WHILE nationalists bemoaned the proliferation of musical clones, avid Filipino fans continued to admire US stars' local versions. They thrilled at how adeptly Filipino talents aped bigger-than-life American icons. Career-wise, it made sense to become an entertainment clone. After all, clones enjoyed the advantage of the publicity and built-in glamour of the originals.

When Johnny Mathis trilled soprano notes in his distinctive dusky manner, Manila gasped with Pinoy pride when Baguio native Bert Nievera duplicated the same falsetto. Thereafter, he was dubbed the Johnny Mathis of the Philippines. The comparison has served him in good stead for over three decades.

Baby de Jesus was the Joni James of the Philippines. James was a favorite of Filipinos in the '50s, especially for her romantic dance numbers repeatedly played in many jam sessions held on weekends. James' romantic ballads allowed the young Romeos to "cuddle up a little closer" to their pretty Juliets.

Bell Gonzales, daughter of opera great Isang Tapales rendered Jo Stanfford's popular hits like "No Other Love" in Stafford's signature slow manner. Furthermore, her diction was perfect and her musicality admirable. Like James, she was a favorite for those "slow drag" numbers during which young swains exchanged telephone numbers with pert colegialas.

Pop singers come and go, so Philippine clones live short lives, their longevity often dependent on the careers of the originals. However, some continue to enjoy success long after the originals have retired because they bring back memories of those "good, old days." Usually, they perform in concerts that rely on fond recollections.

One such nostalgic success is Diomedes Maturan, whose cool and radiant baritone is a xerox copy of the soothing voice of Perry Como. So vocally similar were they that in one television show, Maturan sang along with a recording of Mr. Como. Only the orchestration gave him away. The arrangement of the full orchestra was disparately different from Maturan's more economical version. He was forced to apologize to his disappointed fans. Soon after, they chuckled with glee.

Probably the most successful singing clone was Eddie Mesa, the country's answer to the King of Rock and Roll. Elvis Presley was a global phenomenon. No matter if Hollywood cast him in senseless musicals, the cash register rang lustily. Presley was big bucks! When he was drafted into the American army, teenagers all over America cried.

The Philippines had to find its Presley. They found it in Eddie Mesa, who gyrated with gusto and possessed an even more flexible voice than the original. No wonder he enjoyed a successful stint in the movies, recording and television. In live concerts, Eddie was as charismatic and exciting as the kid from Memphis.

And Eddie Mesa was versatile. When Tom Jones came around, Mesa took him on, too and proved he could imitate him just as well. He has lost the Presley-like pompadour, but Eddie still dishes out Presley and Jones numbers with facility and great skill. He is now a singing proselytizer of Born Again values.

He is also the proud husband of dramatic actress Rosemarie Gil. Their children, Michael de Mesa, Mark Gil and Cherie Gil, have inherited their parents' musical and dramatic genes.

Cliff Richards was very popular among college students in the late '60s and early '70s. This was the period of the hippies, when drugs, alcohol and free love were "in" among the young and the reckless. Acid rockers were the era's musical icons. Richards offered an alternative to those unkempt musical figures. His clean-cut looks appealed to youngsters not keen on rockers.

Jose Mari Chan didn't look like Richards, but he sure could sing like him. He was preppie-looking and de buena familia. Why, he even composed songs similar to Richards' hits. Since he composes and produces his own albums and concerts, he remains popular with a certain age bracket and enjoys a fruitful musical career to this day.

Victor Wood took advantage of a natural quiver in his voice to sing the sultry numbers of mid-'60s musical hunk Tom Jones. Of course, may challenged his claim but Wood's mestizo features gave him an edge over others.

Versatile Jun Polistico, on the other hand, is not a mere musical clone. He is actually a musical chameleon. He can be any of the many singers he apes. He can shift styles and sound like Mathis, Sinatra, Presley and Tom Jones. For encores, he can do fine copies of Dean Martin, Nat King Cole and Louie 'Satchmo' Armstrong.

He has performed these musical impersonations all over the Philippines, as well as in Tokyo, Hong Kong, Singapore, Europe, the Middle East, Honolulu and Las Vegas.

For his part, Dale Adriatico fancied himself the Frank Sinatra of the Philippines, aping even the croak when the kid from Hoboken was past his vocal prime.

The biggest success at the moment is Gary Valenciano, who has got the moves and voice of Michael Jackson, the musical wunderkind whose dark side continues to earn him tabloid mileage. Jackson's career has dipped badly, but Gary continues to gain followers not only for his musical skills, but also for his advocacy of Christian values, which he infuses into his songs' lyrics.

In the United States, cloning is acceptable only for comedy acts. In the Philippines, we do it for real. Filipino clones borrow looks, musical style, heart and soul--the whole stock and barrel. Interestingly, the local versions appear none the worse for it. In fact, they pragmatically exploit their title as a stepping stone to achieving national success. In time, they find a fraction of themselves, they spread their musical wings and try to create a variation of their borrowed style.

These days, when they perform identifiable numbers, they do so tongue in cheek. When they move and sing like the originals, they do it for a lark. The audience rides along. It's only a musical joyride, after all. It's the gaya-gaya game.