Written by Faye Allego During the peak years of the Bedroom music era, Michael Seyer was indeed in his bedroom and making music described as “Beachy Stoner Rock,” Alternative Dreampop, and even Hypnagogic Pop. However, his body of work is far from your typical bedroom sound: his debut album, Ugly Boy, is like that one SB-129 episode from SpongeBob in the way that existential longing and loneliness are its primary themes; in “Bad Bonez”, Seyer reconstructs a warm, aching sorrow that would be heard instead of being seen in an Edvard Munch painting; and in A Good Fool, a newer, heavier wave of tenderness that was slightly hinted in his Nostalgia EP tugs your heartstrings with more depth than any of his previous work. In Boylife, Michael Seyer doesn’t offer a coming-of-age bedroom pop anthem or a grand expedition on the epic highs and lows of navigating masculinity in the Fil-Am diaspora. Released under his brand new, independent DIY label Seyerland, the new album shares the same warm, subtle hues from his previous work through his persistent use of slow-moving percussion, delay effects, a mushy vignette of white and brown noises, and his loosely subdued vocals — only that this time, Seyer’s lair of creativity sheds layers of existential tensions and packs in horizons of growth, reflection, and endless love. Taking inspiration from John Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band where Lennon randomly adds a Cookie Monster adlib in “Hold On” to make the song more fun, personal, and maybe even hint an inside joke that the listener can’t understand, Seyer surely reflects on these quirks: forming his own knicks and bolts to create an effect in a dozen tracks of pure sound and soul that is 100% his own unique story. It’s a risky yet intimate act of connection between the songwriter and the listener when the former writes music for their own reflections only. We see Seyer take that risk in Boylife, dissecting boyhood through the overarching theme of his art: nostalgia. His unfiltered essence then transforms into shared emotion, where tracks like “Folktales,” “Taylor,” and “I Want To Be Your Dog” become hymns, choruses, and letters that come from understanding and experiencing. The first three songs off of Boylife are a Dolly-effect zoom into where Michael Seyer is in his mind: he’s everywhere. The album begins as a sensory experience — it unfolds less like repetitive songs and more like a grounding technique for a young man realising that he has a place in this world, and now questions himself: “Is there something a man is supposed to become?” and even takes a jag at God to realise what love could mean in “Fiend,” where he sings “I need God, God’s not back.” With each passing track, being worried about Michael Seyer is a non-negotiable. “Don’t Worry” uses a descending melody as Seyer descends into a full-fledged crash-out– an honest yet cannon event for most people. Followed by a messy drum sequence in “Manlife,” the listener is then whiplashed at the very end as a nearly inaudible, muffled voice that is Seyer’s Father reaching out to him: “Hey Migs, it’s Dad, call me.” Perhaps it’s safe to say that sometimes, all it takes is a voice call from a loved one to snap back into the real world, or to look through a lens that isn’t so clouded with grain and distortion. Speaking of distortion, the latter end of Boylife shies away from the loudness and upbeat songs about growing pains and stays loyal to the Lennon-esque demos and outtakes approach, where the primary instrument is an acoustic guitar that is paired with timeless serenades of love poems and reassurances. The lines “We can be ghosts together/And we’ll disappear/ We can be ghosts together/ When there’s no one near” conclude and showcase Seyer’s most deeply quiet yet distilled form. He isn’t trying to resolve the chaos of Boyhood, he instead embraces it. He embraces the liminality, the softness, the ache. Michael Seyer gifts a scrapbook of memories through ambient noise, whispered admissions, squeaky yet steady vocals, certainly a Stratocaster of sorts, likely a second-hand synthesiser from the Glam Rock era, and lovesick lullabies that feel so intimate yet so profoundly universal. Michael Seyer doesn’t gift a resolution but more a revelation to himself: the revelation of becoming. Becoming a son, a boy, a man, an artist, a lover, a person, and all the feelings that come with that. Support the art and the artist:
REVIEWS
TRACK REVIEW: Jiji – Paborito
Written by Louis Pelingen At first glance, “Paborito” might seem like a sweetly tuned love song, where Jiji carries so much twinkling charm in her vocals. Softly cooing with an effortless grace that never takes away the listener’s attention, as the pluggnb beat carries enough bubbly texture from the glistening synths and the 808 beats that keep the atmosphere more joyous. She allows the catchy set of melodies to shimmer, all with a wink and a grin. But take a closer look, and some layers manage to peer through in the writing. Beneath this fluttering tune is a casual relationship that eventually has to end, where despite the wholesome moments being shared and the pure trust that’s being made in each other, Jiji knows that she’s not exactly prepared to really commit. Eventually ending the song with direct communication, cutting the relationship with no ill will on either person’s side. Musically pleasant and lyrically tender, “Paborito” is a song that gently leads to a decision that never takes away the special moments that were made in the relationship. Filling the glossy atmosphere with a sweetness that’ll stay for a long time. Even after the relationship has ended, the charming memories that were made will continue to be a favorite in Jiji’s heart. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: MoonDream City – Road Song
Written by Louis Pelingen Let’s all be blunt: there’s nothing wrong when pop-rock band MoonDream City starts embracing experimentation and throwing a ridiculous number of ideas at the wall. In order to eventually find artistic growth, it’s always a good thing for an artist to just test the waters in whatever genre or style shift they’re trying to approach and go from there, where eventually, they’ll be able to find some focus after trying whatever diversion they’re digging into. Experimentation could either be a hit or a miss. It could be successful or novel. There’s no in between. This eventually extends to how an act markets a shift in their sound that doesn’t always mean it’s bound to be the next “new genre,” an intriguing observation in forming a unique distinction amongst their contemporaries, even if this marketing trick will be a double-edged sword. Garnering the reactions that they might want, but not exactly the ones they’ll need long-term. These observations are relevant to Bon Jubert and Muntinlupa Jazzcore Society, acts that operate under the recently coined “ebascore”, a newly formed sound that loosely combines socially aware themes alongside jazz, funk, metal, and spoken poetry elements, then displays all of them with novelty and flashiness. MoonDream City’s ‘Road Song’ is a recent addition to this, throwing away their pop-rock instincts and replacing them with intense vocal shouts that toss between nu-metal, jazz, and funk grooves. On the basis of the finesse and volume alone, the song definitely pulls the listener into the whirling chaos that the band brings to the surface. A brief enough tune that unleashes emotional wallow and technical verve, but doesn’t exactly do much more with the compositions. Serving as a direction that brings the band to something new, but with the way the song is promoted paired with the hollowness of “ebascore”, the track falls apart really fast. What fails with the band’s attempt for their stylistic shift is twofold: one is the social commentary that’s given with vague winks, relying upon shouty complaints rather than precisely delving deeper into what made commuting such a hellscape for everyone. It may unleash those enraged emotions, yet their observation feels short-sighted and individualistic. Focusing a lot more on losing one’s beep card, switching from another FX, waiting for a less crowded jeepney, and lacking change to pay for a trike. A presentation of everyday occurrences that don’t offer much depth about the issue being discussed. But the more concerning issue is the flashy presentation that shrinks the execution to a mush. Bringing raw intensity that disguises the lack of structured melodies, flashy musicianship that simultaneously becomes self-indulgent, various genre fusions that are stitched in a half-baked way –- all of which only leads to the novelty of the sound borrowed from spoken-word style of Radioactive Sago Project or The Axel Pinpin Propaganda Machine ending up flimsy and surface-level, delivered in a neutered manner that doesn’t try to reach the verbosity and the melodic flourish of such acts. Leaving the output to end up like a sketched out impression of those sonic reference points, rather than allowing the band to take bigger risks and go for broke with their stylistic shift. To the band’s credit, it is a curious diversion from wherever they’re aiming to go in the future, yet the general ironic promotion and how it translates to the music only results in a song whose novelty and flash don’t bring more to what it’s being hyped about from the start. What ‘Road City’ — and the general “ebascore” trend as a whole — unfortunately sounds like an Oscar-nominated flick that aims to bring deeper themes, but once watched, the actual insights end up shallow and self-impressed. Stuffing technical stylism more than injecting substance into its thematic essence. Support the art and the artist:
MIXTAPE REVIEW: orteus – surgery
Written by Anika Maculangan As digicore begins to rise above its niche alcove with more artists like quinn, ericdoa, and blackwinterwells are starting to take on the genre. In surgery, orteus rides on the wave of Silent Hill’s aesthetic of liminal decay, implementing grunge tonalities that complement those glitchy overtones, we so often hear in hyperpop. While the thematic elements are depressing, dark, and bleak, fast-paced drum loops and maximalist synth lines counteract the gloominess that is rather highlighted, creating reactions that are antithetical to one another, but somehow complementary. Jam-packed with strong distortion and vocaloid, it’s almost eerie and unsettling to hear such distressing lyrics accompanied by such sweet instrumentals. But isn’t that the point of ‘eyestraincore’? Be vastly chaotic? Much like the internet, these facets are deliberately made to be in opposition to one another in hopes of creating that purposeful clash. With atmospheric qualities that are in reference to medical diction, layers of deep bass and snappy percussion, these elements amplify the depth, which allude to such concepts of artificiality and post-dystopia. In surgery, orteus collaborates with other artists, who mostly become evident in the treatment of vocals — some scaling from high-pitched, to more ‘soundcloud rap’ adjacent. This range among the tracks orchestrates a sense of diversity, which ensures that the flow doesn’t remain too monotonous to the standard rhythmic chops of 808s and pixelated effectors. Looking at songs like “you can’t just wait to be in a coma”, which have words that start to mish-mash into one another, the auditory mayhem is most recognizable, practically wreaking havoc on our ears, but in a fashion that’s considerably inspired and expressive. Incorporating these exaggerated motifs, while including such features as pronounced auto-tune and emphasis on trap-like inflections, the EP fits in well with the rest of the genre’s offerings. It isn’t inherently anything new or fresh, for its recycling of overused processes and manipulations within digicore, but it does take after the movement successfully, and guarantees that it treats it with respect. However, it goes without saying that the EP is more reflective of nightcore and crunkcore, especially since it focuses so much on steampunk-derived sensibilities. But one can wish that digicore projects may eventually try to be more daring in their progression as they evolve, since the whole point is to essentially employ a new approach to pop music. What bold nature would there be if we stick to the same accents? orteus could make do with further amplifying their usage of certain characteristics like the sharpening of reverb or application of intentional static in specific breaks. These are all modes of execution that, if better utilized, could make their sound more sonically creative. However, orteus was able to demonstrate a slight edge to her music: the abrupt pauses in between the tracklist. These random bouts of open air instigate a pause that leaves the listener cautious of when the next abrasive but dreamy beat may drop. Going through the album, the listener is constantly presented with an extensive span of oscillations. Although with a new digicore artist, there is always more potential and possibility for inventive patterns that either modify or disrupt the pre-existing. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Fatigued – Negative Tide
Written by Adrian Jade Francisco The debut album from Fatigued arrives not with a bang, but with a whisper — yet its emotional resonance is anything but quiet. Nearly five years later, Emilio Gonzales’ solo project approaches to submerge us in the sentimental undercurrent of ‘Negative Tide’. Fatigued’s ten-track album is an introspective indie pop journey through uncertainty and quiet resilience, reflecting the experiences of the musician during the hectic process of ‘Negative Tide’. The opening track, “Oversized Words,” explores the struggle of articulating emotions and emotional disconnection in presence of hazy guitars, which is a prevalent theme throughout the release. A notable track “Temples” is a poignant commentary on the difficulty of self-improvement, expressing discontent with social expectations or conventions. Leaning on instrumentation, and the lyrics take a subtler, more restrained approach in “Take the Beating,” establishes the plea of emotional exile the best; the lines “Send me / To a home I used to be / Alone with my thoughts” echoes the theme of the album’s title and tone. What makes the track compelling is its stripped-back approach and emotional honesty holds back just enough to let the listener linger in the tension, the ache, and the silence of resignation. Fatigued channels his influences into something distinctively personal, crafting a sound that serves as a vessel for his ruminations. “Instant Disconnection” serves as a conclusion to its themes of inner turmoil and emotional exhaustion. While the album as a whole leans into a consistent mood of bleak introspection, it offers a subtle shift: not necessarily toward resolution, but toward resignation or quiet acceptance. The strength indeed lies in its thematic consistency and emotional honesty. Gonzales does not shy away from exploring discomfort and vulnerability. The lyrical quality is not overly abstract, making the weight of the tracks accessible and relatable to the listener. However, while the songs blend into one another, it lacks further dynamic shifts that could cover more emotional and sonic textures. The middle section of the album lacks space for experimentation; However, its sincerity and homage to the genre is still intact. ‘Negative Tide’ is a compelling indie pop monologue of emotional unrest. Fatigued’s sophomore album doesn’t just express vulnerability but inhabits it fully. The album has an unwavering commitment to thematic consistency and emotional transparency. Gonzales lives in a world where discomfort is explored with sincerity and grit, the band shows no signs of exhaustion — if anything Fatigued’s creative tide is still rising. For an album steeped in emotional unrest, it ends with remarkable clarity. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: tuesday trinkets – Cigarettes, Beer, & Stray Cats
Written by Noelle Alarcon Davao-based trio tuesday trinkets possess an eclectic demeanor to their name. Each of their heads is tinged with neon, and their personalities are written all over their cover art; From the distinctive ways they dress to the playful doodles over their faces. Their sound on the other hand? A promising, syrupy brand of power pop that would reverberate through the end of a 2000s chick flick. Endearing and reminiscent of good times long forgotten, like a trinket you dig up from a coat pocket on a random Tuesday. “Cigarettes, Beer, and Stray Cats,” tuesday trinkets’ debut single, is a bright, beaming introduction to what they have to offer. The plush guitar welcomes you: it’s fuzzed out enough to welcome you into a cozy atmosphere, but sharp enough to be radio-friendly. It’s a tasteful style akin to the way record label Dirty Hit crafts the whimsy of early aughts pop for the 21st century. Even the bass and drums are simple enough to let the song’s message shine through, zeroing in on delivering as much impact as possible. The thumping of the strings marches along the frets, a catchy bassline in between the tracks that makes way for the snare drum-drenched rhythm evoking as much nostalgia as it can. The band’s capabilities of writing catchy pop are audibly from experience; their influences undeniably nestle in between the lines. As early as their first single, they know how to tweak the blueprint to match their strengths. Their written word captures the zeitgeist of what it means to date in your youth. Smoking a pack of cigarettes together, feeding cats you consider your babies, and living for nothing else but the moment. It’s a love story plucked straight from Polaroids and crumpled, handwritten letters with promises written in cursive. Sure, there are plenty of other songs that sound like this one–but their awareness of what makes a song memorable shows that they’re headed in the right direction. It’s the simplicity of their approach that easily touches the listener. “Cigarettes, beer, and stray cats…” — the lyric echoes throughout the track until its conclusion. It’s such a simple set of words, but with the way tuesday trinkets paints the scene, they end up as components of moments you’ll relive until your very last breath. With a band as capable as them when it comes to invoking sentimentality, those who like to look back have a new shoulder to cry on. Whenever things get too heavy, there’s a pack of Marlboro reds, a cold bottle of beer, and a bunch of felines waiting to rest with you. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Andrea Obscura – Garden
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol After two years of inactivity, indie pop singer-songwriter Andrea Obscura re-emerges with a track that sees her manifesting the affection of a lover to settle down and—much like vines on a fence—grow together. True to this song’s name, her latest single conjures images of a garden teeming with life, cultivated by a loving couple through a lifetime of care and attention. All the parts that make up this song were performed with a marked tenderness. Electric guitars radiate like gentle sunlight over plants rooted to the ground by a steady rhythm section. These plants, of course, are the words Andrea would love to say to the person she wants to grow this garden with. Flanked by many-layered vocals, she lets them know in simple terms just how much she pines for their company, how willing she is to open herself up for this person, and how the search for their intimacy has left her weak and restless. From the song’s midpoint onwards, a hook is sung like an incantation, as though she were summoning her future lover right in the middle of that very garden. The purity of Andrea’s desires and intentions manifests itself in the clean production of this recording, which graces the ears with clarity and at just the right volume. Here, she tends to an ecosystem of lush melodies with a careful but confident touch, and a voice so delicate, it almost puts the song at risk of fleeting away like a cloud in a clear sky. But just as much as a plant needs the right amount of sun and water to grow well, these are all what the song needs to bloom life out of your speakers. Calling back to the landscapes painted with words by romantics so long ago, “Garden” is for those who want to devote a part of their lives to someone in a very special place. Listen to this song a few times, and you just might start waltzing with an imaginary lover somewhere in a grassy field over and over until, one day, somebody’s holding on to your arms in a dance only the two of you will know very well. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Novocrane – Safe and Sound
Written by Rory Marshall Following the release of their first single “Imaginary Party”, Bacolod’s budding rock project Novocrane doubles down on their dream pop style with their second-ever single “Safe and Sound”. Studious listeners will remember a bare-bones version of the track being teased a year ago on their Soundcloud under the name “from there,” but now it’s polished with their aesthetic that meshes indie rock and dream pop. In contrast to their first single, “Safe and Sound” takes an introspective turn and looks inward. The song tackles the conundrum of self-isolation. Kai Sevillano, the band’s lead, gives the listener a front row seat to her thought process, presenting the quandary ruminating in her mind: While one can find refuge in being alone, the suffocating demand for human connection is ever-present. The songwriting adds a layer of candidness to the words that is evocative of an anxiety-induced trail of thought and gives room to showcase her warm and intimate vocals. The vocal performance and poignant lyrics are only accentuated by the marriage of indie rock and dream pop, which is becoming a defining feature for Novocrane’s overall sound. The way the band coalesces the grungy guitar and high-attack drums with bright, glittery synths drowned in reverb creates an atmosphere of angst that will make you bob your head while you rethink your approach to relationships. In combination with Sevillano’s resonant vocal performance, it yields such a cohesive sound that it’s hard to believe that this is just their second release. “Safe and Sound,” along with their previous single “Imaginary Party,” lays a promising groundwork for the Novocrane’s growth. Their charming soundscape has once again proven to be a welcome addition to the indie scene. With this track being only their second-ever official release, fans are eager to see how they expand on this fusion of genres in future projects. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: fitterkarma – Pag-Ibig ay Kanibalismo II
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol Love makes you look for extremes in the mundane. The moment you realize the person beside you is the one you want to be with for life, you will do anything and everything to make sure the rest of the world exists for just the two of you. Love is a delightfully selfish thing, and if it means gladly cutting people up to turn them into stew at a dinner for two, then so be it. fitterkarma starts off their latest single sounding like a quintessential OPM ballad band from the 2000s; the potent blend of acoustic guitars and powerful snare drums, along with such a forward, in-your-face vocal performance, captures the sentimentality still craved by all two decades on. It’s perfect. In fact, it’s a little too perfect. Give this song a different set of lyrics and this would’ve been a drop in a sea of other senti hits. But fitterkarma has chosen not to float gently over love’s comforting waves. Instead, they’re diving down a trench, going against deep-sea pressure to explore something more overwhelming within the dark depths of love’s waters. Consider the idea of sharing blood-drenched kisses after a night of devouring tons of unsuspecting people. Death and destruction invoke euphoria, fueling a utopian paradise that washes away each other’s sorrows. You wouldn’t need drugs for that: that’ll get you in trouble anyway. These unhinged desires are the heart and soul of “Pag-Ibig ay Kanibalismo II”. Beneath the comfort of the music is a captivating void willing you to feed into the most morbid of romantic impulses; from sharing warm adobo made with love and somebody’s heart, to letting each other’s blood become one through the lips. These images, and the musical performance that carry them, form an irresistibly gory metaphor for love. fitterkarma’s embrace of folk horror to define romance is a stunning defiance over the usual idea that purity in love is only clean. After all, one of the strongest expressions of love is the unconditional acceptance of the one in front of you. And sometimes, that means consuming each other and shutting down all there is around you until all that is left is a quiet, tranquil bliss. Support the Art and the Artist:
EP REVIEW: jucu – tanging alaala
Written by Elijah P. Solo artist jucu doesn’t fake it. His latest EP, tanging alaala, plays like a memory dragged into the present—half-faded, half-reconstructed, but it doesn’t pretend to be authentic. The “distant memories” he sketches out aren’t framed through nostalgia but through the raw texture of alternative sounds. These are genres that doubled as both shelter and symptom during the post-pandemic ennui: post-punk, shoegaze, indie-folk, and other guitar-led corners of the scene. It’s a familiar palette for Gen Z’s genre-hopping musicians—the ones who aren’t afraid to twist the template and upload the results straight to the void (for this case, his expansive discography on his Soundcloud account). tanging alaala reads like a dare. It’s a direct translation: “only memory.” Obvious? Sure. But it works because jucu doesn’t try to cloak honesty in metaphor. The name is a low-hanging fruit, but sometimes, that’s where the sweetness is. From the opening tracks, “Insomnia” and “Salubong ng Ating Mata,” jucu shoves expectations aside; Drum machines sprint, and the acoustic riffs snap into reverb-heavy guitar washes. The production jolts, but it holds together. “Cookies and Cream,” the EP’s centerpiece, sprawls out at six minutes—a dangerous length for a young artist worth their salt in sticking to one sound—but jucu makes it land. The track meanders through hazy shoegaze into a kind of misted-over noise rock, his vocals ghostly, but it so happens to stay grounded throughout the entire thing. By the time “our love has faded away” hits, the emotional terrain feels more regional than imported, it is transformed into post-punk grown from local soil instead of borrowed from across the ponds of the revivalists of the North Americas (think Beat Happening, Surf Curse or even Voxtrot) or even the cloudy skies of the United Kingdom (think Cleaners from Venus, Joy Division or Young Marble Giants). No, tanging alaala doesn’t transcend genre—it doesn’t try to. And maybe that’s its biggest strength. jucu knows the blueprint and doesn’t flinch. He stays inside the frame but paints it with a sense of clarity most genre experimenters tend to blur. The textures, the pacing, the commitment to the mood: it’s all consistent. Maybe too consistent, whereas the conventions might act as a detriment if ever they choose to lessen the experimentation and continue to rely on these conventions heavily. There are moments in this EP that beg for rupture or surprise, but jucu plays it straight, showing that sometimes the best way to make a statement is to simply do the thing well. It’s not anything new, per se, but rather a refinement of the sound. There’s something real forming here—maybe even something worth sticking around for. tanging alaala diamond in the rough waiting to be discovered. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST: