Written by Gabriel Bagahansol Starting off your band’s much-awaited sophomore album with lines like “I wrote some lyrics but it’s ten years later / I’m always worried that I’m past my prime” is a ballsy move when it’s been eight years since your first. Even more so when you’ve added these lines to a song you’ve been playing for more than a decade. A close up of the artwork for 2017’s Whatever That Was flickers on an old TV in a sunlit living room, as though that period in the band’s career were glory days they can only reminisce about. You could be forgiven for thinking SOS is staging a farewell, but this is the façade of nostalgia and reflection they have formed over their brand new album It Was A Moment, and that includes the opening track “Amore”, which finally saw completion after being a long-beloved live number by fans of the band. One listen and you can see why people have been clamoring for this for years: an energetic jangle bounces off from everyone in the band, amping things up with a rousing chorus that just makes you want to dance. All of that is very much intact here in the definitive version of “Amore,” except the uptight, aggressive iteration once heard at Route 196 and beyond is nowhere to be seen. Roberto Seña, along with fellow guitarist Andrew Panopio, has seemingly traded his fuzzbox for cleaner tones, has given the song a carefree environment to live in, and not only did the two of them make space for an acoustic guitar, apparently, there’s a synthesizer now? Outside of its nostalgia-tinged cover art, there’s hardly a trace of the band’s distant past in It Was A Moment. For the last eight years, many things have happened within the SOS camp. They did side projects outside the realm of rock n’ roll. They opened a recording studio above the sandy shores of Elyu. They even signed a brand new record deal, on James Reid’s Careless Music label, of all places. Somewhere in the middle of it all, after more than a decade of playing the same old song, they finally decided to fuck with the formula. 2020’s The Other Side saw SOS dabble with disco beats, synth layers, and a softer approach to their music. While a cynic can dismiss the EP as a mere experiment at a time where their guitar-based alt-rock would’ve felt out of place, it was otherwise a necessary shakeup in their musical palette. And now, with the addition of keyboardist Ram Alonzo into the lineup, SOS has turned the cozy, colorful landscape of The Other Side from a brief excursion to the first phase of an artistic evolution. You can hear them take the next few steps into this path on songs like “Roses”, a respectable synthwave track about trying not to ruin a new love affair, and “I’m Kidding,” an anthemic exercise in irony with a sing-along chorus about bottling yourself up and never saying what you really feel. After these two songs is the pensive elegy to lost youth that is “It’s History”, which also affirms you, the listener, that in spite of your failures, all of that is in the past and that you’re more than just your shortcomings. While these three songs showcase Seña’s eloquent way with words and imagery, musically, something is amiss. Despite superb performances by the band, held together by Anjo Silvoza’s melodic bass lines and drummer King Puentespina’s steady but dynamic drumming, these are moments in which SOS seem like they aren’t willing to change up their sound much. They feel more like a compromise between slightly less jagged guitars and marginally pop keys, ultimately stalling the record after the shot of adrenaline that is “Amore”. Where SOS really shines in this record is when they fully commit to challenging their artistic identity. A hi-hat-heavy drum machine and a floaty synth line welcome listeners to the smooth R&B number “French Exit”. Seña sounds so seductive and self-assured as he sings about a casual love affair and how he’ll leave a lover before they even know it, a far cry from the jittery expressions of 2017’s “Favoritism”. Meanwhile, on “Money,” a rigid but groovy electro-funk beat coexists with frustrations toward someone else’s attitude towards money, especially when Seña talks about the frustrations of being a musician in today’s economy. While the song is sullied a bit by his overzealous vocals, it offers an otherwise noteworthy insight on being a struggling artist today. These two songs highlight SOS’ potential in holding their own across other genres, reaping the rewards of their expeditions outside the band’s walls. The back half of It Was A Moment, then, is further proof of how far SOS can break the lyrical and sonic barriers that have been placed against them. For one, “Please Lang” and “Seryoso,” the band’s first Filipino songs, show Seña successfully making his ramblings shine in our own language, his acerbic tongue more potent than ever as the Taglish words help him convey the strongest emotions in the simplest of words. Meanwhile, the remaining three songs give us a vision of what a fully-electronic SOS could sound like. Two of these, “Yumi & The Apocalypse” and “Love Kept Us Warm,” show two sides of a doomed relationship: wistful hopelessness faces off against cautious optimism in an atmosphere of sparkling keys, unrelenting drum patterns, irresistible chord progressions, and even a fadeout that’s delightfully-’80s. The title track that closes the album sees the band complete their transformation from guitar heroes to electro-pop stars through a moody number on the end of a relationship that should’ve been taken seriously. Regret permeates the song’s sparse instrumentation that recreates the lightheaded feeling of being alone with one too many drinks, the bridge even introducing chopped-up vocal samples straight out of mid-2010s Tumblr. However, it feels as though there’s more to this than meets the eye, with all the talk about phases and the references
Tag: Album Review
ALBUM REVIEW: Linger Escape – We All End In The Same Place
Written by Faye Allego At midnight, gasping for air, wondering where life will take on, emptiness appears in a dreamlike sequence. It’s peculiar, it’s suffocating, but it has always been familiar, like the hand of a lover who swore to hold on tight when diving deep into the trenches. Well, Linger Escape holds a requiem for that feeling in their debut album, We All End In The Same Place. In the world of nu-gaze, it’s easy to put on a respirator to filter out the fumes of repetitiveness found in shoegaze and other genres that fall under that umbrella; that repetitiveness being the same knobs of emotion being turned on the guitar pedal, the longing, the distortion, the buzzing, the fizzling, the static, the reverb, all of it. Perhaps, things don’t have to sound unique to be good, or the very essence of repetitiveness is not inherently bad, and that is where Linger Escape proves that those fumes aren’t toxic at all: In “Nothing”, the 2000s Nu-metal riff seeps in and blends with the honesty found in the lyrics. Instead of pairing the growling vocals with a sensual approach, the low-frequency phone call effect used in the primary vocals instead creates a dichotomy of past versus present, or, bringing emphasis to the lyrics “still digging for the bones, of what once was, of what has been”. Their most popular track, “Whisper”, thrusts a knee-jerk response to the listener prompted by the change in atmosphere. The song takes you to outer space where everything is uncertain, and all there is left is to ponder, once the riff glides into climax, the song ends as if the listener is taken through a metaphysical spiral, circling through the axis of experiences, memories, and so on. We All End In The Same Place is an 8-track album where the first half seems as though the band is hurriedly yet slowly establishing their true voice, presenting their sonic capabilities through varied quirks and sequences in the guitar distortion and the heavier percussion. As the latter half of the album proceeds after the 5th track, Linger Escape progresses and establishes that unflinchingly honest voice and sound. In “Gone”, the longest track on the record, the band unleashes the restraint of complex emotions that are evident in “Kin” and “Vermin”. Unfolding into a slow yet cathartic release with the soft yet stern meddles of the drums and the guitar as raw as the vocals, the listener is almost compelled to feel doom that the song will eventually come to an end. Will they be in the same place as they were before? Only time and the act of submersion into nostalgia can tell. As the album ends with “Bloom”, Linger Escape’s evolution is palpable. A sense of finality hits, and everything makes sense: the very sequence of before, during, and after. Shoutout to all the Life Is Strange fans out there. This is Max Caufield as an album. Overall, this album paves the way for the Bicol Shoegaze scene. It isn’t just a debut album; it’s a statement of intent. The four-piece doesn’t shy away from merging different sounds into one nostalgia-core mood board, and it doesn’t try to reinvent the genre either– they hold a mirror, albeit smudged and fogged, and let the listener look into its depths and take a deep, long breath. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
ALBUM REVIEW: Lara – Disambiguate
