I was silly once. I remember sharing a joint with a couple of friends in the university, and like most defiantly naughty deeds, it was done, the smoking, under a tree, sitting on the grassy ground, buzzing bugs circling our heads like halos. We giggled mostly. Giggled and giddily ate crackers. And then we started running. In circles. All over.

“Let’s pretend that we’re Vietnamese girls and we were being chased by G.I. soldiers,” F said, already getting ahead, lifting up his imaginary skirt. We had just seen Heaven and Earth.

And so we did. For hours it felt like. Laughing and stumbling, circling the tree like insects. Buzzed.

I miss it. Guiltless abandon. Relaxed rebellion. And I had almost forgotten how that felt like.

"I laid on my back, let the punk record spin
The sloppy guitar, it was shooting out stars
It all went to my heart, yeah some rainbows in the dark."

Beautiful, innit? Tilly and the Wall's growing pains and misbehaving is anything but rock and roll dumb cool. No drug-dazed walking dead fuck ups. No sunshiny languishing either. It's clever without being precious; incisive without plans. I'm a lyric kind of guy and the kilometric strings of words---practically streets of stories---are a pleasure to explore with quick turns to rousing disobedience and hidden alleys to heartbreaks.

Musically, it's still Bright Eyes meets Rilo Kiley with tap dancing for percussion though everything is bigger on this second album. Bigger harmonies, bigger sound, bigger choruses. The stomping, clapping and tap dancing are more delirious in the soaring riffs and tiptoes on the slow burners.

"So I thank the city, the lights that it's spinning
The friends that I have and the shoes we’re not shining."

If there's anything that being in my thirties taught me, it's to inject a little silliness in everything: work, love, the books I read, the music I listen to, the memories I choose to guard.

Tilly and the Wall is a feral celebration of our youth. Invincible to irony. Enthusiastic in crumpled clothes. Exultant as we race down the street. Or run in circles. It doesn't really matter. *****

TEENAGE FANCLUB
Man-Made

Sonic sister to Bandwagonesque, TFC's Man-Made is rough at the edges but sunshine sweet to the core. "It's All in My Mind" lounges then picks up, sudden yet deliciously unburdening, like remembering whre you placed the keys. There's nothing new here, wait, there's perfectly nothing new here. After all, that's what fandom is all about: unconditional love; loving what has always been there, loving the familiar, loving that old gray shirt that still fits perfectly, comfortingly, after all these years. ****

THE GUILD LEAGUE
Inner North


There's an open emotion that motion releases. "Citronella" is like staring directly at the sun, excruciatingly beautiful. Not unlike falling in love. There I said it. Pull in the overcast sky, and whistle down the sidewalk, kick a can home. Inner North is definitely not Hallmark. There's much contemplation and fear. But there's also beach towels and arched backs and Tali White singing lazy lalalas. Mostly acoustic --- except for traffic-impatient The Storm (...fear is a feeling that will never cover everything) --- mostly like freshly cut grass melodies. Hooks that stain; a smile that stays. Effortlessly one of the best. *****

TALES FROM THE TURNPIKE HOUSE
Saint Etienne


Short stories in light synth-pop, Saint Etienne's latest is appealingly cold. Cold in a distant, third person voice way. "Milk Bottle Symphony" with its airy la-la-las over breakfast preparation is pure contentment with predictability; the sing-song chorus is quitely claustrophobic. The thoughtful bossanova of "Side Streets" is deceptively smooth. Under the sheen lies a middle-class paranoia of getting mugged, getting downright dirty. And Tales from the Turnpike Down succeeds in its fragileness, in its refusal to crank up the volume even when fear and desperation thread the songs together. Now, that's genius. ****

FOUR SONGS
Alexi Murdoch


Four reasons why you should pick this up:
1. Four songs, four stories. Tender lyricism without the mush.
2. Bryter than any remembered smile, the Nick Drake sparkle in the guitar playing is pure bliss.
3. Murdoch's voice. Honeyed whiskey.
4. Orange Sky. "My salvation lies in your love." ****

I'M WIDE AWAKE, IT'S MORNING
Bright Eyes


Conor Oberst is all about them words. Sugar sticky words spun into tales of everyday madness. Though mostly about death, the songs are anything but lost in the wild search for understanding.

"And on the way home you held your camera like a bible / Just wishing so bad that it held some kind of truth."

A glimpse of the truth is frightening enough. The mortal strip tease, the slow unraveling of fear fuels the album; quiet panic not far behind. Still, there are funny moments, lazy slides, and bouncy country-rock. Less indulgent than Bright Eyes' previous releases, most of the tracks clock in at 4 minutes, with tight verses and sing-along choruses.

"But failure’s always sounded better / Lets fuck it up boys, make some noise!"

Oberst is at his best fucked up. The trumpets swell (shrill, bruised) a few seconds before the album closes. A last gasp defiant enough enough to make the earth shudder. ****

STRIKE WHILST THE IRON IS HOT
Orange and Lemons


"Whilst" aside, this is freshly squeezed Hotdogs-meets-Psychedelic Furs acoustic music to wake up to. Jangly in some parts, buzzing and Beatles-esque in others, surprisingly good most of the time. Surprising, really. Orange and Lemons' debut was too derivative and predictable. Now, it's catchyness with a twist, the catch being better refrains than choruses. "Umuwi ka na baby," stays with you, circumnavigates you. ***1/2

ANTHOLOGY
Eraserheads


“Rock n' roll is our epiphany, culture, boredom, alienation, and despair.” - Manic Street Preachers, Little Baby Nothing

1991. I was a miserable, lost boy when I first heard the Eraserheads play “Pare Ko” in the Para sa Yo Bagong Isko concert in Palma Hall’s cramped lobby. And they sucked, big time. Sloppy guitars, pitchy vocals, absolutely forgettable performance. Lousy, really, but loved. The support was almost cult-like; everyone knew the words, there was feverish adoration in a thousand eyes. And despite my freshman virtuousness and ignorance, I immediately got it, I right away understood the iconic yet reserved worship the band received in the echoing halls of the campus, when everybody started shouting the now immortal lyric: O Diyos ko / Ano ba naman ito / Di ba, tang-ina / Nagmukha akong tanga / Pina-asa niya lang ako / Letseng pag-ibig to! No other band could be sweet, desperate and funny at the same time like the Eraserheads.

Their college-rock sound defined the nineties. From their 1993 debut, the hilarious, Beatlesque “ultraelectricmagneticpop!” to their fuzzy, Sonic Youth-influenced “CarbonStereoxide” in 2001, the Eraserheads was consistently imaginative and brave. Though not always successful with their experiments, Ely, Buddy, Raymond and Marcus consistently (and stubbornly) rocked with the confidence that they knew what they were doing. And rightly so. They wrote songs that appealed to almost everyone. With the release of their debut album, suddenly the kolehiyalas and the hukbalahiphops were listening to the same music. It didn’t matter who you were --- student, professional, war veteran or a senator ---- the band held your attention and you were glued to the band’s amazing pop hooks and brilliant, yet simple, lyrics. The Eraserheads was and is still the band to beat when it comes to astute songwriting and popularity clearly evident in the new double disc collection of singles and rarities simply called, Eraserheads Anthology.

Disc 1: 1993-95. All the hits. Immediately fulfilling.

Everything that was loved and cherished is here. It perfectly opens with “Ligaya,” an aw-shucks confession of love and an offer that you simply cannot refuse: “Gagawin ko ang lahat pati ang thesis mo.” Next up is the masterpiece ode to heartbreak and drinking, “Pare Ko.” Unfortunately, what’s included here is the clean version, which takes away the childish pleasure of screaming “Di ba, tang-inaaaaa!” And when it comes to irreverent pleasures, the Eraserheads definitely know our secret tasty thoughts, like expertly dissing an ex in the crunching guitars and headbang sing-along chorus of “Magasin:” Di ko inakalang sisikat ka/ Tinawanan pa kita / Tinawag mo akong walang hiya/ Medyo pangit ka pa noon. Heh.

“Alapaap” was almost banned from the airwaves (Masdan mo aking mata / Di mo ba nakikita / Ako ngayo’y lumilipad at nasa langit na / Gusto mo bang sumama) when the Senate tried to rid radio of drug-laced songs to stop, uh, drug use. I guess it didn’t help that the opening shoe-gazing, psychedelic guitars are deliciously dizzying before the solid riff kicks in and you’re gently lifted by the soaring chorus.

Speaking of choruses that are explosively contagious, “Ang Huling El Bimbo” features one that is downright perfect, the kind of perfection that landed the Philippines a niche in MTV’s buzzing media matrix. Comparison to Oasis’ “Champagne Supernova” is inevitable and that’s not bad at all. Eraserheads may also be accused of being too derivative but they make up for it in the pulsating energy and lyrical invention of their songs. “Ang Huling El Bimbo” is an epic-scale tale of childhood love and grown-up loss complete with obsessive violins and a rousing guitar lead. But at the heart of this big production is a tender story of an ordinary man’s first awkward step towards love. Of course it all ends violently, but what’s left as the violins fade is the subtlety of love’s beginning and the fierceness of its remembering.

Ely Buendia, lead lyricist of the early albums, understood the fine art of subtlety. He effortlessly balanced humor with gentleness, universal themes with sharp character/story details. “Minsan” was never a huge single, but surprisingly, it always encouraged drunken sing-alongs. It’s just brilliant how one specific reference (Kalayaan) can resonate in the hearts of hundreds.

“Minsan” defines the tone of the first disc. These were the great songs we listened to as we struggled towards adulthood. They were the friends that made us laugh as we suffered through heartaches and hangovers. They kept us company when we were lost in speeding jeepneys, when we were horny in our empty beds, when we were happy on the walk home with our loves.

Disc 2: 1997 – 2004. Experiments, EPs and an unreleased track. Not that great but still important.

1997’s “Sticker Happy” was loud, brash and experimental. They still had hits like “Huwag Kang Matakot” and “Maselang Bahaghari” but nothing as phenomenal as their previous singles.

A welcome addition to Disc 2 is the Eheads’ cover of Ryan Cayabyab’s “Tuwing Umuulan at Kapiling Ka.” Think “Superstar” by Sonic Youth in the Carpenter’s tribute album. “Tuwing Umuulan” has been relentlessly murdered by a particular songbird; the Eheads version retains the delicately shining melody while the fuzzy guitars and bass reverbs work around it. They placed the familiar against an edgier, audacious soundscape and what we get is a version that is as fresh as wet paint, sticky and vibrant.

Other experiments did not do as well. “Fruitcake” always had a novelty feel to it, “Bogchi Hokbu” is fun but flat, “Julie Tearjerky” feels like a pop hook exercise, and “Run Barbie Run” sounds just what the title implies, rushed and nowhere to go. But the thing is, with the Eraserheads, you never felt that it was about the money. They could’ve continued to churn out materials similar to their first three albums but they chose what most of us are scared to do, to grow up. Their sound matured, got less melodic, got louder and sonically more adventurous. While hardcore fans admired the growth, most felt alienated by it. But the band had no regrets. In what could be their best written song, “Para Sa Masa,” Ely pays tribute to the “masa” without the usual token we-love-you-all put-on. The dialogue is honest, kind and straightforward:

Ito ay para sa mga masa…
Sa lahat ng aming nakasama …
Naaalala nyo pa ba?
Binigyan namin kayo ng ligaya.

Ilang taon na rin ang lumipas,
...Mapapatawad mo ba ako?
Kung hindi ko sinunod ang gusto mo.

Pinilit kong iahon ka
Ngunit ayaw mo namang sumama.

Ito ay para sa mga masa,
Sa lahat ng ibinaon ng sistema…
Sa lahat ng mahilig sa lab song at drama…
Sa lahat ng fans ni Sharon Cuneta,
Sa lahat ng may problema sa pera.

And this is why I consider the Eraserheads the best band in Philippine history. They were brave and unapologetic but they also understood. They’re almost too fucking intelligent for their own good and their titanium-assed determination to write music was never compromised. The Eheads knew that their next few albums will never be the spectacle that was “ultraelectricmagneticpop!” They knew that they would be leaving behind multitudes of fans (and vice versa), but in the end, their loyalty was to music. And I’m guessing that this was the same loyalty that led to the break up of the band. Maybe they each had a different vision of what music to write or perform and had to follow opposite musical paths. I’m making this all up of course because I want a happy ending in my head. And I know they’re all out there with new bands, but it’s just not the same.

The Eraserheads Anthology ends with a previously unreleased track. “Sa Tollgate” is a relaxed, middle-of-the-road song. We’re all in a pick-up truck driving nowhere, uncertain but happy. We should all be so lucky. *****

(Previously published in Pulp. With a different rating.)

THE WORLD IS SAVED
Stina Nordenstam


cold n. the sensation resulting from lack of warmth; chill.

There’s something about the idea of winter that makes me melancholy. The impossible whiteness of the landscape that covers whatever color survives is like a decidedly empty page, empty eyes that stare back at you. And emptiness is chilling. For most of us who grew up in a tropical country, this is the coldest we’ll ever feel — surveying a bare room, remembering a blank stare and regrets bouncing off empty walls. Growing up in Sweden, Stina Nordenstam is all too familiar with the cold and it’s no wonder that she writes music that is filled with pauses, echoing spaces and the soft whispers of falling snow.

cold adj. marked by errorless familiarity.

Her return to Stockholm for the recording of her 5th studio album The World Is Saved has resulted in a collection of songs that is immediately accessible yet surprisingly distant. 13 years of writing about longing, misery and death is finally taking its toll. Her high, breathy voice rings with the monotony of understanding. Despair is replaced by submission; raw pain with dull throbbing. The lack of inflection in her singing could very well be mistaken for boredom, or worse, a dying gasp. Her low sighs can’t muster the strength to bring to surface the blaring desperation, the rushing storm of emotions that her lyrics strongly deserve. “They put a needle once in my spine / It took them so long to find it / I can’t get this pornfilm out of my head / Let’s get on with it,” she sings flatly on the first track “Get On With Your Life”. Like a town buried in snow, everything beautiful and shattering about her words are obscured by Nordenstam’s flimsy singing and the album’s over-all wintry sheen.

cold adj. so intense as to be almost uncontrollable: cold fury.

Nordenstam’s musicians, who have delicately created a swirling soundscape of echoing bass lines, fluttering beats and inconsolable strings, salvage The World Is Saved. The arrangements are consistently stripped down; beginnings and endings blur, as the sweet, lulling melodies seem to evaporate — finally, sunshine. The spaces between the intersecting instruments help to create a an airy feel, the open window that allows the listener to catch his breath from the claustrophobic lyrics of Nordenstam.

Ultimately, The World Is Saved is still a masterpiece worthy of attention. Much like an ice sculpture, it is at once breath taking and fragile. The coldness of Nordenstam’s worldview may oftentimes isolate, but it is the friction of loneliness and drifting melodies that create the spark that could be enough to keep an empty room on a stormy night warm. ***

(Previously published in Pulp)

TONIGHT NOT AGAIN/LIVE AT THE EAGLES BALLROOM
Jason Mraz


Sexy scatting and swelling brass breathe new la-la-la-life to familiar songs. When Jason Mraz opens his mouth, people listen. Whether he’s gushing about robots, goofing around, or singing, we can’t help but listen. Especially when he sings. His music, which ranges from pop-rock to folk-jazz, is an acquired taste. Though singles like “The Remedy” and “Sleep All Day” show his knack for writing catchy choruses that effortlessly soar above standard radio fare, his other, more adventurous songs like the brooding “Tonight, Not Again” never got the attention it deserved. After getting a copy of his major record label debut, “Waiting for My Rocket to Come”, I dutifully rummaged for his back catalogue and wasn’t surprised to find a few self-produced live albums.

His live, acoustic set, recorded in 2001, brings forward the soulful side of Mraz. He breezes through his songs lazily; the scat rolls from his mouth like alcoholic honey. Most of the songs featured in the 2001 live disc didn’t make it to “Waiting for My Rocket Come” probably because of the meandering, jazz arrangements. But what the songs lacked in polish, Mraz’s performance made up for in spontaneity.

“Tonight Not Again: Jason Mraz Live at the Eagles Ballroom” is Mraz finally finding a seamless balance between his radio-friendly face and the café jazz performer. The album opens with “Tonight, Not Again”, a slow, moody song on the consuming sadness of being alone that spirals downward to hushed desperation. It doesn’t seem like the smartest choice to begin an evening with but Mraz backs the minor chords with a gradually ascending horn section that simply lifts the song to a mocking celebration of isolation. From here on, everything familiar take an unexpected --- sometimes playful, sometimes ironic --- turn. “You and I Both” becomes a laid-back acoustic number, while “Curbside Prophet” takes the bluesy alley, complete with a honky-tonk harmonica solo. The horn section takes center stage in “No Stopping Us”, making it a sweet day-in-the-park affair, but over does the mush. Mraz’s sexy scatting and lyric adlibs in the obligatory instrumental coda saves it from becoming a bland experiment. Chart-topper and sing-along favorite “The Remedy (I Won’t Worry)” gets extra boost from the ecstatic bursts of brass.

It is in his older songs where Mraz truly shines. “1000 Things” is a softly swaying jazz-lite where Mraz scats sweetly slippery. “Common Pleasure” is pure jazz classic with its puh-puh-playful wordplay and blaring trumpet solo. Where most songs are reinvented, he retains the fragile melancholy of “Unfold”. When he sings “And the words retreat breathing histories into stories untold / And I unfold”, there is a silence that could only mean everyone is listening.

There are also two new tracks, essential to any Mraz fan, included in this live set. The funky “Not So Usual” and the strangely cheery break-up song “No Doubling Back”. The excellent live recording --- there is clear throbbing and heavy breathing, as well as controlled screaming --- makes this record almost as good as being in a Jason Mraz concert. Almost. Watching Mraz in action, rollerblading across the stage, seeing those sleepy eyes smile, is priceless. For everything else, there’s “Tonight Not Again: Jason Mraz Live at the Eagles Ballroom”. ****

(Previously printed in Pulp)