Clouds hung low over the night horizon, thick with the promise of rain. Great, I thought. With any luck, it'll be pouring by the time the concert starts. As I trudged back to where my colleagues were seated, my feet sinking in sand with each step, a nagging question kept crossing my mind: why am I here?

Every year for the past four years, the Puerto Azul resort becomes the site of the Puerto Azul Music and Sports Festival, a weekend of fun in the summer sun. While daylight is devoted to sporting events such as jet ski competitions and beach volleyball, nightfall brings everybody together to sway to the rhythm and dance to the beat of guest bands in an all-night beach concert.

So, there I was, camera in hand, notepad tucked under my belt, to cover the concert.

It was 8 p.m., the music an hour overdue. As I sat with my colleagues on the damp sands of Palicpican Beach, wave after wave of past San Miguel Beer commercials were projected onto a huge screen behind the drum kit. Entertaining at first, the commercials soon gave way to redundancy, as they kept repeating end-on-end.

By this time, the beach was getting crowded. It became increasingly difficult to navigate through the sea of people settled into the sand, some lying on blankets, some standing, some unmindful of grit in their shorts. "The Concert will start in 15 minutes," a disembodied voice boomed from the stage. Naturally, this was met with incredulous jeers from the already restless crowd.

The concert kicked off, at last, with a dance number and a display of fireworks. As trumpillos and other pyrotechnics lit up a tall wooden frame, illuminating signs of welcome, rockets exploded overhead, blossoming into majestic showers of light. The pent-up anticipation of the crowd was released in shrieks of joy and revelry. Loud applause rang out across the beach.

Hosting the concert were MTV video jockeys Kamal Sidhu, Ganesh Raj, and the Philippines' own Regine Tolentino, as MTV cameras recorded the event. Male shouts of appreciation for Kamal and Regine, looking good as always, resounded from just below the stage.

The first band to perform was P.O.T., "not poht, not pot, not poot," according to vocalist Carl Roy. P.O.T. as in Peyote, a hallucinogenic cactus used by Mexican shamans. At least, that's what the name sounds like. Playing a blend of funk, fusion and good old rock and roll, P.O.T. put out an energetic set. Carl Roy, with all his tattoos, was a sight to see, prancing around the stage and gesturing wildly like Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Maegan Aguilar, seated by the foot of the stage, and her band-mates were soon dancing with great gusto, perhaps to psyche themselves up for their turn onstage.

Next to take the limelight was Passage, a group I've never really appreciated. Easy listening and songs of mush were never up my alley. I could never understand all the ruckus over Ira Cruz (He's sooo gorgeous!). But impress me they did, with their musical sense and skill. As a band, Passage is extremely tight; each member fills his or her musical role perfectly. They play on each other's strengths and capabilities while keeping the audience riveted. By this time, more people had gotten up to dance. Sporadic shouts of "Ira!" inevitably pierced the night air.

I was getting bored with the view from atop my sand dune, so, gingerly, I made my way through the throng of screaming, swaying people, stepping on some toes in the process. Good thing everyone was having too much of a good time to be irate.

The first contest of the night was beginning: the beer-drinking competition. Contest rules: first one to empty the flask without spillage and shout "Kahit kailan kaibigan, San Miguel Beer!" wins. While the other contestants put up valiant efforts, actor/bodybuilder Jeffrey Santos emerged the victor.

Next band: Alamid, a group I hadn't heard of in over a year. Following the release of its disappointing second album, Alamid just sort of faded into obscurity. Yet, here they were. And they were back in strength! The Philippine Wildcats played a set that included new wave favorites by Wire Train and The Cure. They covered Cake's cover of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive," and played their trademark "Your Love" from their first album. Knowing precisely how to please the crowd, lead vocalist Gary Ignacio ended the set with a bawdy take on the song "Batibot," even translating his naughty lyrics into English for the benefit of the numerous expats in the audience.

Just as the pace of the night was truly livening up, on stage walked Maegan Aguilar. It was like someone suddenly stepped on the brakes. Don't get me wrong. Maegan is an excellent singer; cute, too! Her choice of songs, however, left much to be desired. This was a beach party. And, in beach parties, people want to listen to party music. People want to be uplifted. She sang Janice Joplin and rained on everyone's parade.

As an artist, I have nothing but the highest regard for Maegan. She is not just the "daughter of Freddie Aguilar." At an early age, she has succeeded in making a name for herself, despite the burden of her father's shadow. Possessed of such a wonderfully powerful yet expressive voice, Maegan would be perfect in Montreaux. Just not in Puerto.

A sigh of relief, make that "release," was audibly heard as Maegan ended her final song. Time for another contest: the ripped jeans contest. Right before the concert, brand new denim jeans were given out to selected men. Tear them, dash them, subject them to cutting implements, do whatever you have to to produce the best pair of ripped jeans. One by one, the contestants were called onstage, naked except for their denims. No underwear was allowed. They paraded across the stage apron, flexing their pectorals and gyrating for the pleasure of the screaming female populace. The winner took home a gold Tissot watch, which he cradled gently over his crotch. Practically nothing was left of his jeans but the seams.

The penultimate band to perform was Mulatto. A seven-member group, Mulatto is composed of three instrumentalists, three male vocalists and one female vocalist. I wasn't familiar with them at all so, dismissing them as "just another band" I went off in search for diversion. A strip of stalls occupied one whole side of the beach, offering food, drinks, cigars, jewelry, even tattoos and body piercing. Foregoing body art, I decided to catch up on my nutrition. A P40 beef shawarma and a Gatorade were quickly consumed, followed by a chori-burger from Bun on the Run. As I headed back up the beach, lo and behold! Everyone was dancing! Well, maybe not everyone. My editor was asleep and so was our photographer. A few others, exhausted from the days events, were likewise in prone positions. Mulatto, playing a repertoire of '70s hits like "We are Family" had succeeded in getting the great majority of the crowd to dance. Audience participation is never a strong suit among Filipino audiences, so this intrigued me to no end. Even the bodybuilders and mountaineers up in front were disco-dancing, some a la John Travolta.

That'll teach me not to underestimate a band again.

The final contest of the evening was the wet T-shirt contest. So that's why these jocks positioned themselves by the stage! Rules, what rules? Self-explanatory. Only three contestants had the courage to participate. A trip to Hong Kong was the primary pot, while a trip to Cebu would await runner-up. As water was poured on her, the first contestant did her best to do an impression of Jose Garcia Villa's "The Bashful One," curling up into a comma. Contestant Two, displaying exhibitionist tendencies, gyrated wildly and tugged down at her shorts, much to the glee of the frothing male audience at her feet. Contestant Three, somewhat better endowed than Number One and Number Two, tried her best to outdo Two's performance, but, alas, she was outclassed. The winner, Contestant Number Two, still performing her erotic dance, this time for the camera crews, was awarded the trip to Hong Kong.

The last band was the one I had been waiting for all night: Put3Ska! "Viva la ska revolucion!" Myra Ruaro exhorted, as the band kicked off with its first instrumental. I found myself pogoing, jumping up and down briskly as is the norm during ska concerts. Sand, however, is no friend to the skankin'. Holding on to the stage with one hand, I tried my best to continue "rockin' to da riddim of the steady shufflin' beat," but to no avail. I had this sinking feeling that I was sinking, and I was! The band performed several new songs, including their version of "Baby Elephant Walk," as well as favorites from their two albums. After jumping around for several songs, I just stood there, my shoulders stooped in exhaustion.

I turned around and saw that the beach wasn't full anymore. People were either sitting on the sand or leaving. During Put3Ska? That can't be. The only people left dancing were those with me in front. It was 3 a.m. after all. Despite this, Myra and Bing Austria continued to sing to the crowd. The horn, percussion, and string sections played on with heightened vigor. One thing's for sure: Put3Ska has an infectious vibe. Ignoring the pain, I continued that frenzied pogo with strangers beside me, no doubt exhausted as well, until the final drum roll and horn blast signalled the end of the concert.

I had a good time. It didn't rain, and despite starting late, the concert was topnotch. Even Maegan. On our way back to our lodgings, we had our picture taken with Put3Ska. Myra is truly the nicest "rude girl" you will ever meet. Why am I here? I asked earlier that evening. Because it's my job. And I like my job.