Written by Faye Allego It’s not unbeknownst that everyone has been stuck amid uncertainty and ultimately seeks comfort in the limerence shoegaze and dream pop emit. Five years of amalgamating ten tracks that challenge the umbrella terms under indie-rock, Lara’s debut album, Disambiguate, intimately transfigures their sonic ability to provide solace amidst uncertainty. A question riddled with intimidation crawls: how intimate can Lara get? As an introductory instrumental track, “Flight Patterns” defines the essential stylistic sounds of dream pop– it invites the listener to the parameters of psychedelia through its behind-the-pocket drumming, synth work, surging waves of the guitar’s overdrive and modulation, and the mixings in post-production don’t ruin its essence of fuzzy shoegaze. Following the hearty motifs of melancholia in the first track, we are introduced to Jedidiah Tabago’s vocals for the rest of the album. Tabago’s vocals in itself are not bad, perhaps a broader vocal resonance while singing longer notes could help his vocal abilities stand out more. The instrumental tracks of “Ambiguate” are loyal to the artist’s thematic vision of love and loss; “Sonoluminescence” in physics is the emission of light from imploding bubbles. Lara forms cavitations and fulminates an otherworldly auditory panorama, lighting up an entire city in their crystalline song craft and fully understanding the assignment when it comes to instrumental tracks in post-rock albums. However, the poetic dexterity found in the lyrics all throughout the album is splendid to the ears and further uplifts Lara’s song crafting. In “Countenance” the lines “Indulgence of each other is our delight / Savor every second if this” use sensory language to illuminate the listener’s auditory experience. The lyrics and its execution hit the brain’s neuron like Cupid and his bow in the way this song elicits lust. Though the album remains cohesive despite the vouch for experimentality in the spectacles of the Indie Pop/Rock genre, “Peaks” explores the ambiguity of noise haphazardly. Although it is a fairly good track, it isn’t sonically incohesive; the rather unserious approach to the ad lib/sound effects such as “bruh”, “yahoo!”, and Minecraft noises used ruins the flow of the album due to its Aphex Twin-like approach and distance from the limerence the narrator in the earlier and later tracks seems/seem to be going through. However, the atmospheric endeavors emulated bring justice to the experimental pathway they are in: “Loss” stands out softly. Both versions included in the album exhume a hopeful gesture toward the arbitrary happenings in life but in actuality, it is a story where the narrator follows a path down the “what could have been versus what actually happened” lane. Nearly twelve minutes of both versions combine to answer the question of intimacy these twenty-somethings showcase in their sonic ability, that the passion is ever present and it is engulfed with thought, and purpose, and disambiguates the oneness of life. Overall, Lara’s debut album is purposive and promising. Their ability to diverge from various sonic fields is frisky yet intimate– although their vocal work could use some improvements to justify their simple yet superb lyric ability. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
ALBUM REVIEW: Kremesoda – For Years
Written by JK Caray Sunday morning radios. Long car rides. Drifting in and out of a dream. There is a certain common feeling that arises among the three, a feeling so fleeting that a word has yet to be made to name it. It’s a moment that occurs whenever drowsiness masks a profound sobriety. Kremesoda, a Metro Manila-based 5 member band, defies it all and effortlessly expresses these complex sensibilities in their much-awaited debut album, “For Years”. The album consists of eight tracks and is a vibrant roulette of different sounds and styles, with some alluding back to the act’s past releases. “FOMO,” for example, reminisces their City Pop roots within the framework of a mellowed-out and hazy memory, while “Fleeting” features catchy 8-bit melodies alongside tight, upbeat drums. It’s that moment when you groggily wake up early from the blaring alarm sound, desperately trying to recall the dream you were having just a few minutes ago. The third track, “Far-fetched” borrows a few twangy guitar elements from Surf Rock and infuses it seamlessly with their mellow Indie tune. Meanwhile, midway through the release involves an interconnection of themes between “City doesn’t love you” and “Terminal”. In “City doesn’t love you”, the band calls back to their first single release “City Lovin” but this time, the vibe is completely different — tender yet harsh, its indulgent riffs paired with spiteful lyrics. “Terminal” quickly picks up these embittered feelings with more of a cynical attitude, deeply affected and aching to hurt back. The title track standout, “For Years,” provides a break from all the antagonism and goes back to the melancholic side of the release found in the earlier parts of the album, capturing the feeling of driving out to the countryside while hopelessly pining, patiently waiting around for something that was never meant to be. Ultimately, the final track “The Door” presents two options: to get out or to stay in. Opting to stay, the track reinstates the themes of longing