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:
Tag: Pop Rock
ALBUM REVIEW: juan karlos – Sad Songs and Bullshit Part 1
Written by Louis Pelingen The recent meteoric success of Juan Karlos stemming from one of the singles on their recent release, “ERE,” – enough to build enough traction to debut at no. 177 on the global Spotify charts – signifies how ingrained he has been in the local scene for the past couple of years. Despite some shaky conflicts that occurred before, when he eventually stepped into the broader swells of pop rock carried through his emotive delivery and songwriting ever since he and his band started off with ‘Buwan,’ it garnered widespread interest for Juan Karlos to keep going along on their overall grand yet simultaneously dull and stilted sound. It is a sound that is starting to feel rather frustratingly overdone in recent memory, expansive and well-produced but lacking in interesting songwriting throughlines. Despite the success, the band’s new entry in their catalog is deeply entrenched in post-breakup frustrations Juan Karlos has gone through, laying down these love songs initially written for a compilation that eventually became rather bullshit to him after his breakup last year. Hence, these melancholic songs are now packaged on Sad Songs and Bullshit Part 1, the first installment of a two-parter project dipped in a baffling release strategy to slice the 18 written songs into two parts instead of picking the strongest songs to make a focused release (even if this strategy has started to work for the band given the success of “ERE”) all centered on amping up the overall display of catharsis from this heartbreak. This project is confident in putting up these raw emotions in the open, presenting an attempt from Juan Karlos to make it closely personal as he belts out strings of crowd-ready hooks toward this post-breakup narrative that has struck the mainstream local scene time and time again. Yet, to be blunt, this approach starts to hit clumsy and route results, where the blatant move to lean towards the 2000s era sonic palette from the instrumental tones just falls short in a lot of its ideas, where there aren’t that any interesting swerves on either melodies or production. The other reasons this record does not stick come from Juan Karlos’ vocals and songwriting, where his emotional bellows start to get overbearing, and his songwriting leaves nothing but the surface-level poetry surrounding him circling around the heartbreak in a self-important framing. His shouty croons on the pop rock swell of “Time Machine” and “ERE” become a head-scratcher, especially with the latter track where his delivery of the profanity on the hook only sounded silly rather than convincing. The acoustic heartbreak reflection on “Lumisan” is a bland Ben&Ben takeaway due to those vocal melodies. And the adult-contemporary cut of “Manhid” is nothing short of anything special despite the well-produced shuffling melodies. But the tracks that make this overall narrative quite sour are the piano ballads “may halaga pa ba ako sayo??” and “Tapusin Na Natin To” featuring Paolo Benjamin, from the details that only imply a guarded deflection on dealing with this heartbreak to Juan Karlos’ vocalization at its very worst, tends to push further to the point of being obnoxiously overdramatic. And those tracks eventually color a lot about the record, even with the gorgeous Sufjan Stevens-esque acoustics of “Gabi” featuring Zild and “Paruparo” or the communal vocals that help elevate the title track. Whatever quality they do have just gets stifled overall. Stacked to the gills with uninteresting elements culminating in a lackluster project coming from the soundscape that leans on 2000s sonic aesthetics without any interesting melodic or instrumental flair, vocal emotionality that only gets overdone and annoying, and, of course, songwriting circling around reflections on Juan Karlos’s past relationship delivered with a pompous and shallow affair that serves to deflect around it. Though given the title itself, it sure is rather apt to call it that, an album with many underwhelming sad songs and a lot of self-important bullshit. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Alyson – DEFINITELY LOVE
Written by Kara Angan Metro Manila-based band Alyson shed their indie rock sound for Japanese city pop in their debut album ‘DEFINITELY LOVE!’. After sparse releases and landmark self-titled debut EP over the past years, the 5-piece band and their continuous championing of Ateneo’s music scene basically rebranded themselves; evoking the nostalgia of 80s Japanese fashion and music. The inspiration is clearly seen in the aesthetic surrounding the album—from the Japanese letters on the album cover to the fashion choices for their music videos for “Kiliti” and “Feel So Good” featuring beabu. At its core, this record is a faithful love letter to the genre and aesthetic. ‘DEFINITELY LOVE!’ opens with “Kiliti,” the band’s first single off the record. It starts off strong with a brass riff that introduces the overall feel of the album. Lead singer Pio Ligot’s voice is accented with backing vocals that continue the strong city pop influences of the LP. The upbeat, horn-led sound is consistent throughout the first half of the album. “My Love” and “Ginhawa” feels reminiscent of the sound off their 2018 EP, but with a stronger synth presence. The second half of the album opens with the second single, and arguably best track of the album, “Feels So Good” featuring beabu. The track evokes the spirit of Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder-style 70s-80s pop ballads, and has the catchiest melody that becomes instant earworm-material. beabu’s lower register vocals is a great complement to Ligot’s falsettos. The bridge of the song is a solid climax as the two voices sing over each other, ending with beabu’s strong belt and Ligot’s riffs. The latter half of the album is the stronger of the two halves, featuring a more diverse-sounding set of songs. Aside from “Feels So Good,” “Summer Nights” open with a Japanese city pop-style spoken intro, “Fool” leans into 80s motown, “Babalik” opens with an a capella intro before segueing into the album’s prominent city pop sound, and “Underpass” is a strong record closer despite being a slower track compared to the rest of the album. It also includes Japanese dialogue during the interlude, which parallels their 2018 EP track “Telescope.” ‘DEFINITELY LOVE!’ is a cohesive-sounding album. However, this can be a double-edged sword—with the cohesion comes the pitfall of tracks sounding a tad too similar and borderline indistinguishable, such as the first three songs of the record. The latter half offers a better selection of diverse sounds, especially with strong tracks like “Feels So Good,” “Fool,” and “Underpass.” The city pop elements distinguish the band from their contemporaries, and is the proof of their more mature sound compared to their 2018 release. If the band continues to explore more of the 70s and 80s era music, it could offer more diverse and standout releases that still sound cohesive without being too similar in arrangement. Overall, this is a good debut album and a great reintroduction of Alyson to the local scene. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Kenaniah – s/t
Lipa, Batangas’s very own Kenaniah has been hitting it big since the past year with viral Spotify hits such as “Bahala Na”, “Hindi Ikaw” and “Better Now”. O/C Records has consistently kept his schedule busy by playing a bunch of large-scale shows in the past year or so, building networks in the circuit of festivals all around the country. The 18-year old artist ticks all the boxes for sharing the same swagger with the big dogs of mainstream pop rock acts that have a suit, a tie, and a guitar. He is what other “Pogi Rock” zoomers aspire to be: a talent that’s planted by the industry. After years of brewing singles, sharing one video teaser after teaser and one record milestone after the other, Kenny looks and feels like he’s ready for the music world, and so he did it by releasing his debut self-titled album under the label; The result of which was turned upside down. The 9-track album is all duds. No variation, no complimentary sonic palette whatsoever. It’s a slog to listen to, not even your favorite performative rock band that got banned from a festival couldn’t reach the level of disappointment this album has. The self-titled album starts off with “Study First”, gated reverb from the drums greets the listener in ear-grating fashion. “Bahala Na” is followed up right away but the smash single doesn’t go hard enough to justify the outdated sound Kenaniah equipped by the time of the songs being written and recorded. Heck, even mentioning all the songs in this album feels like a waste of a single burning phrase if it was commissioned per word. The album and its songs just scream “not ready”. But we all know that Kenaniah took this sound choice a step further, bringing back the sound of 2016 in zombifying effects and beating the production and writing techniques like a dead horse. This demo quality of an album is an insult to a major label that could afford solid mixing and mastering, wherein the album already feels and sounds like it’s a highschool project: it’s raw and unfinished, nothing left to chew or bite on remarkably. This self-titled debut album would rather put a caveat of “fatigue” because of how drawn out the structures are, making the album almost impossible to distinguish if it was dissected in a “music review” format. If this is what the future of Cueshe or Adie dreamed of seeing, then the word “OPM” might be already doomed by the time they first stepped into the scene. Support the art & the artist: