Facing the music
Music’s indisputable link with life may explain the fair share of deaths it’s supposedly endured. Those pronounced by its doomsayers: the radio star’s death by video, the video star’s demise by download (or by reality stars, as we’ve witnessed on MTV), and even, it’s been declared, the death of the music industry itself.
Sure, the album is going through a bit of an awkward phase right now due primarily to the imminent phasing out of the CD, but talk of the music industry’s wipeout can be as moot as humanity’s. So rather than ring the alarm for the music industry’s annihilation, I’ll proclaim it now: we’ve got a certified ear-volution going on here, its evidence being today’s freedom to play and be heard as well as the freedom to listen and, successively, discover.
Independent isn’t just a vague classification for obscure bands anymore; it’s music’s pervading spirit.
To represent this, we’ve rounded up several acts and individuals that are breaking new ground in sound. Whether it’s by exposing more ears to the exotic, as Nykó Macá has by spreading the infectious Brazilian beat through plug-play-‘n’-pass technology, or putting the action in artist-audience interaction like Mei Bastes has through the riotous band bashes she plans to turn into all-out bi-annual music fests, what we’ve seen lately—heard, rather—isn’t just the local music scene’s proof of life but its diversity. ‘Cause whether or not you’ve got a record deal, the advancements in audio guarantee someone will be listening. And through our newfound digital democracy, whatever genre or persuasion of music can survive today.
It’s the reason we captured the following people at Nuvo City’s yet-to-rise Apire condominium along Libis, which, through its construction, can also imply destruction depending on how you look at it. The same goes for local music. By the looks—or rather, sounds—of it, from its ruins was a significant rise in aural awareness.
Nykó Macá with Niño Avenido of Brigada
That Brazilian rhythm’s always gonna get you, whether it’s by a musician on Ipanema beach charming passersby into a street samba or from a full-blooded Filipina inducing you into hip-swaying submission with her shamanistic vocals.
Nykó Macá has, with her band Playground, exhibited Brazilian music’s adaptability by throwing tech-tweaked South American sounds together to produce sambatronica; giving rise to the festive fusion in the Brasilipilipino movement (so culturally contagious, its gotten acts from the Greyhoundz to Gary V to perform with a Brazilian beat brigade like Brigada); and then surging with the times by releasing Niyog, a USB-format album that revolutionizes the responsible sharing of music.
Now slipping into Black Rio outfit Gafiera!, Nykó breaks beats-bread with Radioactive Sago members Junji Lerma, Francis de Veyra, and Wowie Ansano, sounding out an Afro-Cuban rhythm whose core, amid dancehall and ‘70s funk tunes, is still a very Pinoy heartbeat.
New (USB) port of play: “Look at the way the world is moving, the way the music industry is moving in response to digital’s affecting man’s life. It’s man and the machine, not man versus the machine. So this is sort of, if you’re gonna share music, you gotta be generous about it.”
Hear/say: “The connection [between Brazil and the Philippines] is so strong. Same colonial history, the same way of enjoying life—not to worry so much about tomorrow. It made me think about our normal expectations of credibility and artistry where if you’re gonna play Afro-Cuban music, there better be a Cubano in your band. But nowadays, that’s not true. And I think that’s amazing because it breaks down barriers for people just the way the whole audience-and-performer barrier breaks down.”
Emmanuelle
Just as the way we consume music has changed, so have the constraints on who gets to create it. There’s 15 year-old Emmanuelle Camcam, for example, whose gone from acoustic YouTube performances to opening for Christian Bautista and Richard Poon, singing nothing but strum-backed sweetness to audiences much wider than those at the school plays and church productions she used to join. And while she’s got the World Wide crowd covered, a solo acoustic album under Universal Records beckons.
Taylor-made: “I’ve always been influenced by Taylor Swift ever since she started. She inspired me to start playing guitar. And James Taylor—he’s amazing.”
Hear/say: “I’ve never written a song about something that didn’t happen in my life. So whether it’s about someone I like or a break-up or family problems, I take anything and turn it into a song. It’s my outlet of expression.”
Mei Bastes
Better than clicking “like” on the Facebook group of a band is raising your beer a foot or two away from them. For glorified groupie Mei Bastes, making her own little social network of band mates through Muziklaban hosting gigs paid off when the birthday party she threw herself on Cubao Ex’s curb had Pedicab as its well-wishing entertainment. What emerged from that raucous night in 2008 was Meiday, a bi-monthly arty party encapsulating the free-for-all atmosphere of the local music scene: no cover charge; acts as diverse as Markus Highway (alt-folk) and Misyonaryo (hip-hop); and, through the creative means of communal celebration wrought from such do-it-yourself spirit, both artist and appreciator sharing a stage.
DIY to demand: “In the prod, I’m alone. I’ve never had commercial sponsors for my events. I don’t get anything out of it, kahit one peso. I didn’t expect it was gonna be this big. Medyo problematic siya now ‘cause I have to hire bouncers. So maybe I’ll make it into a twice-a-year event. And I still want to make it free.”
Hear/say: “Band lineups are very diverse kasi eclectic ‘din taste ko sa music. I’m very proud na hindi lang dahil friends ko sila pero gusto ko music nila. Nung una, big bands had a bigger talent fee. Now, maraming bands na lumalapit na.”
DannieBoi
Twenty-five-year-old Dannieboi Farmer may have discovered his roots when he arrived at his Filipina mother’s homeland in 2006 but R&B, the music he’d been writing since high school in the Bay Area, seemed buried here amid a robust rock scene.
Opening gigs for the late Francis M kept him on our soil, however, a first studio album, “Soundtrip” (2008), soon following. It was a dance music-infused detour (an international collab with rapper Chingy notwithstanding) before returning to the “pure R&B and pop” of Artista, the sonically spare but slick lyrical wink of a single he released independently last year, matched by a YouTube-streamed, cameo-ridden video showing what star power he can shine upon his genre. Even before working out a distribution deal or clocking in some music channel face time, that is.
Mass-imilation: “I love rock, acoustic’s cool too. They seem to be at the top right now, which is fine. There are arguments that ‘Oh, there’s Jay-R, Billy Crawford, Kris Lawrence, Gloc-9. But that’s just four artists out of so many out there…usually artists here just try to please the masa. That’s not my goal.”
Hear/say: “I have five songs that are officially done. One with Aero, an underground rapper and two with Q-York. About Artista, a lot of people like it and the people that don’t say it’s ‘too pop.’ But what is ‘too pop’ now, though? I was just going with the flow.”
General Luna
A strutting contradiction, this band of beauties is: that girls with bodies made for grinding at clubs could grind worthy guitar solos out; or that girls with sex-candied lips could emit both sensuous soul and diesel-fueled wails—the sort you’ll hear on General Luna’s first single Red Heaven, their “hardest song” according to vocalist and lyricist Nicole Asensio.
Rather than pick between seduce or destroy, this all-girl quintet is militant about illuminating the quality of their music; the mission statement that arose when Asensio rounded up long-time gal pals Bea Lao (drums), Alex Montemayor (bass), and guitarists Audry Dionisio and Caren Mangaram from bands that spanned classic rock and power-prog metal, each inspiring the muse-ical mélange on their first album for Warner. Certainly, playing with the boys has helped, producers like Sugarfree’s Ebe Dancel and Francis Reyes of The Dawn among other distinguished men in Luna’s life, helping keep peoples’ ears and minds—rather than just eyes—agog.
(Hot) girl troubles: “There’s always gonna be that preconceived notion na all-girls: hot, period; fuck the music. Pero that’s the thing—it makes us work harder to actually prove to people that it’s not just face, not just hair.” —Audry
Hear/say: “It’s not enough that you’re a girl and there are guys who are gonna, I guess, consider you, but I think what’s important is to be open with our fellow women. We want to be able to reach out to girls more than guys. Kasi we understand what they’re going through, man. We all get our period, we all get bitchy.” — Nicole
Musical O
A name like Musical O puts ideas in your brain. If O’s for orgasm, what kind of arrogant, self-satisfied assholes name their band “musical orgasm”?
But then the music starts and it’s all the answer you’ll ever need. Marco Dinglasan (Vocals), Chino Soliman (Bass), Mario Consunji (Guitar), and Miggy Abesamis (Drums) named their band “Musical O” for a reason. It might be an inside joke, a reference of some sort, or even the “assholes” theory. But a chorus into their first song at a gig you went to for another band, Musical O just a filler you had to tolerate to get to “the good stuff,” and you’re blown away. This is good old-fashioned song craft, with a hint of shoegaze here and atmospheric there. It’s the kind of loud music you listen to closely, because it’s small and intimate and personal, while simultaneously being bigger than the hole-in-the-wall bar you’re at. Signed to Terno Recordings, their “Debutante” album was released late last year. For whatever reason, they named their band “Musical O.” For you, it’s exactly that—orgasmic.
Musical (O)utlet: “Terno has supported bands, wherein we feel like we would generally ‘fit in’, such as Up Dharma Down, Radioactive Sago Project, Drip. It was because of terno we were able to play in various events we would have never known how to get into. I’d like to think of us as a team. We all benefit from each other in the end—symbiosis.” —Mario
Hear/say: “We all agreed to release a tangible memoir of our journey. It’s probably because we still reached the age wherein we knew that CDs were important and it was the only way to go. We’re not very business minded, so we never really had a plan on how to do these things. But we do try to update our online pages as much as we can.” — Mario/ Raymond Ang
December Avenue
Someone’s got to do it. With Hale and Sponge Cola between albums and all the new bands trying to be the next Saguijo pinup, the colegialas have no one to scream for, no one to provide music for the school fair and that first kiss.
With hooky songs and an orientation that’s ineffably radio pop, December Avenue seems like the guys for the job, with songs like I’ll Be Watching You and I Believe In Love as the probable soundtrack to many a soiree.
But their journey to potential ubiquity is one that decidedly less radio-based than Champ and the boys, and more in line with Sponge Cola’s Limewire-propelled popularity. A YouTube video of vocalist and guitarist Zel Bautista made the Internet rounds in 2007, eventually making its way to the screens of bandmates Jem Manuel (Guitars), Don Gregorio (Bass), and Jet Danao (Drums, Back-up vocals). Songs on Multiply, Facebook, and MySpace spread the gospel, culminating in a Bataan show where, as they were surprised to find out, people know their lyrics. With Nokia’s Independent Artists Club, it just might be a matter of time until they make their way to some hormonally-charged teen’s mixtape.
On IAC and the Internet: “Eto na yung future [pertaining to getting songs online] so kailangan mag-adapt. Nakakatuwa dahil may mga tao outside our circle na kilala kami.” —Zel
Hear/say: “Our songs are mostly about moving on, life, and love. December connects the past year to the incoming year. It’s the avenue for new things, a new life.” — Zel/ Raymond Ang