and desperation found within the entire release. “For Years” is a long time coming project. After Kremesoda’s first single back in 2017, the band has been steadily releasing singles and garnering attention from the music scene. In 2020 however, the band abruptly seemed to disappear. Now, after four years of inactivity, “For Years” serves as a triumphant comeback to remind us that Kremesoda still stands as a force to be reckoned with. After all, the quintet has been here for a long time — they have gone through multiple eras, they have seen the ever-changing landscape of the underground OPM scene and they have performed in some now-defunct venues, but even after all that, “For Years” is shaping up to be their most substantial release as of yet. “For Years” carries a tone that signifies maturity in their artistry and the sonic cohesion they’ve been chasing for a long time. Along their journey, they’ve picked up bits and pieces, creating a decoupage of all the things that they encountered. Finally, after years of exploration, they come out emerging on the other side with a distinct tune that’s hard to put into words — one that is uniquely theirs, uniquely ‘Kremesoda’. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
ALBUM REVIEW: Ligaya Escueta – Dollweb
Written by Anika Maculangan Ligaya Escueta’s latest album entitled Dollweb is a means to commemorate the occasion of turning 18 — a pivotal moment in one’s life, with lots of changes to come. Not to be fooled by her gothic aesthetic, the album comes to one’s knowledge in the vein of ‘coming-of-age’, as one follows through her journey of self-discovery and reflection. Escueta’s music career launched as early into her life as she was 13, being mentored by some of Manila’s household names such as Acel Bisa-Van Ommen and Mikey Amistoso, who have helped her flourish over the years as a musician. From her first single The End to now, a full album, one can clearly acknowledge how much her sound has evolved. In Dollweb we notice vocals to be more concise and polished, demonstrating how much more care was taken in mixing and production. It’s also to be noted that Escueta’s instrumentals have become more complex and multi-layered, contrary to her earlier songs, which were more humble and simplistic. Her rise and growth as an artist is comparable to other musicians like beabadoobee, who started as a young creative making music out of her bedroom, to playing for larger audiences. It’s a sense of progress that’s inspirational at best, since it allows for listeners to follow them through their success as an artist. By listening to Dollweb, it’s still detectable that Escueta is just like every teenager who garners some influence from bands like Weezer and Blur — although, that’s what makes the album all the more genuine and authentic. Dollweb doesn’t try to go beyond itself, it sticks to where it came from. Just by Dollweb in itself, we can envision what Escueta’s bedroom looks like — band posters splattered across every wall, a tower of effect pedals in one corner, and a diary of collages, journal entries, and lyrics laying by a desk. Escueta doesn’t feel like a ‘distant’ artist, introducing that sense of truthfulness in almost every song she conceptualizes. All of the emotions and thoughts which she expresses in her tracks stand out the most for their validity — as they convey in such accuracy, the confusion and messiness that is to be met upon entering youth. While more synchronicity could be tended to in the future, these small flaws are what makes the album true to where she is in life right now. We mustn’t forget that at the end of the day, she is just 18, as we all once were, and nobody is ever perfect at that age. If anything, the slight malfunctions, mostly in musicality such as late tempos and missed beats are what furthers Escueta to being an honest artist. Someone much younger than her could be streaming her music, and realizing that there is no inherent requirement to immediately be immaculate. She also informs her audience that it’s never too early to start. While it’s hard to be taken seriously as a young musician most of the time, she proves otherwise. One of her tracks Laughing in Milk had managed to be released under Tenzi Records, and by that time, the local scene had already gained familiarity with her music. Dollweb is her most cohesive project, exemplifying just precisely how she wishes to develop her music moving forward. At the moment, her sound is reminiscent of other dollcore-adjacent artists like Lalleshwari (Katie Jane Garside) and Solya, however for all we know, this could shift at any given moment. We can see that there’s a lot more definite room for exploration, as Escueta still has the freedom to better solidify her sound. For now, she has Dollweb to concretize her presence in the music scene. She’s one of many, who represents