Written by Louis Pelingen What would inevitably become an interesting talking point later down the line is how the next generation – in this case, the Gen Alphas – will eventually carve their paths through a lot of the music spaces thriving right now. While it is early to say how they will respond and evolve past the local indie and mainstream music zeitgeists, observing how they’d touch upon the sounds and tones to assess their craft is enough to look into. At least for the time being. Case in point, the past few releases that 15 year old mrt has released last year immediately pull a lot of the alternative rock and screamo influences – think acts like Sintasan, North Sentinel, and Walktrip – that swerved into lo-fi, raw fidelities. Those two EPs – ‘hermosa’ and ‘bokeh’ – certainly tiptoed towards those tones, from mrt’s attempts to sing and scream across shambling production, to post-breakup wallowing that is peppered across his lyrics. Now, what “all roads lead to cubao (or wherever my grave may be instead)” does is sharpen his melodic instincts amidst an exercise in dynamics. It starts off with a lilting guitar passage contrasted with his composed screams, then the song breaks out into fuzzed-out shoegaze while mrt leans more on moodier singing. It effectively reinforces the emo-tinged emptiness that is buried in this track. All in all, mrt still has ways to go before he eventually hammers down the strengths in his songcrafting, yet the intrigue to do a bit more in this song does show some promise. The projects that he has currently pulled off might not blow things away, especially with how the alt-rock and hardcore scenes have only developed into fascinating nooks and crannies; there’s nothing wrong with testing things out. At the very least, he’s familiarizing himself by trying, and that’s good enough for now. Support the art and the artist:
REVIEWS
TRACK REVIEW: Addy Pantig – Sandstorm
Written by Rory Marshall Addy Pantig heeds the listener with one thing: a warning. “Sandstorm” is an admonition explored through metaphor, showcasing the pitfalls of lost time, delivered through soulful blues rock, and with this being her debut single, it’s as gutsy as it is dramatic. Sandstorm paints a picture of gravitas and intensity, each line like a brush stroke to the canvas. The song is set in a room that’s slowly filling up with sand, and a girl, frozen in fear, realizes it’s too late. Addy has a knack for narrative, and her lyrics are a testament to that. Her “show, don’t tell” method of songwriting set the scene so well, and because of that, the experience lof istening to the track is nothing short of cinematic. The anxiety that comes with time running out rings through in her words and is further highlighted with the dramatic instrumental. Starting slowly with a steady acoustic guitar and vocals, with added elements joining in the setup as each bar progresses: an eerie violin, the muted drums, and the bass to carry the whole track, as if each new instrument is another grain of sand filling up the room. Then the build-up comes to fruition in the chorus, crashing down like a sudden moment of realization. The blues rock style complements the storytelling style of the lyrics well, which is prominent in blues. “Sandstorm” is an exemplary showcase of the magic she weaves into the music she has a hand in: Addy’s lyrics that bring with them storytelling and narrative, paired with the quiet yet intense passion that gilds her vocal performance. We’ve seen elements like this in her past work in different projects, and it’s refreshing to hear them still standing strong in her solo work. This track is the first of hopefully many, and will no doubt lay a great foundation for any tracks she releases in the future. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
TRACK REVIEW: Kumare Harvey – VILLAIN
Written by Louis Pelingen After years of hosting in queer circles as well as frequently featuring on certain songs across other artists’ projects, Kumare Harvey’s debut single, ‘VILLAIN,’ is nothing short of astute. Across the neptunes-esque beat with burly guitars adding edge to his bars, Kumare Harvey lets everyone know first and foremost that he’s not one to be played around. He takes down those who try to talk shit and villainize him, but can only go so far as saying it online. He never softens down throughout; his attitude remains confident all across. Of course, it’s through Kumare Harvey’s performance that sells such a bombastic song, with a clear-cut delivery, an efficient flow, and a swaggering energy that struts with ease. His overall magnetic presence gives the song its glorious punches, especially to those who might try to pull him downwards and fail in miserable fashion. Haters gonna hate, as they all say. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Hev Abi – Maduming Timog
