Written by Anika Maculangan Having been in the game for a while, LUSTBASS delivers new intonations of soulful jazz and R&B modulations into the sphere of what is contemporary in style. A proclamation of lush beats, innerspace is the conglomeration of fruitful collaborations amongst the artist himself with other seminal artists like Jess Connelly, Jason Dhakal, Fern., Cavill, RJ Pineda, Waiian, Akio Rene, Nicole Anjela, and ((( O ))). Just when summer has ended, it makes us anticipate the next one even more, with this relaxed, beachy, and casual expression of sound. Effortless, wavy, and adjacent to chillwave, LUSTBASS explores the multitude of areas that the downward tempo scale of pop can encapsulate, if done right. With its easy-going, almost nonchalant ambiance, innerspace is a composed way of merging the stoical with the serene, in a more or less, leisurely mellowness. Known for his keen, cutting-edge approach to the assembly of rhythm, LUSTBASS best demonstrates this skill in this motley of modish, sophisticated indication of experience and background of joint teamwork with other fellow artists. Some tracks are more atmospheric than others like Yeyuhh, the album is transcendental in the sense that it touches every ounce of one’s attention to notation. Motioning from one switch to the next, the songs in this collection flow with immeasurable poise and flair. Not often are producers given the full stage in most cases of how we laud them in the Philippine context, but in the case of LUSTBASS, this awareness of the man behind is well apparent. In LUSTBASS’ signature polishness, it’s swift for one to recognize LUSTBASS’ appeal to reverberation from a mile away. In addition, the vocalists he collaborates with in this album, bring out even more, the smoothness of his instrumentals. Having previously collaborated with some of these artists LUSTBASS displays his propensity to apply his personal touch in all of his projects — a sharp, crisp, melodious harmony of percussion and refined grandeur. This album comprises tracks that anyone could bring with them to a vacation, and not regret it, because it’s a concise dash of opulence that is not too pronounced but just the right amount to make the sky appear broader. Brightly colored, like fresh tangerine or sand along the coastline, LUSTBASS has a certain character to his musicality, that is funky, fun, and vibrant. It instantly brings us to our feet and makes us want to start the day with an uplifting temperament. If only we could make LUSTBASS’ interspace our alarm sound to waking up every morning — so that we’d be more energized to jump back into productivity. Support the art & artist:
Tag: Album Review
ALBUM REVIEW: Shanne Dandan – Kung Iyong Mamarapatin
Written by Louis Pelingen Post-breakups leave everyone in touch with who they are. The pronounced pang of the breakup leaves a specific question on whether or not they are still worthy of falling in love, as well as if there is still a possibility of finding that romantic presence in the future. It’s an internal reflection that one must try to think deeply not just by wading through their introspections, but also by looking for an outlet that will help them release those deep-seated thoughts. After all, the path to searching for that answer and peace is shown in different ways – through conversations, poetry, films, music, etc. In perusing through this heartbreak, Shanne Dandan uses the outlet of music to allow her emotional undercurrent to spill through. On Kung Iyong Mamarapatin, she embraces a balanced set of contemporary smooth soul and vintage Manila sound that careens through with her stirring vocal runs, paired with well-composed song structures and supple production touches to allow Shanne’s presence become languishing within these mostly pretty soundscapes. Creating a well-structured flow that provides momentum to stumble less and lets these songs glide with their comforting grace. The quicker rhythmic shuffle of “Iyakin” from the drum passages and bass licks accompanies the glistening synth patches and Shanne’s sparking vocal deliveries that always cut through the striking hook, the wistful introspection of “What do I do with you?” with the waves of sweet synths and keys flying through the gentle melodies, the soulful glimmer of “di na babalik sa’yo” where the vocals pick up a self-assuring tone that very much fits with the sharper melodic snaps of the song, the genuinely pretty cover of Cherie Gil’s “Boy, I Love You” that’s laced with charming vocal coos amidst the gentler set of grooves and synth swells, and “Kung Iyong Mamarapatin” ending the record with a newfound sense of confidence running through the layers of lead melodies, backing vocals, and soaring instrumental flourishes. This set of songs eventually builds up the arc that Shanne Dandan has placed down, focusing on moving past a break-up where she self-doubts if she is worthy of happiness and love within future happenstance despite keeping up that smile that’s ever so fragile, yet she knows that it’s a step that leads her to slowly recover. Then, after “Gemini (Reprise)” Shanne finally regains her voice where she can confront that ex-partner, leaving them behind as she now finds a sense of joy in finally being able to speak up for herself and taking the next step forward to moving past that memory. And it is in “Kung Iyong Mamarapatin” wherein, through writing these songs, it is a way for her to recognize that she is still worthy of being loved. In creating music, she can sing these songs out for herself and pave a path where she’ll finally be able to settle into a relationship that she knows she is worthy of being in. Although, as much as the melodies, writing, and performances do give this album its charm, two problems distract away from that charm. For one, there could’ve been at least a few more songs that could give more weight to the arc of the album, especially as the songwriting does go for broader lyrical details and the album is already running a bit too short to land the emotional resonance it wants to impart. For two, it mostly comes from the production and how it treats the instrumentation of the record, where the mixing only lets the drums and guitars sound way too faint, and how there are points where there’s a lack of tender textural presence that would benefit certain songs – most notably on cuts like “Kung Iyong Mamarapatin” where the stiff drums are paired with thin sounding hand claps and “Boy, I Love You” that has these shaky vocal dubs that sadly pulls away from the magnetic presence that Shanne Dandan brings through her endearing performances. By the end of that, however, Kung Iyong Mamarapatin is sprinkled with potential that Shanne Dandan has showcased throughout the record, whether as a captivating singer and songwriter elevated further with melodies worth listening to. It’s just a shame that the production and brief runtime don’t build more of the emotional staying power that this album really wants to show, especially when there are moments where that resonance shines through in spades. Moving past that heartbreak reveals something special for everyone, validating their worth in finding that newfound love, and resurfacing the joy that provides everlasting comfort. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: switchbitch – Silang
Written by Jax Figarola For rap duo switchbitch, subversion means crossing the boundaries within the existing political realities in the Philippines from the bottom up. Their debut album Silang – under the genres of conscious/political hip-hop and experimental hip-hop – focuses on making its listeners confront known truths of oppression and systemic inequality, particularly the struggles faced by them as part of the working class. They refuse to compromise their overt socio political messages with forced rhymes or flashy wordplay. Instead, relatable personal narratives of class struggle and resistance run through the lyrics that make the album symbolic yet accessible. There was no need for political jargon or buzzwords that people from all sides of the political spectrum can understand; just critiques of devastating realities that everyone endures under state-sponsored structural violence. With “Koro” as an incendiary prelude and its dense layers of bass, the urgency to address the political realities is immediately established. It meant that the album and its themes should be expected not to be taken lightly. My personal favorites are “Reklamador” and “Ano Na Plano Mo?”, both expressing the precariousness of everyday life, especially for artists and laborers trapped in a system that strives for exploitation. While Filipinos are subjected to structural violence, this system demands our survival at the cost of accepted exploitation—and how the duo transformed lament and critique into performance shouldn’t just be admired as is. Switchbitch wants its listeners to be moved to action by the intensity of the beats, the aggression of vocal delivery, and the sharpness of their lyrics. Yet Silang is not content with remaining alone in anger and resistance. The duo recognizes that vulnerability within the movement brings comfort. Loving one’s nation also means wishing that the state’s incompetence doesn’t stand in the way of personal, romantic love, something switchbitch reflects in tracks like “Irene” and “my bb.” The former, reminiscent of their song “Kang Seulgi” from the Pasintabi EP, is referential to their love for K-Pop group Red Velvet as a couple of lesbians (and really, who doesn’t love Red Velvet?). But nevertheless, it’s a pause from the relentless beats and rhymes, but the political theme never paused. Even a simple act like spending time with a loved one is undercut by the harsh realities of working and wanting money to survive in an unforgiving economy. Lastly, the title track and revolutionary song “Silang” finally anchors the album with a tear-jerking vulnerability that many activists do experience in real life. Subdued guitar strums accompany the duo’s framing of sacrifice as both an individual burden and a collective responsibility, like seeds for future generations. A vocal interlude from different comrades of the movement closes the track and the album, delivering an uplifting reminder that everything will be worthwhile in the end. The unrelenting resistance embodied in the ten songs leading up to this moment carries the weight of fear and contradictions many activists face. Yet, through this powerful project, switchbitch urges everyone to stand in solidarity with one another in the face of those anxieties, emphasizing that even in fear of the state, the collective struggle must continue. Silang performs acts of resistance not just through its lyrics but also in the structure of its sound. The dissonance, the unpredictability, the stellar beat from a tin can drums in “BoboCop,” and the chaos of the production reject the polished aesthetics in mainstream Philippine hip-hop. However, it’s imperative to understand that not everyone may want to listen to harsh political truths or find revolutionary political hip-hop albums good or listenable. But for those who have the prerogative to be moved to action, the album becomes an invitation to reflect, resist, and ultimately, reshape a future grounded in solidarity and collective liberation. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
ALBUM REVIEW: Sica – GO SEE GOD
Written by Elijah P. On “Go See God”, Sica’s faith and love for the game are at a crossroads. Tip-toeing between fame, personal growth, the trust between family and their cohorts, and the community unfolding before his very eyes. At his expense, this is a result of Sica contemplating his own position as a family man, as a businessman and as a performer. It’s one responsibility after the other, ultimately leaving all the decision-making to the high almighty himself, the central figure of the entire project. “Go See God” sees itself trying to reach a higher state, quite literally reaching billboard status, where the hemispheres of heaven are at the reach of his fingertips. Resulting in a divine intervention of events that led him to where he is today. It’s a lot to absorb and you may find it anywhere in any hip-hop project. However, “Go See God” is different in the extent of the scene today – It doesn’t flex, it improves. It’s not just “chill” for the sake of a mood algorithm. It elevates the story to different heights. The production on the one hand carries heavily. It’s told through experiments of contemporary r&b, hypnotizing passages of phonk and psychedelia, and full band live setups: a full-length record where the sonic and production choices shine through. In previous releases, the Greenhouse Records and Kartellem affiliate has always stayed sonically dormant early on in his career. Bonus track closer “Opmat” featuring Waiian bookends and at the same time starts the album in a loop proving everyone wrong mood-wise. “Hue For Ya” was a colorful, icy-cold taste test, “Go See God” was the full course. Going by the monikers “Baby Blu” and “Prettyboypacino”, he lives the life with the chalice on the one hand and a hundred bands on the other, proving that living the fast life could lead you to the grave in “Intro”; “Bukas Pa” grooves in hopes for living another day; the title track “Go See God” rides through the clouds under the influence of phonk and a tasteful string section; “Young Stunna Inalude” eases its way in boom-bap; album highlights “Bad to the Bone” and “25 (Still Alive)” exemplifies the range of Sica’s crooning and strong hook game. After sitting 36 minutes throughout the dark of its after-hours, Sica hopes that everyone listening would be praying for his soul. He himself would testify that he isn’t alone in the journey at night. “Go See God” is a redemption arc in his story, this is an address to his younger self: “Hindi ako matakot mamatay/ Takot ako kung san ako pupunta/ But fuck it baby, we still alive/ At bahala na kung ako ang mauuna”. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: DJ Love – Budots World (Reloaded)
Written by Jax Figarola Sherwin Tuna, better known as DJ Love, has spent years at the forefront of budots, a genre he helped pioneer straight from the slums of Davao. His first full-length album “Budots World (Reloaded),” captures both the genre’s origins and its future as a globally recognized electronic dance music subgenre. This album features 15 tracks, with eight brand-new releases and a handful of others previously released as music videos, featuring the talented Camus Girls on DJ Love’s YouTube channel. At its core, budots is the sound of the streets. Its bouncy, fast-paced beats draw from the urban chaos of Davao where DJ Love grew up and made music. The sounds of geckos, birds, dogs, car alarms, the rhythms of Badjao music, and even the hawking of traveling street vendors all find their way to be sliced and mixed by Sherwin. Tracks like “TiwTiw” highlight this raw and relentless energy, with samples pulled straight from the environment that inspired DJ Love’s earliest works. In “Singko Ni Wang Balod2x Budong Bass,” for example, he samples the rhythmic repetition of a street vendor selling items for five pesos (tagsingko). Meanwhile, in “Sabak sa DJ Basuri,” one of my personal favorites, samples the song that trucks use to play with their vehicle horns. Budots, as DJ Love himself puts it, is “pang squatter”–music that reflects the lived experiences of the urban poor. The everyday cacophony of street life gets transformed into something vibrant and danceable, thanks to FL Studio on DJ Love’s computer, his mother’s skyrocketing electricity bills from all those long production sessions, and his nearby internet café. But budots is more than just a collection of sounds; it’s a social movement. When DJ Love first created the genre in 2004, his vision went beyond music. Starting out as a dance instructor in Davao, he saw firsthand how youth from impoverished backgrounds were drawn into gang life. Budots, with its bold, freestyle dance moves mimicking gang fights, became an alternative way to channel aggression and gain recognition (“sumikat”) without resorting to violence. This gave rise to the Camus Boys and Camus Girls, dance groups formed by DJ Love. On the 32-second track “Camus Girls Interlude,” one of the dancers reflects on how budots shaped her, saying it’s the music she grew up with and hopes others can be inspired by it. The central part of budots as a dance culture in Davao is that it empowers communities, as DJ Love’s has always championed through his “No To Drugs, Yes To Dance” mantra in his performances and music videos. Furthermore, the album also looks outward and beyond Visayas and Mindanao. DJ Love’s performance at the Boiler Room x Manila Community Radio in 2023 was a watershed moment both for him and the genre. That officially brought the genre into the global electronic scene. For him, this is the fulfillment of a long-held dream—to take budots everywhere. But even before that, it has already been recognized in Southeast Asian TikTok. This rise in popularity, which I call the “TikTokification of Budots,” plays a big part in the production of Budots World (Reloaded). We now have people around the world dancing budots, albeit incorrectly at first, to Emergency Budots, or AI cats dancing to a truck horn budots mix (is anyone else’s FYP plagued by these?) Nevertheless, DJ Love constantly finds new sounds and popular crazes to mix and sample, often titling his budots mixes on YouTube as “TikTok Viral,” which other budots DJs and producers also do for the algorithm. TikTok is exactly the app where viral dance trends that use budots and Southeast Asian electronic dance music, such as the Thai saiyor and Indonesian dangdut, helped accelerate the trajectory of Sherwin to evolve the sound into new heights. Not only does the album incorporate the drum patterns of Badjao music, but it also pulls from electronic dance influences across Southeast Asia and beyond. Particularly, the album’s closing and a personal standout track “Higher State” heavily integrates the distinctive sound of acid and acid house genres to the distinct sound of budots. Despite the experimentation, the YouTube video for the track, featuring the Camus Girls, keeps it grounded, accessible, and budots-able. Similarly, the original tracks like “Lead Techno,” “Botleg,” and “Kit Kit Koko” lean more into techno territory but still maintain budots’ signature rhythms and the essential catchy high-pitched “tiw-tiws” and synth hooks. Having more instrumentation and no sampled lyrics, these original tracks made the album more nuanced as a budots genre. Additionally, budots pulls all these EDM and techno influences into a palatable Filipino sound, making it not just a genre but a cultural staple “na pang-masa.” Christmas parties, bayles, diskohans, fiestas, ligas, and barangayans (and sometimes, Zumba sessions) are social gatherings where budots is danced boldly, often looked down by outsiders to the culture who are often classists and conservatives, as immoral and crass. However, as it gains international recognition among EDM enthusiasts, it’s clear that this growing appeal is helping to reshape perceptions. Now that budots has moved beyond Visayan-speaking regions and into places like Metro Manila’s rave scenes, its rising popularity among clubgoers could signal a deeper appreciation for homegrown Filipino music and culture. But I hope that this increasing fame never overshadows the genre’s roots and its transgressive, often peculiar and grotesque nature. The genre was born out of Davao’s slums, and it is what makes it truly special. As it continues to evolve with DJ Love’s album and reaches new audiences, it’s important to remember the humor, defiance (such as the banning of uto-uto jeepneys that played budots during Rodrigo Duterte’s time as Davao mayor), and street-level ingenuity gave the genre its life. The heart of budots lies in its ability to disrupt the norms of both music and dance culture in the Philippines. One thing is clear: after diving deep into Budots World (Reloaded), DJ Love has managed to hold onto the whimsical energy that defines budots while skillfully blending new influences. The ethos
ALBUM REVIEW: crwn – Séance
Written by Louis Pelingen Sometimes, it takes a while for an act to put out their debut record. Case in point, King Puentesmina – also known as crwn – has been a veteran within the local music scene. He is known not just for his ability as a drummer of SOS, but also as a producer and songwriter in his own right. Building up his portfolio under the crwn alias since 2013, carving his identity as a producer whose ability towards crafting beats with soulful textures and enough melodic space for everyone willing to swing by and contribute their vocals on his well-crafted instrumentals. This allowed him to collaborate with numerous artists throughout the years, which only allowed him to expand his open space in creating beats that slot within other genres and is an opportunity to continue refining his skill as a producer – improving upon the textures and the melodies that he has shaped. Since then, he has gotten more acclaim and recognition as a producer, and his production credits have only gotten bigger and bigger, yet it will take a while for a debut album to eventually manifest, up until this year. Séance is the long-awaited debut album that crwn has been working on for 5 years ever since he put out his Orchid beat tape back in 2018, pulling together an assortment of flavorful instrumentals with a full stack of collaborators pulling up vocal melodies within these diverse dance-ready beats. It’s essentially a project that places crwn as the producer who’s able to bring these old and new collaborators together and nestle them to his crafted beats that showcase how much he has gotten better as a producer for a long time. His attention to texture has only gotten fuller and warmer, his attention to mixing is consistent – never taking the clear scope of the vocals and instrumentation, and his melodic sensibilities have excelled – always making the grooves as sharp as they can get. Given the feature-heavy element on the album, there is the looming question of how much these collaborators will be able to stick the landing – whether that be the long-familiar collaborators such as Jess Connelly, August Wahh, and Curtismith, or the more recent collaborators such as LONER, Jolianne, and TALA – fortunately, for the most part, they do manage to aim high. Their writing manages to consistently stay within the simple themes of longing romance and their vocal performances do manage to shine within crwn’s production palette, eventually leading to quality spilling forth. The drum and bass splash of ‘Good Enough’ where Jason Dhakal’s silky vocal touch ups works for the frustrated relationship exit that the song aims for, The 80s house tune of ‘Wish It Never Ends’ where Olympia’s hushed delivery creates a romantic allure in the dancefloor – a characteristic that’s clearly reminiscent of Jessie Ware in a positive way, the bouncy groove of ‘Honey’ that has enough striking melody and space for August Wahh to rap and sing about needing that passionate intimacy with an assured confidence, the slow-building electronica of ‘Waiting For You’ with its buzzier synth melodies, shuffling drum patterns, and acoustic strums that overall coalesce for LONER’s longing delivery for the need to communication to connect through, and the emotive, dreamy melodic swells of ‘Dreaming Of You’ from TALA’s soothing vocals and shuffling instrumentation that ramps up to the potent hook does manage to work, especially with the song trying to put a semblance of comfort towards how love heals and changes people. And while the album is certainly consistently well-produced and put together, it doesn’t always go all the way to the top, mostly due to two things. The small quibbles in certain songs where are certain elements that could’ve been tweaked better: the lyrical flair on ‘Rooftops In Paris’ where Curtismith’s flexing doesn’t carry as much resonance and can be quite disconnected amidst the other songs that touch upon the yearnings or frustrations within relationships, the hook on ‘Another Day’ that can sound quite clunky despite Jolianne’s jumpy vocalisations really giving her all to make it stand out, and the fleeting immediacy of ‘Feel Something’ that could’ve fleshed out a little bit more given how Nadine Lustre’s breathy vocals and the overall melody of the song does come out pretty good. Then there are the big ones that hamper the album back. The shaky momentum where after ‘Wish It Never Ends’, the album structure starts to become more languid, with certain songs such as the pure instrumental ‘Ouroboros’ really putting a dent in the momentum moving forward. But there is also the overall sound that crwn favors to create in the record, full of UK Garage, Drum and Bass, and House elements that he does manage to pull off extremely well, but not exactly in a way that’s remarkable as he could’ve added intriguing ideas within these beats that could allow these already good tracks become spectacular. But as a debut project that crwn perceives as an updated version of his style of production since Orchid, Séance does deliver in that assessment as his ability in putting together melodies, textures, and genre variations has improved, allowing his collaborators to give really good performances within these collection of instrumentals. At the same time, certain issues does take away the sparking flair that the album mostly has, eventually resulting in the project not as striking as it should’ve been. Despite the waning structure, this séance is still able to successfully communicate to the spirits, letting everybody’s sense of yearning keep on growing deeper. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Juan Karlos – Sad Songs and Bullshit Part 2
Written by Louis Pelingen The story within Sad Songs and Bullshit hasn’t ended just yet. When Juan Karlos released the first part of Sad Songs and Bullshit, it showcased a soaring high in terms of streaming metrics when “ERE” broke through the local Spotify charts, proving that he can still make songs that can still slide into everybody’s playlist and listening routine where they can sing along to that ridiculously effective hook, but the music and narrative just does not follow through in the same way. There are a few quality standouts where the potential can be pieced together such as “Paruparo” and “Gabi,” but the oversold performances paired with the non-descript sound and the broad post-breakup narrative where Juan Karlos starts getting way self-pitiful just creates a sour touch that makes the album quite messy to go through. So to follow through the first part, Juan Karlos managed to put the second part of Sad Songs and Bullshit, finally completing the overall picture of this arc. If Sad Songs and Bullshit Part 1 relied upon its bombast to carry through Juan Karlo’s attitude with this breakup, Sad Songs and Bullshit Part 2 saddles its sound within a generally low-key and intimate foundation, eventually creating a followthrough where the sadness takes place after the bitter emotions of part 1. However, just like the first part, the overall array of these songs doesn’t have enough interesting flair to provide. Still carrying the tepid display of acoustic folk-pop that just got way overdone to the ground, specifically with cuts like “Limang Taon” where the inclusion of that zapping synth that doesn’t add to the ending, “Bukas” with its middling shuffling tune, and “Tanga Mo Juan” ending up coasting along even if the presence of backing vocals does add more to its melody. While there are still some variances within this sound alongside Juan Karlos’ adopting a restrained vocal performance that does make some decent enough flair to these songs – the prettier spare flourish of “Kasing Kasing” where the solid grooves and vocal harmonies from Juan Karlos and Kyle Echarri carry some charm, “Tulog Na” where Juan Karlos carries the 2000s pop rock tune really well as the guitars and drums provide some warm texture, “Baka Sakali” with its inclusion of solemn horns is a welcome addition to that song, as well as parts of “Medyo Ako” with its blurry textures and “Bagong Simula” with its bare guitar melody that could’ve worked better if the low end is mixed a bit better – the sound palette just carries a consistently dull note that doesn’t do much with the composition and instrumentation, pushing them back into the background more than ever. And if the sense of sound and instrumentation doesn’t do much for the most part, the narrative certainly doesn’t either. This album continues where it left off in the 1st part, still shouldering the lingering feeling of the overall breakup and where Juan Karlos slowly picks up the pieces of himself as he focuses more on recovering from that breakup. Reflecting upon the overall situation, meeting with that ex after what occurred with the tension now resolved, and finally, moving forward to start anew as he falls in love once again. It’s a clear and simple resolution to the overall arc, but the writing just doesn’t do enough to expound on that in general. Amidst all the bitter attitude that still puts Juan Karlos in a frustrating position where the reflective aspect only comes through in bits and pieces, there is not enough detail to show more layers during this recovery. Sadly, the lack of detail as it relies on broad emotionality is a characteristic that plagues every single song on the album, where a lot of the quaint lovesick moments start to become generic, and what should be a down-to-earth meditation on this heartbreak just comes off as a brief “aha” moment that never goes deeper into untangling his internal musings and emotions. Letting it deflate the impact within this arc as a result. As a whole, Sad Songs and Bullshit Part 2 may have pieced together what Juan Karlos wants to impart within the entire picture where he works through this entire breakup with irrational bitterness and quaint sadness, but there is just not enough distinctive lyrical throughlines and compositional heft to help deepen what Juan Karlos has gone through, where as much as the hooks can stick the landing, the consistent mildew instrumentation where there are only a tad few cuts that really sticks out, the shaky performances that can get more oversold than good, and the generally underwritten writing that relies on the bitter and sad tones without adding dimensions that can deepen the impact and emotions to the story. The second part does balance out the bullshit with the sad, but the overall picture just comes off deflated on an overall scale. With these pieces connected all together, Sad Songs and Bullshit is indeed presented with songs that are both sad and bullshit, just executed in a frustratingly one-dimensional package. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: July XIV – Hunger
Written by Louis Pelingen Six years might be a long time, but the result is worth the wait. July XIV is an indie rock group whose debut project has been waiting in the wings for some time now. Back in 2018, they first put out “Hunger,”, their very first single that carries off a potent rock tune amidst Evee Simon’s tender vocals punching through the vigorous grooves and soothing melodic flair. That song is perhaps the only song they’ll put out in the open during that time, as they have been focused on performing live since then, with more songs that they will eventually bring onto the record. Some of those live songs will be then released in 2022, keeping that upcoming project still bursting with hope after all that silence. 6 years have since passed, and July XIV have finally put together their debut album, charmingly titled after that debut single, Hunger. Running just around 28 minutes, July XIV brought together a tightly-knit package of indie rock cuts, a straightforward enough descriptor executed well through the stronger compositions by members of this band, as well as the production, mixing, and mastering duties by Evee Simon, Kevin Ingco, and Megumi Acorda respectively. Allowing these cuts to have a consistent sound quality, even if the dryness can run together at spots. But nevertheless, the blend of punchy textures paired with contrasting moments between flashy passages and tender moments are at least solid, from the riveting guitar work and solid grooves of “Chainsmoker,” the aforementioned “Hunger” where Evee’s vocals spark every time the song hits the chorus, the grunge flair that pops up on cuts like ‘Belief’ and ‘Deus Ex Machina’ with the meaty guitars smashing through with aplomb, and the string accented ‘(with feeling)’ allows the album to end in a more solemn note as those weary strings anchors a welcome emotive presence within the instrumentation. Ruminating towards the lyricism, the album title “hunger” feels apt for what Evee Simon is reaching out within this album, as her writing focuses on yearning for so much more within life despite the sense of loss and hardships being felt and gathered over time. This focus sticks the landing due to the sharp metaphors intensifying the drive to live within a grounded reality. Clinging towards dreams, memories, and fantasies keeps the protagonist moving onwards which eventually culminates in “No Sugar” where the protagonist ruminates how getting older does make them wiser and stronger, yet that maturity still can’t drift away the pang they still feel towards losing some important to them on ‘Revelations I’. But despite all that, “(with feeling)” put things back to a much more hopeful but also complex scope, where despite questioning the overall spectacle towards what it means to be a musician, it still gives a reason for the protagonist to feel alive—perhaps creating a new dream that they want to achieve sooner rather than later. Despite the cut-and-dry approach to the production alongside the briefness that can leave the back half feeling less stellar as a result, the melodies that July XIV puts into have some invigorating moments, and the lyrical arc that observes and reflects one’s own hardships and yearning to hold on to better things have sharp details that are worth looking into. Hunger as an album might be a double-edged sword, keeping everyone who has waited for this album to feel satisfied on one side but also leaving too much empty space on the other. Yet, when the album does hit its stride – an exceptional one at that – it leaves us hungry for so much more. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Fax Gang + Parannoul – Scattersun
Written by Louis Pelingen When reaching a sense of stability, there is no doubt that it’s sometimes a fleeting moment, a feeling that provides meditation and strength just before everybody has to push forward to the next phase of tension in their lives. On the last projects that Fax Gang and Parannoul have put out, this does ring true as they take a lot more effort to embrace the sense of the calm before the storm: Fax Gang offers more openly brighter melodies and textures on Dataprism and Parannoul moving away from the aghast distorted perks of his debut as he takes more dreamy wistfulness on After The Magic. So now that they’re both under Topshelf Records, the possibility of working once again since their collaboration on the last track of Dataprism feels like a star that can be reached, where the light keeps on burning brightly. And it sure does, as on Scattersun, Fax Gang and Parannoul merge their varying worlds in absolute delight. Within this project, Fax Gang and Parannoul’s musical chemistry bounces off in a way that resonates with their strengths as they leap off into various characteristics that morph into their own being – all filled with post-rock crescendos, eclectic sound design, distinctive production palette, and amorphous genre swervings that Fax Gang and Parannoul just makes it all work. Riding these risky musical ideas that both acts are willing to do, and create an exciting endeavor where those risks are rewarded tremendously, intersecting their creative worlds where they know which parts of their ideas will work and proceed to experiment even further outside of their comfort zone that also manages to stick the landing in a remarkable fashion. ‘Double Bind’ showcases this toast of ideas clearly, with the first half lurking within the familiar bit-crushed soundscape from Fax Gang with PK Shellboy’s vocals rummaging through that chaos, just before it slowly and sleekly transitions to the usual fractured distortion from Parannoul’s part on the back half that also has a jersey club rhythm implemented within, displaying familiar pieces of sound that work around with newer facets of experimentation. This experimentation continues further all across the project, from ‘Quiet’ where PK Shellboy joins within the crisp and bulky alt-rock palette that’s clearly Parannoul’s signature wheelhouse but is wrapped around with warping synths, ‘Lullaby for a Memory’ with the jaunty array of rapid organic breakbeats, wistful synth progressions, and galloping crescendos that spearthrows itself into the skies, ‘Wrong Signal’ where the warbling production creates a cacophonous black hole for Mudd the student of Balming Tiger and PK Shellboy to break through with anxious performances just before the production clears up into a danceable but still suffocating beat, ‘Circular Motion’ takes a mellower tone where both PK Shellboy and Parannoul’s vocals are cushioned within the spare lilting synths and chalky percussion that eventually collapses into a charged EDM instrumental passage that bolts to the end of the song, and ‘Soliloquy’ may as well be the absolute charming cut from album – filled with glorious melodic progressions that can fit into a rhythm game song selection as the sweeping drums and synths glimmer before it cracks and dishevels as it moves along, even adding a random jazz sample that swivels into the cut’s last ecstatic chorus. And even despite ‘Ascension’ and ‘Scattersun’ paling off for different reasons – with the first song that could’ve expanded upon its harmonies and the second song that could’ve sharpened parts of its transitions and melodies, they still manage to land with aplomb as the former cut’s fleeting calmness creaks from its fuzzy textures that never overshadow the performances of every vocalist – gatka’s soothing vocals especially – and the latter cut’s attempt on creating a 10-minute plugging, cloud rap, and drill epic is nothing short of impressive in just going along on that idea and just making it happen. This overall scale is also reinforced within the writing of the record, taking a grand leap as Fax Gang and Parannoul return back into exploring humanistic existential dread that they find themselves lurking within, all with an embrace of abstract metaphors that expound the exhausting emotions even more. There is a desperation to cling to the brighter future that they try to reach as much as possible even despite all the murk that keeps on piling up more and more each day, intensifying the anxious dread that they want to avoid for their sake. Yet it is an attempt of avoidance that they cannot do successfully anymore, especially with the doomed tone displayed on cuts like ‘Wrong Signal’ where internet doom-scrolling will continue to display the destructive parts of reality that they can’t risk to not care about anymore. Thus, it overall colors the bleak aspects within these deeper reflections, whether that be having to mature and moving past their inner child on ‘Lullaby for a Memory’, reaching out to friends and trying to help them out even if they themselves are dealing with their own struggles on ‘Ascension’, and just how accepting a defeatist mindset due to the constant effects of isolation, aging, and ennui in this devastating world soon collapses upon ‘Scattersun’, the darkest cut in the album as there is a realization where the process of reflecting through these harrowing moments don’t seem to make sense anymore and is easier to just find some release in self-harm – a dour thought that’s compounded from the continuous wallowing that pushes everybody else away, and leaves them struggling with not knowing who they are anymore. Eventually concluding on the aptly titled ‘Circular Motion’ as the null in this negative state of mind will persist, a stillness that may never be broken apart where loneliness seems to be the only relief for all of this. As a whole, there is an astoundment that swings around Scattersun and all of its elements. A collaboration that tries to break out of their comfort zone where Fax Gang and Parannoul embrace their wildly varied musical components and
ALBUM REVIEW: Munimuni – Alegorya
Written by Louis Pelingen 5 years after its release, Kulayan Natin is quite the impressive musical landmark for the quintet band Munimuni. Not just because of the breadth of melodic phrasing and comfortable aura that it provides, but the fact that Munimuni was able to put their spin on progressive folk in the local scene and push the sound a little further where the rustic compositions unfold in a fascinatingly majestic fashion that allows the beauty of the emotional resonance from the poetry and performances to captivate with aplomb. However, the band has experienced bumps on the road, taking a needed hiatus due to the isolating lockdown in 2020 and TJ de Ocampo leaving after the band’s comeback in 2021. Since then, the band has taken their time to ruminate what had transpired beforehand as they carefully kept putting more songs on the road as well as adding their new member Ben Ayes in 2023 to contribute more flourish to the band’s instrumental beauty. All of this culminates in the long-awaited sophomore album of Munimuni, Alegorya, and how it mostly retains the progressive tapestries that are usually filled with wondrous melodic swells and buildups that end in fantastic quality, courtesy of the delicate array of woodwinds and acoustics that are twinkling as ever. But there is a shift in the compositions and performances this time around. Adj Jiao’s singing tries to push his vocals in more expressive ranges to pair off with the compositions that have more groove and textures taken from modern indie rock which makes the melodies more tasteful in their direction to go for more immediate swerves, a direction that can become a double-edged sword, especially when the production makes the textures and mixing bit too modestly pristine and tame for its own good and the melodic stripes all across the album may carry some of their usual dynamic progressive tapestries but don’t have the same impactful heft that the band managed to pull together back on their debut album. It doesn’t mean the band doesn’t carry it well enough as they still create flickers of melodic charm. The lilting air of “Sikat ng Araw” is soothing as the vocal harmonies, blurry guitars, and winsome flute melodies are soaked with a warm aura around it, Adj’s vocals build the sense of assured realization as he picks up more bombast on Alegorya, the layered melodic progressions on “Paraiso” successfully leads up to the frenetic solo guitar melody careening off at the end, the overwhelming instrumental freakout on “Alpa” is a welcome surprise as it slowly composes itself before it soars up to the skies with an ecstatic blaze, and the spare acoustics and flutes gliding around Adj Jiao and Barbie Almalbis’ gorgeous vocal harmonies on “Tupa” are terrific even if it could’ve been extended so the string section can have more presence to add more emotional swell to their harmonies instead of being used to accent the atmosphere at the very end of the song. The emotions that were written in the poetry also took a flip as well. Unlike the comforting tones that were embedded all across their debut, this album generally delves into musings of frustration and melancholy. Emotions that put the band in a state of creative burnout on “Respeto’, which eventually leads to the subsequent pieces of writing to feel like an exploration within that gloomy space, providing an introspection towards understanding the range of emotional raft in addition to the existential reflection towards love, life, and identity. All of these are tied together through the imagery of a cave that may serve as the metaphorical personal journey of the band’s introspective process, one that allows the insight and realization to parse through their mind but can also become a limit when it becomes a hideaway that never allows them to move past that melancholy. Yet, amidst all of that sorrow, there is still a consistent cling on yearning to the aspect of love, a presence that despite all odds, gives them hope to move on forward to that dark abyss and come out feeling much better at the end. Creating an emotional throughline that does have its resonance, yet the use of details and imagery could’ve been pushed forward, allowing the moving quality to be intensified as there are spots in the lyricism where the simplistic phrasings don’t exactly support the internal emotional insight that the performances and compositions try to sell. Moving into and out of the darkness, Alegorya pivots around with its sound, performances, and writing to create reflective pieces of the personal struggle that the band works through, pieces that eventually hold together when the specks of melodies and writing manage to stick the landing. As much as parts of the compositions open up the emotions to poignant places, the exploration of this pathos is less stellar, where the production, poetry, and progressions have a semblance of restraint that hides that poignancy rather than open it up much more. The allegory of this journey may be well-defined, but there is a hushness that keeps the feelings from echoing astoundingly. Support the art & the artist: