“No Way Now” is a song that has more weight to geiko than anyone else. A change in tone and sound where she confronts a connection that used to be endearingly close but is now tousled and cut away, a narrative ruffled through shuffling, dreamy pop-rock flutters that’s additionally produced by Jad Lara. Adding light percussion, glossy synths, and reverbed guitars that complement geiko’s more somber singing, just before the guitar solo swerves and she starts releasing her anger at that past relationship.
Whilst not exactly a remarkable song – drums sound lighter than they should, chorus doesn’t hook strongly, and geiko’s release of anger stumbles more than it is anguishing – the gradual change of her sound ever since the release of “Palapit Sa U” offers growth for her as a musician. Perhaps, in wading through the past, she ends up somewhere refreshing. Growth ends up like that, after all.
The singular author of his work, Jason Fernandez, is a textbook solo artist. His brainchild, Hazylazy, remains his closest collaborator, revisiting the Antagonisms demos he released from his bedroom years ago.
Written by Hannah Manuel
Born in the post-internet age, Hazylazy is the project of Tagalog native Jason Fernandez. An indie rock internet secret of the early 2020s, Jason made waves in the (then online) scene as the solo mind behind The Resentment Segment. Tracks like Ultrawanker and Juxtapose were the lockdown anthems that eventually funneled crowds new and old back into dive bars and in-person gig venues. With Antagonisms, Hazylazy reemerges transformed, putting together years of musical exploration into a cohesive and deeply personal thesis.
The genealogy of Hazylazy precedes the act itself. Spending his formative years in Laguna, Jason found his first audience performing with his five schoolmates at fairs in the local Catholic school circuit as Serotonin. In step with the rise of indie bands all over the country, led by the likes of Autotelic and Ben&Ben, the six-piece Biñan-grown band had the classic OPM toolkit at their disposal while somehow still maintaining impressive individuality for an adolescent outfit. Part of this ought to be due to Jason, who composed the original pieces they performed in between covers. Initially writing songs in the drum seat of the band, Jason first made his way to the mic when the band’s vocalist quit. This late 2010s indie rock sensibility transforms into something more atmospheric toward the latter part of Serotonin’s lifespan. When the band quietly dissipated into college and work, the singer-songwriter took to SoundCloud for a new solo project, where a trajectory of his work remains in view today.
From chillwave to jangle pop to neo-psychedelia, Hazylazy is heavily inspired by the wild array of musical inspirations Jason holds dear. A multisensory and multidisciplinary trip, Antagonisms is the matured mastery of Jason’s exploration project years in the making. The singular composer and producer of the album, Jason’s closest collaborator is himself. Many of the tracks are years older than they let on, beginning as demos back when Hazylazy was still in its seedling stages. With an ethos of total authorship and a creative control of the acoustic environment he molds, the indie rock auteur revisits old compositions and converses, eventually completing a years-spanning project long awaited since his last release four years ago. He orchestrates his listening experience down to a T. From the warm decay of lo-fi synthesizers, to drumlines—a channel he is well acquainted with—like heartbeats in their earnestness, the time it has taken to get him here is a reward made even riper for those who were there with him from the start.
Back in time, it was impossible to imagine Hazylazy as real. The adulterated frequencies of the real world were seemingly not the place for Jason’s ethereality. The boundlessness of the net—its lack of physical constraints, its endless archives, its potential for anonymous reinvention—serves Jason well, so well that it is easy to conflate it with the separate and equally boundless entity that is his mind. As time and a return to on-site gigs permitted, the underground bore witness to a new master. From an etiology of melancholy, Antagonisms arrives noisily and unapologetically, not giving a fuck about what the world thinks, blazing a trail through it anyway. A storied creation and a boundless frontier, Antagonisms is something to look forward to on the live stage.
**This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
HM: There are songs in Antagonisms and related to antagonisms written with years in between them and the final album. Specifically, the tracks “Another Self-Loathing Demo” and “ANTAGONISMS” which were released four and three years ago, respectively.
Hazylazy: Yes, which is funny ‘cause “ANTAGONISMS” did not make it to the album. But “antagonisms”, it latched on as a name. Nagkaroon pa nga ko ng iba’t ibang album names in mind, and I was trying my best to not use antagonisms because I was telling myself na “Ah may nakarelease na track ng antagonisms, yeah, whatever”. But I figured if that’s the name that works, so be it. I just went for “Antagonisms” even though there already is a song called “Antagonisms” and wala siya sa mismong album.
HM: Is there any relation between the two “Antagonisms”?
Hazylazy: It felt like [the song] started the new sound for me? That’s when I separated from the previous sound, which is the sound that most people have heard from the Resentment Segment, and “ANTAGONISMS” was a big jump from what I usually make. It was a good starting point too, in a way that song started everything. And then lyrically, the album of Antagonisms fits the title. Parang kumbaga the “ANTAGONISMS” as a single, the one on SoundCloud, the sonic aspect and the lyric aspect don’t really fit in the album I’ve made, so I didn’t think to put it in. But looking back, the title really worked with how the lyrics were written: unapologetically saying anything, unapologetically following the sound that you want, not caring about what other people say to me. It’s like being antagonistic in a way, putting yourself first, being selfish quote unquote.
HM: The singly credited composer, writer, and producer of your project. These are songs you’ve written with years in between them.
Hazylazy: Yes, years apart but it’s not as if I’ve been working on those songs for the whole time interval. I just let it sit there and then when I decided I was gonna start recording the album that’s really the only time I revisit the song and there were changes here and there but not so much. I would say just production wise, na may onting adds lang and onting subtraction of things
HM: In a way you’re revisiting a past iteration of yourself as well, in the year you first created those demos. As the sole auteur to your music, what is it like collaborating with a past version of yourself on this album?
Hazylazy: It had a lot to do with self-doubt. I’m pretty sure some artists would find it really difficult and find themselves having second thoughts, na parang “Dapat ba kineep ko nalang yung older version?” or “Am I overdoing it?” It’s more of a struggle in that sense. I would say it’s that. It’s more of a difficult situation rather than a very fulfilling one. But again after finishing the album it was very fulfilling, at the same time the constant push and pull like, “Will you keep the old version?” or after numerous demos, after months pass I’ll think “Did I over do things?” As a solo artist, there’s no one telling you it’s done. Ikaw lang makakasabi na when it’s done. I don’t have bandmates to say na “Tama na yan, you’re overdoing this”. But yes, it’s more difficult than fulfilling, but it doesn’t mean I’m not fulfilled. It’s more struggle than fun. Constant monologue ‘yon, I’d say.
