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:
Tag: Album Review
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:
ALBUM REVIEW: Ely Buendia – Method Adaptor
Written by Faye Allego Without a shadow of a doubt, Ely Buendia has an iconic and notably one of the most recognizable voices in OPM. His wordplay, chord progressions, and a whirlpool of psychedelia you feel after reaching the coda is top-notch during the Batang 90’s era of OPM. But now I ask myself: Is there a dark cloud of doubt in his newly released record, Method Adaptor, in the rearview? When Buendia released “Bulaklak Sa Buwan”, his lyricism shone through, continuing to create parallels and paradigms conveying themes of delusions, misconstrued mindsets, and the irony of fantasy. That being said, this body of vulnerability as a whole could constitute as a throwaway Eraserheads mixtape from the ‘ole Cutterpillow days. The lead single itself is a wonderful homage to the batang 90’s sound. It surely brings exuberance to fans who have been there during Buendia’s early rise to fame and have witnessed his impact on the OPM genre in real-time, however, like (almost) every artist who goes solo after years of being in a successful and impactful band, their past reputation precedes every lyric their future solo albums has to say. In Method Adaptor’s lead singles, you hear what Buendia feels, but do you feel it too? It’s there to sing and dance along to, but not enough to swoon over Buendia’s typical magical ingredients that make his songs linger. In multiple interviews pertaining to the release of Method Adaptor, Buendia created this album out of reflection on fame and life- and the stresses that come with it. It’s an inside look into the mind of someone who spent a long time pondering what it means to have lived a life ruled by youth, art, and irrevocable passion. In tracks like Faithful, however, it seems like the thought was there, but emotional umph was stagnant. In fact, he even communicates this precariousness in the same track: “There’s so much that I wanna say/ I just don’t know if I can say it this way” The narrator of the song is tired and in limbo, yet, the tune he plays lives on, almost never-ending. As one may know, if it’s Buendia on vocals, it’s almost guaranteed that the listener will hear an upbeat hymn that may tell any story out of the ordinary. A great example of this out-of-body experience that you feel when listening to Buendia’s voice actually comes the song titled “Shallow Breathing” from his debut solo album, “Wanted Bedspacer”. With Method Adaptor, “Tamang Hinala” is a song that exemplifies Buendia’s lyrical and instrumental devices and approaches that fuel this album. You get a repetitive yet addictive chorus as well as verses that show off stimulating cadence such as “Ang tanim ay siya ring aanihin/Guguho ang kastilyong buhangin/Madulas ang balbas parang Hudas/Ganyan lang talaga ‘pag minalas”, Every instrument seeps perfectly into the chorus without sounding overpowering or underwhelming. The appeal of tracks like “Chance Passenger” or “Deadbeat Creeper” is colorless to the point where certain verses like “And you wear your spirit well /Satisfy the clientele /Make me want to set her down” as well as vocals that are bordering on the stringy spectrum that confuse the narrative of the song. It feels like I’m reading a notes app poem- there’s nothing wrong with a notes app poem, however, translating feelings of desire into melodies is critical to transform filler songs into album staples in an album like ‘Method Adaptor’. Alternatively, if Buendia continued or even interweaved his experimental sound and velvety vocals highly executed in his previous songs, namely “Monday Mundane”, “Hotchik”, and of course, “Ligaya”, I could have understood and truly felt the thematic undertones of reliving youth, regret, grief, and desire more deeply. Overall, Ely Buendia’s distinguished and seasoned love for songwriting is definitely evergreen and everpresent, his music legacy will always be a pillar of inspiration for generations to come, but his reflections seen in his second album, Method Adaptor, seems to translate into feelings of muffled confusions that almost glaze over what could have left a lasting memory of his caliber of a voice and mind. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Haley Heynderickx – Seed of a Seed
Written by Louis Pelingen Looking back on Haley Heynderickx’s debut project is like observing a seedling grow into a lively tree, as there are a lot of elements within the record that keep on growing the more time passes by. Spanning across the pastoral writing wherein despite the generally loose themes – there is enough captivating poetry wading through, the rich performances that Haley Heynderickx offers with her striking vocals, as well as the well-produced and well-composed melodies that have enough enticingly warm progressions to allow them to stick a lot deeper. Since then, there has been a quiet period after I Need To Start A Garden, just before this year where she finally pulled together her sophomore record, Seed of a Seed. Within this long-awaited project, more awe-inspiring elements serve as an overall refinement of Haley Heynderickx’s debut output. The production is now much more organic in its mix where the expanded instrumentation and vocals nestle well to the point that it evokes a thrilling tone to these songs, the array of folk melodies have a lot of sticky charm from the instrumental refrains and the inviting chorus lines, and Haley Heynderickx’s presence as a vocalist soars further as she pulls more from her expanded vocal range that lands with ease – really letting these songs linger with charm from start to finish. The layers of strings, acoustics, and vocals render a harmonious touch on “Gemini” as they go on these lush melodic swings throughout the song, the ramping rhythmic shuffle of “Foxglove” that’s elevated further with Heynderickx’s rich vocal delivery, the emotive strings and the jangling acoustics on “Seed of a Seed” that never sounds so comforting on their warm tone, the glorious escapade of “Redwoods (Anxious God)” where the grand swells are encaptured by the melodic progressions that never lose their sweeping momentum, the arpeggiated guitar structure of “Jerry’s Song” that builds into this heavenly crescendo that the vocals land splendidly, and the aptly titled “Swoop” has these melodic structures from the acoustics and strings that swoops with a gleaming sway every time it goes to the chorus lines, ending the record with a gracefully strong finish. This is where Haley Heynderickx then also evolves as a writer, where there is at least a semblance of connecting themes spiraling within her mostly enthralling poetry. Still lingering within the pastoral touches that she has snuggled to a tee, yet there are some fascinating topics going through the details. The overall songwriting essentially grapples with the essence of growing older, whereas Haley Heynderickx is looking into a pastoral dream that may or may not be worth it in the long run amidst the indecisive frustration that comes with aging. Yet it is not just the only subject matter that she wanders through, where songs like “Seeds of a Seed”, “Mouth of a Flower”, and “Swoop”, there is a lingering reflection of generational divides and how Haley Heynderickx acknowledges that she is in a much better space than where her father, mother, and grandmother might have been back then. It adds an extra context to the overall themes, adding a subtle anxiousness in reflecting on growing older and looking to search for those dreams. That, paired with just how robust and big the melodies tend to be, does impart how much she is willing to be tossed over to that uncertain flow, where even if she did find a sense of gratitude on ‘Sorry Fahey’, it’s not going to stop her on reaching towards greater pastures in life. Perhaps, the big frustration within this record as much as it is enveloped with so many gleaming compositions all around it, might be in the writing itself. Not that it takes away from the refinements within, but there is that pastoral framing that creates a barrier on how much Haley Heynderickx’s reflections will stick further. Because as much as that personal arc can be traced the more time spent thinking through the concise poetry, this brand of pastoral beauty can be a double-edged sword, leading to gleaming musings that gesture towards those personal emotive touches rather than fully touching upon it. But despite those personal nitpicks in the writing, there are a lot of exceptional moments traced within Seed of a Seed. Brimming with some of Haley Heyndrickx’s strongest songs to date that come from the overall array of performances, compositions, production, and writing, this sophomore output ended up amusing. Even if the overall personal touches could have been observed with a closer look, the improvements are enough to make the project stand stronger than her debut. It might be just a seed of a seed, yet how it grows is all up to its control. Support the art and the artist: