12.14.2006

LUNATICS LET LOOSE IN THE ASYLUM: PINOY ROCK IN 2006

MUSIC CRITIC, FILM DIRECTOR AND ALL-AROUND CREATIVE FORCE ERWIN ROMULO TALKS TO OLD PUNKS, LOOKS AT PINOY ROCK'S PAST AND PRESENT, AND IDENTIFIES THE MOST IMPORTANT ACTS OF OUR TIME

by Erwin Romulo

Old punks often tell truths. Musically, that’s all they’re really supposed to have—plus two or maybe three chords. (Sometimes four.) But past forty, they get too responsible to be stupid—and perhaps too respectable to get into the gear—so that the truth is all there is: loud and noisy even after all the years, without the guitars and amps.

Former Absolute Zero, former Betrayed bassist Je Bautista has his thoughts on the Pinoy music scene in the 1980s—undoubtedly a tumultuous period in our nation’s recent history. “For all intents and purposes, the local scene from two-odd decades past was a mish-mash of different musical approaches that defied musical genres and much of the convoluted pigeonholing that is so prevalent nowadays,” he writes. “So-called musical borders were practically non-existent and such openness only served to enrich the creative burst of energy that may as well have been attributed to pre-pubescent passions.”

“If Pinoy Rock was supposedly born in the 1970s, it would have been on a hormonal binge as a teenager with burning sensations in the 1980s,” laughs Bautista. Following the metaphor, “alternatib”—as Pinoy Rock came to be known in the 90s—showed that it had matured and was ready to be heard in the mainstream. Led by bands like The Eraserheads, Yano and Rivermaya, rock n’ roll dominated popular culture, leaving some pundits to wonder amidst the ubiquity of anthems such as “Pare Ko,” “Banal na Aso, Santong Kabayo” and “Awit ng Kabataan” if they were actually the alternative or now the mainstream. (Even today, it is not uncommon for bands to label themselves “alternative”, becoming confused—even discombobulated—if asked point-blank, “Alternative to what?”) But for all the success, Pinoy Rock—particularly its young audience and a few of the artists themselves—exhibited an alarming puritanical streak, delineating their tribe against other genres. Inevitably, “rockers” hated “hip-hoppers” and vice-versa—and everybody hated “pop”. Even Francis M.’s collaborations with the Eraserheads seemed only tolerated because of Magalona’s appropriation of rock and even metal on his 1995 FreeMan LP. Upstart radio station LA 105.9 (which prided itself on championing OPM, particularly rock) was reported to have incited both “rockers” and “hip-hoppers,” resulting in several skirmishes between the camps in various shopping malls. It would take the emergence in 2000 of local rap-metal or Nu-metal with bands like Slapshock, Greyhoundz and Cheese, to finally put the feud to rest.

After the demise of Nu-Metal (derogatorily referred to locally as “kupaw”) after the country’s premiere rock station NU 107.5 changed formats and the acoustic craze that made Paolo Santos famous helped kill it, the best local music was being made and released independently. Toti Dalmacion, known for being the original drummer for seminal band The Aga Mulach Experience and mover behind Groove Nation, put up Terno Recordings and released Orange & Lemons’ first LP Love in the Land of Rubber Shoes and Dirty Ice Cream, a debut that was unabashedly swaggering with Anglophilia and power pop. At first, Dalamacion envisioned his label as being exclusively devoted to releasing “indie” pop—much like 4AD and Creation. Eventually it found itself being host to bands as different as Radioactive Sago Project, Drip, Up dharma Down and Wahijuara. But the trend and tone of the music scene was set in 2000 by no other than Rivermaya who—after some squabbles with their record label BMG—decided to give away their latest album for free, the first seismic shift that would alter Pinoy Rock and lay the groundwork for the coming years.

In 2006, rock music still dominates—but exactly who in rock dominates is unclear. From advertising jingles to TV themes, bands like Kamikazee, Hale and The Itchyworms are earning more in a few months than any of the bands from the 90s boom (including The Eraserheads) made during their heyday. Record store Odyssey sales reports also indicate that 80% of record sales are comprised of local albums, with a good number falling under the “rock” genre. But what exactly is Pinoy Rock these days? It really isn’t that rock n’ roll actually pays but rather, what exactly is it really today?

If you take a cursory listen to all the top acts in the charts today it’s quite noticeable that not one style—be it metal, rap, emo or pop—has led the trend. Unlike in the past, Pinoy Rock is not a homogeneous creature anymore; these days it’s more accurate to describe it as a chimera—an incongruous monster that has gobbled up the industry. The past two years have marked a freefall for the scene. All bets are off. The lunatics have taken over the asylum.

Even the country’s biggest act at the moment, Bamboo, acknowledged the free-for-all spirit of the times with their second album, Light Peace Love. Aside from anthems in the vein of their breakthrough single, “Noypi,” this time the 4-piece throw in just about everything from art-pop (‘Dinner for 6”) to aching R&B (“Much Has Been Said”). Bassist Nathan Azarcon himself admits that the songs on the album are indeed disparate from each other, held together only by the band’s conviction and their singer Bamboo Mañalac’s vocals. The music does indeed play the band.

But things have gotten decidedly more interesting. Weirder.

Whereas punks before needed only two or maybe three chords, the new breed were happy to discard these altogether. The independent release S.A.B.A.W. is an anthology of experimental, electronic and noise recorded by local artists, some formed as far back as the late 80s/early 90s. It features elder statesmen in the sound-art scene like the multi-media Children of the Cathode Ray (featuring tech-journalist Jing Garcia, media artist/guitarist Blums Borres and acclaimed filmmaker Tad Ermitaño among others), noise terrorists Elemento and Foodshelter&Clothing. to young upstarts like the abstract-rock outfit EAT TAE and modern classical composers like Teresa Barroza. If nothing else, the album is a document of recent times up to the present, making perfect sense amidst the Futurist cacophony that assaults anybody on EDSA during the late afternoon. The cover art itself by visual artist Poklong Anading aptly represents/depicts this savage, noisier era: against a backdrop of flypaper, everything that is thrown on the wall sticks—not just the flies.

If you check out any one of the many rock joints in Metro Manila—from 70’s Bistro to Saguijo, Gweilos to Kolumn, Mayric’s to Capone’s—you’ll find all manner of beasts there. Not just the usual suspects.

Soul and R&B has found a niche in the rock clubs. Singers like Armi Mallare of current favorites Up dharma Down or groups like The Chilitees represent the latter in various degrees, building on the efforts of local bluesmen such as Binky Lampano to develop a truly Filipino expression of the form. Even hip-hop, the kind unadulterated by the rap-rock fusion, made its presence felt in “da club”—and no 50 cent covers or bling bling tolerated whatsoever.

A.M.P.O.N. (or Absolute Messages Personified Over Noise) is a 20-plus strong collective of progressive hip-hop heads ranging from MC’s to beat-boxers, DJ’s to producers. Dubbing themselves as “ART-CORE HIP HOP,” they released their opening salvo, Dekoding Rhythm, this year with the express intention of “destroying the façade of hiphop.” Not to be dismissed as merely naïve malcontents, their polemic is hard as nails, as is their music, which runs the gamut from sparse—almost Spartan—instrumentation to dense instrumentals. “Independent as fuck,” is a maxim the group has learned to run by. Not to be taken lightly at all.

But perhaps the most significant group to come out this decade—not necessarily the most popular, but the one that captures the spirit of the moment—is Radioactive Sago Project. This bands of refuseniks is fronted by former Dead Ends guitarist and award-winning writer Lourd de Veyra and his brother Francis, and rounded out by music majors from U.P. Diliman’s College of Music. Originally a spoken-word jazz ensemble, the band gets more restless with each year, incorporating hardcore, funk, metal and muzak into their sound. Essentially it’s frontman de Veyra who ties the clashing elements together, channeling Jello Biafra, Jack Sikat and Jackson Pollock to contextualize the action painting of the band’s music. As of this writing they’re in the final stages of mixing their third LP (under Dalmacion’s Terno Recordings) entitled, Tangina Mo Ang Daming Nagugutom Sa Mundo Fashionista Ka Pa Rin—if first single “Wasak na Wasak” (or “Total Wreck” as it’s subtitled in R.A. Rivera’s music video) is anything to go by, the album title is the least of their concerns. The band’s irreverent brand of iconoclasm has always led them to embrace pronouncements of “commercial suicide” ever since their first album. Despite this, they enjoy a surprising high profile in the mainstream—whether advertising is appropriating their music as jingles, or they’re flying to Geneva to play a gig protesting the WTO.

The music is thriving, but space is limited to tackle every uprising across the archipelago. It should be noted that Cebu and the Visayas in general has risen to prominence as music hotspots. Artist like Urbandub, Junior Kilat, The Ambassadors, Sheila and the Insects and Cueshé have all come out in their own ways to reach nationwide popularity. Electronica—or electronic music—is attracting attention via pioneering acts like Drip and Nyko Maca, as well as Intelligent Dance Music (or IDM) practitoners like Moon Fear Moon or Mu Arae Transmission. As always, the underground scene that germinated from punk and has developed into myriad aggressive, fringe genres (too specialized for classification or discussion by this writer) are still going strong—unmindful probably of their place or of anyone else’s in this article. Hardcore bands like Beauty of Doubt or Throw (fronted by legendary Dead Ends frontman Al Dimalanta) aren’t looking to get shown on MTV or MYX anytime soon. (Or ever.)

It seems rock n’ roll has transcended its own skin, but that is of course so broad a statement that simply turning on the radio or the TV disproves it. In fact, most of the artists highlighted in this piece almost never get played anywhere (even Sago). The point is not to highlight what’s popular, but what’s happening and what’s changing. And damn if that’s going to happen in between commercial breaks. As we move further from the 20th century, it’s anybody’s guess where else Pinoy Rock or truly Original Pinoy Music will go and what sort of passions it will inspire.

Our prayer is that it doesn’t get too smart. Too clever and it becomes a business—and that’s the death of everything. Besides, who’s really made money by playing great music in this country? Most of the time, it just ages you before your time. (Except punks—they seem to stay young.) Benign and cheery, Bautista himself says about the punk scene in the 80’s, it was mainly kids “being stupid.” (Probably if he played jazz, his face would resemble an ashtray.) Listening to the best music today, it’s evident that—in that respect—nothing’s really changed. And the thing with stupidity is that you can always count on it.

Somehow, in this context, that’s a welcome thought.

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• 2010
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    • A WARDING OFF: THE ROCK AWARDS (AMONG OTHER THINGS)
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