Registration is now open for "Musika sa Museo," an exclusive performance by the Ateneo Chamber Singers and proudly presented by the Intramuros Administration. This event serves as a prelude to the forthcoming Dayaw 2025 European Competition Tour . We invite you to partake in an unforgettable evening of music within the hallowed walls of Centro De Turismo, Intramuros, Manila – formerly the site of the venerable Jesuit San Ignacio Chapel . The concert is scheduled at 7:30 PM on May 24, 2025 . There will also be a free museum tour at 6:00 PM (limited slots, first come - first served) Kindly note the following imperative details to ensure your attendance: Limited Seating: Due to the intimate nature of the venue, seating is strictly limited. We strongly encourage prompt registration to secure your place. Registration Protocol: Each individual wishing to attend must submit a separate entry via the Google Form . One submission corresponds to one seat only.
Click here to buy a ticket
Click here to buy a ticket
Confirmation of Attendance: Please be advised that completion of the registration form does not guarantee immediate seating. You will receive a formal confirmation email from [email protected] no later than 12:00 AM (midnight) on May 22, 2025, if your reservation has been successfully processed. Admission is free! This promises to be a truly captivating experience amidst an environment steeped in both history and architectural splendor. #moreACS #Dayaw2025 #EuropeanTour #Intramuros #JesuitHeritage #Music #Manila #MusikaSaMuseo #AteneoChamberSingers
About the Title
In various Philippine languages—particularly Ilocano and select Visayan dialects—the word
“Dayaw” connotes honor, glory, beauty, pride, and exaltation. It evokes a celebration of all that is noble,
good, and culturally significant.
“Dayaw” connotes honor, glory, beauty, pride, and exaltation. It evokes a celebration of all that is noble,
good, and culturally significant.
About the Tour
Dayaw: The ACS European Tour 2025 is a musical pilgrimage that offers honor and praise to
God and a heartfelt tribute to the soul of the Filipino people—resilient, joyful, and deeply rooted in
tradition. Through music, the Ateneo Chamber Singers (ACS) aim to uplift, inspire, and share the
richness of Philippine culture with international audiences.
The tour’s centerpiece is the choir’s participation in the 19th International Chamber Choir
Competition in Marktoberdorf, Germany—one of the world’s most prestigious choral
competitions. This event holds special meaning in the ensemble’s history. In 2001, the Ateneo
College Glee Club—led by then guest conductor, Jonathan Velasco—won this very competition, a
victory that laid the foundation for the formation of the Ateneo Chamber Singers. Now, more than
two decades later, several founding members return to the same stage—not as students, but as
seasoned musicians—to once again represent the Philippines and Ateneo with pride and artistry.
God and a heartfelt tribute to the soul of the Filipino people—resilient, joyful, and deeply rooted in
tradition. Through music, the Ateneo Chamber Singers (ACS) aim to uplift, inspire, and share the
richness of Philippine culture with international audiences.
The tour’s centerpiece is the choir’s participation in the 19th International Chamber Choir
Competition in Marktoberdorf, Germany—one of the world’s most prestigious choral
competitions. This event holds special meaning in the ensemble’s history. In 2001, the Ateneo
College Glee Club—led by then guest conductor, Jonathan Velasco—won this very competition, a
victory that laid the foundation for the formation of the Ateneo Chamber Singers. Now, more than
two decades later, several founding members return to the same stage—not as students, but as
seasoned musicians—to once again represent the Philippines and Ateneo with pride and artistry.
About the Competition
INTERNATIONAL CHAMBER CHOIR COMPETITION MARKTOBERDORF
Since 1989 the choral scene has met every two years during the Whitsun period in Marktoberdorf at one
of the most famous competitions for chamber choirs in the whole world. In the previous 17
competitions, more than 200 choirs from more than 40 countries have shown in the series of exciting
competitions and unusual concerts what choral music has to offer today. Both the experts and the
amateur public are always fascinated and enthusiastic: “Many thanks for allowing this to happen and for
working so hard to keep this competition on this very high artistic level.” (Maria Guinand, jury member,
Venezuela).
Visitors and representatives from international choral associations, competitions and festivals from more
than 45 countries have always been impressed by the special atmosphere and flair of the Marktoberdorf
competition. It is an event where, in addition to the exceptional artistic performances and the musical
competition, meeting together in friendship is valued particularly highly. Here there is not only the
competitive atmosphere of the competition. Here, the choirs introduce themselves to the others with
their work and their history and work on new choral literature together with them. Evening concerts
performed together enable an insight into the choral traditions of the different cultures. When
celebrating together in the festival tent, new friendships are built up way and beyond all borders. And all
this takes place in one of the most attractive areas in the whole of Germany, the Allgäu – which was
already chosen by King Ludwig as a background for his world famous castle Neuschwanstein.
https://www.kammerchorwettbewerb.org/en/competition
Since 1989 the choral scene has met every two years during the Whitsun period in Marktoberdorf at one
of the most famous competitions for chamber choirs in the whole world. In the previous 17
competitions, more than 200 choirs from more than 40 countries have shown in the series of exciting
competitions and unusual concerts what choral music has to offer today. Both the experts and the
amateur public are always fascinated and enthusiastic: “Many thanks for allowing this to happen and for
working so hard to keep this competition on this very high artistic level.” (Maria Guinand, jury member,
Venezuela).
Visitors and representatives from international choral associations, competitions and festivals from more
than 45 countries have always been impressed by the special atmosphere and flair of the Marktoberdorf
competition. It is an event where, in addition to the exceptional artistic performances and the musical
competition, meeting together in friendship is valued particularly highly. Here there is not only the
competitive atmosphere of the competition. Here, the choirs introduce themselves to the others with
their work and their history and work on new choral literature together with them. Evening concerts
performed together enable an insight into the choral traditions of the different cultures. When
celebrating together in the festival tent, new friendships are built up way and beyond all borders. And all
this takes place in one of the most attractive areas in the whole of Germany, the Allgäu – which was
already chosen by King Ludwig as a background for his world famous castle Neuschwanstein.
https://www.kammerchorwettbewerb.org/en/competition
What You Don’t Hear in the Harmony
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I’ve been in choirs long enough to know that things aren’t always as harmonious as they sound. Behind the clean lines and blended chords, there are often raised voices, frayed tempers, long rehearsals that turn into quiet power struggles. Sometimes it’s the old members who decide who gets to belong, and the new ones who just try not to get in the way. There are roles—trainees, core, tenured—and you learn them quickly, not because they’re written down, but because they’re felt. People mean well, but the pressure shows. I’ve seen shouting matches over missed entrances, long silences over small mistakes, friendships that turn brittle under the weight of tuning.
And still, I stayed—not because I liked it, but because I believed, maybe stubbornly, that there was something else beneath it all. Something real. Something worth staying for. Something that still felt like home, even if you had to work harder than expected just to get through the door. |
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Then I joined the Ateneo Chamber Singers. And at first, I did what anyone who’s been in too many choirs would do: I watched. They were warm, yes—kind, even—and I appreciated that. But I also held back a little. I needed to see if that warmth would last, or if it would turn, as I’d seen happen before, into quiet turf wars, whispered critiques, people turning prehistoric on each other when no one was looking. I’ve been in groups where things start off beautifully and end in quiet dread.
But here, the tone held—and it held gently. Not just in the music, but in the way people spoke, moved, listened. There was no posturing, no pressure to impress. Just steady, honest singing with people who showed up because they loved the work and respected the people beside them. They took the music seriously, but never at the cost of kindness. They paid attention to each other. And in a world where most are too busy trying to be heard, that felt rare. It felt safe.
And that’s when something in me began to soften. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel the need to prove anything. I didn’t have to perform, or protect myself, or wonder if I was enough. I was simply welcomed—as I was—and trusted to find my place. Not just in the music, but in the room. I was invited to blend—not only vocally, but humanly. To listen more than speak. To contribute without having to compete. And slowly I realized: maybe the point of this kind of music was never about standing out. Maybe it was about choosing, again and again, to disappear—deliberately, attentively, and generously—into something that could only exist because many voices were willing to carry it together.
I joined the group just last year, a few months before rehearsals began for the 19th Marktoberdorf International Chamber Choir Competition in Germany. I remember the day I auditioned—I sang “How Did You Know” in front of Sir Jojo, our conductor, and several members of the music committee. I was so nervous, I couldn’t remember how I finished. It felt like stepping off a cliff and not being told whether the ground was going to meet you.
A week passed. Every day felt like an extended breath I didn’t know how to release. Then the message came: I got in.
The first few rehearsals felt like eavesdropping on a conversation that had started long before I arrived. I wasn’t quite sure how to enter. I wasn’t even sure if I should. But I stayed. And for that, I thank Kuya Marvs—my seatmate in Hymnos, the choir of Sir Joel Navarro—who encouraged me to audition. Without him, I wouldn’t be writing this.
But here, the tone held—and it held gently. Not just in the music, but in the way people spoke, moved, listened. There was no posturing, no pressure to impress. Just steady, honest singing with people who showed up because they loved the work and respected the people beside them. They took the music seriously, but never at the cost of kindness. They paid attention to each other. And in a world where most are too busy trying to be heard, that felt rare. It felt safe.
And that’s when something in me began to soften. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel the need to prove anything. I didn’t have to perform, or protect myself, or wonder if I was enough. I was simply welcomed—as I was—and trusted to find my place. Not just in the music, but in the room. I was invited to blend—not only vocally, but humanly. To listen more than speak. To contribute without having to compete. And slowly I realized: maybe the point of this kind of music was never about standing out. Maybe it was about choosing, again and again, to disappear—deliberately, attentively, and generously—into something that could only exist because many voices were willing to carry it together.
I joined the group just last year, a few months before rehearsals began for the 19th Marktoberdorf International Chamber Choir Competition in Germany. I remember the day I auditioned—I sang “How Did You Know” in front of Sir Jojo, our conductor, and several members of the music committee. I was so nervous, I couldn’t remember how I finished. It felt like stepping off a cliff and not being told whether the ground was going to meet you.
A week passed. Every day felt like an extended breath I didn’t know how to release. Then the message came: I got in.
The first few rehearsals felt like eavesdropping on a conversation that had started long before I arrived. I wasn’t quite sure how to enter. I wasn’t even sure if I should. But I stayed. And for that, I thank Kuya Marvs—my seatmate in Hymnos, the choir of Sir Joel Navarro—who encouraged me to audition. Without him, I wouldn’t be writing this.
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At ACS, there were no speeches about commitment. Just people who came in, knew what needed to be done, and did the work with quiet consistency. And somehow, that created more pressure—not the kind that weighs you down, but the kind that makes you want to rise to the occasion. No one was forcing you to care. That was the hardest and most beautiful part: you had to want it for yourself.
It’s easier when someone hounds you. It’s much harder when they trust you. And so you show up. Not out of fear, but out of responsibility. Not to prove your place, but to earn it in silence, over time. Still, music was only half the battle. |
The other half had nothing to do with singing. It was the long, unseen labor of making the work possible. Paperwork. Proposals. Follow-ups that go nowhere. Requests that feel like apologies. It was the slow, frustrating task of explaining why this matters—to offices, to institutions, sometimes even to people close to you who think it’s “just a hobby.” You find yourself spending more time asking to be allowed to sing than actually singing.
No one tells you that being in a choir will mean learning how to draft memos, chase clearances, and coordinate logistics in between rehearsals. That being an artist in this country is not just about craft, but endurance. That before you can give anything, you have to prove you’re worth giving space.
You rehearse at night. By day, you explain your existence. You do the work. Then ask for permission to keep doing it.
And still, we go on.
Maybe because choir teaches you early that not everything valuable has to be visible. That it’s possible to carry something quietly, and still be essential. That you don’t need to be the melody to make the song whole. That sometimes the most generous thing you can do is to make space—for the line, for the blend, for someone else’s voice to land safely.
As a new member, I spent more time listening than singing. I watched how vowels were shaped. I counted my breath. I learned how not to interrupt the sound. At first, I thought I was playing small. But I was learning: this isn’t about being noticed. It’s about being necessary.
And at the center of all this is Sir Jojo.
He does not bark orders. He does not demand excellence by force. He listens first. Then refines. He sends us recordings of other choirs—not to rattle us, but to remind us that we’re not alone in this work. He never tells us to outdo anyone. He simply points us back to our own sound, and asks: is this the truest version you can offer?
No one tells you that being in a choir will mean learning how to draft memos, chase clearances, and coordinate logistics in between rehearsals. That being an artist in this country is not just about craft, but endurance. That before you can give anything, you have to prove you’re worth giving space.
You rehearse at night. By day, you explain your existence. You do the work. Then ask for permission to keep doing it.
And still, we go on.
Maybe because choir teaches you early that not everything valuable has to be visible. That it’s possible to carry something quietly, and still be essential. That you don’t need to be the melody to make the song whole. That sometimes the most generous thing you can do is to make space—for the line, for the blend, for someone else’s voice to land safely.
As a new member, I spent more time listening than singing. I watched how vowels were shaped. I counted my breath. I learned how not to interrupt the sound. At first, I thought I was playing small. But I was learning: this isn’t about being noticed. It’s about being necessary.
And at the center of all this is Sir Jojo.
He does not bark orders. He does not demand excellence by force. He listens first. Then refines. He sends us recordings of other choirs—not to rattle us, but to remind us that we’re not alone in this work. He never tells us to outdo anyone. He simply points us back to our own sound, and asks: is this the truest version you can offer?
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That is the hardest part. Not becoming someone else. But becoming yourself, with care and consistency, until it finally rings true.
Now, with the competition just days away, the pressure hasn’t let up—it’s just taken on a different shape. We’re no longer scrambling to learn notes. We know the music now, more or less. But we’re still figuring out what we want it to say. We’re still asking ourselves: where is this all going? What are we really trying to bring to the stage? We rehearse now with the end in mind. Not just the program, not just the trip—but the reason. What is this sound for? Who is it supposed to move? What are we leaving behind when we walk off that stage? |
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Because in choir, you don’t just sing. You carry. You carry the hours, the tiredness, the self-doubt, the deadlines, the blurred lines between your job and your voice and your reason for doing any of it. You carry all of that into a single breath. And it has to land cleanly.
We still feel the pressure—not to be perfect, but to be true. To make something that holds. To offer something that doesn’t collapse the moment people stop clapping.
And that’s harder than any note we’ve had to reach. If you want to hear what that sounds like, you can.
On May 16, we’ll hold our send-off concert at Areté in Ateneo de Manila University. On May 24, we’ll sing again at the Centro de Intramuros, where time has never really stopped. These are echoes of everything we’ve had to figure out just to make the music mean something. So if you come, don’t just listen to the harmony. Listen to the hunger behind it. The questions. The weight. The choice to stay.
You probably won’t remember the names. But if we’ve done this right, you’ll remember the sound. And in that sound, Maybe you’ll hear what we were reaching for. Even if we’re still figuring it out ourselves.
We still feel the pressure—not to be perfect, but to be true. To make something that holds. To offer something that doesn’t collapse the moment people stop clapping.
And that’s harder than any note we’ve had to reach. If you want to hear what that sounds like, you can.
On May 16, we’ll hold our send-off concert at Areté in Ateneo de Manila University. On May 24, we’ll sing again at the Centro de Intramuros, where time has never really stopped. These are echoes of everything we’ve had to figure out just to make the music mean something. So if you come, don’t just listen to the harmony. Listen to the hunger behind it. The questions. The weight. The choice to stay.
You probably won’t remember the names. But if we’ve done this right, you’ll remember the sound. And in that sound, Maybe you’ll hear what we were reaching for. Even if we’re still figuring it out ourselves.
About the writer
Arjay Ivan Gorospe sings with ACS as a Baritone. He also works with the Malacañan palace as a speechwriter.
Arjay Ivan Gorospe sings with ACS as a Baritone. He also works with the Malacañan palace as a speechwriter.
We are truly grateful to these individuals and companies for their support:
Presenters
Partners
Major Sponsors
Minor Sponsors
Patron
Champion Sponsor
Mr. and Mrs. Magdaleno and Trin Albarracin
Season Sponsors
Cory Vidanes
Gerry and Beng Esquivel
Babes and Seng Lazatin
Bong and Tet Naguiat
Ricky and Vicky Tantoco
PJ Bernardo
Bobby and Birang Wong
Mayor Bonito Singson and Family
Dr. Mildred Vitangcol
Galdones Family
Genotiva Family
Joyce Ortiz Mäkitalo
Nichael and Joan Muncal
Teresita Manuel
Aliga Family
Aquino Family
Chapel of the Eucharistic Lord /
Msgr. Noly A. Que
Marichu Altuna Bugarin
EG and Jo-Ann Gilles
Dr. Michael Edward Chan
Dr. Lucile Venturanza and Mrs. Sylvia Nocon
Pacita Guevarra Carmelo
EmDantes Online School by Emy Ruth Dantes
Mr. and Mrs. Magdaleno and Trin Albarracin
Season Sponsors
Cory Vidanes
Gerry and Beng Esquivel
Babes and Seng Lazatin
Bong and Tet Naguiat
Ricky and Vicky Tantoco
PJ Bernardo
Bobby and Birang Wong
Mayor Bonito Singson and Family
Dr. Mildred Vitangcol
Galdones Family
Genotiva Family
Joyce Ortiz Mäkitalo
Nichael and Joan Muncal
Teresita Manuel
Aliga Family
Aquino Family
Chapel of the Eucharistic Lord /
Msgr. Noly A. Que
Marichu Altuna Bugarin
EG and Jo-Ann Gilles
Dr. Michael Edward Chan
Dr. Lucile Venturanza and Mrs. Sylvia Nocon
Pacita Guevarra Carmelo
EmDantes Online School by Emy Ruth Dantes
Tour Committee
Manager
Aleli V. Salazar
International Relations and Communications
Catherine C. Endriga
Personnel
Marco E. Reyes
Finance/ Sponsorships
Bernard O. Ebuña
Sponsorships / Social Media
Joan E. Muncal
Sales / Social Media
Jiena R. Pauco
Sales/ Events Coordination
Marvin R. Guevarra
Photography
Raul C. Supnet
Graphics and Layout
Boyette Perfecto
Aleli V. Salazar
International Relations and Communications
Catherine C. Endriga
Personnel
Marco E. Reyes
Finance/ Sponsorships
Bernard O. Ebuña
Sponsorships / Social Media
Joan E. Muncal
Sales / Social Media
Jiena R. Pauco
Sales/ Events Coordination
Marvin R. Guevarra
Photography
Raul C. Supnet
Graphics and Layout
Boyette Perfecto