Tag: Album Review

  • ALBUM REVIEW: underscores – U

    ALBUM REVIEW: underscores – U

    Written by Rory Marshall

    Mainstream pop, while widely loved, has to play it safe to appeal to its broad audience. But once in a while, there’s always someone to shake up the landscape and bring new ideas into the mix. Enter underscores, the Fil-Am headphone-clad hyperpop darling with her newest album “U”. The album is more accessible than her other work, featuring all the ear-catching hooks, dance-beat tempos, and melodies that beg you to sing along tropes that mainstream music tends to have- but that doesn’t discount its experimentality in the context of pop as a whole.

    Coming from her last project, her sound has taken a U-Turn from grungy electro-pop rock seen in “Wallsocket” to going back to her roots, equipped with influences from dubstep and future bass, harkening back to her early SoundCloud days. The album exudes confidence and charisma, paying homage to her production inspirations; taking the intensity and edge from dubstep icon Skrillex, while taking a softer page from Imogen Heap. It’s a love letter to the genres while being unmistakably underscores.

    Although the album is on the shorter side with only 9 tracks and a runtime of 34 minutes, no track shows any lack or feels thrown in as an afterthought. Every synthesizer, vocoder, and LFO is intentional and produced to a tee while not going farther than it needs to. Each song stands on its own while being cohesive as an ensemble. It’s a testament to the ear she has for music production, with it being an album with no features, and her being the sole credit for the production.  

    As impressive as the production is, the themes and lyrical content were not left by the wayside. With the glitz and glamor, laissez-faire hookups, and Hollywood parties that ultrastardom brings also come unrequited love, isolation, lost identity, and sobering self-reflection. It’s easy to forget that with each track being a dance-worthy banger, underscores is taking the opportunity to outline the dark side of fame. Rather than causing a dissonance between the lyrical content and the music instrumentals, underscores was able to toe the line between the headbanging and crying in the club, creating a metaphor for her experience being in the spotlight.

    With all the confidence and conviction that the project radiates, there’s a constant shadow of self-doubt cast over the tracks, sewn into the lyrics. While tracks like the explosive opening piece “Tell Me (U Want It)”, “Music” and “Do It” carry the “Live fast, Die young” detached attitude that one adopts for their life of fame, tracks like “Bodyfeeling”, “Lovefield”, and the tragic closing track “Wish U Well” show the consequences that can come with it. The life you left behind, and the pitfalls of losing oneself. This is succinctly captured in one of the most vulnerable tracks of the album: “The Peace”. A track about changing yourself in any way just to keep the one you love in your life. While it’s a devastating prospect, the authenticity of her words cuts deep into the hearts of listeners who’ve found themselves in the same position: “And I won’t smoke unless you’re smoking too  / Uh, yeah, I just wanna keep the peace with you”. 

    With the depth that ‘U’ has, by the time you’ve finished it, you’ll realize the toll it had on you. It’s wonderfully nuanced, capturing the double-edged sword of notoriety in a maximalist hyperpop masterpiece. It’s a breath of fresh air for the mainstream pop scene as a whole, giving the masses a break from songs with hooks engineered to grab your attention in a 10-second TikTok. Everything from the production, the songwriting, and the overall vibe that underscores created for the project; The heart put into this album is undeniable, and the sound speaks for itself. Labeling her a trailblazer in the scene would be an understatement, and it wouldn’t be surprising to hear her influence pop up in the mainstream moving forward.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: shed – if heaven is real

    ALBUM REVIEW: shed – if heaven is real

    Written by Nikolai Dineros

    Batangas just left a mark in Filipino shoegaze, a scene that is already defined by the formidability of many growing talents and its steady embedding into OPM ubiquity. Cementing the region’s place this time around is the Lipa-based, emo- and grunge-adjacent shed, with the release of their debut album ‘if heaven is real’.

    Following their self-titled project and a few singles here and there, a template to the band’s overall sound identity is traced. ‘if heaven is real’ serves as the band’s proving ground, an opportunity to bury the nail planted by earlier songs like ‘mahika’ and ‘forgotten song’—songs that exemplify the band’s penchant for a certain blossom in their sound, where the viscous rhythm section envelopes the bright, manic wails of the lone guitar riff.

