The good news is that the kids have gone back to dancing. Why is it good news? That means there will be fewer and fewer bands. Dancing has become the "hip" thing again. See them dance on hotdog and sanitary napkin commercials.   And here we hope that some of the posers out there drop their guitars or drum sticks or digital cameras and revert to where their hearts truly belong: the dance floor.

And not just any dance floor.   It should have a battery of klieg lights, gigantic plasma backdrops. To the television studios they troop, in costume, all made up, gelled-up Astroboy-Koreanovela hair the color of phlegm. Under the brutal sun they fall in line, limbering up and practicing their rococo moves. Amazing how they can all be so fast and flexible even in asphyxiatingly tight red jeans. Someone once said that dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal intention, but there is nothing remotely sexual or Valentino-esque about guys doing somersaults or girls being hurled into the air like marionettes.

That and a thousand other stunts–including deft rhyming, fire-breathing, singing of absurdly high-octaved versions of "You'll Never Walk Alone"–is what is currently sweeping over Philippine television. Talent shows doubling as freak shows. With their bombast of lights, colors, and noise, they are one massive karnabal. Don't get me wrong: I love carnivals–they're hallucinations made flesh, plastic, and rusty metal, and for me one of the greatest tragedies of our civilization is the increasing scarcity of the perya where tossing a 25-centavo coin can win you a ceramic mug or a pack of mystery cheese curls. I miss the booth where you hit the bull's eye to dunk the hairy transvestite. I miss the obviously fake mermaid and snake-girl who hiss for a five-peso admission fee. You know it's a scam but you pay anyway. And you don't know what's more depressing: the clumsily glued rubber costume or the sheer desperation behind it all.

But back to the karnabal on your TV screen.

There are at least four talent shows at the moment. It started with TV5's Talentadong Pinoy, which was the network's only highest rating program. Obviously, the idea wasn't original. But when it came out, I became an instant fan. It was like American Idol on acid. Where else would you find singers, orators, and dancers competing with fire-breathing acrobats, strongmen bending iron rods with their necks, magicians, dog trainers, and paraplegics who gangsta-rap?

Channel 2 followed suit with Showtime (which was so brassy that even Willie Revillame felt threatened) and Pilipinas Got Talent. Not wanting to be left looking clueless with their jurassic karaoke shows, GMA 7 came out with Diz Iz It. Of the four, GMA's is the saddest. Maybe it's the texture of the broadcast–pallid, subdued, and unintentionally glum. Not even the screech of its hosts, its loud banners and placards and cross-dressing hostages from comedy bars can lift the thing.   There's a funereal sort of pall hanging over it, like a party on a boat that's about to sink. I wonder when the government-owned station channel 4 would produce one? I think they should, and have Cecile Guidote-Alvarez host the thing (with the image of the Virgin Mary beside her) with her seemingly interminable spiels. And invite NAMCYA winners and NCCA-funded artists to compete. Imagine: a kudyapi player going head-to-head with a soprano singing Verdi. And Alvarez endlessly prattling on about how talented the Filipino is, and how we should all work together to uplift culture for a brighter Philippines blah blah blah.

But the more the merrier, right? Maybe.