Ryan Cayabyab’s MaestroClass brings OPM home, one song at a time

A National Artist shows the power of “sariling atin”, by teaching us how to listen again.

Class is in session. They didn’t dim the lights at the Proscenium Theater. Instead, they left just enough glow to see the faces in the audience: some wide-eyed first-timers, some visibly emotional. 

And at the center of it all was Maestro Ryan Cayabyab, back at the piano, inviting everyone into what he calls a “classroom.” Not the kind with lessons or grades, but the kind with stories, melodies, and what felt like the full weight of OPM history wrapped in a two-hour performance.

The show was called “MaestroClass,” but it felt more like a homecoming. This was no ordinary concert. It was a lesson. A memory walk. A love letter to Philippine music disguised as a classroom.

The night opened not with fanfare, but with a question. “What is strophic?” he asked the crowd, leaning into the mic like a professor at the front of a lecture hall. And then, he answered… not with a definition, but with music. A quick verse of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” melted into “Pobreng Alindahaw,” followed by “Leron, Leron Sinta” and “Sitsiritsit Alibangbang.” No one needed translation. The master was teaching through melody.

A trip down memory lane

That’s what “MaestroClass” was about: learning, remembering, and rediscovering. Cayabyab walked the audience through forms, rhythms, folk traditions, and the very fabric of the Filipino songbook, weaving technique with emotion. It was performance, yes, but also immersion: a journey into how our music is built, how it breathes, and how it blooms.

The setlist unfolded as a glowing sampler of eras and emotions… from the bittersweet nostalgia of “Paraiso,” to the sweeping romance of “Araw Gabi,” all the way to the iconic sparkle of “Kumukutikutitap,” lighting up the room like Christmas in November. 

At times, the stage felt like an intimate jam session with Mr. Cayabyab at the piano, narrating every beat… and at others, it burst into full musical brilliance, thanks to performers who understood his work from the inside out.

Friends dropped in to elevate the energy, including Martin Nievera and Lani Misalucha, who lent their voices and laughter to the night. The latter set the tone of affection and humor early on: “Singer, composer, mentor, husband, labandero, father-in-law, and of course, National Artist,” she said. “But I’d like to call you, the one and only, Ryan Cayabyab.”

‘Walang katulad’

Between stories and songs, he spoke of struggle and softness, the way great music always sounds easy but never is. Onstage, behind the piano, he paused. “My musical journey was not always easy,” he confessed. “Maraming hits, maraming misses, pero lahat sila malapit sa puso ko. Lahat ng musika, lalo na ang sariling atin. Walang katulad ang musika ng Pilipino.”

And then it began, the closing movement. An encore not of ego, but of gratitude. The stage lit up with Filipiniana, strong and proud, for “Kay Ganda Ng Ating Musika.” A song that felt like an anthem, a thesis, and a home. Sung by the Maestro, surrounded by voices that grew up on his work, the moment was overwhelming because it was earned.

What “MaestroClass” proved was simple: that music is not just something we make. It’s something we inherit. Something we pass on, song by song, story by story.

That night, the lessons were not merely for the ears; they were for the heart. And for all who were there, it felt like a reminder of what we already knew: that Filipino music endures because it listens… and because it sings back.