02.16.2007
VIN DANCEL TURNS THE PAGE
I READ THE NEWS TODAY, OH BOY: FORMER TWISTED HALO FRONTMAN VIN DANCEL RETURNS WITH HIS NEW BAND, PERYODIKO
You’ve probably heard of Vin Dancel. I don’t mean the bald, sando-wearing meathead from XXX, though the resemblance is sometimes uncanny, but the frontman of the five-member band called Twisted Halo, formed seven years ago. Their music was enough to speak for itself, and critics and fans alike foamed at the mouth in awe over the group’s raucous three-guitar format and “crazy-eye” stage antics (that’s Diego Castillo’s endearment in quotes).
The band’s sonic sensibilities, evident on the seminal spoken-word track “Untitled #4” (off their debut EP Twisted Halo), had mild traces of Fugazi—tenacious yet fun. Moreover, the controversial group made itself more known in a roundabout, punk rock way. In their acceptance speech for the NU107 In the Raw Award in 2001, Dancel wasn’t necessarily jumping with glee. The lawyer-musician was agitated, crying foul about an alleged copyright infringement that a major film outfit committed by using their anti-hazing anthem “Brad.” The now-popular howl resounded with rage: “We will not take this sitting down!” Several photo-ops, interviews, radio guestings, and Admit One (the band’s house production) appearances after, Dancel and the rest of the Haloed ones settled out of court and got a public apology from the film outfit in major newspapers (albeit buried in obituaries and what-not). More importantly, they made an indelible imprint in the gigging circuit, touching both fans and fellow indie colleagues with pep talks about the beauty of, well, independencia.
Twisted Halo’s first full LP—In Loving Memory of the Fearless Exploits of the Bolo Brigade— launched in January 2004, was a critical breakthrough, boasting of tracks like their signature number “Breakable,” the Joey Ayala homage “‘Asan Na?,” and guitarist Jason Caballa’s livid vocal debut “Closed, Captioned.” (Moreover, the CD sleeve folded out to reveal an Amorsolo painting lang naman.) By this time, the personnel consisted of Dancel, Caballa, guitarist Joey Odulio, bassist Buddy Zabala (who replaced Jal Taguibao), and Monmon Lopez (who replaced Ichot Cruz). Zabala later left to pursue work with The Dawn and was replaced by Nix Puno, while good ol’ jolly Monmon was replaced by the celebrated Cagayan de Oro skinsman Abe Billano, who did the drumwork for Nuncyspungen and the live incarnation of dongabay (yes, one word, all lower-case letters).
The final line-up was able to arrange enough songs for a second LP, with most of them helping to assemble a workable demo, rumored to bear the working title Independencia, featuring new gig favorites such as “Undress” and “Nyssa.” And then, the unthinkable happened. On May 25, 2006, Dancel sent one of his standard text spams, inviting friends and fans alike to go watch his band in its final performance, thanking everyone for seven years’ worth of commitment and devotion. A video for the Bolo Brigade single “Public Service Announcement” was also launched on the said date, and the five-some bid the stage goodbye with an emotionally rousing eighteen-song set.
In June, 2006, a full month after Twisted Halo called it quits, Vin finally let go, finishing the first of a string of new songs, quelling the tunesmith’s thirst as soon as he’d felt it. The track was called “Pikit,” a sort of existentialist lament with beautifully rhyming couplets in Filipino. It almost seemed like the singer was exorcising himself: “Sa isang saglit ay babalik; nagdarasal nang nakapikit.” In an open letter that unintentionally mirrors the Eraserheads’ “Para sa Masa,” Dancel summons: “Mapapatawad mo kaya ako, kung iwanan ko nang sandali ang mundo mo? At bumalik sa kung saan ako huling nangarap nang gising, at nadama kong totoo ang ihip ng hangin.” The metaphors were warm, hinting at a reclusive figure who has cut himself off from the rest of the world for a long time and has finally decided to come home. Vin actually sounds sweet in this sample track, employing his middle range to great results, as opposed to his passive-aggressive approach to Twisted Halo’s material. (Yes, I can hear you all chanting song titles like “Hiram,” “Asan Na?,” “No. 36,” and all those other “soft” Halo tunes in protest. Yeah, we’ll get there, don’t worry.) Four months after the fact, Dancel set a personal record and now had, at his disposal, ten new songs. “Nu’ng sinusulat ko siya, pare, nakangiti ako. Weird,” he shared further.
On December 12, 2006, I released my first book of poems, Vocalese, at Conspiracy. Along with my band, the über-talented Benedicto siblings from Outerhope, and the larger-than-life Cynthia Alexander, I also asked Dancel to play a couple of songs. The milieu turned out to be extremely apt: Dancel previewed, for the very first time in public, “Pikit” and another tear-jerker called “Tayo,” echoing the musical themes of Gary Granada and Joey Ayala, who are resident performers at the said bar-cum-arts venue. “Mas kumbinsido ako sa kanya [the new songs]; mas satisfied ako sa kanya, kasi wala na akong iniisip na banda. Nagsulat lang ako. Hindi na ako nag-iisip ng ‘Ma-tri-trip-an kaya nila? What are they gonna say about it?’” Jason Caballa, who now plays guitar for dunk (dance punk) band Pedicab, was in the audience, so speculations of vicious animosity should just get hurled out the window right this minute. The guitarist-cum-music journalist reportedly even noted to Kris Gorra-Dancel that his ex-singer’s new songs could stand well on their own, and that employing a band was perhaps unnecessary. Vin, however, was looking in the opposite direction.
The now-free agent asked Bolo Brigade producers Buddy Zabala and Raimund Marasigan if they’d be interested in producing his new batch of songs—which he intended to compile in an album—although the musical arrangements were still in limbo. The production powerhouse-of-two echoed to the singer what they had previously told his younger brother Ebe Dancel about Sugarfree’s Tala-Arawan: “Ayaw na naming mag-produce for you. Go to The Source na,” they apparently alluded, in almost-audible capitals, to Robin Rivera, humanities professor and long-time Eraserheads producer. Vin asked the good teacher, who later reportedly said, “A band will just muddle up these songs. Since you’re going the other way, why not go all the way?” Zabala echoed the sentiments of their studio mentor; Marasigan, however, thought otherwise, insisting that a band would help energize the material. Twisted Halo’s former figurehead decided to take the median of all the warring propositions: he would enlist a band, but his songs (and not the musicians) would have to take the lead.
Dancel briefly considered taking the Kings of Convenience/ Simon and Garfunkel route with star guitarist Kakoy Legaspi, but was hindered by format similarities with Legaspi’s bar stint with Bridge singer Johnoy Danao (they were called, uhm, Johnoy and Kakoy). He expanded the hypothetical lineup in his head to include, besides Legaspi, Buddy Zabala on bass, the Chillitees’ Dan Gil on keyboards, and Sun Valley Crew’s Dex Aguila on drums. Despite these fine musicians’ respect and love for the man, however, realities and priorities set in, and this hypothetical lineup failed to materialize. Out of the blue, in early January 2007, when Dancel got invited by Bagong Lumad drummer Noe Tiu to play for Bicol Express (a benefit gig for victims of typhoon Reming), what greeted audience members at 70s Bistro was a different crew altogether, easily the serious musician’s dream assembly: keyboardist Inky de Dios (Indio-I, Brigada, Ten), bassist Simon Tan (Wdouji, Affinity, Skarlet), the come-backing drummer Abe Billano, and, perhaps most surprisingly—as Luis Katigbak already mentioned in our Pulse.ph blog—Niño Avenido (Greyhoundz, Happy Meals, Out of Body Special), not on bass, but on guitar! (That’s my first exclamation point in several months, and I’m breaking the dry spell for a damn good reason.) “Pare, sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam ang mangyayari sa banda na ‘to. Ang gusto ko lang mangyari, magawa siya nang tama,” the singer-songwriter confessed with visible dread, which he instantly dispelled himself by saying that the musical possibilities with his present lineup are, to say the least, endless.
Vin is no cunning linguist (haha), but his lyrics evoke some beautiful, unnamable feeling, that feeling of being on the verge of recovery (from what, I don’t know). Some of these numbers, such as the painful “Kumapit Ka Tuwing Lunes,” practically serve as three-minute therapy sessions: “Kumapit ka sa sarili mo. Maniwala: may pag-asa pa. Hangga’t ika’y humihinga, ang lahat ng ito’y lilipas din.” There is a new clarity in the man whom we all found to be someone who’s vaguely, generally agit about things. A friend from Rock Ed told Dancel, upon hearing the Peryodiko songs, “‘Eto ‘yung mga songs na pinag-uusapan ng mga magkakaibigan after ng twelve midnight—‘pag tapos na ‘yung chit-chat at nag-die down na ‘yung ingay.” The songs, however, are not devoid of politics, despite the ironically sunny exterior: “Mas introspective siya, eh. Tungkol pa rin sa struggle, pero it’s more personal, along the lines of ‘Miron’.” Traces of Vin’s other formative listening, apart from punk—Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Joey Ayala, some James Taylor—are evident in his comeback songs, where the fury is more contained, if not absent altogether. Going soft? Nah.
People see Vin Dancel as a champion of independent music, and he remains eloquent about this, despite reported efforts of him offering the Peryodiko material to a major label. “Ang wish ko lang, sana maging sustainable. Sa ‘kin naman, ‘di ba, lagi kong sinasabi sa ‘yo, it’s always about two things: empowerment and sustainability. It can’t be just about empowerment, kasi kung abono ka na nang abono, parang, pare, ‘di na siya nakakatuwa,” Dancel shared with some anxiety; obviously, the DIY ethic remains close to his heart, despite its self-flagellating nature. “Dati’y ‘di naman ganito. Kathang-isip lamang ba ang gulo?” Dancel sings in “Tayo,” and I started to realize that what the man was able to craft in a four-month span could serve both as existential fodder and as soundtrack to a pa-morning-an drinking binge (a great, great deal, if you ask me). One knows that you can’t talk straight to an angry man (he’ll invariably scream at you and maybe break china). Vin, however, is ready to talk. He’s hoping you are, too.
Aldus Santos sings, writes songs, and plays studio guitar for The Purplechickens. Vocalese, his first book of verses, is out now at select bookstores. Visit the site for a complete listing of outlets.
With acknowledgements to Vin and Kris Dancel. Photos courtesy of mightydacs98 and mechapinoyboy from the Twisted Halo mailing list. Vocalese launch photo of Vin Dancel by Grace Mirandilla.
