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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