    The challenge for their debut album was not to exceed what was first established, but rather to prove that the ingenuity in their earlier releases was not a sleight-of-hand trick you cannot show the same audience twice.

    shed overcame this challenge on ‘if heaven is real’ thanks largely to the variety of execution throughout the track list. Given their proclivities for roughness and sonic punching power, depth is no longer a question in shed’s toolbelt. And instead of trying to reach greater heights with their sound, the band focused on expanding their emotional range—more specifically, the applied use cases for their already honed affinities.

    As a result, we get pent-up anguish expressed in a smorgasbord of ways. For one, an unwitting listener may pass off “easy” and “tangerines” as blackgaze, while “relapse” and “susi” are more akin to the classic shoegaze sound of the mid-’90s. Though genre influences and mood are intermingling, the unrelenting attitude is the glue that holds every element in place.

    But most notable of all is ‘blue’, a returning track from a past project that serves as the album closer. This song takes the best trait from every song in the album and amplifies them to great heights: dense layers of heavy guitar riffs at odds with each other, a tempo of almost breakneck speed, the hope-filled ecstasy of a well-executed melody, and themes of endless yearning that rival the tragedy in tales of old. This is easily a highlight not only on ‘if heaven is real’, but in shed’s journey thus far.

    In contrast to the band’s dead-set dedication to carving their identity through loudness, songs from ‘if heaven is real’ derive their thematic shoegaze melancholy from the unmoving. Songs like “moths,” “easy,” and “heaven” share this common thread, usually depicting human trepidations that are rather still than tumultuous.

    For instance, “moths” plays around its own metaphor in its depiction of the tragic paradox of affection and avoidance; “easy” reads like a lullaby sung by a seemingly grieving narrator; and “heaven” is a claustrophobic sketch of a narrator trapped in the stasis of loss. The tone of shed’s overall pen work in the album stems from this decaying monotony that blossoms into a dissonant harmony to the unyielding chaos that is their sound. This can only be achieved by shed’s innate ruthlessness, which they have proven time and again.

    ‘If heaven is real’ is best described as a storm. Its relentless pressure lays waste to everything it touches, having gathered plenty of force from shed’s past projects and coverage through the band’s persistent experimentation. Yet through it all, shed remains steadfast, unmoving, and in full control amid the chaos.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: Hermano Jazz – Hermano Jazz, Vol. 1

    ALBUM REVIEW: Hermano Jazz – Hermano Jazz, Vol. 1

    Written by Lex Celera

    If you’re having a hankering of jazz, Hermano Jazz’s newest release can slake your hunger.  Emanating from the dimly lit rooms of Tago Jazz Cafe, Sari Sari, and The Backdoor, Hermano Jazz, calls into mind the ever-present yet elusive jazz scene in Metro Manila. Producer, composer, and guitarist Joaquin Reyes knows this well, as a burgeoning musician who frequents these spaces. And it seems that this year, Reyes and his merry band of talented, rotating, cohorts are in full swing.

    Reyes’ first album, ‘Show Me Your Kung Fu,’ featuring jazz legends and up-and-coming musicians alike, was just released last May. ‘Hermano Jazz, Vol. 1’ arrived a month after, featuring the same formula albeit with a different ensemble, resulting in a flavor of jazz that satiates those with the ear to recall influences, but also the posturing that could draw anyone curious to experience what the genre has to offer for the first time.

    Each track from ‘Hermano Jazz, Vol. 1’ comes across as successful problem solving through music, where instruments pass the baton, come and go, and interject each other with restraint, until the rising tension is resolved. As composers, MJ Alvarado and Joaquin Reyes do well when knowing when a track is done, and when nothing is left unpolished. 

    “Sa Dilim ng Gabi” and “Stay Cool” feature vocals that, beyond texture, add dimension to the collective’s repertoire. But the real draw lies in the rest of the project’s tracks, where there are moments that truly stick with you when experiencing this album for the first time. The closing third of “Rain Song” pulls you in with its rising intensity shared between the instruments in play, especially with the guitar. “Our New Song” and its meandering flourishes arrests you in its warmth that swells. I would have loved to be in the room during the recordings of “In Walked Blud,” a hot flash of a Thelonious Monk track that Reyes and his hermanos have put their own spin to. In many ways, the cover track exemplifies Hermano Jazz’s latent tendencies to be urgent and overdriven with its shortened runtime.

    ‘Hermano Jazz, Vol. 1’ offers a buffet of jazz tunes that lean into the genre’s freewheeling nature, served in doses that are just enough. A morsel more would be too much. Perhaps another album. Perhaps more.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: VVINK – It Starts With A Wink

    ALBUM REVIEW: VVINK – It Starts With A Wink

    Written by Paolo Elwick

    P-pop is currently enjoying a much-deserved moment in the mainstream spotlight thanks to the nation’s girl group BINI and pioneers SB19. While mostly positive, the increased levels of attention give the new generation of groups a different, much more nuanced, challenge to face: standing out in a scene that’s no longer just fighting for a seat at the table, but one competing to keep it. After a steady stream of singles released over the past year, five-member group VVINK is ready to step up to the plate with ‘It Starts With A Wink,’ a versatile debut album filled with personality and Filipino charm.

    Built around the idea of a wink as a silent gesture of connection, the album’s foundation is approachable and relatable storytelling — something that the initial set of singles leading up to its release support. Whether it’s the lovestruck “Tulala,” the earnest anxiety of wanting someone to confess their love on “Kailan Ka Aamin,” or the hopeful, Aladdin-inspired “Tatlong Hiling,” VVINK leans into everyday emotions and experiences, making the album easy to relate to and even easier to sing along with.

    That familiarity extends to the production, where VVINK builds their identity by proudly embracing Filipino sounds and reshaping them into something that’s their own. “Baduy,” their DJ Love-produced rendition of budots, shines the brightest by proudly embracing a genre that’s turned into a meme and often overlooked by mainstream pop while simultaneously reclaiming baduy as a badge of confidence. On the opposite end of the spectrum, “Ikaw Ikaw” takes a page out of emotional Filipino ballads with a relatively stripped-down instrumental, allowing tender and heartfelt lines like “Sa oras ng lungkot, ika’y yakap / Sa mga luha, may pag-asa / Sa’yong mga kamay / Pag-ibig ay damang dama” to pay tribute to loved ones who have supported them throughout the years. Then there’s “It’s a Rap,” a high-energy track that serves swagger through anthemic verses that flex the group’s achievements while remaining cognizant of the journey ahead. Together, these songs show a group that’s not simply borrowing from Filipino sounds, but confidently making them part of their own musical identity.

    This versatility makes it all the more frustrating when the group’s songwriting settles for easy, formulaic writing. For example, the undeniably infectious and alive “Pag-ibig Fun” has a runtime mostly occupied by the repeating “fun, fun, fun, fun” and “one, one, one, one” refrains. While intentionally designed to be as catchy as possible, the repetition runs thin, leaving the song feeling less clever and not as playful. Unfortunately, similar moments appear elsewhere, where memorable production sometimes has to carry lyrics that can’t always keep up.

    Still, ‘It Starts With A Wink’ succeeds because Angelika, Ayaka, Jean, Mariel, and Odri bring enough chemistry, charisma, and youthful energy to make the album feel unmistakably theirs. That’s what makes this debut so exciting. In a P-pop scene growing faster than ever, technical polish alone won’t separate one group from the other — but personality will. Luckily, VVINK seems to have lots of that already. So don’t blink; they’re only getting started.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: SHNTI — Melting PT.

    ALBUM REVIEW: SHNTI — Melting PT.

    Written by Noelle Alarcon

    SHNTI is one of the local hiphop scene’s darlings; coming from Quezon City, her verses and bars are as explosive as the busy landscape of the metropolis she resides in. With her bright orange hair, this era and cover artwork are equally as striking; her debut album ‘Melting PT.’ is purely her; loud as firecrackers and as unapologetically radiant as the sparks that follow right after.

    Though SHNTI mainly rose to prominence through chill, laid-back pronouncements over lo-fi beats, ‘Melting PT.’ shows a whole other side to her artistry. Infusing her raps with the clever daringness of other genres like breakcore and dance pop. This debut album starts off hot and continuously heats up until the very last track, setting ablaze to a more sonically adventurous path in her journey as an artist.

    Bass-boosted opener “Heartless” establishes the playful yet self-assuredly brash vibe that prevails throughout the album. The thumping, bass-boosted instrumental is fired up, a bouncy medium for SHNTI to serve a steaming hot plate of righteousness: “your father raised a dirty son / what more have you really done/keep getting older/your victims not over twenty-one.” The choruses even descend into breakbeats, centering on the rage that funnels through the song.

    ‘Melting PT.’ also displays SHNTI’s knack for making magic out of collaborations; this album features Pette Shabu on “DND” and FEIFEI on “My Girls.” Both tracks play to the strengths of their collaborators: the quickfire, hard-hitting lines of the former (“tanginang mukha ‘yan / kailangan din ng beat switch”), and the chill, smooth vocals that grace the latter.

    SHNTI continues to present this rage in multifaceted ways across tracks. This is heard in the rap metal anthem of determination that is “BREAK” and the breakcore-influenced “not(shygirl),” where the artist huffs and puffs about taking up space and staying true up to the very end. Hidden in between the breaks and plugins are the rhymes that paint the conflict of SHNTI versus the world, and how she continues to stay 100% authentic despite the hurdles that come her way.

    There is quiet, vulnerable simmering that lies beneath all the fierceness of ‘Melting PT.,’ too. In contrast to the blaring synths that crowd “OMO,” there is self-reflection that takes a great deal of maturity to admit; “kung ako ay iibigin/ayoko sana na maubos ka,” sings SHNTI. Closer’s “melting point” encapsulates the struggle of growing up under the public eye in a manner that is truly heartfelt, committing her to growth. “I will unlearn my shame/and it’s all for love.”

    This album’s momentum starts off fast and heavy, but somewhere in the middle, it seems to be indecisive about whether it wants to accelerate further or slow down to accommodate the inhibitions that bring its explosiveness to light. Every once in a while, a couple of songs are contingent upon similar sonic patterns that can be hard to differentiate, at times, as heard in “(not)shygirl” and “timebomb.”

    But despite such remarks, ‘Melting PT.’ is a phenomenal debut. It may be miles away from the SHNTI sound that everyone was hooked on in the beginning, but this is her flame-embossed mark on the world: an unexpected, yet creatively authentic shift of sound. ‘Melting PT.’ shows SHNTI is not finished exploring the tricks up her sleeve—she’s just getting started. 

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  • ALBUM REVIEW:  Jimmy Khalo – GOLDILOCKS

    ALBUM REVIEW:  Jimmy Khalo – GOLDILOCKS

    READ THE FULL REVIEW IN THE TFL WEBSITE RIGHT HERE: 

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    Written by Noelle Alarcon

    With an album cover that pays homage to Johannes Vermeer’s ‘The Milkmaid,’ Jimmy Khalo’s debut album ‘GOLDILOCKS’ is a clear example of what happens when self-expression is unapologetic and undeniably at the forefront. 

    According to the artist themself, it’s “the soundtrack of our 20s, [and] a love letter to our 30s and beyond.” The 11-track release is laden with influences from the soundscapes of Khalo’s youth, inspired by the pop records of the time, like Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’ and Beyoncé’s ‘I AM…SASHA FIERCE.’ There’s the sensual appeal of contemporary R&B, mixed with the groovy invitation to the dancefloor by afrobeats influences, and funky, consistent basslines paired with harmonies that build upon the excitement of anticipation. Produced independently, ‘GOLDILOCKS’ is a testament to what dedication to a vision can bring to life.

    Sonically, Khalo’s music shines best when it references the past that conjured this project altogether: dreamy synths and brash 808s make a bold statement that shows their daringness to explore the limits of sound. This is heard in standout track “NYMPH,” where the vocals are hard-hitting and anthemic, singing of the artist’s determination and inability to be tamed.

    There’s a quality of honesty embedded in every lyric Khalo writes, and these steal the show, flashy, uptempo beats aside. In “AMUSE YOU,” they’re singing about intimacy and a good time in bed on a house beat. On “RAIN,” the artist sounds unstoppable in finding themselves in the complicated journey that is life. From the lightness of “I’ll send you to heaven and seal with a kiss” to the strength and resolve in “I’m wiser than my years, still, I trip with my own toes,” it’s admirable to observe the honesty that oozes through these tracks.

    It is exciting to see the many sounds that the artist can stick with while still maintaining the central theme of ‘GOLDILOCKS,’ but at the same time, there’s a sense of disconnect that can be found every so often throughout the album. It’s a set of songs knotted altogether, but quite roughly. In its quest to look for the self, it sounds like the rope that it casts far and wide tends to fray at times.

    The intensive look into cohesiveness aside, Jimmy Khalo’s debut album is a promising look into what charisma and belief in oneself can bring to the table. It’s a product of someone who was raised by pop hit after pop hit, delivering a manifestation that the reality of adulthood helped to shape.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: elijah – South II

    ALBUM REVIEW: elijah – South II

    Written by Julia Harumi Kudo

    True north is believed to be unwavering, ironclad. We like to imagine there is a fixed point somewhere ahead of us, killing time to vindicate every wrong turn. But on ‘South II,’ Elijah Canlas — or overtly elijah, as he asserts on being known here — offers a different orientation. The title gestures toward a place rather than an aspiration: ‘South II,’ the Cavite subdivision where he spent his formative years. The album doesn’t necessarily seek enlightenment so much as it excavates Elijah’s genesis. It is less concerned with becoming someone; it is, instead, hell-bent on remembering who he was before anyone was watching.

    For an actor who has primarily built his public image by inhabiting other people’s roles, ‘South II’ is, in a sense, a form of self-disclosure. “Sa acting… Hindi ako yung pinapanood nila. Ito ako lang ‘to eh. So parang, paano yan, diba? Parang husgaan nyo ako all you want. But I guess that’s the beauty of music”, Elijah remarked while discussing the album’s release with Philstar. Throughout the album’s compact runtime, you’d certainly hear Elijah still learning how to occupy his own voice after years of mastering everyone else’s, with the shadows of Kalel, Cairo, and the many characters that made him one of his generation’s most compelling young actors. And that voice is, admittedly, still finding its footing.

    The opening track, “Oras Mo Na Raw,” is intended as a declaration of mission, depicting a moment of awakening after a youth wandered too long, but it comes across more like a sketch than a revelation. The production is simple, and the lyrics are scuffed. It’s a surprisingly understated introduction, giving the impression of an artist who seems ready to introduce themselves but only offers a weak handshake. Still, even the album’s weaker moments reveal something refreshing: Elijah’s refusal to posture, to simply flow ersatz. Unlike many debut rap records, ‘South II’ contains significantly less mythmaking. Elijah hardly ever presents himself as supreme; instead, he ultimately acts as someone who has always been aware of his own immaturity. Whether that humility is instinctive or constructed, it still becomes the record’s greatest strength.

    Elijah, then, starts to turn into a firestarter when he’s not trying too hard to rap and instead becomes a storyteller at heart. “Mousetrap,” one of his favorite tracks, captures the kamikaze mythology of South II with enough detail to feel lived-in rather than just nostalgic. In “Asar Talo,” he muses, “I am not OA. I’m just not ok. Dami-daming gago dyan sa tabi mukhang kokey.” It’s ridiculous and brilliant at the same time. And the references fly fast, the enthusiasm faster. You can hear the poet before you hear the rapper, and that distinction matters. “U Wanna Be?” featuring SHNTI is beyond a shadow of a doubt, the album’s first undeniable spark. The production is sharper, more spacious, and substantially more confident. SHNTI’s flair adds an effortless charisma that transforms South II from a promising debut into the record it seems determined to become. By the time “Bituin” arrives, the album reveals what it has been moving toward all along: hope. This final track, based on an unfinished song by Elijah’s late brother JM, unravels the album’s ambition. The inclusion of JM’s original audio recording makes its simplicity all the more moving. In its wake, South II no longer feels solely moored to a subdivision. It belongs instead to the people who continue to linger in it, even in memory.

    ‘South II’ is an album title that suggests a geographical direction, but its emotional journey points somewhere else entirely. In these songs, Elijah spends his time clawing back old streets, revisiting old mistakes, and speaking to loved ones. By the end, finding your true north has little to do with moving forward; rather, it lies in understanding the south you came from.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: dreaming blue flowers – endomorphins

    ALBUM REVIEW: dreaming blue flowers – endomorphins

    Written by Paolo Elwick

    Since introducing themselves with “Do(es) I(t) Matter?” at 123Block on June 21, 2024, dreaming blue flowers has bloomed into one of the more emotionally resonant acts in the local indie scene with songs rooted in vulnerability, introspection, and atmosphere. For members Lissia Ciel, Hannah Angelica, and Kern, that sensibility fully manifests on ‘endomorphin’, a mellow and melancholic debut effort that puts the lingering ache of heartbreak into words and notes before it slowly fades into memory.

    Setting the scene is a set of instrumentals either knee-deep in keys or swimming in strings — both, however, are excellent foundations that allow Lissia Ciel’s soft yet seemingly distant vocals to shine. The three-member indie folk band then adds a layer of vulnerability through lyrics like “I will find a way / to get through the maze / of failure to feel oneself / on countless days” from the title track “endomorphin”. While heartbreak remains the album’s emotional anchor, its songs are equally concerned with the aftermath of loss — the guilt, self-doubt, and emotional exhaustion that naturally accompany the end of any meaningful relationship. Across the album’s 43-minute runtime, these feelings seamlessly shift from wounds to reflections, making it clear that endomorphin is an exploration of how people carry pain, not how they get over it. 

    The arrangements reinforce that emotional weight by slowly unfolding, layer by layer, allowing pianos, strings, and percussion to thrust those emotions into the spotlight. This is particularly effective on “breath of life,” where the gentle instrumental mirrors the search for belonging amidst uncertainty with bright highs and muted lows, while “spaces between” starts mellow before eventually ramping up into a riff to represent the stress of wrestling with the painful realization that some relationships cannot be held together by effort alone.

    For both tracks, the drums are noticeable, but they rarely demand attention—instead, they serve to subtly shift momentum, while the strings and keys act as emotional cues that guide listeners through the album’s many moments of reflection. Even the vocals, echoing and softly drifting throughout the project’s runtime, contribute to this sense of restraint by creating distance that pairs well with the album’s introspective nature. In the process, everything comes together cohesively for an ephemeral, dream-like experience — something that isn’t always a given for full-length debuts, especially from burgeoning bands. But dreaming blue flowers seems surprisingly aware of who they want to be and the sound that they want to make.

    While having a clear identity is mostly positive, the songs on ‘endomorphin’ can sometimes feel too cohesive, often blending into one another with too much ease as if they’re one 40-something-minute song. The same patience that gives the album its dream-like quality also means that the songs often unfold in similar ways, with soft vocals, strings, keys, and adjacent themes occupying much of the same space. As a result, certain tracks sometimes blur together over the album’s runtime. For more present listeners, this might not be an issue, but this project rewards a listener who’s fully present with an immersive experience filled with nuggets of emotion, warmth, and depth.

    And maybe that’s exactly the point. Much like the memories and emotions it draws from, ‘endomorphin’ rarely arrives in sharp focus. Instead, it drifts between moments of clarity and haze, allowing heartbreak, regret, and longing to bleed into one another until they become inseparable. In doing so, dreaming blue flowers puts into sound a difficult truth about healing: our wounds never fully go away — they simply become part of the lives we live.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: Ana Roxanne – Poem 1

    ALBUM REVIEW: Ana Roxanne – Poem 1

    Written by Julia Harumi Kudo

    Ambient music’s signet has always been atmosphere, but we often confuse the word with absence, ergo futile. Brian Eno imagined ambient music as ringings that move like weather, both trivial and essential, a crux for emotion rather than narrative. Even so, the best ambient records are not just background music. They are conditions of being. Ana Roxanne’s music craft understands this much like love, poetry, longing—the old weather systems of being alive. Erstwhile, the mental workings of her preternatural were pinwheeled on identity and being intersex, clad in wistful whimsy and flora. “When I learned that most flowering plants are hermaphrodites, that felt significant to me. I saw flowers in this new sense because they’re universally very beautiful.” And now in ‘Poem 1’, the branches of her trees move with sensuous asceticism, you see colors while listening to it: a weathered beige, perpetual periwinkle for penance, and a faithful trace of undying gold lingering with brushes of lush cymbals. 

    In “The Age of Innocence,” the opening track immediately establishes the album’s crossway. “I wanted to try. And go very far,” revealing existential exile and a desire for newness and transformation, as ambient synths incense the track with slow-moving textures and wuthering tenderness, her voice haunting and leading you into someplace of selfhood across 9 tracks of soundscape salvation. “Berceuse in A-flat Minor, Op. 45” keeps this atmosphere as Ana Roxanne plays with the imagery of fog, making the intangible feel physical but also contained. “My pre-performance ritual is to just be alone with my thoughts in a quiet room,” Ana Roxanne said at The Kitchen in New York with Axel Arigato. You can hear that solitude all over this record, not loneliness, but chosen aloneness: the mind becoming its own room, its own inkwell, its own thunder. One of the album’s visceral nuclei, “Keepsake,” dawns delicate piano chords and a restrained vocal performance. “Oh, I can never reach you. I’ll keep it this way.” Her ‘Ooh’s’ are lush and sensuous, completely angelic. She sings about it not being over, something that we’ve all heard, ignored, and felt before, but Ana Roxanne’s manifesto in yearning is something you cannot look away from. The piano progression permits the track to sing its heart, maybe not out loud, but in a half-formed dream, where she could write the person into permanence, in forever. “I can never reach you. So I’ll keep a piece bеside me,” immortalizing the memory and putting it into a heart-shaped box because turning it into a memento is the safest way of loving it, nothing can break, and it would never leave. But silence has always been the preferred language of longing. “X”, with its ambient echo texture, gives you time to think while the long synth pads give you time to listen. A sound that might be nothing or might be the beginning of the unfailing. 

    By the 6th track, “One Shall Sleep”, Ana Roxanne has reached deliverance; she’s done remembering, the waves have set her free. “Free of pain. Heaven has ’til morning.” She gives us an experience, a song, poetry, and a promise, the verging violin and the strings lacing together with whisperings of life’s noblesse. The sacral musing continues in one of the album’s strongest tracks, “Cover Me,” with a choral vocal arrangement and a ceremonious synth tone, cradling the ear in wishful prophecy. Praying, not necessarily to a God or a person, but toward the air, toward knowing that we are small-longing beings, but the world saves if you believe.

    In helix, the world of ‘Poem 1’ alone narrowly reached skyward nor revealed the spirit it twisted; the figment of it felt like it exists beyond naming, beyond ether — an ache to be one with the wind, to restore the invincible because hope is the thing with feathers, yet, never, in extremity, it begs for a bit of your identity.

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  • ALBUM REVIEW: Petalbyte – <10><

    ALBUM REVIEW: Petalbyte – <10><

    Written by Adrian Jade Francisco

    There are albums that orbit the current electropop, glitchpop, and hyperpop system—built from a familiar vocabulary of glossy synths, glitch-warped vocals, and internet-age immediacy. ‘<10><’ by Petalbyte sits right in that circuitry, carrying the kind of ambition that suggests a debut overclocking its own design. 

    Straight out of the startup screen, “intro & consum” opens to dictate the identity of Petalbyte’s catalog, shimmering layers, tight drum programming, and abrupt transitions. The mix sounds like someone taught a laptop how to have feelings and then immediately overwhelmed it in “girl just quit music already.” Those aforementioned production personalities are seen further in “this song found you” with its digital friction of a chorus. “Close enough” anchors the album’s volatility with an infectious hook that restrains the maximalist bursts. 

    Although it is only 33 minutes and 33 seconds long, Petalbyte succeeds in maintaining momentum without any noticeable drag. She manages to translate the genre’s sonic dialect that feels distinctly hers. It remains evident how the electropop artist has honed her sound into a production style and character she can truly claim as her own, despite how ‘<10><’ can remind you of Ninajirachi or underscores.

    Amid an oversaturated era of electropop projects, ‘<10><’  successfully cuts through with a surprising sense of clarity. It doesn’t overwhelm the space—it simply renders itself more sharply than most of what surrounds it.

    Petalbyte wastes no time in making her artistic intent clear from the outset of her debut album. There’s no sense of tentative introduction; instead, the project arrives fully formed, already operating with electronic music that feels deliberate rather than exploratory.  If anything, you could say, “girl, just keep making music.”

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