of “quality” music in Western forms, contributed to the image of the Philippines as an advanced, forward-thinking society. On the other hand, Filipinos were grappling with their cultural identity after three centuries of Western colonization. The promotion of Filipino artistic practices, both on the stage and in the classrooms, was vital for national consciousness and pride. 

Despite Pajaro’s impact on Filipino arts and culture, his musical legacy at Eastman and the United States at large is largely forgotten today. Using archival documents found in the Eastman Special Collections, as well as digitized newspapers from the United States and the Philippines, I construct a narrative of Pajaro’s early career as a means to circumvent institutional amnesia. Concert programs, original score manuscripts, and historicized newspapers point towards a two-way exchange between Pajaro and Eastman; although he was here to study composition and orchestration with Howard Hanson, Bernard Rogers, and Wayne Barlow, he was also here to introduce Americans to Filipino music and culture. I argue that Pajaro began to fulfill his proclaimed role as a composer in the “New Society” at Eastman, well before the height of his career. 

I first provide a brief history of the American-colonial and post-colonial Philippines to better understand the place of Western arts and education in the early 20th century. I then explore how the synthesis of Western and Filipino art music served as a means towards developing a national identity and how Pajaro’s early career—from before Eastman to his doctoral graduation—aided in those developments. I then hone in on the first movement of the Philippine Symphony by analyzing the interconnections of form, harmony and orchestration. Following music theorist Roger Grant, I believe music analysis “can help us to reimagine the social relationships, routines, and power dynamics that animated [Filipino orchestral music].” Specifically, analysis within this context serves three purposes: 1.) to the compositional language Pajaro was working with at that time; 2.) to help empathize with Pajaro and other 20th-century Filipino composers who valued prowess in Western music traditions as a way to attain higher social and/or economic status; 3.) to view the orchestra and its corresponding genres as symbolic of cultural identity. To my knowledge, there are no publicly-available recordings of the piece. Therefore, I construct MIDI recordings using digital notation software and digital audio workstation Logic to aid my analyses. Pajaro’s original manuscript served as my guide throughout the transcription process, and I do my best to remain faithful to the score.

There is one glaring omission from my analysis: the Filipino elements used in this symphony. In an interview with Pajaro, Howard Hanson asks him to explain the Filipino folk songs in the Philippine Symphony. However, the interview transcript, found in the Special Collections, only contains Hanson’s part. Likely, this document was Hanson’s script, for this interview was being recorded for a radio broadcast. Despite my best efforts, I have been unable to identify which folk songs were used in his symphony. There is no secondary literature on the piece, and I have been unable to find any semblance of program notes in the archives. This is an area of further research I would like to pursue, and I would appreciate any leads. However, the lack of primary or secondary surrounding this work only exemplifies said institutional amnesia. It is my hope that this project sparks further discussion of Eliseo Pajaro’s music and his legacy.

April 1952 “Symposium of Student Works” program. Source: Sibley Music Library Special Collections

Contextual Information

As you read, consider listening to this playlist of some of Eliseo Pajaro’s other works.

American Education and National Identity

For nearly four centuries, the Philippines was colonized by Western countries; Spain conquered the islands from 1565-1898 and the United States conquered from 1899-1946. Under the guise of “benevolent assimilation” ordered by President William McKinley, the United States established American-style government, communication infrastructures (newspapers, telephones, radio), schools, and more during the early 20th century. The public school system was particularly robust; between 1903 and 1940, the number of schools increased from 3,000 to 13,000. These schools enforced English-language instruction and communication as well as American history, traditions, democratic principles in order to paint an idealistic picture of the United States. State-sponsored universities and conservatories were established as well; St. Scholastica's College and the University of the Philippines Conservatory of Music (hereafter UP Conservatory), were established in 1906 and 1916, respectively. Prior to American rule, the musical landscape was largely tied to the Roman Catholic Church. Filipino musicians typically received their training from the clergy, and produced vespers, hymns, and masses to be performed in liturgical services. Formal music schools established by the United States created both a burgeoning secular music scene and a class of highly-trained musicians adept at composing and performing Western music. The UP Conservatory in particular produced Nicanor Abelardo, Francisco Santiago, Lucrecia Kasilag, and Eliseo Pajaro, all of whom led successful careers in the Philippines and abroad. The music schools taught Western music theory and history, training composers to write in genres such as the symphony, concert overtures or symphonic poem. Composing for the orchestra was seen as a respectable endeavor given its technical and lengthy nature.

Views on the American school system were mixed. Some Filipinos feared that English-language schools would create a “homogenous” country with forgotten cultural values. Sociologist Anthony Christian Ocampo described the "benevolent assimilation" behind the new education system as a euphemism for "paternalistic racism," for they did not consider the needs of the Filipino people. Others viewed the school system as positive, for their English-language studies allowed them to work in the government and attend school abroad. The music schools in particular also sought to position Western aesthetic ideals as being technologically superior and more sophisticated. The American government hired foreign professionals to serve as the first teachers at the UP Conservatory with the goal of “rais[ing] the creative skills of the Filipino composers to the same level as composers from the Western world.” This, of course, relies on the problematic assumption that Filipino music was somehow inferior prior to Western intervention. Local news outlets lamented the “lack of music appreciation” in the Philippines compared to the United States and Europe, and cited the absence of a systematic study of music as the cause. Just 23 years after the founding of the UP Conservatory, the first music textbook written by a Filipino author (Antonio J. Molina) was published and distributed to music institutions across the country. Notably, only European and American sources were referenced in the textbook, further cementing the notion of Western art music as the authoritative source for musical ideals.

The Tribune, Manila, Philippines, August 20, 1936, newspapers.com

The American government also established the Pensionado Act in 1903, which allowed Filipinos to pursue higher education in the United States, under the condition that they would return to the Philippines immediately after graduation to become civil servants. As more Filipinos were being educated abroad, the desire for a national identity, apart from the Americans, increased. The arts and humanities proved to be a valuable tool for this endeavor. The University of the Philippines formed an “oriental languages” department in 1924 as interest in Filipino regional languages grew. UP Conservatory professor Francisca Reyes traveled throughout the Philippines to record regional folk dances, eventually leading to their popularity in Manila and the establishment of a canon of national dances. When composer and pianist Francisco Santiago performed one of his own works at a solo recital in Chicago in 1924, he stated that his reasons for doing so were that “Filipino above all, I thought I should do my part [for] propaganda for our country. I wanted the American public to perceive that we are not savages.” Later, Santiago became the first Filipino director of the UP Conservatory and encouraged the study of indigenous Filipino music at the institution.

Report of the Philippine Commission to the Secretary of War 1902/1903, part 1. Source: Haithi Trust

The goal, though, was not to abandon Western music training and resort to “just” the study of indigenous music. The nationalist Filipino works that grew out of the American colonial period blended Filipino music into Western classical forms. This was partly to preserve Filipino folk songs, which were seen as becoming lost without their notation. At the same time, Filipino musicians were looking for ways to construct concrete symbols of “Filipino-ness” that would gain respect in the global community. Nicanor Abelardo, a student and later a faculty member at the Conservatory, wrote:

“The nationalization of our music is so important that it merits more than a passing notice. It is true that America, with all her progress in music, is still without a national music. But America can never have one… What about our kundiman, awit, and kumintang? Let us dig them up and from them fashion a music that is truly Philippine.” Thus, classical forms, like the concerto, sonata, or fugue, were seen as “sacred formulas” to “imbue local expression with superior aesthetic value.”

-Nicanor Abelardo

It was also at the UP Conservatory that Pajaro decided he wanted to pursue composition as a career. The encouragement to do so came from none other than Francisco Santiago, who by that time was the conservatory’s director. Santiago’s sentiments clearly made an impression on Pajaro, since most of his compositions from then onwards were based on Filipino folk songs or mythology. Pajaro’s documented works written pre-Eastman include the symphonic poems Cry of Balintawak Overture (1947) and The Oblation (1949), which refer to the start of the Philippine Revolution and an offering to God, respectively. Both pieces could be considered nationalist works given their subject matters, though it’s impossible to determine the level of hybridization with Western aesthetics without the scores, both of which are assumed to be lost. 

It should be noted that the composers most often recognized for formulating a national music identity (Francisco Santiago, Nicanor Abelardo, Antonino Buenaventura, and later Pajaro and Lucrecia Kasilag) were all graduates and faculty members of the UP Conservatory. Who, then, decided what “nationalist music” was? Was it the people, or the University of the Philippines? Was the hybrid of Western and indigenous music popular among the majority of Filipinos, or only those trained at the Conservatory? Answers to these questions are beyond the scope of this article, however, I mention these questions to be mindful of the histories that are told about Filipino music. One university tells the narrative of American-colonial Filipino music, even though they were far from being the only site for music making.

Interlude: Pajaro’s Early Life

Confidence doesn’t always arrive with a bold entrance. Sometimes, it builds quietly, step by step, as we show up for ourselves day after day. It grows when we choose to try, even when we’re unsure of the outcome. Every time you take action despite self-doubt, you reinforce the belief that you’re capable. Confidence isn’t about having all the answers — it’s about trusting that you can figure it out along the way.

The key to making things happen isn’t waiting for the perfect moment; it’s starting with what you have, where you are. Big goals can feel overwhelming when viewed all at once, but momentum builds through small, consistent action. Whether you’re working toward a personal milestone or a professional dream, progress comes from showing up — not perfectly, but persistently. Action creates clarity, and over time, those steps forward add up to something real.

You don’t need to be fearless to reach your goals, you just need to be willing. Willing to try, willing to learn, and willing to believe that you’re capable of more than you know. The road may not always be smooth, but growth rarely is. What matters most is that you keep going, keep learning, and keep believing in the version of yourself you’re becoming.

Make Room for Growth

Confidence doesn’t always arrive with a bold entrance. Sometimes, it builds quietly, step by step, as we show up for ourselves day after day. It grows when we choose to try, even when we’re unsure of the outcome. Every time you take action despite self-doubt, you reinforce the belief that you’re capable. Confidence isn’t about having all the answers — it’s about trusting that you can figure it out along the way.

The key to making things happen isn’t waiting for the perfect moment; it’s starting with what you have, where you are. Big goals can feel overwhelming when viewed all at once, but momentum builds through small, consistent action. Whether you’re working toward a personal milestone or a professional dream, progress comes from showing up — not perfectly, but persistently. Action creates clarity, and over time, those steps forward add up to something real.

You don’t need to be fearless to reach your goals, you just need to be willing. Willing to try, willing to learn, and willing to believe that you’re capable of more than you know. The road may not always be smooth, but growth rarely is. What matters most is that you keep going, keep learning, and keep believing in the version of yourself you’re becoming.