I only feel when a piece is finished is when I’m really happy to listen to it. I am guilty when I say I listen to my songs.
-Hazylazy
HM: Especially for something as multilayered as Antagonisms, I see the difficulty singlehanded authorship of a work can place on you. It must be so pressuring.
Hazylazy: If I must add to your question earlier, of constant struggle and keeping the past self, the past versions of the songs, I would say the best example there would be “SLEAZE PLEASE”. I really struggled telling myself when the song was done. Talagang nahirapan ako. But the idea of that song is really a two-part which I believe I was able to pull off. It’s a prime example of my struggle. I didn’t know how to finish it. Actually at one point pinakinig ko rin sa live bandmates ko. I feel like during the process of making the whole thing, one thing I had to learn is trusting my own gut? That you have to trust your instinct. And what I had to unlearn was asking for feedback way too much. Because being a solo artist, you kinda feel like there is no one else to give you feedback. Ask yourself first. Kasi mas important talaga what I think versus what some other people might think.
HM: You mentioned tracks like “SLEAZE PLEASE” going through multiple iterations during the creation process. When does a song feel finished to you?
Hazylazy: With “SLEAZE PLEASE”, I really had a hard time with the transition of the first and second part. So I had different versions written down, and I tried out different layouts of sound. There was even one version where the spoken word comes in as a standalone with no background music; to me it felt way too long. Yung mga ganun lang. I only feel when a piece is finished is when I’m really happy to listen to it. I am guilty when I say I listen to my songs.
HM: I feel like there was someone that said—I think it was Donald Glover—“I feel like musicians are the only people that can’t benefit off of their own work.” If you’re a chef, you can make your own food, and then people won’t be like, you’re so mayabang.
Hazylazy: During the process of making the whole album, [I usually critique] my own work [like] “Is there anything I can change?” or “Is the flow correct?” I’m just basically judging myself, for lack of better term. Once I’m really happy to listen to it, I feel like I’m going to enjoy listening to this even if as a different person, if I didn’t do this, if I found this album randomly, would I like it? That’s the perspective I get. As a musician, you’re also a music fan. Taking that perspective, would I also feel, as a listener, that it feels finished? Does it feel complete? I guess the main indicator is just how it feels. Very cliche, but if it feels finished, if I feel satisfied with how it sounds. That’s why I said I’ve been listening to the album back and forth a hundred times now. I know it by heart. It’s only because, and I’m not inflating my ego that I’m listening to my album, it’s more of like, what can I change? What can I do differently? What can I do to make it perfect? I also heard this from [Tyler, the Creator].
HM: Were you at Chromakopia?
Hazylazy: Yes.
HM: I’ll ask you about that after the interview.
Hazylazy: As Tyler said, you really have to edit like a scientist. You make music for yourself. That also means that you’d have to enjoy the things you make. Until I enjoy what I listen to, I would tell myself that it’s complete.
HM: And it must be an extra heft of a reward when you take this project on as a solo artist. That must be something that really makes it worthwhile to be working on this as a solo artist.We were talking about it earlier that getting in your head so much maybe you lose the ability to look outside looking in. When you’re not able to escape from the internal monologue.
Hazylazy:. Honestly, it’s just a bit scary working on it by myself. To me, what I’m about to say doesn’t really mean that making this is about feeling some sort of victory. As a solo artist, I just tell myself sometimes if I fail with this record, there’s no one else to blame but me. It’s also a constant struggle as I have that thought in my head while working on the album. At the end of the day, I’m very happy with what I’ve made.
HM: Is the sole burden, is it more of a pressuring thing? Or do you feel maybe a sort of consolation that ‘’I’m not dragging anyone down with me if I don’t do well’’?
Hazylazy: That’s a good question. It’s both, I would say. There are days that I’d be happy to do this alone because I have full control over my time when it comes to production and creative vision. It’s very singular that I have my vision and I just need to follow through. But at the same time, having no bandmates, it’s not really… You know me. I was in a band. During the time creating this album, na miss ko rin. I missed having bandmates. Maybe in the near future, I would like to make new bands probably because I just miss working with people and having ideas from different brains. Probably in the next few years, I don’t know.
HM: You mentioned “Ultrawanker”, Resentment Segment. That era of yours is a step away from Antagonisms. But many people did start their journey with Hazylazy during the Resentment Segment era. I remember watching you early days of the pandemic. I think one year into the pandemic, I remember watching MechaFest 2021.You were performing some of those songs.
Hazylazy: That’s when I premiered “Another Self-Loathing”
HM: I went back to the recording because it’s on YouTube. With [Elev8 Me L8r]. But yeah.There’s a link there. I would describe these words to form a sort of vocabulary of disillusionment. A modern disillusionment.
Hazylazy: You’re right. Lyrically or thematically, the EP shares the same characteristics with the album. Themes of burnout, themes of self-doubt, trust issues, questioning one’s faith. The same themes, basically. But I would say Antagonisms is a more evolved concept. It’s more introspective, I would say.
After finishing the album it was very fulfilling, at the same time the constant push and pull like, “Will you keep the old version?” or after numerous demos, after months pass I’ll think “Did I over do things?”
-Hazylazy
HM: Absolutely. There’s something to say about it. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but there’s a spectrum between resentment and antagonism where resenting is more of an internal act and antagonizing is sort of external. Is the link between the two thematic titles anything you had in mind while you were building the new album?
Hazylazy: I never thought of it that way, but that’s a good catch. Thinking about it, looking back at the EP, you’re right. You’re probably right. The lyrics there would be a bit more inward. Antagonism is more of outward. It involves being selfish and not really caring about what other people think. Some songs could pass off as internal monologue, yeah, but with Antagonisms, it’s more outward when it comes to how it’s written.
HM: How was the creative journey like between those two points in time? And also, with respect to your musical trajectory, what was the creative journey like?
Hazylazy: There was a time that I told myself that I wouldn’t be making music as Hazylazy anymore after Resentment Segment. I just didn’t want to go for it anymore. I’m done with music. I told [my friends] that “Ayoko na, I don’t want to make another EP.” What made me decide that I still want to make an album. The time frame between the EP and the album, it was a constant push and pull. Do I do this? Do I do that? Self-doubting because you’re alone. When I started telling myself when I decided that I’m going to make this album, I really dug deep into my influences at that time. I asked myself what do I want to make? That’s when I decided that I really want to innovate the previous sound. What can I do to create something very original to what Hazylazy is? I’ve been thankful with the amount of music that I’ve been discovering for that time frame. It was a big influence on the music of Antagonisms. It’s funny because the artists that I’ve listened to during that time frame were not even close to indie rock or rock. I became an addict to Tyler, Frank Ocean, New Jeans. That’s why there were those kind of cuts like “OUTFIELD”, the second half of “SLEAZE PLEASE”. It was very much inspired by some of the artists that I’ve been listening to around that time.
As soon as [an idea] pops in your head, just throw it in there and see if it works up until the next day, up until the next week, the next month. Does it still work? That’s one of the principles that I prioritize. Just do it. There’s no cost to being original.
-Hazylazy
HM: You’d say your influences for the album were more… were not explicitly rock or electronic in that sort of area?
Hazylazy: I would say still, a major chunk of it but I feel like the few artists that had a very strong grip on me made its way through the music that I made. New Jeans, Frank Ocean, Tyler. Not necessarily how they sound, but the very principles that they apply to their music is what I’m following.
HM: And on your discoveries about yourself and the Hazylazy principles, do you feel you’ve come to any new revelations along the way to Antagonisms?
Hazylazy: Yeah. One of the best learnings while making this record is just to really… There’s a quote that Tyler said that resonated with me. It just connects to the one I said earlier. He said “create like a child, edit like a scientist.” I keep that to my heart really closely. Especially creating like a child part. One thing I did most during the creation of this album is creating like a child. Just throw in everything. Whatever the idea is, just throw it in. Quickly. As soon as it pops in your head, just throw it in there and see if it works up until the next day, up until the next week, the next month. Does it still work? That’s one of the principles that I prioritize. Just do it. There’s no cost to being original.
HM: The parallel kind of writes itself with what you’ve talked about Antagonisms to be already. I guess it’s not self-serving, but it’s for the self.More about the antagonizing aspect of antagonisms. I wanted to know how you wanted listeners to align. How you wanted them to align themselves to the album. What did you want them to glean from it?
Hazylazy: I’d be more curious to know how they see it. That’s why I was pleased with your observation earlier with inward and outward for receptance, argument, and antagonism. Honestly, there’s no one correct way to look at it. To me, once I have it out there, it’s for everyone to listen to and how they see it. To me, I just want to put a record that I’m happy with and that sounds good, that’s original, that’s never been heard of anywhere, sound-wise. I guess, to everyone who’s going to be reading the article or whatever, I would like to know what they think to all the listeners out there.
HM: Sound-wise, I want to take a break from talking about the album and go back in time into your journey musically. If that’s okay. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe crowds first heard your work as Serotonin, a six-piece band from Laguna, self-described on your SoundCloud bio to be “a disappointing multi-layered experience.”I don’t know if that’s updated or not.
Hazylazy: It’s outdated. We were kids and trying to come up with funny descriptions. But yeah, that description, because we have three guitars.
HM: I was going to say, 2016 era is when you started posting your stuff to those music-sharing platforms.But when did you start making music? Did you start 2016 as well?
Hazylazy: Well, as an individual, I’ve been playing with instruments ever since I was 10. Starting with the drums and then eventually guitar. I never really sang up until 2016. But the reason why I started to sing is because the original vocalist of Serotonin left, transferred to another school. I was the original drummer. I was writing the songs back then as a drummer. And then when our original vocalist left, that’s when I went for the vocalist position and guitar as a songwriter. That’s when I met the rest of the band. That’s when we released the songs.
HM: What’s so interesting about Serotonin is that I feel it was very much a product of its time. Starting from 2016, I think, I don’t know, when you guys started releasing music, it really perfectly fit into the zeitgeist of Pinoy Indie post-rock bands. Like the band ensemble outfits from the time. Very much employing the traditional rock band toolkit over programmed instrumentation. I wanted to ask then, how did being in a band inform your later sensibilities on collaboration versus solo endeavors? And on music as a whole. I wonder what being in a band as your first musical pursuit, as you said, did to alter, to rewire your brain musically?
Hazylazy: Well, honestly, being in a band is super fun in itself. Back then, I just wanted, starting Hazylazy, I just really wanted an outlet where I can just do whatever I want. All the ideas that I want, that’s what’s followed. I just wanted another avenue where I can just do whatever the fuck I want. So that’s basically it. That’s how I would differentiate it. I like it when there’s a band or bandmates. I really like bouncing off ideas. But I also enjoy equally being able to follow through with what’s in my head. The fulfillment of being able to make it tangible and actualizing it in song form.
HM: Do you feel that you’ve always been able to accomplish that translation into a listenable track that’s out there? Or do you feel you’ve developed that through the years and with recent releases like Resentment Segment, Antagonisms, you’ve been able to get to that point that this is exactly what you imagined in your head for it to be.
Hazylazy: It’s one of the hard parts of writing for me. Knowing that this is what I really envisioned. I’m glad to say it’s a skill that I’ve learned over the years. At first, it wasn’t really like that. But I feel confident when I say that when I have this creative vision, I already know exactly how I want it to sound like. And being able to translate that into a song, it feels good. Honestly. I would say it wasn’t like that at first, but now, over the years of trial and error, a lot of setbacks, not being satisfied with some of the demos, finding the right sweet spot. It takes time to have that coherence with your vision and the actual piece, right? It’s not instant, I can say. Some songs, fun fact, “Juxtapose” was written in one sitting. And that was one of the very, very, very, I would say, like a blessing to me because some songs would just like churn out, the songs that would churn out, sometimes you would just get super lucky that after doing it in one sitting, you’re satisfied. And some songs would do that. I’m not sure if it’s like that in the album, but I’ll have to get back to you on that. But yeah, it’s not always instant, but there are songs that are really like magic.
HM: SoundCloud, by the way, like a really, really in-depth archive of your transformation as an artist. And I don’t know, I feel, but somehow I feel that, you know, going through your different genres, different outfits with Serotonin, with early Hazylazy, like tracks like “Wordless”, “False Romantic”, “Quicksand”.The time when you had, what’s it called? It’s like logo.
Hazylazy: Yeah. Yeah.
HM: But I was just going to say I feel that even in that, there was this sort of like, ephemeral quality that peeked through. Like not even like Hazylazy, like back in Serotonin, that I felt. And I wonder where that comes from.
I have personal favorite tracks from Serotonin. “She Was”, “Backpacker”.
Hazylazy: Yeah. Oh my God.
HM: Yeah. And I just noticed that there are like atmospheric elements, not that atmospheric, but like elements, textures that you wouldn’t normally see in those sort of like traditional band toolkit setups that you still added into like the studio mix. Same with like “Wordless”.There’s still an electronic ephemera that comes through. And I feel like it really breaks out of a shell and becomes the entirety of, like really develops the sound later in later projects, starting in Resentment Segment.And I just wonder if that came from something, or if like there was something that was always there that inspired you to take that sort of slant, that sort of angle with music production?
Hazylazy: Maybe, not exactly an artist that I’m following. It’s not exactly a sound that I’m trying to go for. But I guess one thing I would say that’s constant ever since. I l always try to make, I always try to find something to make it feel different from what’s currently out there. And like, you know, that’s just my approach. There are musicians out that really hit the bullseye on certain genres. Like some rock bands can pull off the rock sound really, really well and stay through to the genre. And I would say I’m just not that type of musician. I can’t perfect the indie rock sound. I can’t perfect the rock sound. Let me just go on and try to make something different now. And it’s always been the clear reason why I’m still doing Hazylazy. It’s because I really want to find that original sound. So for example, I started a solo project because I’ve been inspired by the solo artists back in 2018, 2019, like Mac DeMarco, Tame Impala. I’ve been inspired with how they’re able to sound like a band, even if they’re solo. They sound different, they sound so original. So I’ve always been in that journey. And I know I’m not there yet, but it’s always been one of my biggest goals. I don’t have to sell out shows. I don’t have to earn a lot of streams. I just feel like I really need to find that original sound. It’s always been like that ever since. That’s why there are elements here and there. That’s very deliberate. I would say it’s a conscious choice to put it there just to have a different feel to it. Just so it doesn’t sound like anything else that’s out there. Because the last thing I want is sounding completely similar to an existing band.
HM: Yeah, where you’d be like, “Oh, you’re like the blah, blah, blah of Manila.”
Hazylazy: Sometimes it’s a fun opener or a fun line to a conversation. But again, if it’s a serious conversation, you just know if a track’s a Hazylazy track. Something like that. It’s the goal. I’m not quite sure if I’m there already or if I’m close, but it’s always been one of the biggest goals.
[The album cover is] very much alike with being a child, where you just don’t really care about the external things. You’re just in there. You’re just in the moment. You’re just creating without any second thoughts.
-Hazylazy
HM: Zooming out and looking at actually the key visuals you put out with your visual artist, Nicolas Salva Cruz, “Cola”. I wanted to know how that collaboration came about because honestly, I first saw the covers for Dreamweaver and the singles you put out leading to the album and I was like, wow, such an interesting album cover. Is that like The Sims or something? So yeah, I wanted to know. Even with Antagonism’s cover, zooming into the pieces, there’s a key visual for each song. Is that right?
Hazylazy: Some of the art that we’ve decided to put there kind of ties closely to the songs but it wasn’t really the main vision at the start. So it’s just a tiny coincidence.
Cola is a really cool guy. He’s super great to work with. Honestly, I saw Cola’s work when I saw Kindred’s album art and also when he made the music video for Toots, Jargon State. But I’ve known Cola from around the scene because I know Cola’s girlfriend, Tamia, way back in college. So I knew Cola in passing. So I just didn’t know that he made 3D art. And honestly, when I was thinking about how to do the album cover, I had this Pinterest board of what I wanted to do. And honestly, at first… My main vision for the album art was supposed to be… It should just be a picture. It should just be a picture. But because of time constraints, I didn’t have time to photoshoot. That’s all that happened. I didn’t have the budget to photoshoot. I didn’t have time. I don’t even want to be in the album art. I just wanted a random picture. A very eye-catching one. That would have aligned with the pegs on my mood board. But for some reason, there were suggestions on Pinterest for 3D, cool 3D art. That’s when I thought, Oh, Cola might be perfect for this. It was a cold message. That’s when I met Cola. We’ve met before at gigs. But that’s just one time. One time or two times. Then I cold messaged Cola. Are you down to do the album art? He’s a super nice guy. The collaboration. We became close friends because of this. We were always on call. But it’s been really fun. The main idea at first is to roll out the singles leading up to the album art. We made characters that would eventually appear in the album art. We decided to do a solid background first. So it’s more in-your-face. The main idea with Cola, I just wanted to feel that the album art looks how it sounds like. That was our goal. We have a base idea of 3D art. Now what can we do to elevate it or make it look how it sounds like? We added the glitch. We added some of the blur. We added the 8-bit. Because there are those elements in the sounds. We wanted to play on the childish characteristics that you can see there. Running around with dogs. Playing by the trampoline. Being curious. To me, the main idea with Antagonisms is more than being selfish. That’s very much alike with being a child, where you just don’t really care about the external things. You’re just in there. You’re just in the moment. You’re just creating without any second thoughts.
HM: Do visual and other sensory elements besides aural come to you as you create your music? Do you see a song?
Hazylazy: When it comes to creating the music, I don’t have other sensory pursuits. But I’d say when producers say different textures to the sonics, I guess that would be it. But that’s still in the hearing.
HM: You definitely have a knack for building lush soundscapes with your music. How would you approach molding the acoustic environment of a track? Because although it’s not intentionally a multi-sensory experience, it definitely is like, wow. It feels like 8D.How do you decide to fill a sound?
Hazylazy: What comes to mind while creating that sound, while creating that song, while producing the song, I just put it in there. It doesn’t have a deep, it doesn’t have a deep meaning. Some ideas that I put there in the album, as in, what’s the right word? As in, like, suddenly, I would say. For example, in “LOUDMOUTH”, the sample there, the beginning sample. I was watching an Alex G live video from YouTube. So that quick talking sample, that was from that video. But that’s because I wanted to sample Alex G. But I ended up sampling the people speaking. And for some reason, the last word he said fit in the sample, “get back”. So I used it for the song. So most of the approach here is like, it just happened out of the blue. And I think it takes a lot of skill to catch that, and to latch on to that, and to say that it’s a good idea. It’s not just random. But I feel like, I can tell myself that I’m lucky, that the idea found its way to me. But I also take myself, being able to catch that, and use those ideas. In fact, a lot of the songs here have samples. And some of these are, as in, it just suddenly came to me.Sometimes while I’m sleeping, or when I’m about to sleep, I would get up from bed, because I was thinking, I just have to write it down. Yeah, there are a lot of those. Believe it or not, the siren things you hear in Loudmouth, that’s from a Pussycat Dolls song. So there are a lot of samples there that really found its way to the tracks, that I really enjoyed creating. But one more, one more I’d like to share. “SLEAZE PLEASE” the lead part. That is from a Beach Boys song.
HM: Oh my God!
Hazylazy: Yeah, so there are a lot. It’s been really fun. I think one of the major instruments that changed the trajectory of the production style of Hazylazy in general, is because of a sampler. In the Resentment Segment, there were no abstract arrangements, none of that quality, but that’s because I didn’t have my sampler then. Now, I’ve purchased one and I’m thankful. Such an ROI, yeah, I would say.
HM: There’s something so boundless about music creation in a post-digital, post-internet era. So I want to ask, how do you plan to translate this sound and concept into a live performance?Is the goal more like a faithful reproduction, or is it embracing reinterpretation through the analog?
Hazylazy: Honestly, at first, while creating the album, I was thinking, how am I going to do this live? Especially with the electronic cuts. I’m so thankful with my live bandmates because we were able to work on the songs and translate it well live, I would say. We’ve tried it out last weekend. And I feel like that’s the magic of Hazylazy shows. You get a different Hazylazy live, and it’s a more powerful experience, I would say, since it’s louder, it’s more compact. Every bandmate just has something to offer skill-wise. I embrace interpretation—but not too far. There are some elements I’d like to keep alive, like some samples that I’d love to keep alive. I guess they’ll see that in the album launch.
HM: I wonder, you’ve been performing since pre-pandemic. I hate saying the word pandemic. It’s a turning point event, and I feel it’s very important to our recent music history.Recent happenings in music. You’ve performed in pre-pandemic venues, like Route 196. I wonder how you would compare gig culture pre-2020s to today, which is a heavily hyper-internet, hyper-digital setting, where everyone has an electronic setup in their sets.People can play samples from their songs, like click tracks and everything. Any particular transformations you’ve observed in the space, and maybe in yourself as a gig-goer, and now with Elev8 Me L8r, an organizer, and sort of creator of the gig, propagator of the gig.
Hazylazy: I admire the evolution from 2019-2018 era to how the music scene is now. Technologically, yes, you’re right. We’ve really evolved. Honestly, way back then, when I used to play Saguijo or Route 196, that’s one of the things I’ve been looking for. How do I make this possible? Way back then, before the pandemic, there were Hazylazy sets. I was always thinking about how do I do the backing track? It wasn’t that accessible. It’s just really hard to communicate in venues. Not really hard, I would say. It’s just not usual. It’s just unusual to communicate. At least, from my experience. I’m pretty sure the other pros out there were already doing that. But me, I don’t have experience with it. I just couldn’t take the first step. But now, well, at least most, where I’m always playing, I’m just thankful that their team, Jude, are very accommodating with these kinds of setups. It really allowed me to feel that what I envisioned my live sets to be is possible—not to say that it wasn’t possible before—I guess venues are more open to it now. I just really admire the evolution. Hyper-digital, as you said. I would say it’s really changed. While back then, social media was already a thing. That’s where you promote your stuff. It needs to be more rapid nowadays. And I’m afraid I’m getting too old to keep up with how rapid everything’s going. With TikTok and everything.
HM: But to give credit where credit is due, I do feel you and the rest of Elev8 were a present and very active community presence during the shift from online to offline. I remember one of the earliest gigs, I feel, coming back IRL gigs. It was Shoplifters United at Motorista back in 2022. You were sessioning for (formerly Maryknoll) back then.
Hazylazy: Yeah, the gigs started after that. I feel like we just really wanted to harp on that momentum coming from the online shows that we’ve been doing as Elev8. Like how we try to innovate online live shows. Back then, we tried to apply that same principle in our live shows. Try to do something different. But yeah, you’re right. We were active. But as Hazy Lazy alone, it’s pretty hard. It’s hard to keep up. Baka naging tito lang ako.
HM: But yeah, I mean, definitely, I feel what’s made, what’s colored this era of gigs is how very post-internet it is. Especially with entities like Elev8 that existed from, was born from the internet. That’s their nesting ground.Yeah. Do you feel that it’s a change for the better? Are you excited looking forward to further evolutions of music and gig culture?Are you going to be there for the ride?
Hazylazy: Yeah, for sure. I’d be happy to see it. We can’t really predict that I’d be present-present. But I’m pretty sure I’d be watching from afar if ever, if ever it happens. I take a break from music. For the future.
HM: Don’t.
Hazylazy: [laughs]But like, I’d be happy to see the local scene evolve. I’m sure we have the, we have a very good foundation right now. Like, we have the right formula to bring us forward, I would say. And they’re also young. Yeah. The young people, they’re so good and very smart with their promotions, I would say.
HM: Okay. What’s next in store for, maybe not even just Hazylazy. Are we gonna see a comeback of Report Error, Serotonin?
Hazylazy: Ooh, that’s a deep cut. Honestly, okay, I miss the band. I miss the boys. I hope we can link up. Link up? Yeah. But, we’re still getting along. Our relationship is still good. We still treat each other as like…
HM: Yeah, I think the last gig wasn’t too long ago.
Hazylazy: Yeah. But we never got to be complete due to personal stuff then. Every band member is doing their own thing. Super proud of them. But yeah, Report Error, probably. Let’s see. I still have the energy. But right now, all I’m thinking about when it comes to what’s next, after the album launch, maybe just take that quick vacation or reward myself with like, you know, video games and travel, probably. But like, Yay! But like, personal life first. If I ever felt like there’s a strong urge within me to write another record, then why not, right? But we’re not sure. We don’t know that yet. We don’t know when. We don’t know how it will sound like. But pretty sure if there’s another Hazylazy record, it’s not gonna be a duplicate of Antagonisms. It’s always gonna be different. Every time. Something different. At least, not exactly the same, but I will always try to make something different.
How does a song mirror one’s life? (e)motion engine’s debut EP ‘tell me how you f(e)el’ doesn’t really give you an answer, but it provides a slate for you to write on.
6-piece indie rock outfit (e)motion engine has been all over the scene. From the release of their first track “mlb” dating back to 2024, the band has quickly cultivated a dedicated fanbase. After a year of teasing tracks, their newest EP ‘tell me how you f(e)el’ only pushes them further into their growing success.
If you’ve gone to a few of (e)motion engine’s gigs over the years, you’ll know the kind of dynamic energy they bring to a set. With engaging performances that often result in a moshpit here and there, it’s a wonder that they’ve managed to record the same kinetic vibe in their EP. It’s another wonder that they’ve managed to be sonically consistent with the rest of their portfolio, mostly attributed to the edgy pop punk sound that permeates through all their songs which is a nod to their emo roots. (e)motion engine’s identity is deeply engraved into their music that it doesn’t just sound the same, it sounds uniquely them.
‘tell me how you f(e)el’ reads like a diary. At times it feels alive, as if someone occasionally peeking through the drum beats. Each song acts as a journal entry, capturing the essence of being in a certain moment. It’s filled with different scenarios that may conjure up a memory or two; “milk” is the entry for when your mind betrays you as you remember somebody you shouldn’t. On the other hand, “keep it in” is a track you want to expel some pent up energy, while “mlb” celebrates the beauty of life and the privilege of seeing it blossom in front of you. Not all of it has to be profound, much like how every day can’t always be exciting, but it speaks true to the human experience.
Throughout the EP, (e)motion engine carefully tiptoes the line between telling a story and letting the listener fill in the blanks. At its very core, the tape hinges on your vulnerability to trust in it. It’s the record that you go to at the end of the day, like the vent folder in your notes app or the childhood blanket you cry to. It wants to make you feel seen. Now it’s up for you to decide, are you willing to ‘tell me how you f(e)el’ or are you still scared to make it real?
One should always listen to a trance album with an open mind, open heart, and an open area to move freely and dance. D Waviee’s ‘Epitome’ reads less like an album than a carefully staged rite of passage. Rite of passage (detachment, liminality, incorporation) in a way that the album stages a formal emotional transition for its listeners. Only at first, it might seem like a collection of tracks produced over time by D Waviee and simply arranged for the release of her sophomore album, but the first few tracks already interrupt the flow of mundane daily sounds.
As an independent producer, she fashions her sets into ecstatic incantations; on record she does the same and invites listeners to a manufactured liminality of a dissolving material world. Yet, the texture of music, as an art form, remains in this world. The opening title track performs this perfectly: voices layered like organ lines, a fractal cascade, and a wind that seems to hug and lift you, until you register that you are not dancing alone, but part of a constructed sociocultural matrix that accepts music as cathartic like the rave scene. “Blizzard,” a techno-trance wink at Far East Movement’s “Like A G6,” and the light “Moody,” steer the album to a Jersey-club glitch vogue realness, which feels like walking into liminal geography. And if rave culture has always flirted with ritual, the album makes that flirtation explicit. There’s a temporary suspension (or detachment) of the social selves that makes it possible to enjoy yourself with a new sense of belonging.
Therefore, midway through, ‘Epitome’ sharpens into a focused body of art. “Put It Down – Femme Queen Edit” in its Jersey-club, explicitly queer choreography, and vogue-ish punctures pivots into her most dangerous and most thrilling track “Electric Erotica,” which as a track feels like being fucked in all holes by a bionic octopus. Here, the body transforms into a site of ambiguous desire. The track is not sexual, but it is sexualized in a way that feels intentionally destabilizing, suggesting that the body in trance is neither wholly male nor female, but a porous, androgynous surface for electronic music to latch on. That interface is programmed to give temporary liberation, just as the track is programmed to put you into a sexual-psychedelic trance.
Thus, the concept coheres from the fifth track to the eleventh. D Waviee’s techno flip of Pette Shabu’s “COA” starts the sequence to the project’s most successful continuity exercises. “Shot Para Igat” is libidinal and kinetic with all the moaning sounds and it feels like reaching the climax. However, the record jolts toward an awkward “Green Light (Extended Mix),” almost like an interstitial pop serenade in the middle of a ritual, as “818” and the ending “Bleach & Tone” tilt the project toward memory work. The latter, with its dusted PS2-era textures and pre-rendered nostalgia, performs the incorporation phase: the collective spirit, after its temporary detachment, returns altered to the world and carries a residue of the night as memory. There is a delicate, enchanted quality here — an insistence that communal dance can rewrite how we relate to technological and cultural memory, as if those PS2 textures remind us of the manufactured nostalgia’s power to anchor us back into our own living reality.
The project may occasionally feel disembodied, and it’s a part of its strategy as much as its weakness. This made the opening songs read more like experiments. Further, sounds and the self become more fidgety, and the records become very danceable. In this sense, ‘Epitome’ is less about individual tracks, but about what the listener performs for themselves. The album becomes a mirror for how one carries the energy to a liminal space that they enjoy. Like any other dance album, it’s a highly participatory work. D Waviee’s performance ethos posits that euphoric dance is something made, not merely found. Raves’ socially unrestrained atmosphere already captures the spirit of trance music. It is through the act of assigning memory to her music that the listening experience shifts into something more joyous and sustaining than simply dancing. Lastly, there is a sense of alchemy in how D Waviee, as a producer, turns influences of different genres (Jersey club, acid trance, techno) into tools for communities to use to map the sounds that reconfigure social intimacy.
If trance is a practice of temporary unmaking, D Waviee’s ‘Epitome’ is the night’s manual. It needs you to surrender your social script, to accept a shared illusion, and to step back into the world with a new, quieter devotion to your body, to the people who moved beside you, and to whatever tenderness the music carved through your night. D Waviee was able to turn sexiness into cathartic communal love for electronic dance music. It’s the reason why trans is a near-homophone of trance.
If the very peak days of MYX were still around, zayALLCAPS would take that television channel by storm with his musical endeavors, but in this era of DIY, the listening experience of ‘art Pop * pop Art’ is more than enough. In his third studio album, zayALLCAPS seems fun but careful; It’s camp, it’s arbitrary, and it isn’t indulging in the Y2K music nostalgia for the solemn sake of doing so. Zay couldn’t be more clearer: It’s art, and it’s pop. Simple as that.
On shuffle, ‘art Pop * pop Art’ is as if your ears are tuning in on different circles of people whom you’ll find at a gig with an hour-long DJ set: “MTV’s Pimp My Ride” is playing when guys in loose jersey shirts are rolling their bodies near the turntable, presumably having the time of their lives. In tracks like “PROCESS,” multiple rhythmic melodies come in like a triple threat – the threat being that Zay stays true to his Instagram username, “Swagalog101”. Dare I say, he has the full potential to bring back the term “Jeproks/Jeprox” through his amalgamation of Jodeci influences in his more sensual sounds.
zayALLCAPS pays no cap on that production. Who knew aggressive autotune that sounds like a talk box blended with smooth harmonies into a foamy mic could sound so orgasmic? The thing is, autotune discourse is so overtly tired, but tracks like SATURN (ft. Anto The Wayward) bring plus points to those who simply don’t care about the “correct” usage of autotune. Zay oscillates between tracks through the velvety theatrics of autotune without sounding too hazy or, for lack of a better word, monotone. It’s not a watermark that defines his artistry; however, through the funky textures of “rWm”, this track proves that autotune can be an extension of his persona, bringing prismatic bursts into the listener’s ears without drowning in reverb or harmonies that sound like a repeated Coca-Cola burp.
The only downside is that lyrically, Zay keeps it rather dull; “Friendz U Can Kiss” (ft. Frizzy) tries to juxtapose well with the sharp engineering of the album’s seductive yet upbeat production, but the rhythms from the rhymes that match the melody seem to be its only saving grace.
In tracks like “Love In U,” lyrics like “Minimizing my synonyms I incentivize a new beginning/Who said I couldn’t? Regrouped I’m super in it/I run the ship like a troop and I’m the new lieutenant/ Had to switch it up staged a coup that’s how I reinvented” bring that campiness element to the song and the album because visually, it seems impossible to mentally illustrate these lyrics in a more retrospective sense, since the synths already provide the fun, lighthearted atmosphere. Nevertheless, the lexis and rhythm bring out the colors within its blues.
At its best, ‘art Pop * pop Art’ is a kaleidoscope and a rotating disco ball where sparkly theatrics cast a bright reflection and bursts zayALLCAPS’ sheer personality. The recycling of nostalgia doesn’t exist in any part of his art and succeeds at making art very pop.
As of late, a wave of local skramz acts has surfaced in the local scene, with raw-knuckled DIY outfits like Ghost Stories, Limbs, and adult sunday school in the mix. My cat wrote this song’s ‘I would spend my 9 lives with you,’ however, is a warm blanket in the form of a lo-fi sound.
The bedroom skramz project draws from the spirit of Your Arms Are My Cocoon through subtle acoustic guitars, twinkly synths, and vocals that feel like crying into your phone at 2 A.M. Tracks “hanger” and “chi chi!” curl up in your ears as a clingy cat would and refuse to let go due to their lo-fi melodies. The EP’s production holds onto constant vulnerability from start to finish, even as the screams scrape the surface. “Flutter_fracture” and “a place to lay your head” showcases this balance of fragility and ferocity that is heard throughout ‘i would spend my 9 lives with you.’
My cat wrote this song’s five-track debut succeeds in carving out its own intimate corner amidst the cathartic aggressions. The project knows when to nuzzle and when to dig its claws in, ‘i would spend my 9 lives with you’ hums like a lullaby, but hits like a midnight meltdown.
LA-based musician RamonPang is a lover and educator of electronic music. His short-form content alone shows his firm testament to providing a history of the development of electronic music. He imparts curiosity for everyone to keep an eye out for experimental music and bridges a space for new people towards the beauty and ethos of the genre. All delivered with insight, open-approachability, and passion that drives him forward, especially as a Filipino making waves within a mostly westernized genre such as IDM.
Those characteristics also apply to his music as well. Major influences such as Aphex Twin and Four Tet have paved to what he wants to create in his own music: colliding unpredictable edges of IDM with the inviting structures of EDM. A staunch set of elements that never breaks apart within every project that he has pulled together thus far. 2021’s ‘Nature System’ is sleek and eclectic in its flexible melodies and otherworldly textures; 2022’s ‘Third Places’ focuses more into the communal space, sweeping up soulful samples and saturated mixes into nervy dance grooves; and 2024’s ‘Life Cycle Waves’ is elastic and varied, where walls of prickly IDM and meditative ambiance contort on one hand and meld on the other.
A year later, what does the ‘The Answer Breaks’ EP add to RamonPang’s discography? Simple: a set of lean, accessible cuts that’s just as shiny and punchy as ever. Each track transports to a grounded, yet breathtaking soundscape. “The Answer” hypnotizes with that female vocal looping across textured drums and fizzy synth lines. “Broadcastyl” is dreamy and energetic in its buildup. Shimmering synth pads and jazz samples allow the steady breakbeat to unleash its energy, capitalized further through the guitar passages that rev in its melody. “Daly City Skyline” sets the stage for ’90s breakbeats to slide in. Pulsating acid synths and crashing drum rhythms gradually energize, similar to a race car willing to exhaust all of its gas just for a thrilling chase. ‘Brand Blvd’ puts everything into a calming finish, where inclusions of kalimbas add a playful charm around rapid rhythms and swells of glacial synth waves.
While the sonic display of electronica that RamonPang exports into the EP doesn’t expand much in comparison to his past works, the tight approach to melodic making is a focus worth highlighting. An experimentation that never leaves RamonPang’s lucid soundscapes, only deepening the way he arranges his compositions. The answer may not exactly break new ground, but its compact structure is enough to leave a pleasant impression.
The moment that Arkyalina — also known as Tavin Villanueva — put out “readmymind” last year, it showcases just how much young acts like him are willing to synthesize different points of influence and make it their own. Cementing their own sonic identity and stylism that never compromises their passion and their intensity as musicians, both in recording and live performances. As someone who has seen him perform live, intensity is indeed the emotion that he pulls off well, all paired with scarlet red visuals and a sharply detailed mask that complements the jagged guitar work, skittering beats, and burnished vocals that he exposes in his performances.
After releasing a couple of singles that now lead to his debut EP, ‘Underneath Your Jagged Lines’, something has shifted between last year and now. There is an adjustment towards how Arkyalina delivers as a vocalist and as a producer, providing more emphasis on build-ups and pulsating electronics to give his voice more space to play off with. The rhythmic shuffle of “Gaze (By Your Side)” and the squealing EDM pads of “Wish” are prime examples of this, where Arkyalina pairs back his intensity and allows himself to unravel in it, carefully crafting sharper melodies along the way.
Of course, that guitar-driven, vocally fervid side of him is still here. Besides the already stellar “readmymind” with all the layers of chalky drums and blurry swells of strings that give Arkyalina soar vocally, “Ersatz” and “Remembrance, a tragedy” deliver in this front as well. The former’s rampage of guitar riffing leads to one glowing crescendo, and the latter’s weighty drums and guitar rumbles only amplify his anguished singing and screaming.
Those contrasts do make some sense as Arkyalina unveils the tension within his writing. Detailing a post-breakup relationship that’s weighed on a lot of give and takes, with him giving so much of himself to the point that he is stuck in a rut. Never exactly willing to let go, as he reminisces on the time that he and his ex have spent together and reminisces about the moments where both of their flaws have been shown. It leads to Arkyalina constantly being in this push and pull stasis, constantly stretched apart by his internal angst and melancholy, but even then, he shows that he still cares about that relationship at the end of the day. As noted on the last track, “Remembrance, a tragedy”, he tries to reach out, acknowledge his mistakes, and hope that there’s still a chance to recoup from those mistakes. Even if such chances of reconnecting might be too late to be considered.
While this overall theme can justify why Arkyalina’s decisions in his vocal mix and delivery are a bit more meticulous and submerged as he is swimming through his own emotional headspace, it can also lead to those choices exposing some of the EP’s weaknesses. “Ersatz” is lacking one more verse to really make its crescendos hit even harder; the glitchy, gauzy flair on “Everything Falls Apart” blurs so much that the melody washes out from one way to another; and the attempt for this weary vocal timbre amidst the heavier production mix on “Black Sea” becomes one note, especially as Arkyalina’s delivery doesn’t exactly vary and the buildup to that scream on the end of the song is so faintly heard.
But, overall, ‘Underneath Your Jagged Lines’ is defined by choices and shifts that are intentionally thought out. Filled with meticulous mixes and vocal tones that emphasize the EP’s reddish intensity and bluish melancholy, all of which put Arkyalina in a space where there is still a lot of traversing to go into, recognizing the highs and lows that he must confront and refine upon. In wading underneath those lines, the waves will smooth their jagged edges, turning them into a more resplendent texture.
There is this inherent pressure for concept albums to be atemporal. Perhaps rooted in misinterpretation, the idea of a concept album being similar to that of an odyssey revealing gospel truths of whatever musings its creator has willed into existence. What follows usually is a prophetic candor reaching apocalyptic scales. Dark Horse’s debut album ‘Spirituals’ challenged my idea of a concept album.
Behind ‘Spirituals’ is an ensemble from two major players in the underground — and I don’t mean any local music scene. Renowned author and alternative culture connoisseur Karl De Mesa and Ronnel Vivo of the Vivo Brothers fame (known for Basalt Shrine, Dagtum, Sound Carpentry Records, atbp.), among others, join forces to create this brooding experimental doom folk project.
The production of ‘Spirituals’ showcases the duo’s mastery of dread. Despite his proclivities and inclination for heavy sounds that demand your full attention, Vivo’s presence in ‘Spirituals’ is more understated than in his previous projects. This time, he plays a complementary role, taking charge in creating the needed ambience that gives De Mesa’s performance the urgency and biblical breadth fitting for an album that is more prose than a technical display of musical proficiency.
The name Karl De Mesa is one linked to horror, more so the banality of it in the life of the everyday Filipino. Anyone familiar with his body of work would know his affliction for themes of family and resistance.
The album’s single “Comrade Buddha” revisits this common Demesian trope, as explored in his earlier essays found in “Report from the Abyss.” More succinctly, a postmortem reflection of an ideal or a past, more formative self that bore witness to such tumultuous events. Binding spirituality and armed resistance and weaving it into a perturbed hymn is just the cherry on top, further displaying the masterful duo of De Mesa and Vivo.
Meanwhile, “I Offer Pslams” finds the author recounting his memories in specific places, paying tribute to his mother in a solemn act of devotion. The album’s denouement, “Airwaves (A New Song of Darkness),” carries an oppressive air that leaves the listener in a claustrophobic state, as supplemented by Vivo’s scornful production work.
These are just two examples of how De Mesa reveals himself in his writings; it is no surprise that these characteristics would bleed into his music. And not to mention, “I Offer Psalms” and “Comrade Buddha” are two of the highlights from this album. The other tracks, however, all follow the same pattern: tirades of cataclysmic scales interwoven in layers of cryptic wordplay – some are piercing, some barely scrape the epidermis.
With all that being said, ‘Spirituals’ left me with more questions than answers. First, the album did not leave us with a satisfying conclusion to ascertain its connection to De Mesa’s past works, perhaps by design. What does the concept of an album say about the ever-changing state of the artist? Does it hold water when challenged by time and circumstance? ‘Spirituals’ approaches ideas in albums not like the be-all-end-all I may have mistaken them to be. Rather, it takes a larger-than-life concept (that is, De Mesa’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the systemic horrors he grew up with) and shrinks it to the size of a ball — a small yet dense ball.
It might take me forever to parse every line, every subtext in Dark Horse’s debut album in connection to what I know of the artists involved in this project, how Vivo interpreted and translated these messages into sound, and how ideas can be tackled and revolved around by artists pursuing such ambitious endeavors. For now, I am satisfied with the knowledge that ideas are temporal. There are no hard-and-fast rules in creating art that stands the test of time — or even if they should. Whether ideas are reflective of the artist’s current state of mind, the connection ends the next time they hold the pen.
Writer and scholar McKenzie Wark once said, “To rave is to forget your name, to forget the logic of the market, to move without the burden of being anyone in particular.” In her book Raving, she describes it as more than an action: a living practice, shaped by bodies, rhythm, and movement. “Raving is stepping outside the everyday,” she writes, “without needing to know or care what will replace it.”
What one feels when they listen to Horsepowah is more or less similar to this kind of energy that Wark explains in her work: vibrant, liberating, and full of life. Every pulse throbs with a collective sense of euphoria. A feeling that makes you leave the skeleton of your body. This is the most notable quality of Horsepowah: the way it moves as its own organism, creating a world with no hierarchy other than the steady law of the beat. You give yourself over to it, piece by piece, until you’re nothing but sweat and oxygen, the crowd fused into a single mass of heat and motion, pulling you deeper the more you move and shift to its tempo.
Horsepowah doesn’t offer the kind of out-of-body drift sold as escapism. It’s not about vanishing from the world, but about occupying it differently. Leaving the body here doesn’t mean abandoning it; it means loosening its borders, and letting its edges blur — a tendency that’s easily recognized in some of Horseboyy’s earlier works, namely his contribution to Sounds Nais, Vol.4 and collaboration with Pette Shabu on BINGO! in 2023. Such projects that, without a doubt, prove he is no stranger to crafting surreal soundscapes.
The debut gains its charged but unhurried effect by sculpting an atmosphere around tropical warmth, distilling its brightness into a slow, saturated glow. One that finds its perfect counterpart in Gal Costa’s voice, floating through the air like a light breeze, curling into the cadence of ’90s house and techno, all the while stepping into the laid-back quality of the beach. Look on to tracks like “Cheap Steam (Hold Me)”, one of the lengthier songs in the EP, which glides at a gradual pace, but is easy to sink into. A similar feature that is just as prominent in “Third Base”, a track you can get lost in while not getting too carried away. All of which embody the constant, but fluctuating patterns of the rest of the EP’s trajectory. Although one could find themselves craving for sharper edges, these subtleties are also what happens to make each track so immersive, always making sure to keep the listener at arm’s length. In fact, when interviewed by Jacob Mendoza for Mixmag Asia, Horseboyy himself stated that he wanted to “slow it down a bit.” A statement that leads one to believe that all along, this was the goal. And in that sense, Horsepowah succeeds almost effortlessly, not in overwhelming you with volume or density, but allowing for time to be taken at every step of the way.
Out of this comes an EP that feels free-flowing yet intentional, balancing spontaneity with precision in a way that invites engagement without losing direction, drawing you deeper into its world until you’re no longer just listening, but breathing in its essence; a state of momentum you end up taking with you beyond the dancefloor.
