Written by Louis Pelingen
The recent meteoric success of Juan Karlos stemming from one of the singles on their recent release, “ERE,” – enough to build enough traction to debut at no. 177 on the global Spotify charts – signifies how ingrained he has been in the local scene for the past couple of years.
Despite some shaky conflicts that occurred before, when he eventually stepped into the broader swells of pop rock carried through his emotive delivery and songwriting ever since he and his band started off with ‘Buwan,’ it garnered widespread interest for Juan Karlos to keep going along on their overall grand yet simultaneously dull and stilted sound. It is a sound that is starting to feel rather frustratingly overdone in recent memory, expansive and well-produced but lacking in interesting songwriting throughlines.
Despite the success, the band’s new entry in their catalog is deeply entrenched in post-breakup frustrations Juan Karlos has gone through, laying down these love songs initially written for a compilation that eventually became rather bullshit to him after his breakup last year. Hence, these melancholic songs are now packaged on Sad Songs and Bullshit Part 1, the first installment of a two-parter project dipped in a baffling release strategy to slice the 18 written songs into two parts instead of picking the strongest songs to make a focused release (even if this strategy has started to work for the band given the success of “ERE”) all centered on amping up the overall display of catharsis from this heartbreak. This project is confident in putting up these raw emotions in the open, presenting an attempt from Juan Karlos to make it closely personal as he belts out strings of crowd-ready hooks toward this post-breakup narrative that has struck the mainstream local scene time and time again.
Yet, to be blunt, this approach starts to hit clumsy and route results, where the blatant move to lean towards the 2000s era sonic palette from the instrumental tones just falls short in a lot of its ideas, where there aren’t that any interesting swerves on either melodies or production. The other reasons this record does not stick come from Juan Karlos’ vocals and songwriting, where his emotional bellows start to get overbearing, and his songwriting leaves nothing but the surface-level poetry surrounding him circling around the heartbreak in a self-important framing.
His shouty croons on the pop rock swell of “Time Machine” and “ERE” become a head-scratcher, especially with the latter track where his delivery of the profanity on the hook only sounded silly rather than convincing. The acoustic heartbreak reflection on “Lumisan” is a bland Ben&Ben takeaway due to those vocal melodies. And the adult-contemporary cut of “Manhid” is nothing short of anything special despite the well-produced shuffling melodies.
But the tracks that make this overall narrative quite sour are the piano ballads “may halaga pa ba ako sayo??” and “Tapusin Na Natin To” featuring Paolo Benjamin, from the details that only imply a guarded deflection on dealing with this heartbreak to Juan Karlos’ vocalization at its very worst, tends to push further to the point of being obnoxiously overdramatic.
And those tracks eventually color a lot about the record, even with the gorgeous Sufjan Stevens-esque acoustics of “Gabi” featuring Zild and “Paruparo” or the communal vocals that help elevate the title track. Whatever quality they do have just gets stifled overall. Stacked to the gills with uninteresting elements culminating in a lackluster project coming from the soundscape that leans on 2000s sonic aesthetics without any interesting melodic or instrumental flair, vocal emotionality that only gets overdone and annoying, and, of course, songwriting circling around reflections on Juan Karlos’s past relationship delivered with a pompous and shallow affair that serves to deflect around it. Though given the title itself, it sure is rather apt to call it that, an album with many underwhelming sad songs and a lot of self-important bullshit.
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