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol Around this time two years ago, Hev Abi had control of half of the top 10 spots in Billboard’s Philippines Songs chart. After emerging as a sleeper hit towards the end of 2023, he received commercial success and critical acclaim as a baby-faced lover boy with a playful charm and a hint of naughtiness — along with an occasional gangsta persona who reps the Tomas Morato area. With a good ear for beats and interpolations, a pen that flows out nothing but swag, satisfying feature appearances for other artists, Hev Abi’s tales of mischief and romance set in downtown Quezon City made a hit artist out of him, and helped kick off a landmark year for OPM in 2024. But last September, in the comments section of one of the loosies he’d been uploading to YouTube, someone complained that his new music won’t appeal to the masses. His response? “Pasabi sa masa wala nakong pakielam.” Those loosies, it turned out, were his explorations toward hazy, AutoTune-drenched mumble rap. Pivoting away from the soulful beats and smooth rapping that sent him to superstardom, he began an artistic transformation that also set off that all too familiar phenomenon of Filipino listeners clinging to familiarity, to the point where they end up stifling an artist’s creativity. But after hustling for close to half a decade as an MC, he definitely needed to explore different musical horizons that match the lifestyle he’s writing about now, and these experiments culminate in the release of his highly-anticipated second album ‘Maduming Timog’. A nod to the seedy nightlife within Timog Avenue – and, perhaps, to the Dirty South hip-hop genre that birthed the trap music and mumble rap that make up this album’s artistic DNA, this album sees Hev Abi indulge in the impulses that fuel the Kyusi underbelly. On “WELCOME2TIMOGMAGULO,” he reintroduces himself as the man who gets every party started, the street-scarred host who’s got all the drinks and drugs for everyone who’s itchin’ to sin. But as he clasps his numbed hands to confess himself to the Lord, he admits that he does all this to escape his loneliness – a foreshadowing that would come to haunt this album as it progresses. But what does he do with this bit of self-reflection in the meantime? If the next two tracks are any indication, it seems that Hev Abi has made up his mind in continuing these bad habits. For “AYUSIN ANG SIRA,” he gets in his R&B bag to belt about never wanting to let go of his demons. The seductiveness he usually reserves for his most romantic declarations works so well when he talks about the joys of getting high, and the autotune in his voice adds to the zoned-out bliss of his drug-induced numbness. After pre-gaming in the first four songs, Hev Abi kicks off the party in earnest on the album’s lead single, “ALL NIGHT LONG,” a bouncy synth-funk track whose echoes of golden age hip-hop bring a feel-good atmosphere to a set of already-loaded songs. His romantic pursuits in this joint also commences a run of the kind of songs he usually does best, except the consummate lover boy is hardly anywhere to be seen. Sure, Hev Abi can still turn on his charm and try to be devoted to just one woman, as heard on tracks like “ISANG GABI LANG,” and on the Jess Connelly collab “AWAY,” where the R&B singer’s calm, breezy singing is a pleasing response to Hev’s frantic platitudes for a girl he swears is the only one he’s seeing. But the Hev Abi we’ll be hearing throughout the album is a callous heartbreaker who answers to his most wicked impulses and won’t think twice about seeing other women. His hedonistic pursuits are best captured on “WALANG HIYA,” where Hev Abi keeps up his prowess in putting his rendezvouses – unbridled debauchery now included – into some of the smoothest and most cinematic rhymes in OPM. (“Di ka nagmamahal pero andito ka parin nagbababad / Sa usok na binuga ko, binuga nya, binuga mo, bilog ang buwan”) Halfway through the album, however, we get to a set of songs that continue the vibe of a delightfully devilish night out but doesn’t do much to progress the narrative the start of the album had suggested. Past the Manila Sound-sampling “ASO’T PUSA” interlude, we hear Hev Abi and frequent collaborator LK brag about racing down the Skyway on “SIZZLING,” and on a rare all-English number in “FADED OFF” with Manila Grey, Hev Abi tries once again to make amends for his sins. But while the latter track is a fairly decent collaboration, it’s clear that Hev Abi has a long way to go in writing English lyrics that are as dynamic and exciting as his writing in Tagalog. Furthermore, while tracks like “LIL SHWTY” and “NAGHAHANAP SILA” have memorable samples and hooks, it really feels as though we’re beginning to hear the party wind down to what should be its natural conclusion. Except it doesn’t. In the rage track “2PACCIN,” Hev Abi tries to restart the excitement by enumerating everything that makes up his idea of party, but all it does at this part of the tracklist is make everyone who can sense an incoming hangover leave. It does seem he can sense this, too, though: the last three songs on ‘MADUMING TIMOG’ see him telling his lover that he’s choosing his hedonistic lifestyle over her. This non-resolution would’ve been alright for the kind of character he’s portraying – if only he hadn’t jumped the shark after meandering for so long. “HANGGA’T MAY ORAS PA ‘KO” lacks the slightest bit of sincerity that would’ve made up for the necessary absence of his aura, and the strain in Hev Abi’s voice as he’s trying to channel 808s-era Kanye West isn’t helping either. And listening to “FROM TIMOG MAGULO, WITH LOVE” and “HONEYMOON” feels like drying out in the Timog Avenue sunrise, listening to the
ALBUM REVIEW: We Are Imaginary – s/t
Written by Lex Celera For the most part, We Are Imaginary has played along the ballpark of noise pop, shoegaze, and jangly lo-fi when it comes to their sound. Each of their last four albums plays with the formula in different ways – a reflection of the band’s changing members. Early on, sometime before the release of 2010’s ‘One Dreamy Indeterminate Hum,’ the band even had to change its name. With its latest release, We Are Imaginary settles on something new and interesting, enough for it to be a self-titled album, with the record to be sold on vinyl via Eikon Records. Not only is ‘We Are Imaginary,’ their fifth album, a feat in “remaining true” to their sound, so to speak, but it is also a symbolic act to release their fifth album as a self-titled full-length album 17 years since their debut. As if to say that the band has planted an anchor against the currents of time that bears their name – a sign of confidence. It’s worth mentioning that this is supposedly the last by their longtime bassist Vhall Bugtong, who migrated to North America. The new setup includes Ahmad and Khalid Tanji as the band’s twin backbone, joined by Jerros Dolino of Megumi Acorda and Spacedog Spacecat. We Are Imaginary’s self-titled album is worth listening to not because of their proximity to bands we already enjoy–they do wear their influences on their sleeves in interviews–but to see how they’ve planted their feet in their musical journey. The band knows how to be both emotionally evocative and earnestly relatable, and it shows. The album’s sonic palette is primed by the singles that were released prior: “Pinkish Hue,” kept in their pockets since 2015, puts the band’s romantic lyrics at bay with fierce mood-driven fuzziness. “Stockholm” and its happysad structure don’t resolve themselves despite soaring up in energy. The same with “Object Of My Affliction” and its nuanced breakdown two-thirds of the way. “Greatest Kill” emerges as a track that I keep going back to; it’s built for detached navel gazing. Throughout the album, I feel a poignant dissonance. As a whole, the album comes across as concrete and certain, and well curated, thanks to its one year in preproduction. But why do I feel a permeating sense of melancholy while listening? How can the album talk about surrender and yearning while remaining measured, almost clinical, in its arrangement? Both can exist, in music and in life, which is a testament to the band’s own songwriting. Frontman Ahmad’s lyricism cut through the production in a way that they have always done it: abstract, unfettered, and accepting of its own feelings. This time, the result feels more cohesive when looked at as a full project. This band setup, this new approach to their sound, just feels right. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: To Love Everything Ever Again – A Post-Overdose Confession
Written by Louis Pelingen One main element that tends to surround religious music is its focus on devotion, where praises will be written and sung as a means to allow God’s blessings to reach within the human spirit–a characteristic that becomes a purposeful motif. Generally focused on that universal feeling of letting the holy grace of God seep into every individual singing those songs. Yet, what tends to be rather uncommon is writing religiously themed songs less from a devotional standpoint, but more of a personal confession. A peek inside vulnerability that grounds the religious experience, isolating itself to the individual going through the ups and downs that they encounter throughout their lives. Through Janpol Estella’s solo project, To Love Everything Ever Again, he emphasizes that fractured religious experience. Compiling waves of glitchy synths, hazy vocal effects, and chamber pop flourishes to envelop stories of fluctuating faith with weight. If his debut EP, ‘Nineveh,’ wades upon murky waters, then his debut album, ‘A Post-Overdose Confession,’ swims through it. It’s a case of delving deeper into that struggling abyss, where he confronts his religious fervor as mental health, addiction, and environmental decay become a factor of how he tries – and crashes apart – on holding onto that spiritual belief. Clinging onto it so hard for a hopeful path to come forward as he tries to remind himself of dreams he wants to achieve, until he finds out that it doesn’t come through so easily. This crushing arc eventually hits its hardest point on the title track and “Nothing But The Blood.” Both songs hit rock bottom as any sliver of peace is very much gone, but how Estella portrays God and Jesus becomes important here. God is this divine being that he thinks has given up on him and becomes the cause of the pain inflicted upon him, and Jesus is this human person whose own struggles he can relate to, and even may be a symbol of light that he could still hold onto. It’s why, despite the rewritten hymn of the latter song describing the ragged acceptance of all that pain that has fractured his faith, hope, and soul, Jesus’ presence becomes a metaphor. A symbol of a peaceful exhale that can allow him to eventually heal. This narrative perspective colors how the instrumentation and production are presented. Glitchy electronics now shamble across dance-adjacent rhythms, seething vocal effects and synths are implemented to amplify Estella’s emotional throughline, and the brighter chamber pop elements are carefully placed down with intent. An expansion and emphasis of tones that straddle between the lines of bliss and ache, a direction that firmly exposes Estella’s captivating experimental swerving in two lanes. The first is how the glitchier rhythms across “My Own Sodom” to “Need to Control” become curiosities that don’t land their fullest strides. Opening up more melodic flair, yet lacks a strong enough hook to keep it sticking altogether. The second is how leaning into those synthetic tones and focused melodic flourishes only makes Estella’s songwriting hit like heavy bricks. The scorching distortion clipped around his voice and electronic embellishments on “COP30 (Never Enough)” let his emotions become devastatingly crumbled, bursting out of the seams with every refrains; the stirring one-two punch of the fluttering raw piano recordings of “Perhaps” that transitions to the crackling synth affectations of “A Post-Overdose Confessions” becomes a quaint reflection turning evocatively solemn; the punchier drums on ‘Unreachable Serenity” contrast well around violin swells and gauzy textures; the post-rock swerve of ‘Nothing But The Blood’ that ramps up its melodic prowess, eventually going all out with the blast beats and guitar solos that revs Estella’s version of the hymn to a different level. All of it resting down to the spare organ tune of “God, I’m finally letting this go.” Ending the album where, perhaps, Estella has found that light once more. What ‘A Post-Overdose Confession’ unveils is an exploration of faith that was broken but can still be recovered, all through Estella’s ways to amplify the stories that felt more personal to him in the long run. Testing the waters on how he can deliver such emotional scope, and landing with it the most striking way possible, fractures and all. A confession as a means to accept the feeling of giving up entirely, until that light starts showing up in the darkness, where hope can blossom once again. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: marcel – marcel
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol When you live through cold weather all the time, you’re always going to find ways to make the warmth you get linger within you. That’s why it makes sense that some of the artists we turn to for moody expressions of emotions, be it through words or music, come all the way from frigid Canada. And somewhere up in Montreal, Johann Mendoza committed to tape sounds that would allow his feelings to circulate through the dense winds of a Quebec autumn. On the self-titled debut album of this project, marcel explores melancholia through slowcore textures and melodies—combine that with its grayscale cover art of clouds and chain-link, and you get a collection of songs that chronicles the doomed fate of young love and its complex phases. This theme is set in motion with the album opener “journal entry,” which acts as a prologue for a story of heartbreak told across seven tracks. On “just one of those days,” marcel recalls the first memory of a past lover. His lyrics on partaking in the reckless abandon of a night out are elevated by the delicate drone of a string quartet – or, at least, a guitar resembling a string quartet, which brings an organic feeling within an otherwise processed soundscape. It’s like catching the cool breeze and falling leaves while walking wasted in downtown Montreal, although the textures do overstay their welcome, to the point where it could leave you wanting to take shelter, lest you get hypothermia. But on “these rotten nails,” we’re taken away from the streets and into the rooms of two individuals processing heartbreak in dim lighting. The chemistry between marcel and guest vocalist kelly elizabeth is palpable as they sing about their perspectives on a failed relationship, though any hope of reconciliation between the two characters is nowhere to be seen: the acoustic guitar-driven half of the song dissolves into a slower, gloomier instrumental as the two singers wonder where things went wrong. It’s fascinating to hear a story being told through the contrast between two guitars that sound completely different from one another. This creative use of slowcore drones and the drama laced within the lyrics are two things that make “these rotten nails” a highlight within the project. “parc hang,” like “just one of those days,” is a song that sees marcel reminiscing about a night out, but with the context of the track that immediately precedes it, “parc hang” becomes the sound of a memory slipping away from the mind of someone who’s ready to move on. The guitars make you feel like you’re watching a videotape of a park while it’s being demagnetized – to the point where all you can see is static, and this is about the only time on this album where you’ll hear them be this distorted. The intro of “end of the line” greets us with the most ornate blend of sounds in the album. Listening to the mix of acoustic and electric guitars and a violin is like stepping into the woods for soul-searching before letting out your frustrations through a chamber-emo song. Like in “these rotten nails,” the dichotomy of sounds within this song adds another level of storytelling, and kelly elizabeth’s backing vocals – which mixes so well with marcel’s lead vocals – is the icing on the cake for another satisfying number. Because marcel mashed together sounds and genres so frequently and so well on the first part of this album, the last two songs, “porch” and “when it’s time to leave,” can be a bit middle-of-the-road by comparison. These songs play their genres straight: the twang of the guitars in “porch” more strongly suggests country-tinged Americana that is well outside the frosty sonic palette you’ve been hearing so far, and the instrumentation in “when it’s time to leave” is the clearest and barest out of all the tracks on the album. But perhaps the cleaner, less hazy state these songs are in, along with their more cautiously optimistic lyrics, represent marcel actually fulfilling his promise of moving on from heartbreak – or, at least, doing so while hoping he and his lover can rekindle the flame someday soon. Nevertheless, these are both decent performances, and it’s still nice to see the snow thaw out for the grass of spring. Though some of the slowcore drones feel like they’re holding on for too long, marcel still showed some strength as a budding singer-songwriter in the indie space with this album. It’s clear that he has an ear for making films out of the sounds he’s working with, a pen that easily captures the catharsis of a broken heart, and hands that let these two elements live in symbiosis, one track at a time. While the final stretch of songs do come off sonically inconsistent with the rest of the album, they’re still good enough to show marcel’s potential in branching out towards other genres of music, and with the core of this album being in a genre that can feel constrained within one particular sound, he might stand a chance to tell his stories well as the seasons slowly change in Montreal. Support the art and the artist:
SABAW SESSIONS: Shanne Dandan
Shanne Dandan Holds No Pedestal for Love Written by Faye Allego Shanne Dandan is for lovers. When talking to her, it feels like you’ve known her forever; almost like a seatmate you never stopped talking to in elementary school and would eventually share school lunches with. In the age of yearning and finding love on a tricky, slippery slope, Dandan possesses a rare trait– she simply loves the way she loves. It’s a privilege to get to connect with artists in the local scene, they’re not to be put on pedestals because the stage itself is level with everyone else most of the time. Talking to them about their artistry can be done anywhere and sounds just like a Facetime call; and that’s exactly how Dandan approached the simplicity of love and how overcomplicating it is bound to happen, but that’s not what love is going to be like forever. It was almost surprising to learn then, that Shanne Dandan’s introduction to music was anything but intimate. Like many children shone onto the spotlights of stardom, Dandan started her career at around eight years old and at thirteen upon joining ABS-CBN’s very first The Voice Kids with immense pressure, however, she later deflated it through her discovery of passionate writing. She began breaking free from the child-star bubble through connecting with the Manila Sound Era of OPM through the love and help from her grandmother, she then began a series of covers and being invited to collaborate on soundtracks from films such as “My Husband, My Lover”, “Breathe Again”, and later “100 Awit Para Kay Stella”. Dandan then explored the music scene and later released her debut album in 2024, “Kung Iyong Mamarapati”, where she dissects her own vulnerability and relationship with everything emotional. Her new single, “Labs Kita”, is a tune to look out for this Valentines season, aiming for a more wholesome approach and homage to lovey-dovey OPM ballads, Dandan gracefully converses on her songwriting process and experiences. **This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity. FA: What kinds of music did you grow up listening to, and how did those early influences stay with you? Shanne Dandan: Growing up, I was really a different person, I wouldn’t really say I was an artist because before I was just being a performer. Since I grew up doing competitive singing then joining singing contests, I thought talaga na, ‘Well, it was a different time naman din before.’ Before, the only way for you to make music – or if you’re a singer, is that you have to join singing contests para ma “discover” ka. So, dinaanan ko yung path na ‘yon, bata pa ako as in! Nag start ako parang mga eight years old? Seven years old? Very young. I got exposed sa industry ng ganong ka aga. Pero music-wise, yung listening ko, na-adapt ko siya sa, syempre, kasama ko sa bahay, yung lola ko, my mom, and my dad. We’re all very musically inclined din, my mom is a singer, lola ko also a singer. So every day we were all listening to music palagi. Lola was always blasting yung radio niya. And yun, I grew up listening to that kind of music, yung pinapakinggan ng lola ko which was music from Pilita Corrales, Cely Bautista, Ella del Rosario… Nakalimutan ko yung channel sa radio, pero parang Sunday radio everyday [laughs] may kaunting religious [themed] podcasts… Pero laging ganon, so growing up, na adapt ko talaga siya and ever since, mahilig talaga ako sa mga lumang bagay. Tapos ayun, na dala ko siya and even nung nagkaroon nakong ng idea and ng c-change na yung environment towards the entertainment industry, meron nang, Instagram, Meron nang YouTube, so mas namotivate ako na “ah okay, ‘di lang pala ito yung tanging ‘way’ ko to become who i want to be!” So then I discovered the magic of songwriting nung siguro 15 ako? 14? Very late bloomer ako kasi up until that point in my life nag j-join parin ako sa mga singing contests, tas may na meet akong mga like-minded people na gusto yung mga bagay na gusto ko, dun ko lang na discover na “Ah I like to write pala” pero before songwriting i really liked writing as a journalist, I was in journalism clubs, and I’m a feature writer pero sa Tagalog/Filipino. Pagsulat ng lathalain! Mahilig ako magsulat ng mga short stories, fantasy, all that! When I discovered songwriting, narealize ko na “ah, may ganito pala, na you can blend your words tapos may melody,” parang nag merge yung dalawang hilig ko which is writing and singing! That’s when I also set boundaries sa family ko, sabi ko ayoko na mag join ng singing contests. Hindi nagustuhan ng mom ko kasi very stage mom talaga yung mom ko– di niya naiintindihan! Sabi niya “Huh? Hindi ‘wag ka diyan” tas nung una, sumasama siya sa mga gigs ko, sa mga bars, and hindi niya maintindihan kasi sanay siya sa mga gigs na ang dami nanonood kasi I used to sing in hotels and events talaga. I would always sing covers lang. So nung nakita niya na ang konti nanonood sakin, ang didilim ng mga bars… pero eventually naging supportive naman siya! Ayun mas naempower ako when I started going to communities that appreciate my craft. But to answer your question, I am very much influenced by my Lola and nag rereflect ‘yun to who I am today and what kind of music I write. FA: I had a conversation with my friends, and nasabi ko na parang harana na reversed roles yung mga songs mo, kasi with harana, yung audience or yung muse ang highlight kasi sa kanila nadedeclare yung pag-ibig, but with your songwriting, it highlights your own love for your muse. Shanne Dandan: [Laughs] I feel like nag rereflect din sa craft ko, yung music ko, yung sarili ko! Na I have so much love to give. As in, when you meet my family we
ALBUM REVIEW: Parti. – High Action
Written by Adrian Jade Francisco Anchored in experimental math rock, parti.’s debut album ‘High Action’ is the equivalent of a cat chasing a laser pointer—you never quite catch what comes next. Across its 43 minute runtime, it thrives on a buffet of instrumental twists and turns. There’s a kind of beauty in disorder that presents itself throughout the tracks. The first half of ‘High Action’ delivers abrasive riffs and aggressive percussion that refuses to let you settle in. From the metal track “Hullabaloo” to the subsequent math rock “Milo Dinosaur Jr.,” the album already established its ability to be unpredictable. ‘High Action’ levels up its game with a barrage of Japanese-style rock guitar akin to POLKADOT STINGRAY and A Crow Is White, particularly in “Mirage” and “Antigua.” featuring snappy fretwork from Justine Tan and Pio Perez. The production lets the intricacy of the compositions without smoothing out their rough edges, packing the hooks for constant earworm. “Breach” and “High Action” serve as microcosms, concentrating the album’s spectrum of sounds on full display. “Breach” was just an appetizer—Parti. had already carved out a sound. A mix of alternative, experimental math, and progressive rock keeps you on edge. ‘High Action’ serves up the full feast of their sonic arsenal unapologetically. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
TRACK REVIEW: Past Forward – Hell
Written by Nikolai Dineros Identifying Laguna-based hardcore punk from its heavily populated pack of contemporaries is like sensing a food’s quality from afar with just the olfactory. Following up on the band’s electrifying, long-awaited ‘Streetwise’ EP, ‘Hell’ checks every box of the Laguna hardcore handbook. Drawing from the deep roots of the region’s hardcore punk scene, the thundering bellows of distortion, two-step-primed rhythms and breakdowns, and the protesting wails into the microphone—all qualities that are unmistakably Laguna hardcore, bred by the subculture’s founding fathers in time not-so-immemorial as well as those that remain active at present—have become par for the course in this field. On one hand, Past Forward’s latest “Hell” carries Laguna hardcore in its DNA, and on the other, it is bound to it. While these shared attributes in the genre have been staples used by and elevated many astute punk acts of similar acclaim, ‘Hell’ packages them with not as much concern for cohesion, unlike past Past Forward releases. ‘Full Disclosure’ comes to mind, the 2017 EP that put the band into the spotlight. A counterpoint to which, however, can also be seen in ‘Full Disclosure’. The EP’s closing track, aptly titled ‘Closure’, leaves the record to an abrupt—almost trip-hop levels of mellow—beat switch; and interestingly placed track in an otherwise straightforward hardcore project. But it is more of a complementary footnote than anything, and it does not demand one’s full attention the same way ‘Hell’ does, or attempts to do. Put simply, ‘Hell’ relies more on safe conventions than a focused direction. Such a deterministic approach is not the most appropriate for “Hell”, though, as its faults more harken to culture bleeding into an artist’s songwriting that a guidelines-based, objective critique just would not cover. Laguna hardcore is one subculture with a history and influence that stretches beyond its territory’s borders into the larger Filipino hardcore punk mythos, with evolutions that led to what are now scene staples shared among artists. But it is also one mired with tumultuous principle-based infightings (more internal and collective-oriented) that, unfortunately, led to its creative stasis. San Pablo’s Past Forward—formed as recently as the mid-2010s—is one of the descendants of this respected but equally tainted movement whose creative deadlock has carried over to bands as esteemed as Past Forward. And while these ties are not indicative of the band’s dispositions and quality of work, the cultural or historical factors are more suggestions that may explain certain trends rather than cast judgment. Fortunately for them, theirs is not an isolated case. But for all the missed points in ‘Hell’, more output from Laguna’s finest only benefits Filipino hardcore in the long run, despite its dire history and current state of affairs. Its background does not discredit the wave of new and exciting Laguna-based hardcore-adjacent artists steadily rippling through our spaces. Among them, Past Forward maintains their steadily growing momentum, driven by the release of ‘Streetwise’ and whatever is to come after “Hell”. If anything, Laguna hardcore needs more Past Forwards—the resolve to move forward, carrying and learning from its past. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST: