Written by Faye Allego Without a shadow of a doubt, Ely Buendia has an iconic and notably one of the most recognizable voices in OPM. His wordplay, chord progressions, and a whirlpool of psychedelia you feel after reaching the coda is top-notch during the Batang 90’s era of OPM. But now I ask myself: Is there a dark cloud of doubt in his newly released record, Method Adaptor, in the rearview? When Buendia released “Bulaklak Sa Buwan”, his lyricism shone through, continuing to create parallels and paradigms conveying themes of delusions, misconstrued mindsets, and the irony of fantasy. That being said, this body of vulnerability as a whole could constitute as a throwaway Eraserheads mixtape from the ‘ole Cutterpillow days. The lead single itself is a wonderful homage to the batang 90’s sound. It surely brings exuberance to fans who have been there during Buendia’s early rise to fame and have witnessed his impact on the OPM genre in real-time, however, like (almost) every artist who goes solo after years of being in a successful and impactful band, their past reputation precedes every lyric their future solo albums has to say. In Method Adaptor’s lead singles, you hear what Buendia feels, but do you feel it too? It’s there to sing and dance along to, but not enough to swoon over Buendia’s typical magical ingredients that make his songs linger. In multiple interviews pertaining to the release of Method Adaptor, Buendia created this album out of reflection on fame and life- and the stresses that come with it. It’s an inside look into the mind of someone who spent a long time pondering what it means to have lived a life ruled by youth, art, and irrevocable passion. In tracks like Faithful, however, it seems like the thought was there, but emotional umph was stagnant. In fact, he even communicates this precariousness in the same track: “There’s so much that I wanna say/ I just don’t know if I can say it this way” The narrator of the song is tired and in limbo, yet, the tune he plays lives on, almost never-ending. As one may know, if it’s Buendia on vocals, it’s almost guaranteed that the listener will hear an upbeat hymn that may tell any story out of the ordinary. A great example of this out-of-body experience that you feel when listening to Buendia’s voice actually comes the song titled “Shallow Breathing” from his debut solo album, “Wanted Bedspacer”. With Method Adaptor, “Tamang Hinala” is a song that exemplifies Buendia’s lyrical and instrumental devices and approaches that fuel this album. You get a repetitive yet addictive chorus as well as verses that show off stimulating cadence such as “Ang tanim ay siya ring aanihin/Guguho ang kastilyong buhangin/Madulas ang balbas parang Hudas/Ganyan lang talaga ‘pag minalas”, Every instrument seeps perfectly into the chorus without sounding overpowering or underwhelming. The appeal of tracks like “Chance Passenger” or “Deadbeat Creeper” is colorless to the point where certain verses like “And you wear your spirit well /Satisfy the clientele /Make me want to set her down” as well as vocals that are bordering on the stringy spectrum that confuse the narrative of the song. It feels like I’m reading a notes app poem- there’s nothing wrong with a notes app poem, however, translating feelings of desire into melodies is critical to transform filler songs into album staples in an album like ‘Method Adaptor’. Alternatively, if Buendia continued or even interweaved his experimental sound and velvety vocals highly executed in his previous songs, namely “Monday Mundane”, “Hotchik”, and of course, “Ligaya”, I could have understood and truly felt the thematic undertones of reliving youth, regret, grief, and desire more deeply. Overall, Ely Buendia’s distinguished and seasoned love for songwriting is definitely evergreen and everpresent, his music legacy will always be a pillar of inspiration for generations to come, but his reflections seen in his second album, Method Adaptor, seems to translate into feelings of muffled confusions that almost glaze over what could have left a lasting memory of his caliber of a voice and mind. Support the art & the artist:
Tag: Faye Allego
ALBUM REVIEW: Cinéma Lumière – Wishing It Was Sunday
Written by Faye Allego Wishing It Was Sunday is not only an impressive debut album; it is a cohesive album that explores the coming of age, but not in a deep, intricate, or deleterious way. Cinema Lumiere, derived from the Lumiere brothers whom of which invented cinematography, stay true to their band name– they create cinematic music that assimilates the true essence of the Slice of Life idiom. When listening to this record in one sitting, you’re guaranteed to feel some ear tingles every time a xylophone is used in a track. It’s a record that you can listen to at any time of day, whether you’re sitting in a library and cannot be arsed to create a study playlist, or when you’ve finally succumbed to your main character syndrome and all that’s missing now is your very own OST. The theme of coming of age along with melodies that sound very Slice of Life are most prominent in tracks like “Longing For You” and the first track which shares the same title as the album. Tracks like “Like A Dream,” “Into The Sun,” and “Act Happy” also seem to follow inspiration from Japanese dream pop where airy vocals mixed with stretched-out, lushful synths create an atmosphere similar to the 80s music scene. It is also worth noting that the terrific album art is an illustration that takes place in Japan; you can see a young adult holding a Japanese Koinobori Kites that are typically brought outside during the months of April and May (spring), symbolizing and representing children, childhood, and childlike ambition or perseverance. On the first listen, I questioned if Wishing It Was Sunday was the type of album that you play in the background to muffle the silence in your surroundings. Looking at Cinema Lumiere’s only existing music video on YouTube, I wanted to see the visuals of the tunes that they make. Could “Change of Heart” have a Wong Kar Wai-inspired music video made on an old digicam? Or is it up to me, the listener, to decide what visuals I want to associate this album with? I asked myself: do your conversations with friends overpower the music? Or does this album make you want to stop and just listen? After a few adventures outside with only this album on the loop, I think the latter question is the easiest to answer. Yes, I want to stop, close my eyes, and listen. Support the art & the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Liminal by Ruru
Written by Faye Allego Picture this: You’re twelve years old, your parents run an internet cafe down the street and you borrow your Kuya’s PSP 3000 to play The Sims 2. Your best friends come by to play the bartender game on Y8.com while Kuya is on an extreme DOTA battle. You’re not too keen on the fact that it’s the first day of school when you wake up but at least you’re having the time of your life now and who knows, maybe your mom might pack you Yan Yans or an extra bottle of Yakult for lunch tomorrow. You didn’t think of it then, but amidst all of the popular mid-aughts games, excitements, and leisures, “no one knows where they’re really going.” That lyric from Ruru’s new single titled “Liminal” transcends me into this portal of, well, liminal spaces. Spaces I had never thought would be so empty, yet full of life in retrospect. The song is upbeat, it does not contain the subtle mood of tragedy commonly heard in wistful chord progressions and melodies, however, the lyrics say otherwise. The song’s lyrics as well as perhaps the lack of strings, share key elements seen in the Hauntology genre; in the sense that something “lost” from the song’s features is haunting. Aside from channeling how the song feels sonically, this song looked like a kaleidoscope of every single one of those dreamcore, corecore, weirdcore, and vaporwave aesthetics I’ve seen across social media. Any lyric can be used to caption a liminal space photograph and evoke the feelings of longing for something you didn’t realize you’ll never get back as an everyday, mundane feeling. The worst part is that “something” can be everything from the past. In Ruru’s words, “We’re just way too in our heads/ Passing on acquaintances/ Some days I’m not quite myself / Yet I’m on my bed…” Liminal is also one of those unique tracks where you don’t need to actually feel a certain emotion when listening to it despite the existentialist lyrics. It’s a song that could pass as an Animal Crossing tune on a Nintendo DS. It can be your go-to shower song, or the absolute final song you choose to go on your Instagram story when posting to a monthly wrap-up collage template. I’d love to hear this track be a part of an album that explores the genre of Hauntology or even avant-garde electronic music that we don’t typically see in OPM. Additionally, the cover art for this track could pass for an album cover itself! It looks like Ruru’s self-portrait is taken from a driver’s license, exemplifying adulthood or the oversaturation that can suggest the technicolor that life brings in the mundane. Or maybe she just looks really good and so does her music. That’s what I think. Cheers to more Ruru! Support the art & the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Chezka – Fire Near a Toddler
Written by Faye Allego Chezka rose to virality on TikTok when she first released a video snippet of “Fire Near a Toddler” a couple of years ago. Since then, it has amassed over 600k views with thousands of comments coming from youngins who relate heavily to Chezka’s lyricism pertaining to losing hope in love because it was never taught in the first place. Despite “Fire Near a Toddler” being Chezka’s only song out on streaming platforms as of the moment, it is evident through her TikTok that she is a seasoned songwriter who has already figured out what her sound is and what she wants her lyricism to convey. When I listened to this track by Chezka, all I could remember were the origins, evolution, and importance of Bedroom Pop. As her fans are awaiting an album announcement, Chezka’s sound could potentially change, but I think it’s safe to say that her ability to just grab her guitar and sing lyrics with such intensity in emotions brings out a lot of Bedroom Pop elements. Most, if not all Bedroom artists we grew up listening to have grown to become major names in the industry and have shifted and experimented with different genres, but one thing they all have in common is that they all started out online, with a guitar on hand or unrefined productions on GarageBand, sharing their music through video form on platforms like YouTube and now TikTok. “Fire Near a Toddler” exhibits so many themes in under four minutes. It is impressive that Chezka’s storytelling ability invites the listener to a space of vulnerability with no shame. Her writing skills also allow the listener to come up with their own interpretations, I mean, her TikTok comments sections are almost filled to the brim with folks professing their relationship to the song as well as why that song relates to their particular situation. How comforting it is to see community being built upon a single song. Speaking of building, my only critique is that the buildup lacks a bridge, rendering the thematic feelings of anger a bit disconnected. The hollow, emptier parts of the track only justify the lack of meatier rhythms (i.e. electric guitar), however, the lack of a bridge still benefits the track because the listener’s attention is directed toward the lyrics. Many songs that are first teased on TikTok tend to focus on the peak of a song whether it be a high note or a guitar shred, yet, in Chezka’s song, it’s the storytelling, rhyme, and double meanings in her lyricism that strike appeal. So, how did Chezka write a song about feelings I didn’t even know I had with such precision? I think it’s safe to say that her precision comes from the art of self-awareness when it comes to love and longing. It is evident in the rawness of her storytelling that this artist possesses a songwriter’s vital ability to showcase vulnerability with no secrets intact. May she continue to pick up a pen and a pick whenever her writer’s cloak decides to visit her. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Bling – PURE BLISS NO WORRIES
PURE BLISS NO WORRIES is the second album released by Bling, a Filipino-American band based in Los Angeles. Irony is an ever-present theme throughout this 26-minute record. The grainy noise gradually builds up together like an anxious thought, unlike what the album title suggests. Another irony is that “build-up” never reaches an apex. The tracks feel like they are itching to be listened to on a train ride – only that the train ride could be destined for a train wreck. It’s one of those albums that you listen to as background music while attempting to do something productive, but unlike the productive mind, I worry that PURE BLISS NO WORRIES doesn’t add anything new to the table. Compared to their debut album titled “fuck”, Jinro Yo and Lianna Gutierrez’s vocals seem much campier and arguably more lucid in their sophomore record. The drums by Nick Castillo carry each track with fluidity and match well with the strum of Jaed Noleal’s guitar. If only the rest of the album used the sonic experience that was applied on the third track, ix3Chocolaté, we could have hopped on a bedroom rock road trip that either went down the “core memory” lane or the “headbang like no one is watching” route. Nevertheless, each instrument and modulation used in this record are easily malleable to make longer tracks like Patiently Waiting a memorable listening experience. I hope to hear something more similar in their future work so their sound appears to smooth out the grainy noise. The aesthetic choices of Bling’s attempt at a blissful theme such as the Angel Numbers present in the track length (Say Hi 2 Forever is 2:22, Nowhere… is 1:11, and RiskOne is 3:33) solidly create a mist of bliss. My question is, will that mist diffuse quickly? Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Memory Drawers – Memory Drawers
Written by Faye Allego Picture this: It’s 2014, your entire personality is based on photos of succulents with a VSCO app filter that is reblogged on your Tumblr page, a poster of Unknown Pleasures hanging by a thread (in this case, tape that has lost its purpose of sticking on the wall above your bed), and your element of mystique is buried with every emotion that bedroom music playlist makes you feel. Although the pleasure of being an angsty, indie-music-centered-teenager back then is a well-known phenomenon, Memory Drawers seems to bring back that unique feeling of individuality and whimsicality in their long-awaited debut album. It goes without saying that this album perfectly fits in the dreamscape milieu of Indie Pop. The lyrics, composed by Kevin Ingco and Paula Castillo, read like a prologue to a retrospective novel about one’s memories of youth that were never to be just written in a diary tucked away in a drawer. Found in the final couplet of Lovingly, Andrea Alegre sings: “Didn’t think, didn’t think I’d hear a word/ Said ‘There’s nothing left for me, in this world, in this world.” This alone uses repetition in a way that isn’t – for lack of a better word – repetitive to hear. This track along with others such as Luuv and Esc Esc Esc feels like changing the color of my laptop’s cursor to black and opening a blank document to write whatever I want at the expense of depression and for the sake of expression. However, I find myself asking if every track creates cohesion to the album and builds an overall narrative, or if it is just a polished compilation of their past, tempting the listener for upcoming endeavors that may sound even better in that said dreamscape milieu. Nearly a decade has passed by since Hart found its way as the first track of Memory Drawers. The original version first appeared on SoundCloud and was later revamped to fit the precision found in Ingco’s mixing, and the mastering by Diego Mapa. The same can be said for the following track, Maybe, originally released in 2016. I hesitated at the thought of these songs resurrecting on the debut album instead of leaving them as hidden gems to be found on their own. The last track, …For Any Of This, was also previously released as a single but now acts as a beautiful epilogue through its upbeat nature that makes you feel like you’re knee-deep into the night; as if Ingco and Castillo along with Alegre’s voice planted a Whomping Willow that would later produce seeds for a mystifying glowing Willow throughout all these years (not to mention the album art looks like a tree’s growth rings). This is the “upcoming endeavor” I mentioned earlier. Indeed, I yearn to hear more.