Written by Adrian Jade Francisco Alt-fusion Wuji Wuji has always been a six-piece defined by motion. Their sonic palette constantly twists, turns, unravels like a loose thread, and is always in flux. From jazz-funk rhythms to the dreamy allure of city-pop, now they’ve peeled it all back, exposing ”NOVISION,” a six-track extended play hot out of the oven: fresh, with a warm, experimental bite. This sophomore release is a deliberate act of destruction and reconstruction, preserving some past elements but shedding the hip-hop influences entirely from “NOSOUL.” Drenched in brooding basslines and reverb-heavy guitar, “Times a Crime” and “Push & Pull” carve the emotional core of the EP. The title track “NOVISION” is to surrender to zero gravity, lost in the space of vocal layers and synths that hum like a distant past. It projects exactly what it needs to: a sense of suspension before the EP concludes, acting as a transition to the second half. “Careless” and “Words Hurt” leave things taut, not unresolved. These tracks lay a pivotal point in the EP, deliberately placing the listener in a state of emotional inertia and reflecting a measured evolution in Wuji Wuji’s sound. “NOVISION” was created during a period of identity struggle for Wuji Wuji, a bold, risky move that marks a turning point in their discography, defying expectations that they would lean further into the city-pop path laid out by 2023’s “Kanluran.” But that shift isn’t a misstep; Instead, it reflects their growing curiosity in production and willingness to explore unfamiliar territory. Wuji Wuji doesn’t just change direction; they embrace uncertainty as part of the process. Whether this marks a sound caught mid-metamorphosis or a new era, “NOVISION” proves that the group admires movement more than comfort, and that’s exactly what makes them worth following. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
Tag: EP Review
EP REVIEW: Clay Birds – a separation from vanity
Written by Anika Maculangan Founded in 2022 by Sam Slater, Italy Jones, Aron Farkas, and Jack Von Bloeker in Mission Viejo, California, five-piece skramz band Clay Birds is onto their sophomore EP, a separation of vanity, a palimpsest which gleams with dissonance and introspection, intimate as it is liberating. separation of vanity begins with “an intuition of morality”, a track that immediately sets you into a dirty basement, sweat flying from slamming bodies of a mosh pit, the heaviness of stomping feet on broken floorboards. The song carries a weathered subtlety, like a memory half-sung on a battered Telecaster; its bitter, wistful texture echoing the kind of late-night conversation you’d only dare to have beneath a spray-painted-over bridge, when it’s too dark to see each other’s faces but too honest to look away. As the EP progresses, Clay Birds’ sound is revealed not in nuance but in imperfection, sharp energy that’s like being pushed off a bike or your heart racing through the seams of a t-shirt. Every song is peeling away, a slash into the emotional undertow of being young. The tracks pose as an unraveling, taking you through the architecture of what has come undone. Each song arrives unearthed, dismantled, plunging you into its entropy. The music doesn’t come out as complete or polished. Rather, it seeps through, and invites people to bask in the mess through the acceptance of being unfinished together. What you hear is reminiscent of cut-short and picked-up conversations from venues, voice calls, and basement shows. It’s built with the rigid kind of faith that only exists between people who’ve gone through the same pain and somehow ended up at the show. Spoken in glances and gestures, in the nods around a circle pit, in the soothing silence when the set ends, it’s a project that insists: you’re not alone. These are not songs sung over a crowd but with them, music which depends on the listener’s openness to feel, to shatter, to mend in tandem. There’s a very real sense of every single line having been written in a room full of friends screaming the same thing at once, each of them taking the words because they’d written them themselves. The EP is not simply a recording of hardship; it’s a recording of being close enough to another person’s agony that it becomes your own. It’s not catharsis by distance but radical empathy. Even with its rough-around-the-edges demeanor, this is hardly a “noise” EP as you might anticipate. The language itself is the heft in this case, pulling on you instead of shoving away, evoking the spirit of unity. This culture of sharedness is at the center of the band. On their Bandcamp, there is a short sentence that reads: “Birds of the same feather flock together.” It’s a slogan, naturally, but something more. It reads as if it’s a manifesto. Clay Birds traces back to a more wide-ranging Gen Z DIY skramz ecosystem where communality is at the backbone of everything. Whether it’s through collaboration or collective effort, it’s in these relationships that the scene is rich, not competitive but cooperative. Pilfer their overlaps with bands like Composition Booklet and Kiowa, who the band shares members with. Not to mention their joint release with Knumears, where the sky meets you. By the same token, there is their commitment to DIY. Take for example their 2022 cover of iwrotehaikusaboutcannibalisminyouryearbook. The clip is didactic in its austerity: a cymbal to which a microphone is duct-taped, an unadorned, visual paean to the spartan aesthetic that characterizes the scene. DIY in this instance isn’t about utility but about authenticity, about not sanding off what makes the music sincere. Although considered one of the younger generations within the scene, Clay Birds continues a philosophy that has defined the scene for decades now: vulnerability, urgency, presence. It’s this devotion that brings their music back to haunt you long after the final note has disappeared, leaving not just sound, but the sense of something real, something felt behind. A band that challenges you to listen with more than your ears, but with whatever is still left of you that aches. Their cries form not chaos but concord, a solemn pact that, despite everything, the kids are alright. Why do I like it? Because it allows me to think out loud, and more importantly, do so alongside others. Not to be heard, but seen. Which reminds me — this is what life is all about. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
EP REVIEW: Jess Connelly – fool’s gold
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol The interlude of “fool’s gold,” the latest EP from R&B singer-songwriter Jess Connelly, is a song that speaks of unconditional love. In under two minutes, she lays down creeds of a committed monogamy with somebody in spite of the vultures circling around them. The lyrics sung are the words we say to a lover when we know there is trust between the two of you, when acts of love need not be asked and feel like they just fall into place. But putting it another way, these are the things we say to ourselves when we hold on to a stagnating relationship, when complacency sets in, and feelings turn lukewarm. Now you’re desperate to keep the relationship steady, but you know it’s not getting any better, what with the permeating silence and all the lit matches ready to catch a moth. The honeymoon is over, which is why it makes sense that Jess named this track “indelulude.” This interlude is the turning point that bridges the two halves of a collection of songs in which Jess details the life cycle of a love that’s too good to be true: a rendezvous with a flame too thrilling to pass up on, too selfish to settle down with, but too powerful to forget. “fool’s gold” delivers this story upon a backdrop of class and elegance that we’ve come to expect from a Jess Connelly project, provided here by long-time collaborator LUSTBASS. The moody atmosphere of the music and the greyscale cover art bring a noir feel to the EP, especially with the live instrumentation of the opening track “flow.” The sense of space brought by recording a live band, drawn particularly from the cymbal-heavy drumming, complements the feeling of wonder and excitement in wanting to get close to someone new, as though we see two people cozying up to each other at a bar. But it doesn’t take long for mischief to set in. On “fool me twice,” we find that this new person has wandering eyes, and we get a feeling that what the two have between them may not be as serious as she had hoped it to be. Nevertheless, she sticks around for a while, spellbound by a one-sided fling with somebody she couldn’t refuse. But after this hallucination drifts in and out for the last time on “indelulude,” Jess has decided enough is enough. “never fall in love again” talks about the aftermath of this love affair, in which she makes it clear to her former lover that he will feel the absence of her unconditional love. But that doesn’t mean his absence hasn’t affected her either: after getting into a few rebounds, she reveals she might not be able to find true love just yet. The final stage of grief is acceptance, and in the closing track “let the bird fly,” Jess confesses that the time she spent with this man was unforgettable. Over a jittery drum break, we see her rekindle things with him despite everything she learned about people like him throughout this EP. This is the part where the real delusions set in, where acceptance is taken as a chance to blindly start over with someone who will never change and has taught another to do the same. Likewise, “fool’s gold,” in its intoxicating drama set to a warm, cozy score, is a project you will come back to again and again. Jess Connelly’s impeccable writing and composition, combined with LUSTBASS’s ear for space and instrumentation, have produced the perfect soundtrack to get you through a failed relationship, where you’re hung up on the things that could’ve been with someone you needed to get away from. Which brings us to the waltz-like beat at the end of the EP. It goes on for a few bars until it abruptly stops, slowing down like a record no one wants to hear again. Did Jess break the cycle? Were the events in the last song just all in her head? We can only guess the answers to these questions because the story is over. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
EP Review: SAJKA – Weed&Melodies
Written by Nikolai Dineros Another breakout song in the charts, and Imperial Manila is put on notice by the South yet again. The culprit this time is one Bacoor representative, SAJKA (Sajka Jamaiah Formaran). Though his hit single “Nicotine” is making huge waves in local hip-hop’s algorithmic sphere, SAJKA brings more to the table than TikTok-core bait. Perhaps SAJKA’s table is one filled with residues between tiny crevices and paper rolls rather than ashtrays because “Nicotine” is thematically the farthest you can get from understanding the artistry SAJKA is trying to achieve in his latest EP, Weed&Melodies. The EP is a reggaeton project at its core with the occasional nods to afrobeat and funk, courtesy of Southrow Music producer ODMADEIT. There is no fine print. It is mostly weed and all melodies. Adjacencies to the respiratory system and bad habits aside, the EP is packaged, rolled, and passed along as a THC trip, with explicit references to cannabis use and its effects, and without a single care about the forces under the state’s payroll. SAJKA even takes you on a ride-along in the standout track “Masid.” While the concept is solid on paper, showing SAJKA’s strong potential as a genre-crossing visionary, the EP sometimes falls flat in execution. As a post-release single, “Bogsame” shows signs of fatigue from its initial run, with the song having offered barely anything that hasn’t already been explored in other tracks released prior (you may also look up tracks “Up and Down” and “Masid” that capture the same vibe but better). Even as an opening track, the candidness mixed with the self-indulgence of the ‘me and my friends are high as fuck’ attitude runs its course as quickly as it was introduced, only to make a better comeback in subsequent songs. SAJKA, however, stands out when he fully embraces his reggae calling. “Horns” and “Burnin Paradise” are great displays of the artist in his element, paying homage to the genre he’s inspired by without losing authenticity. There is still the curious case of the EP’s journeyman single. Despite the thematic incongruence already discussed above and the subtle genre shift, “Nicotine” — a hip-hop song first, a reggae song never — is still far from being a black sheep figure in the track list. Its success in the charts is undeniable, and its placement is only to the benefit of SAJKA, as it turns people’s heads to him and his more divergent undertaking. Hence, it plays the journeyman role. But given the state that it’s in, sticking out like a sore thumb in the track list, it is rather interesting that it even exists in the first place. With just as much grasp of information as a common listener, I can only theorize as to why that is the case, of which I have a handful: First, “Nicotine” is an early prototype of Weed&Melodies before they went full reggae, and it somehow made the final cut. Secondly, reggae — even with its hip-hop overtones — is a hard sell, and “Nicotine” was used as an anchor to make it palatable for their target audiences. Lastly (and on a less serious yet more absurd note), tobacco may simply have a larger revenue share than weed in the Philippine stimulants market with more regulatory backing, thus attracting more potential listeners from a larger consumer base. SAJKA is on a path of reinventing himself from just another laidback rapper in Cavite’s already saturated scene with like-minded contemporaries to a convention-breaking fusion artist. With a heavy background in hip-hop and a growing appreciation for adjacent genres like reggae, dance, and funk, “Nicotine” may just be part of the equation to a bigger calling that Weed&Melodies alludes to. Who knows? It might take a few more ‘hits’ before SAJKA reaches that eureka moment. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
EP REVIEW: jucu – tanging alaala
Written by Elijah P. Solo artist jucu doesn’t fake it. His latest EP, tanging alaala, plays like a memory dragged into the present—half-faded, half-reconstructed, but it doesn’t pretend to be authentic. The “distant memories” he sketches out aren’t framed through nostalgia but through the raw texture of alternative sounds. These are genres that doubled as both shelter and symptom during the post-pandemic ennui: post-punk, shoegaze, indie-folk, and other guitar-led corners of the scene. It’s a familiar palette for Gen Z’s genre-hopping musicians—the ones who aren’t afraid to twist the template and upload the results straight to the void (for this case, his expansive discography on his Soundcloud account). tanging alaala reads like a dare. It’s a direct translation: “only memory.” Obvious? Sure. But it works because jucu doesn’t try to cloak honesty in metaphor. The name is a low-hanging fruit, but sometimes, that’s where the sweetness is. From the opening tracks, “Insomnia” and “Salubong ng Ating Mata,” jucu shoves expectations aside; Drum machines sprint, and the acoustic riffs snap into reverb-heavy guitar washes. The production jolts, but it holds together. “Cookies and Cream,” the EP’s centerpiece, sprawls out at six minutes—a dangerous length for a young artist worth their salt in sticking to one sound—but jucu makes it land. The track meanders through hazy shoegaze into a kind of misted-over noise rock, his vocals ghostly, but it so happens to stay grounded throughout the entire thing. By the time “our love has faded away” hits, the emotional terrain feels more regional than imported, it is transformed into post-punk grown from local soil instead of borrowed from across the ponds of the revivalists of the North Americas (think Beat Happening, Surf Curse or even Voxtrot) or even the cloudy skies of the United Kingdom (think Cleaners from Venus, Joy Division or Young Marble Giants). No, tanging alaala doesn’t transcend genre—it doesn’t try to. And maybe that’s its biggest strength. jucu knows the blueprint and doesn’t flinch. He stays inside the frame but paints it with a sense of clarity most genre experimenters tend to blur. The textures, the pacing, the commitment to the mood: it’s all consistent. Maybe too consistent, whereas the conventions might act as a detriment if ever they choose to lessen the experimentation and continue to rely on these conventions heavily. There are moments in this EP that beg for rupture or surprise, but jucu plays it straight, showing that sometimes the best way to make a statement is to simply do the thing well. It’s not anything new, per se, but rather a refinement of the sound. There’s something real forming here—maybe even something worth sticking around for. tanging alaala diamond in the rough waiting to be discovered. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
EP REVIEW: Jolianne – Plain Girl
Written By Noelle Alarcon Hailing from Cebu, pop singer-songwriter Jolianne first gained popularity from being a contestant on the televised singing competition “The Voice Kids,” one of the biggest Philippine shows of the 2010s. That particular decade was plastered with 3D princess movies on screens, smooth yet solemn R&B records from female soloists like Beyoncé and Mariah Carey on the radio. Though that era is long gone, she maintains the whimsy and wonder of growing up in such a time by memorializing its sparkle in her debut release, ‘Plain Girl.’ Jolianne herself brands the EP’s genre as “Disney R&B,” and there couldn’t be a more accurate description for her body of work–her vocals are light, flittering across the soundscape like a cold breeze. The enchanting allure of her voice is the pièce de résistance of the record–she delivers matters of the heart sincerely. The instrumentals help submerge you into her world, may it be through the hypnotizing trance set by the hi-hat that whispers in the background or the soft strumming of the acoustic guitar that paints the atmosphere with utmost confidentiality. ‘Plain Girl’ is one of the records that prove “less is more.” The way the instruments shine a spotlight on her voice, yet never overpower it, plays a major role in making the release sonically cohesive. This craft is mastered in the debut’s standout tunes: its titular track and “I’ll Be Somebody You Want,” which both accurately describe the highs and lows of figuring out young love. With lines like “I never cared you were a star, ‘cause I see you for who you are,” the soloist is honest and straight to the point, vocalizing truths so universal they might as well be the same words you’ve written in your diary. Truly, ‘Plain Girl’ is anything but plain. It tugs at your heartstrings and flashes your childhood right before your very eyes with its candid delicateness. It pays homage without compromising originality and creativity, leveling out its sugary sweetness with the rawness of reality. With this well-balanced, carefully curated introduction to Jolianne’s world, it’s exciting to see where she’ll take us next. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
EP REVIEW: &ND – quarters
Written by Anika Maculangan Like specks of sunlight huddled in one dark corner, “quarters” read like that old photo booth picture, that long-lost receipt, or that tattered candy wrapper at the bottom of your pocket. The tracks, if anything, feel homesick for another universe. Infused with ethereal accents and soft imprints of shoegaze, certain tracks, especially “2nd room”, a lengthy 7-minute song, are perfect for spacing out in the middle of Maginhawa, as a flurry of pollution fills the lungs with something ambivalent. Despite its longevity, through drifting and spacey lyric composition, the song seems to defy all odds of time. This seems to be the case for &ND, even with other tracks like the remastered version of “Best of Luck” which boasts a duration of 5 minutes, which somehow, one way or another, manages to distort our concept of how long a moment lasts. It seems like making something fulfilling amongst a sea of boredom, like when you’re in your living room sofa, and you turn the TV on to satiate the room with sound, just to reckon with the emptiness. Quarters is meant for those who were aficionados to the likes of Ourselves the Elves, amidst the height of Armi Millare, when everything circumvented within the seams of moonstruck yet hard-boiled indie ballads. Blurry images layered over thick pastures of grain, the EP recovers what was lost prior to the pandemic — that hypermnesia for hopecore edits and patch tattoos, riddled with a plethora of late nights by the fluorescent glow of Angel’s Burger. The EP, finely drawn in its faded outfit, ceases to ever decline when it comes to the long-standing culture of diaries and sundried flowers plastered against cigarette butts. Therefore, ultimately, makes the statement that while we are moving forward, we are still, at the end of the day, figments of an old cast, begging to break loose. It goes without saying that a throwback like quarters, gives a nod to ‘those days’ of once being a student and stocking up on caffeine, all the while tracing back one’s roots amongst the tangled cords of an earphone. More fluid in their approach to genre, this indefinite notion provides the ability to delve into other sonic characters in the future. “quarters”, unlike other projects loosely borrowed from shoegaze, touches on the genre lightly, permitting more capacity for revisiting its tonalities within their own terms — these terms that immerse its toes into dream pop, bringing more uplifting, effervescent qualities into their sound. The EP is a stand-in for sensations of a lost memory, as it sings “If I were old, old to stay/I would love to lay and just wait”, exemplifying what it means to have a doubled intuition for recollection toward an echo, acting as a souvenir to what led us here. “quarters,” in its stillness, flows with reverb and resonance that can only match the waves, one sweep lesser of a tide. &ND feels like a reactionary project to the post-Megumi Acorda generation, amplifying that accent of unmistakable transcendence. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
EP REVIEW: SUYEN – SUYEN IMNIDA
Written by Louis Pelingen For many people born in the early to mid-2000s, the knowledge of living in their early 20s in the year 2025 is a pressure that can’t be shaken easily. Time is running past them quickly, requirements and responsibilities are stacked high, and the world is opening below their feet so much that it is hard to keep up with its tide. It’s an overwhelming time to grasp what’s happening in front of their eyes, but sometimes, it’s important to live through it and find something to cope with amidst that exhausting part of their lives. To SUYEN, she faces that exhaustion by picking up her red guitar and unleashing her feelings through her debut EP, SUYEN IMNIDA. Assembled as a timestamp of her young adult emotions, she waddles through pieces of pop rock with bits of brit-pop shimmer and twee sensibilities as the cherry on top. She’s yearning to cope with the pressures she carries as a 21-year-old, her passions lie through her girlish delivery that showcases her exuberance. The title track plays with her name being mistaken for her identity through nimble guitars and playful vocal deliveries. “Tampo” glimmers with the additions of rondalla amidst admirably lilting tones, and “Bente” stomps with its staccato keys and flaring guitar passages that build into a riotously joyous chorus. While the small-scaled scope allows SUYEN to release all those bubbling feelings from her sleeves, her stumbling points can be quite noticeable. Her production with the assistance of Zild and Sam Marquez may provide snappy flair to the melodies, yet the inconsistent mixing doesn’t give them many favors. Vocals tend to be in a tug of war with the guitars, leading them to be pushed either in the front or the back in the mix. It’s also evident that SUYEN is still curious about gauging her vocal presence to the music at large, sometimes capturing the sense of yearning and playfulness decently, but not exactly working well when trying to be enticing on “Something ‘bout u“. This follows through with the overall sound itself, embodying 2000s pop-rock flourish very well. Yet the lack of a distinct melodic core leads to SUYEN wandering within this general sonic palette: texturally full, but sometimes becoming musically dull. For what it is, SUYEN IMNIDA opens the gates to where SUYEN’s ambitions will lie – a snapshot of where she was in the past and a reminder of the roads that will open up for her in the future. The journey into the bewildering 20s may be scary to some, but for SUYEN, with her red guitar in her arms and a cheery demeanor on her face, is enough to take on the world ahead of her. Support the art and the artist:
EP REVIEW: Ghost Stories – Immortalized By Poetry
Written by Anika Maculangan Often, screamo music is known for having a dramatic flair of ambiance, which in the case of New Misery Records’ 5th release, doesn’t disappoint. Immortalized by Poetry is charged with thematic references to morality, heavy with forlorn melancholy and grief. It utilizes allusions to Greek mythology in saturating these elements, giving a nod to iconographies like Orpheus and Eurydice who both emphasize these dark and chaotic qualities. Brooding in nature, the EP poses as a meditation on the fragility of life, conveying the tragically harsh landscape of hardcore, being influenced by bands like Saetia, Suis La Lune, In Loving Memory, Orchid, and The Spirit of Versailles. In essence almost hauntingly vulnerable, the tracks are at best, aggressive yet profound in depth. The instrumentals are multi-layered, which complements the lyricism’s poetic appeal. Dynamically weighty, the strength of this EP is its ability to be deep without being too zealous toward dismal language. New Misery’s goal is apparent, in the way that thus far in their releases, have shown attempts at redefining the tones that possess screamo as a genre. Yet still remaining intense, that classic gloominess is not removed by their proclivity toward cathartic elegance. They vocalize these measures loud and clear, by delivering each line with amplified rawness. Like a fire brewing somewhere in a wintry atmosphere, the EP develops over the course of one’s listening session. It metamorphoses into just about a dozen different faces, showing off all the entities it can overtake. The EP starts and ends with an apparent transformation, beckoning to change with welcomeness. It calls for sanctum, but also simultaneous movement within disarray, embracing that flux of energy. Similar to most bands belonging in the genre’s spectrum, their temperament toward screamo is more so reflective, packed with tension and conflict, both mirroring each other. They take the listener through a journey of mourning, in the process of loss when balanced with love and longing. It immerses the listener into these transient and fleeting moments, teaching one to navigate these ephemeral experiences. It’s apparent that this 5-part EP of a taster is well-crafted and thought out concept-wise, which the screamo scene is constantly in search of. With musicality that is seemingly perpetual in its state of dissonance, forms a connection between classier bouts of hardcore with its post-era, opening more leeway for evolution. The vibrations expressed throughout the project channel the band’s strong passion for urgency and melodic flow, never giving the listener a second of stillness in their mostly shifting fusion of anguish and malaise. The tracks within Immortalized by Poetry express what it means to contemplate on the troubles of catastrophe and affliction. It portrays and depicts that exact frenzy and introduces that babel in a more intimate light. It makes us seek the coherence in entropy, allowing it to lead the way, in understanding and comprehension. One follows through the journey of the EP, not knowing where it will take you — but just that the journey is exhaustive with spirit and life, making one feel for more unpredictability and spontaneity wherever the grating chain dangles to next. Support the art & the artist:
EP REVIEW: Daspan En Walis – Askal Projection Vol. 1
Written by Gabriel Bagahansol When you and your friends listen to “Askal Projection Vol. 1” for the first time, it’s imperative that you lock yourselves in a room and let the first track, “619 (Comfort Zone V),” heighten the energy between all of you. You’re going to need all the power you can bottle from that song: once the members of Daspan En Walis unleash an ecstatic force of noise and grooves, you’d all be hopped up from a renewed sense of vitality, which is just what the band would love you to have. After radiating exciting sounds in different spaces up and down Metro Manila, and through a few singles, throughout last year, Daspan En Walis entered 2025 with their very first collection of songs. Listening through the five tracks that make up Askal Projection Vol. 1, it’s clear that their time cutting their teeth in the gig scene is paying off well, as they have delivered action-packed tunes that examine youth in a hopeful but serious way. The band’s roots in the hardcore punk scene means that most of their songs rarely lament the sign of the times, instead imploring the listener to take action right here and right now, and take a good, hard look at themselves while they’re at it. The fuel that drives Askal Projection Vol. 1 is a righteous form of pragmatism. On the first track, lead vocalist Myxj sounds off on people’s inability to get through their plans and problems, wailing “Walang paggalaw dyan! Gumalaw ka naman!” over the sound of chugging guitars and a hypnotic rhythm section. You can imagine people heeding the call and moshing to this at a Daspan En Walis show, but it’s a call they should all remember once they return to their everyday lives. Things slow down a little on “Therefore I Conclude,” which, ironically, is about people who never stop yapping and always shut themselves out from other people’s ideas. In a time where netizens click first and think later, it’s an indictment of the rudeness that has permeated discourse on social media, and a reminder to never get too heated too fast, or “baka’y ikaw ang mauna, una, una.” “Money Harmony,” meanwhile, calls out the bums who keep going broke on their vices. The swing rhythm the band goes into in the middle of the track makes for a delightful mockery of those good-for-nothings that keep asking other people to fund their lifestyle. This ability to sneer at the wrongdoings of the people around them really is the strength of Daspan En Walis on this EP. However, that means that when they talk about trying to get by these same struggles, it can feel as though the music’s losing a little steam: on “Compute to Commute,” Myxj, along with guitarist Randel, now plays a broke person, in the form of a salaryman trying to make sure he has enough money to pay for his commute. It’s a true tale of the perils of petsa de peligro, where Red Sting could be the only thing keeping you going through a day that seems directionless. It’s a sharp turn after three songs where it seems as though the band has got lots of things figured out, making it a bit out of place at first listen, but they make up for it with a solid performance and a very catchy chant for the coda (“Ubos na naman ang aking salapi!”), the type of which punctuates every song on the project. But the highlight within these five songs is the irresistible funk metal number that closes this EP, “143 (Will You Memorize)”, a song of unbridled love for someone whose lips taste sweeter than Mango-flavored Zest-O. Myxj delivers these fantastically ridiculous lyrics about a romance that rivals all of Lino Brocka’s movies in the best possible vessel for them: a throaty voice that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in 2000s radio. Add the walls of distortion courtesy of guitarists Leoj and Randel, and the smooth rhythm played by bassist Ralf and drummer Jhong, and you get the kind of song that would’ve had a warm, highly- saturated music video that kept airing on a certain music video channel twenty years ago. For as much as Daspan En Walis critiques the messiness of youth, they have just as much fun reveling in it. Daspan en Walis’ “Askal Projection Vol. 1” present a band determined to be an optimistic yet serious voice that’ll jolt their audience into making a change for themselves. In a way, the members of Daspan En Walis have indeed channeled the askals braving streets all over the country: strong, self-assured, and fierce enough to make you keep going, all with a big grin on their faces.