the younger generation of the local community, and it’s always exciting to have that glimmer of hope — that there are up and coming musicians who the torch can be passed onto. What Dollweb provides is a promising future — that edgy undertones within the indie rock scene will persist. Dollweb is an album that speaks the veracities of adolescence, from the most anguish-ridden to the most delightful. It brings all of these mixed elements into one collection of songs and brings the listener back to those days — when everything seemed so mundane yet complicated. The album justifies these encounters and experiences, making it all the more vital for younger listeners, who need something to connect with — amongst the vast pool of musicians, who cater more toward older generations. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Noa Mal – I’m the outsider, looking in
Written by Nikolai Dineros “Quality over quantity,” a popular adage that has guided countless artisans, artists, and authors in history into crafting masterpieces. However, it appears that Noa Mal is not a huge proponent of this. For the famed lo-fi grunge pop artist, it’s quality through quantity. “I’m the outsider, looking in” marks Noa’s return after a busy four-album run in 2023, a feat that made her stand out from the rest of her contemporaries. And much like her past releases, in true DIY fashion, she handled everything from the writing to the arrangements, and production, all the way to the promotion post-rollout. This level of work ethic is as commendable as it gets, but her 15th album release showed us that her hardworking nature is less of a flex of her discipline and more of a fundamental part of her creative process. With all the roles she assumes under her moniker—as a lyricist, musician, producer, promoter, and as the very character she presents—Noa Mal has always kept a tight grip on the self, compartmentalizing her feelings across different tracks that show different sides of her very complex personality. For example, “Someone Like Me” sees Noa claiming her many tendencies as intrinsic parts of her being, and no other person in the world can come close enough to draw a baseline similarity from which to form a connection. In contrast, “The Serpent” shows her willingness to let someone in, though not without giving caution. These are no unique concepts per se. Even in her past albums, she employed similar approaches to songwriting. While, from this example, she doesn’t steer too far from being a starkly different person from one song to the next, she chops up several aspects of her whole self and scatters them across multiple tracks where nuance can then take shape. As far as her style of lyricism goes, Noa Mal has stuck to her guns in her latest record. However, the same cannot be said about her approach to production, which showed hints of boldness and resistance from her usual artistic disposition. “I’m the outsider, looking in” is arguably the most electronic Noa Mal has ever sounded, which opened new doors to how she packages her music and accentuates her messages. For instance, the guitar work in “I Am Not Someone / Drink from the cup” reached a bellowing low that was never achieved in prior Noa Mal releases. The drum machine displayed in the album has also never sounded more artificial—and, by virtue of grunge, has never sounded more grunge. It was almost as if Noa Mal was rebelling against her past records that never attempted to go all out the way “I’m the outsider, looking in” did. Ultimately, Noa Mal’s uncontested discipline and dedication to her craft extend not only to her work ethic as an artist proven competent in releasing music in quick succession. It is also rooted in the foundations of her creativity. Every piece of music Noa Mal puts out is short and sweet, and every album release is a claim of her individuality with all its many faces, some of which look the same as another but with different intricacies tied to each layer. It is through this sheer quantity of her scattered pieces that she was able to build an image we can never mistake for anybody else in the slowcore umbrella. “I’m the outsider, looking in” provides another piece to that puzzle. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Pette Shabu – SPRAK
Written by Jax Figarola The word “sprak” means rage, and rage, after all, is and can be feminine. For centuries, masculinity has been associated with strong emotions like anger and aggression, but realizing that women are always subjected to restrictions and objectifications and all the other painful suffering a woman must endure, then rage is exactly feminine. Pette Shabu’s SPRAK is experimental, transgressive, and confrontational. She wears the beats of industrial hip hop and electronic sounds of techno, metal, hard dance, and then struts, rampages, and jerks us off unapologetically into her frenzied world. The trans goddess asserts herself in the world that her art stems from navigating a violently gendered world, all of which are etched into every synth, every guttural scream, and every angst-laden bar born from personal struggles as a queer woman. With Pette’s lyricism and wordplay cutting sharply reminiscent of FlipTop rap battles and her sound similar to Death Grips, every track demands attention to the lyrics. Naturally, what makes SPRAK so electrifying is her unrelenting commitment to confront the uncomfortable, the violence – the local political landscape, genocidal world leaders, misogyny, and patriarchy. With beats from known local producers in the scene like T33G33, Horseboyy, and Dwaviee, the intense lyrics create an even more abrasive and harsher sounds that seem aggressive to the ears. Yet, listening to her rap over the beats feels like consuming a familiar unknown ulam. You eat them anyway because suddenly you are interested in figuring out that ulam, only to find out that it’s a one of a kind food only available at a specific time and place. No one does it like her. The quick repetitive beats become listenable only because she proves that she’s the only artist capable of rapping on them. But all of this also means that not everyone wants to eat her food, as one’s first listen to Pette Shabu may be surprised with how unorthodox her art is, especially for the wider audience in the Philippines. Nevertheless, her instructions are clear: to cleanse the world of ugliness. She reclaims “pangit” and “ugly,” not as descriptors of physical appearance, but as metaphors for the different faces of her oppression. She rebukes these ugliness with extreme rage, especially after being used to describe her art by those who don’t understand her. The tracks build toward the techno track POKPOK for its climax, a personal favorite, as she spits bars that are both irreverent and deeply personal, reclaiming slurs and shoving them in the faces of those who weaponize them. Beneath the pounding bass and metallic overtones, there’s a catharsis in embodying her anger and emotions with the act of active listening to her rhymes and wordplay. And then, the momentum carries into XDEAL O BARIL and NATURAL HIGH, both techno-heavy songs that sound as though the world is teetering on the edge of collapse. The beats in these closing tracks become euphoric acts of reclaiming and manifesting, which perfectly captures the album’s push and pull between destruction and rebirth. These outro feel like a mirror to SPRAK’s broader themes of queer resistance. Therefore, it ends as violently as it begins. Pette’s art is not for passive listening, as she demands and commands us to witness her narratives of structural violence through her lens. In the chaos, there’s catharsis. In the rage, there’s declaration. And in the rawness, there’s power. The goddess rebirths the world and ascends above it, now she’s untouchable and incomparable. But then again, with such gospel from her, it’s guaranteed to have heathens who would not challenge the self to listen through the queer, chaotic sounds that she’s been through. It’s all because she’s the highest, and there’s no else like her in the Philippines. It’s because she’s Pette fucking Shabu. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Barbie Almalbis – Not That Girl
Written by Noelle Alarcon If you’ve dug into the heyday of OPM, there’s no doubt you’ve come across Barbie Almalbis ‘ truths spread across her bands “Hungry Young Poets” and “Barbie’s Cradle.” Ever since becoming a solo act, Almalbis has shown immense growth–she tells us like it is in her latest release, Not That Girl. An album created to cope with “the most challenging year of her life,” her renewed outlook crafted a path for her most introspective, experimental record yet. Enriched with producer Nick Lazaro’s background in the metal genre, they managed to create an assortment of songs that are as familiar as they are fresh. Up to its mixing, the album utilizes everything at its sonic fingertips to tell its story. “Desperate Hours” shifts between your ears, a medley of multiple instruments banging and pattering against the sustained chord progression. Her eventual relief arrives when “finally the war is over” resounds clearer than any of her other lyrics, making way for her victory. “Homeostasis” follows suit in the first track’s whimsicality, equally as synth-laden and raw. It leans a bit more towards power pop though, reminiscent of the punchiness of her earlier works. Not That Girl hinges on Almalbis’ beliefs; it is what makes it so vulnerable, yet so comforting. “I tell my soul to only seek you, it’s the only real remedy,” she admits in “Happy Sad” through her signature unique delivery. The heavy metal-inspired track “Platonic” comes afterward, coated in cloying irony. You’d expect the bass drum-filled, fast-paced track to be cynical; until you hear Almalbis sweetly affirm, “I know God loves me, because you do!” All these songs build from each other; audible renditions of her life lessons making her stronger than ever before. “All U Wanna Do” is as feisty and loud as “Platonic,” yet there’s a calmness to the wandering synths that fill in its gaps while she bares her soul. “How To Weep” and the titular track “Not That Girl” prove Almalbis’ pen game is unparalleled. The former is a somber ballad, written straight from her heart: “Nobody knows I’m grieving alone; the way it comes, the way it goes.” The latter roars and howls, taking a more avant-garde approach to the worship songs she’s been acquainted with. “Tell them I’m not who I was before, I’m not that girl anymore!” Almalbis declares, calming the fierce storm inside her. Speaking of Almalbis and being unparalleled, she’s definitely one of the most influential women during Filipino alternative music’s peak in the 1990s and the 2000s. “Needy” and “Wickederrr Heart,” the album’s concluding tracks, greet you like an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. In this case, it’s her trademark sound that we all know and love. “Needy” is a bass-driven, drum machine-led proclamation, perfect for cruising along the road as you nod along to her lyrics filled with appreciation for loved ones in life. “Wickederrr Heart” is a bouncy, pop rock denouement of self-awareness, coated in the desire to change. “I can’t love you when I’m running; I know how it all turns out,” she admits to God, showing her true colors and encouraging you to do the same. Not That Girl is a testament to the fact that there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. Its experimentality emphasizes its overall message. Life has its very own heavy metal highs, and sincerity-ridden, folk-inspired revelations. The ringing in your ears can seem like a catastrophic cacophony–until you take charge, and create something daringly beautiful out of it. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Bambu – If You See Someone Stealing Food… No, You Didn’t.
Written by Anika Maculangan One hard-hitting line after the other, Bambu’s words as a rap artist travel oceans just to make it into our eardrums. Timely, relevant, and empowering, If You See Someone Stealing Food…No, You Didn’t is a new release from the LA-based rapper that feels like just what we need right now more than ever. In the album, DePistola tackles issues like workers’ rights, the genocide in Gaza, corruption, and police brutality. He approaches these themes in a way that is direct, precise, and straightforward. He doesn’t sugarcoat his delivery, yet prioritizes the impact that it has to offer. Despite this emphasis, the tracks in this album, notably Steal For A Meal and PI State of Mind II have an immense sense of flow and rhythm. The beats across the tracks are potent, well-measured, and powerful, which better amplify DePistola’s fervent utilizations of tempo and melody. Despite lyrics not being available yet online, upon writing this review, there wasn’t much of a hassle deciphering the words because Bambu articulates each and every one of his messages so legibly throughout this entire album — both in form and content. DePistola raps from the heart of the Filipino-American community, highlighting what it means to have pride in one’s identity, despite geographic barriers. DePistola strengthens his listeners, which at its core, includes the youth in order to encourage them to continue to fight for human rights and social justice later along in the future. Inspiring, thought-provoking, and insightful, the content of DePistola’s most recent album brings light onto societal truths, that urge to be addressed. This exactly is what DePistola provides — a voice for those who are silenced. Through the medium of an album, he makes these stances firmly conveyed, and ensures that it’s accessible to his audience. Accompanied by various tonalities, like for instance, air instruments, even the interludes mixed into the rest of the songs evoke a kind of tough heartiness. It’s clear that DePistola doesn’t leave any empty spaces in his compositions, most, if not all of them, whole with soul and spirit. You can easily tell that he is passionate about his craft, in connection to the things that he stands for. With support from rap movements like the FlipTop community alongside the San Francisco bay area scene, artists like Bambu keep the Filipino perspective alive within this realm. He’s a promise that even abroad, Filipinos can make a name for themselves — despite all the hurdles and challenges that come along their way. DePistola speaks for those who have worked their way up to success, making something out of the value that is found in their personal experiences. Listening to this album, it’s hard not to be so attentive to the lyrics — ultimately, it’s the greatest asset of the entire project. The musicality of the album is just what you would expect from Bambu; skilled and masterful. But what shines the most is the weight that the album carries. It’s a perfect reflection of today’s faced struggles. And no, it does not mourn them, but rather, looks for solutions. However, what Bambu first does is open a discussion about them. This album is if anything, a necessity in today’s day and age. Perhaps DePistola thought it to be essential. Many rappers, local and international, can learn from Bambu’s integration of social issues into his music. He demonstrates that rap music can be used as a tool for advocacy during times of collective hardship. Music like Bambu’s unites people to help and uplift one another. It makes us realize what can be done, and how. It asks questions like “Why is this happening?” and makes the sound we are hearing more than just mere music but rather, a call for action. For that, we thank DePistola. While some tracks felt slightly out-of-place, like Tommy’s Burgers and Crazy Eyes, the album as a complete project doesn’t miss any points. Although others might find some patterns in instrumentality repetitive, one could also presume them to be intentional. Yes, these stories do need to be vocalized over and over again, as they should be until it’s brought us to acknowledge the problems that plague the world with oppression. In this album, DePistol says behind his messaging, that he won’t stop until those being exploited are given justice and recognized for their right to equity. If You See Someone Stealing Food…No, You Didn’t takes what is already there, and introduces it to a broader audience through the universal language of music. Bar after bar, Bambu proves to us that a compact summarization of what is happening currently can be put into words within the measure of 1-3 minute songs. In no way does it reduce these dialogues, but turns up the volume, for them to be reinforced on a more heightened, revolutionary scale. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Yorko – where the sky meets the sea
Written by Faye Allego Yorko’s virtuosic talent for Hip Hop and R&B shines in “Where The Sky Meets The Sea” as he opens up without fear of getting introspective in his songs; songs that took four years to make it into the final cut and four years to mark his first entry under LIAB studios. The rollout of this album in terms of aesthetics was done in a way that genuinely highlights the ebb and flow of Yorko’s vulnerability: his journal entries published across his social media pages, the scenic imagery only paired with the color hues of the sky, and the impeccable album artwork and layout done by GRAVER, Zeon Gomez, @aleng_lukresya, jadetonicc, @_niel4tienz4, and @skm2_ct have all sculpted and mended Yorko’s visions into a short anthology of memories written from the depths of Cloud 9. In his sophomore album, Yorko, who also goes under the alias Blimp Shady, takes the listener down a rather silky road with his sleek rhymes and rhythms in “Descent” followed by “Nimbus” and “Surf” which encapsulate certain Cyber R&B beats you’d expect to hear in a Blade Runner 2049 action sequence or in a niche Vaporwave Lofi Rap mixtape. In Horizon, Yorko reflects on the imbalances and harmony of life: ‘there’s more to life above the clouds/ there’s more to death beneath the ground/ take a dive headfirst/take the pain, feel the hurt/ ‘til you feel nothing no more’ these antheses with philosophical undertones become profound as Yorko takes what feels like a modern day Parable-of-Job-like approach to his storytelling. Juxtapositions that seep through the philosophical themes of the album are also emulsified in the pre/post break-up banger that is m.i.a. featuring SHNTI. Production-wise, Kashira changes the game for the DIY rap scene. You can press play throughout any time frame of this album and won’t find yourself fidgeting with the volume buttons of your device. Various influences and sonic textures from the West Coast Rap scene can definitely be heard in Where The Sun Meets the Sky, making it a flavorful homage to the entire genre itself and it’s not taking from the original and replicating it haphazardly. However, though the originality shines through, there is an inkling of that replication hazard getting in the way when you get to tracks like Ducktales, which utilises synth waves and ad libs that don’t add on to that theme of introspection and aren’t exactly elusive to hear within this genre. Overall, this album is essentially a deep-dive into Yorko’s inner sea of confusion and takes the listener for a swim back to the shore, shining under the sun with all the glistening hopes that come out of surpassing hardship all with the dreamy atmosphere engineered into the beat. Support the art and the artist: