Written by Faye Allego Janine Berdin’s ‘LAB SONGS NG MGA TANGA’ is hopeful and seemingly glaring. She blends pop punk, pain, and the performance of “Alternative” in a way that centers the strong female lead vocal back into revival with her new debut album. Within the sonic punches she throws, Berdin’s voice also sits somewhere between early 2000s OPM angst and modern TikTok confessional pop. If there was a word to coin mainstream artists diving down the alternative route as their breakfree moment and entrance to their own creative autonomy, it’s ‘Hugot Alternative’. ‘LAB SONGS NG MGA TANGA’ opens like a Pandora’s box of every detailed situationship debacle that has been discussed, debated, and dissected in sleepovers and passive-aggressive Instagram stories. “HAYUP KA” and “SITWASYONSHIP” hit with unapologetic energy that evokes the comfort that comes from the rawness of rage. Tracks like “Miskom” soften the edges as Berdin’s vocals glide gently over percussion that recalls praise and worship patterns, before a tempo change in the bridge jolts you back into the time where women in OPM like Yeng Constantino confronted and made heartbreak sound holy. There’s no cattiness in “Pretty Pretty Bird,” it’s Berdin’s “Lacy” by Olivia Rodrigo. It’s where girls sit in front of the mirror and fight with their reflection. It’s where Berdin sings “You love her but make love to me/She’s a pretty pretty girl and really I’m no one” that the confession of, “Well, I wanted it to be me” is effortlessly relatable. Meanwhile, “ANTOXIC” captures Berdin at peak raspiness and rawness, and becomes reminiscent of a tragic TikTok edit of the Twilight Saga Series. This track channels the emotional punch of Hugot Alternative, bringing back the early OPM sincerity but reimagined through a grittier, modern lens. The third track, “Ayos Lang,” offers another emotional highlight that cements her vocal prowess and vulnerability. The track stands out among others because of how Berdin turns blunt with potential lovers being oh-so clueless, seen in lyrics like “Tamang patama lang sa story ko/ Palibhasa, ikaw palagi unang viewer ko,” a common detriment in the age of courtship dying down. While ‘LAB SONGS NG MGA TANGA’ starts off strong in the former half of the tracklisting, the momentum dips in its latter half. The slower tracks are simply misplaced, as the pacing and thematic flow couldn’t balance out the emotional weight and adrenaline carried out in the first few tracks. And then there’s the question of authenticity. When you already have access to a full production setup, a massive following, and creative freedom as a young woman in music, how do you escape the polished mold built for female pop stars? Berdin toes that line. She’s edgy enough to reject bubblegum pop, but not quite immersed in the alternative subculture she seems to gesture toward. Is she playing it safe? Maybe. Perhaps, she doesn’t have to carry the burden of reinventing what “alt OPM” means. If there’s one thing that doesn’t land, it’s that there is this unnecessary depiction of what the alternative is. The music videos, particularly the one where Rufa Mae Quinto appears as what seems like a Morticia Addams cosplay while playing fake bass, feel nothing but disconnected from the album’s emotional core. The aesthetic choices made don’t match the soundscape’s sincerity, leaving the visual narrative oddly hollow, almost forgettable, like a 15-second TikTok. Despite its inconsistencies, ‘LAB SONGS NG MGA TANGA’ is a thrilling start especially as a debut album from Janine Berdin. It’s snippets from an artist still defining her space in the post-idol landscape. Berdin may still be finding her balance between authenticity and aesthetic, but if this debut proves anything, it’s that she rocks the distinct OPM blend of yearning and grit that was dearly missed in the new age of strong female voices. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
Tag: Rock
EP REVIEW: More To Me – Lost Teeth
Written by Aly Maaño Melodic hardcore never died; it just evolved. In the 2020s, bands are putting their own spin on the genre by fusing it with new influences. In the local music scene, More To Me is stepping in to push the genre forward. Composed of vocalist Dale Diongzon, lead guitarist Paolo Owyong, rhythm guitarist Mickoy Mariano, bassist Lee Mendoza, and drummer Francis Yuri De Jesus, the band recently launched their debut EP, Lost Teeth, with six tracks that blend emo and hardcore elements. The EP begins with a short introduction track that segues into “Cleansed,” an aggressive four-minute track with an explosion of crunchy bass lines and dynamic drum beats colliding with layered screams and clean vocals. The heavy guitar riffs echo rage and disappointment as evocative as Circa Survive and Balance and Composure’s older sound. “Cleansed” and “Lost Teeth” also seem to be twin tracks in this EP, sharing similar melodic traits and structure. The title track, however, is much more subdued in its angst. Instead of pointing fingers, the narrator seems to be facing the mirror after avoiding it for so long. Much like how losing teeth symbolizes change, this track signals a turning point in the record from a thematic point of view. Most projects that lean towards emo and hardcore are often emotionally charged, but Lost Teeth channels this rawness through its introspection meets intellectualism lyricism. In “Echoes,” Diongzon transforms pain into a shared catharsis. “In this world apart, where love was strong, we’ll keep holding on…” emphasizes community and its ability to soothe amidst suffering. While “Echoes” pushes listeners to a point of reflection, “By Design” is the kinetic force that propels us to achieve this sense of togetherness. The chorus “Inside our hearts, where love and pain collide… In silence, we sacrifice for better lives…” prompts us to look out for people in our community and choose love above all else. It’s an invitation to come together, to mosh, dance, and scream with new and familiar faces in the scene. As far as hardcore goes, Lost Teeth doesn’t disappoint. Diongzon’s vocals are inundated with tasteful guitar work; textured riffs that synthesize and serrate to make way for clean vocals that haptically switch to abrasive screams. Meanwhile, the mix of pounding drums and punchy bass riffs grounds the chaos before it lands in grittier hardcore territory. With this softer approach, the record sounds more melodic than traditional, pulling more from emo influences. As the EP finishes with “Whole Again,” the overlap of both genres is set in stone. The spur of melody and metaphors propped with heavy technicality underscore this harmonious intersection. However downcast it may sound, it leaves us in a tranquil state. “And if I’m a ghost, I hear you calling through the walls. Let’s set fire to these empty halls and make you whole again…” reminds us that we’re never truly alone in our silent battles. Lost Teeth doesn’t build up to a grand climax but shines in standout moments. Every intro sets the listening experience and each line reveals a personal truth. It won’t send us to a thought spiral nor let us sulk on familiar anxieties, but every melodic breakdown captures a cathartic feeling enough to resurrect millennial hearts from the grave of the mundane. After going through a phase of animosity, the EP matures into a self-realized record that hinges on the very thing that keeps melodic hardcore alive: vulnerability. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST: Lost Teeth by More To Me
TRACK REVIEW: Man Made Evil – Dear Baby From Malate
Written by Noelle Alarcon So far, the 2020s have proved to be an era engulfed in the novelty of remakes. It’s evident in recreations of films from decades ago, the return of cuts and fabrics popularized by your parents’ generation, and the like. In this age of pastiche milked dry by major corporations, it’s artists like Man Made Evil that show everyone how authenticity can breathe new life into the past. ‘Dear Baby From Malate’ is over five minutes of stripped-down brilliance; a track mixed like a live performance. The instruments are put together in a way that sounds like you’re right next to them, welcoming and fitting for the romantic swagger the song’s words carry. Its singsongy background vocals add to its chummy appeal; a song that is as catchy as it is intricate. The track’s brash vocals mesh together perfectly with its guitars, which let overdrive take the reins in shaping the body of the song. It’s reminiscent of local 70s acts like the Juan Dela Cruz Band, whose discography carries both bark and bite. Similar to its predecessors, “Dear Baby From Malate” is also hinged on creative riffs, a smug, patterned rhythm section for support, and incredibly casual lyrics. Just when the song calms down for its soft “ooh, ooh, oohs,” it lets loose some more, until the audible release of energy fades to its eventual end. “Mapa rockers man o punks na long hair, tiyak hindi lahat wagi diyan,” sings the band, their easygoing, “it is what it is” attitude towards love infectious. Passion oozes out of the track, from the earnest references of their inspirations to the witty tongue in cheek it carries throughout its run. ‘Dear Baby From Malate’ is a reminder to take it easy; authenticity will always get you by, in the end. “Ganito talaga sa mundong ibabaw.” SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST: Dear Baby From Malate by Man Made Evil
EP REVIEW: ARKYALINA – Underneath Your Jagged Lines
Written by Louis Pelingen The moment that Arkyalina — also known as Tavin Villanueva — put out “readmymind” last year, it showcases just how much young acts like him are willing to synthesize different points of influence and make it their own. Cementing their own sonic identity and stylism that never compromises their passion and their intensity as musicians, both in recording and live performances. As someone who has seen him perform live, intensity is indeed the emotion that he pulls off well, all paired with scarlet red visuals and a sharply detailed mask that complements the jagged guitar work, skittering beats, and burnished vocals that he exposes in his performances. After releasing a couple of singles that now lead to his debut EP, ‘Underneath Your Jagged Lines’, something has shifted between last year and now. There is an adjustment towards how Arkyalina delivers as a vocalist and as a producer, providing more emphasis on build-ups and pulsating electronics to give his voice more space to play off with. The rhythmic shuffle of “Gaze (By Your Side)” and the squealing EDM pads of “Wish” are prime examples of this, where Arkyalina pairs back his intensity and allows himself to unravel in it, carefully crafting sharper melodies along the way. Of course, that guitar-driven, vocally fervid side of him is still here. Besides the already stellar “readmymind” with all the layers of chalky drums and blurry swells of strings that give Arkyalina soar vocally, “Ersatz” and “Remembrance, a tragedy” deliver in this front as well. The former’s rampage of guitar riffing leads to one glowing crescendo, and the latter’s weighty drums and guitar rumbles only amplify his anguished singing and screaming. Those contrasts do make some sense as Arkyalina unveils the tension within his writing. Detailing a post-breakup relationship that’s weighed on a lot of give and takes, with him giving so much of himself to the point that he is stuck in a rut. Never exactly willing to let go, as he reminisces on the time that he and his ex have spent together and reminisces about the moments where both of their flaws have been shown. It leads to Arkyalina constantly being in this push and pull stasis, constantly stretched apart by his internal angst and melancholy, but even then, he shows that he still cares about that relationship at the end of the day. As noted on the last track, “Remembrance, a tragedy”, he tries to reach out, acknowledge his mistakes, and hope that there’s still a chance to recoup from those mistakes. Even if such chances of reconnecting might be too late to be considered. While this overall theme can justify why Arkyalina’s decisions in his vocal mix and delivery are a bit more meticulous and submerged as he is swimming through his own emotional headspace, it can also lead to those choices exposing some of the EP’s weaknesses. “Ersatz” is lacking one more verse to really make its crescendos hit even harder; the glitchy, gauzy flair on “Everything Falls Apart” blurs so much that the melody washes out from one way to another; and the attempt for this weary vocal timbre amidst the heavier production mix on “Black Sea” becomes one note, especially as Arkyalina’s delivery doesn’t exactly vary and the buildup to that scream on the end of the song is so faintly heard. But, overall, ‘Underneath Your Jagged Lines’ is defined by choices and shifts that are intentionally thought out. Filled with meticulous mixes and vocal tones that emphasize the EP’s reddish intensity and bluish melancholy, all of which put Arkyalina in a space where there is still a lot of traversing to go into, recognizing the highs and lows that he must confront and refine upon. In wading underneath those lines, the waves will smooth their jagged edges, turning them into a more resplendent texture. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: MoonDream City – Road Song
Written by Louis Pelingen Let’s all be blunt: there’s nothing wrong when pop-rock band MoonDream City starts embracing experimentation and throwing a ridiculous number of ideas at the wall. In order to eventually find artistic growth, it’s always a good thing for an artist to just test the waters in whatever genre or style shift they’re trying to approach and go from there, where eventually, they’ll be able to find some focus after trying whatever diversion they’re digging into. Experimentation could either be a hit or a miss. It could be successful or novel. There’s no in between. This eventually extends to how an act markets a shift in their sound that doesn’t always mean it’s bound to be the next “new genre,” an intriguing observation in forming a unique distinction amongst their contemporaries, even if this marketing trick will be a double-edged sword. Garnering the reactions that they might want, but not exactly the ones they’ll need long-term. These observations are relevant to Bon Jubert and Muntinlupa Jazzcore Society, acts that operate under the recently coined “ebascore”, a newly formed sound that loosely combines socially aware themes alongside jazz, funk, metal, and spoken poetry elements, then displays all of them with novelty and flashiness. MoonDream City’s ‘Road Song’ is a recent addition to this, throwing away their pop-rock instincts and replacing them with intense vocal shouts that toss between nu-metal, jazz, and funk grooves. On the basis of the finesse and volume alone, the song definitely pulls the listener into the whirling chaos that the band brings to the surface. A brief enough tune that unleashes emotional wallow and technical verve, but doesn’t exactly do much more with the compositions. Serving as a direction that brings the band to something new, but with the way the song is promoted paired with the hollowness of “ebascore”, the track falls apart really fast. What fails with the band’s attempt for their stylistic shift is twofold: one is the social commentary that’s given with vague winks, relying upon shouty complaints rather than precisely delving deeper into what made commuting such a hellscape for everyone. It may unleash those enraged emotions, yet their observation feels short-sighted and individualistic. Focusing a lot more on losing one’s beep card, switching from another FX, waiting for a less crowded jeepney, and lacking change to pay for a trike. A presentation of everyday occurrences that don’t offer much depth about the issue being discussed. But the more concerning issue is the flashy presentation that shrinks the execution to a mush. Bringing raw intensity that disguises the lack of structured melodies, flashy musicianship that simultaneously becomes self-indulgent, various genre fusions that are stitched in a half-baked way –- all of which only leads to the novelty of the sound borrowed from spoken-word style of Radioactive Sago Project or The Axel Pinpin Propaganda Machine ending up flimsy and surface-level, delivered in a neutered manner that doesn’t try to reach the verbosity and the melodic flourish of such acts. Leaving the output to end up like a sketched out impression of those sonic reference points, rather than allowing the band to take bigger risks and go for broke with their stylistic shift. To the band’s credit, it is a curious diversion from wherever they’re aiming to go in the future, yet the general ironic promotion and how it translates to the music only results in a song whose novelty and flash don’t bring more to what it’s being hyped about from the start. What ‘Road City’ — and the general “ebascore” trend as a whole — unfortunately sounds like an Oscar-nominated flick that aims to bring deeper themes, but once watched, the actual insights end up shallow and self-impressed. Stuffing technical stylism more than injecting substance into its thematic essence. Support the art and the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Ame – Ipagpatawad Mo
Written by Louis Pelingen In treading back towards the nostalgic 60s rock ‘n roll, Ame manages to fit themselves well, as their musical prowess shows how well-equipped they are in approaching this sound on“Ipagpatawad Mo.” From Zarviel’s hollering vocal presence that firmly cries his call for affection, the blustering blues rock progression and wild guitar solos, stomping drum rhythms, as well as the occasional bright piano lines and vibraslap rattles. They all check out the boxes of what makes that era of rock ‘n roll quite compelling and runs with an all-killer, no-filler direction. The other part of what allows the tune to punch through is the production. Having Max Cinco and Paulo Agudelo doing most of the production duties alongside Sam Marquez handling the mixing and mastering duties means that most of the instrumentation lets their vibrant melodies shine through without overlapping with one another. The emphasis is on “most” however, where despite the already colorful mix, the dynamics could’ve been just a bit more spaced out, as the bright piano lines do get trampled over with the low-end and various guitar sections being so flashy and excessive. “Ipagpatawad Mo” is the kind of nostalgic callback where it’s clear that the band knows enough of the sound to recreate it with good intentions. It’s a straightforward attempt for sure, yet it allows Ame to flex more of their musicianship as they stray away from the mild pop soundscapes that they’ve started with. That shift to explore more melodic intricacies is, at the very least, a kind of forgiveness worth accepting. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
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: