music
Tuesday, June 23, 2026
A signed album, lingering concert euphoria, and the joy of growing older with the music that shaped us.
I'm still reeling from the euphoric high of Manila 2.0: The Wolfgang Reunion Concert Tour held at the Filinvest Tent in Alabang, Muntinlupa. It may take weeks before this nostalgia-fueled hysteria finally wears off.
I can still feel Wolf Gemora's thunderous drumbeats and hear Basti Artadi's warm, full voice filling every corner of the venue. Manuel Legarda and Marco Cuneta's dynamic guitar tandem remains etched in my mind, their interplay so intuitive it bordered on telepathic. The earth-shaking riffs. The raw energy. Pure rock and roll sorcery.
When Basti urged the crowd to raise their middle fingers in collective defiance—a salute to a generation that refuses to be subdued by age, expectations, or BS—we were officially transported back to 1995.
As I slip back into the daily grind, I can't help but feel grateful for the rare privilege of witnessing a band that defined my youth celebrate three decades of music. For one night, we relived the old days. We sang every lyric. We became 23 again.
On June 20, 2026, the kids of the '90s were one tribe once more.
To stage a reunion concert after thirty years is perhaps the greatest measure of a band's success. When your songs become life anthems—soundtracks to heartbreak, triumph, resilience, and growing up—you know your music has fulfilled its purpose.
As a fan, I couldn't be happier for Wolfgang. As Basti once wrote on Facebook, the fans are the band's fifth member. And somehow, that makes this journey feel even more special.
Back at work today, a long-awaited parcel finally arrived in the mail: the Batch 2 limited-edition Wolfgang 30 CD that I ordered from Jeepney Rock Stop.
It's been ages since I've held a CD in my hands. It's been even longer since I've ripped one onto a computer. I don't own a proper CD player anymore—just an external drive connected to my laptop. Maybe it's time to buy a portable CD player. Am I officially back in 1990s mode?
I think so.
The Wolfgang 30 album packaging is artsy yet straightforward, featuring Paolo Cagampan's striking artwork in a blue, gold, and white color palette. The sleeve includes song lyrics and short anecdotes about how the tracks came to be. The only problem? The lyrics are printed in microscopic nano-sized fonts.
Seriously, Wolfgang?
Your 50-year-old fans need a magnifying glass.
I also love how the band was cheeky enough to include a tiny group photo with a taho and balut vendor. It's roughly one inch by three-quarters of an inch, and it perfectly captures Wolfgang's offbeat sense of humor.
The CD itself embraces a clean, minimalist aesthetic—black on white, simple and masculine. Since this copy is signed, it automatically earns a permanent spot in my Wolfgang treasure box.
And yes, I'm already eyeing the upcoming Acoustica vinyl release.
If physical media isn't your thing, by all means stream Wolfgang on Spotify and other music platforms. They deserve far more than a million monthly listeners.
What I particularly love about Wolfgang 30 is the band's decision to re-record these songs with Basti's present-day voice. Time has given his vocals a warmth, depth, and richness that add new dimensions to familiar tracks. The songs haven't aged.
They've matured.
Like fine wine—or your libation of choice.
A new song, The Blackened Sea of Carrion is also included in this limited-edition CD. I loved the song the first moment I heard it. I believe a video version is available on the band's YouTube channel.
The album is masterfully recorded, mixed, and mastered by guitar wizard Manuel Legarda at Loudbox Studios. Listening to it, I couldn't help but wonder what a future spatial audio remix might sound like.
A fan can dream.
Rating: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Wolfgang 30 isn't just a commemorative album. It's a celebration of survival, brotherhood, and the enduring power of rock music. Thirty years later, Wolfgang still sounds hungry, dangerous, and unapologetically alive.
And for those of us who grew up with their music, that's exactly what we needed.
Stream Wolfgang 30 here:
Monday, June 8, 2026
From Cup of Joe's Gen Z faithful to Wolfgang's reunion crowd in Passi, Iloilo, three concerts revealed how every generation finds itself in the music it loves—and why nostalgia remains the most powerful encore of all.
The best thing about surviving May wasn't the arrival of June.
It was the music.
After weeks of oppressive heat, random prickly heat flare-ups, and the daily indignity of feeling permanently damp, I emerged from the month's meteorological assault with a curious realization: I had somehow spent the hottest month of the year attending three concerts that felt like three different versions of the Philippines.
There was the Cup of Joe Stardust Tour in Iloilo. Then came Tanduay First Five. Finally, Wolfgang's Reunion Tour in Passi City.
Three concerts. Three generations. Three entirely different ideas of what it means to be a Filipino music fan.
And somewhere between Gen Z euphoria and Gen X nostalgia, I found myself confronting an uncomfortable truth.
I am no longer the target market.
The discovery wasn't traumatic. It was simply... illuminating.
At the Cup of Joe concert, I was surrounded by Joewahs singing every lyric with the kind of emotional conviction usually reserved for first love and final heartbreak. They knew exactly when to raise their phones, when to scream, and when to sway in unison.
I admired the enthusiasm.
I also felt approximately one hundred years old.
The same thing happened at Tanduay First Five. The crowd skewed young. They effortlessly sang along to songs I vaguely recognized from Spotify playlists and viral TikTok clips. Names like Zack Tabudlo and Flow G existed in my consciousness mostly as streaming recommendations rather than artists whose discographies I knew by heart.
Meanwhile, I found myself waiting for Parokya ni Edgar while quietly calculating whether my lower back would survive another two hours of standing.
Nobody warns you that one of the defining experiences of middle age is discovering that concerts become endurance sports.
What fascinated me wasn't the music itself but the generational differences in how people consumed it.
For Gen Z, music seems inseparable from community. Songs arrive attached to trends, reels, edits, and collective online experiences. Their fandom is visible, performative, and highly participatory.
For Gen X, music was identity.
We didn't merely listen to bands. We built entire personalities around them.
Heavy metal wasn't a playlist category.
It was a worldview.
Grunge wasn't an aesthetic.
It was a belief system.
Britpop, punk rock, alternative rock—these weren't algorithmic recommendations. They were tribes.
Back then, musical tastes functioned as social currency. The bands on your cassette collection told people who you were. Your concert shirt was a declaration. Your favorite album was practically a personality test.
Naturally, everything outside your preferred genre was considered cringe.
Youth is nothing if not uncompromising.
Perhaps that explains why I struggle to understand contemporary genre labels.
Cup of Joe is often described as alternative pop, indie pop, or pop rock. But for those of us who grew up during the 1990s, "alternative" referred to artists operating outside the mainstream. Once a band started selling out arenas, they graduated from alternative status.
Then again, every generation rewrites the definitions.
The kids are probably right.
Or maybe they're wrong.
Either way, language evolves while aging teaches you not to care quite as much.
The irony is that I genuinely enjoyed both concerts.
I loved watching thousands of young Filipinos become emotionally invested in local music. OPM has never been more vibrant, more diverse, or more commercially successful. Every generation deserves its own soundtrack.
The soundtrack simply changes.
You don't.
Which brings me to Wolfgang.
I almost didn't attend their reunion concert because of transportation issues. When the organizers announced free round-trip transfers at the last minute, I impulsively decided to go.
Alone.
Sometimes adulthood means realizing you no longer need company to enjoy the things you love.
The moment Wolfgang stepped onstage, something shifted.
Suddenly, I wasn't analyzing demographics or observing cultural trends. I wasn't thinking about generational differences or social media algorithms.
I was simply a fan.
Basti Artadi still commands a stage with the effortless swagger that made him a rock star in the first place. Manuel Legarda remains a terrifyingly gifted guitarist. Wolf Gemora's drumming is still powerful enough to rattle your rib cage.
Thirty years after the release of Wolfgang's debut album, the music remains as powerful as ever. The songs that once fueled our youth still hit with the same intensity, even as the people singing along have grown older.
As the guitars roared, the years disappeared almost instantly.
The remarkable thing wasn't that they could still perform.
The remarkable thing was how quickly the audience transformed.
Middle-aged professionals became teenagers again.
Parents became former rebels.
Responsible adults became fans screaming lyrics they hadn't heard live in decades.
Nostalgia often gets dismissed as sentimental indulgence. But perhaps nostalgia serves a more important purpose.
Perhaps it reminds us that every version of ourselves still exists somewhere.
The teenager who discovered Wolfgang in the late 1990s isn't gone.
She's simply hidden beneath deadlines, responsibilities, maintenance medications, and an increasingly practical pair of shoes.
All it takes is a familiar guitar riff to bring her back.
By any objective measure, Wolfgang's concert was not merely the best performance I saw in May.
It was the most meaningful.
Not because the band was better than the younger acts.
Not because the music was superior.
But because, for two glorious hours in a comfortably air-conditioned arena in Passi City, time folded in on itself.
The distance between who I was and who I am suddenly felt very small.
The summer heat, the traffic, the logistics, the aching feet—none of it mattered.
For one night, it was the 1990s again.
And judging from the smiles on the faces around me, I wasn't the only one who felt it.
Wednesday, January 28, 2026
Put your headphones on and explore Iloilo City on foot with a Spotify playlist made for slow walks and golden hour moments. From sun-drenched afternoons to breezy twilight strolls, this curated mix of gentle OPM and energizing indie beats is designed to help you fall in love with the City of Love—one step at a time.
Languid strolls can lift a sour mood. Picking up the pace can untangle an overthinking mind.
As you move, inhale the city’s calm, unhurried energy. Let the good vibes sink in while a heady mix of gentle OPM melodies and energizing indie beats sets the rhythm of your walk. There’s something about the cadence of the music blending with the city’s pace—it settles into your soul before you even realize it.
Feel it already? Do a gentle warm-up, press play, and let the streets, skies, and familiar corners unfold around you. This is your time to slow down, look up, and rediscover the quiet charm of Iloilo City—one step, one song at a time.
Don’t forget to save the playlist on Spotify. See you around the City of Love.
Friday, January 23, 2026
Cloud Dancer (Pantone 11-4201) feels like a held breath—quiet, weightless, and reassuring. It lives in that liminal space between white and sky, where blue and gray dissolve into something barely there. Like almond milk poured into tea, it softens without erasing, calms without dimming. It is a color that does not ask for attention, yet creates the perfect atmosphere for everything else to be seen more clearly.
To bask in its contemplative softness, imagine pairing Cloud Dancer with a sound bath—tones that drift, linger, and gently fade, much like clouds themselves.
Cloud Dancer Sound Bath
A calming Spotify playlist for rest, reflection, and gentle becoming
You can search these tracks directly on Spotify or build your own playlist inspired by them:
- ✨ Opening – Light & Air
- Marconi Union – “Weightless”
- Brian Eno – “An Ending (Ascent)”
- Hammock – “Turn Away and Return”
- ☁️ Floating – Dreamy & Spacious
- Nils Frahm – “Says”
- Ólafur Arnalds – “Near Light”
- A Winged Victory for the Sullen – “Steep Hills of Vicodin Tears”
- 🕊️ Resting – Soft Piano & Ambient Calm
- Joep Beving – “Sleeping Lotus”
- Max Richter – “Dream 3 (in the midst of my life)”
- Hania Rani – “F Major”
- 🌙 Closing – Stillness & Breath
- East Forest – “10 Laws”
- Julianna Barwick – “Look Into Your Own Mind”
- Sigur Rós – “Samskeyti”
How to listen like Cloud Dancer
-Play at low volume, just above silence
-Listen during early morning light or late afternoon lull
-Pair with white curtains moving in the breeze, warm tea, or journaling
-Let your thoughts pass—no need to hold onto them
Cloud Dancer is not about escape.
It’s about permission—to slow down, to soften your edges, and to let the rest of your life’s colors quietly glow.
Tuesday, December 23, 2025
A shimmering collision of retro funk, Britpop nostalgia, and modern OPM swagger—Andalucia feels less like a comeback album and more like a late-night drive through memory, melody, and youthful longing.
Andalucia—IV of Spades’ reunion album after a five-year hiatus—is easily this year’s most memorable release. True to their funk-rock roots, the album is a refined and mature work of sonic artistry that highlights the band’s mastery of melody and lyricism. Rather than chasing trends, the album’s 12 tracks feel timeless—destined to become OPM rock classics that future generations will continue to enjoy. It’s nostalgia with a twist of millennial exuberance.
If I were to file Andalucia under a specific category, it would be that perfect car song / road trip playlist—the kind you play over and over again, even while stuck in a raging traffic jam.
As someone who grew up listening to ’90s OPM and alternative rock, this album hits me with a powerful wave of nostalgia. Suddenly, I’m transported back to my state university’s flagship campus as a wide-eyed college freshman, enjoying a warm afternoon breeze in baby tees and sneakers. Andalucia gives me all these feels—and more.
TARA (Let’s Go)
The album opens with an infectious burst of youthful exuberance tinged with nostalgia. The guitar intro immediately hooks you, setting the tone for the flirty lyrics of a boy eager to take a girl out on a date. The playful vocal cadence makes this track an instant joy to listen to.
MONSTER
This track revives memories of my Britpop phase—weekends spent glued to MTV Asia, immersed in bands like Oasis, Blur, Suede, and Pulp. Monster is a sonic masterpiece. I can almost imagine Damon Albarn in the room as it plays. When the band chants, “We are the future from the seventies,” it feels like a declaration. Sons of Gen X musicians born in the ’70s, IV of Spades proudly carry the torch forward.
PARU-PARU (Butterfly)
Aww—this one’s just adorable. It perfectly captures that kilig moment: the awkward nervousness of being around the person you love, like butterflies blooming in your stomach from love-induced anxiety. I love that there’s now an IV of Spades song that captures this feeling so well.
NANAMAN
I can’t help but think of Eraserheads when this song comes on. That familiar ’90s guitar work—raw, unpolished, and almost live—delivers a solid punch of nostalgia. The more you listen, the catchier it becomes.
KONSENSIYA
My favorite part is the four-chord intro loop, which vaguely echoes U2’s Pride (In the Name of Love). If Paru-Paru feels like falling in love, Konsensiya explores the foolishness of being the third wheel—all in the name of love.
TAMIS NG PAGKAKAMALI
A song for your favorite mistake. The sweetness of bad life decisions—sorry, not sorry. This track captures that sentiment perfectly, wrapped in classic ’90s OPM sensibilities.
AURA
With a melodic pattern reminiscent of Mundo, IV of Spades’ most popular song, Aura feels warm, nostalgic, and incandescently sincere. It has all the makings of a true OPM classic.
KARMA
This is my OPM counterpart to Taylor Swift’s Karma. While Swift delivers her message with subtlety, this track doesn’t mince words: “Malay mo, matauhan ka, ako ang iyong karma. Gulat ka, ’di ba?”
TANGERINE BOULEVARD
This song has Rico Blanco written all over it. Clearly inspired by him, IV of Spades effortlessly channels the Rivermaya songwriting tradition. For a moment, you might even think Rico himself is singing—when it’s actually Unique Salonga. The lyrics are poetic and rich with meaning, while the soothing progression makes this one of my top picks on the album.
KABISADO
With its distinct ’70s rock flair, Kabisado is smooth, suave, and easy on the ears. It’s the kind of song that quietly grows on you.
REWIND
Upbeat and energetic, this track grooves with a funky ’80s feel. I catch hints of new wave influences particularly Culture Club’s Karma Chameleon or General Public’s Tenderness in the first few seconds of the song. You won’t mind hitting repeat—this song is pure fun.
SULIRANIN
The slowest track on the album, Suliranin leans into the relaxed vibe of ’70s folk-pop—think Apo Hiking Society or The Rainmakers. It’s a gentle, satisfying close to an outstanding album.
FINAL VERDICT
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
A masterfully crafted record by four incredibly talented musicians with diverse influences, Andalucia is the best album I’ve heard this year. Perfect score. No notes.
Tuesday, December 2, 2025
Sweet Alison (Lobularia maritima)
This summer, my good friend Cathy from the States sent me a packet of Wildflower Mix seeds. I’ve never considered myself much of a green thumb — certainly nothing like my late mother — but every now and then I manage to weave a little garden magic when it truly matters.
This year, it mattered.
I’ve spent the past months tending my mother’s garden, a place she nurtured with such love before she passed a decade ago. I made a promise to keep her lawn alive and to keep adding to her collection. And so, slowly and carefully, I’ve been filling it with new life: Nerium oleander, Sweet Alison, strawberries, a goldfish plant, kumquat, and a Philodendron “Prince of Orange,” among others.
My favorite, by far, is Sweet Alison — a honey-scented wildflower that draws in pollinators and memories in equal measure. Its fragrance always brings Tom Petty’s song "Wildflowers" to mind, one of my cherished garden-themed songs. There’s something about the lyrics, gentle and reassuring, that reminds me that no matter how life unfolds, we all deserve a place where we feel free.
Tending this garden has become more than a task; it’s a quiet ritual, a way of keeping my mother close. And every time Sweet Alison blooms, I’m reminded that we, too, belong among the wildflowers.
WILDFLOWERS
(Tom Petty/1994)
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, find you a lover
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, go find a lover
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free
In a garden mood? Listen to my playlist right here.
Friday, November 28, 2025
Live Music, Rainy Skies, and the Beauty of Spontaneous Moments
The Aurora Music Festival had been on my bucket list for the longest time. The promise of starry skies, glowing hot air balloons, and a lineup of my favorite OPM bands felt like the perfect way to cap off my birthday month. Well, it didn’t quite turn out that way—but honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. A little mud and mayhem is exactly what great concert memories are made of. Just ask any veteran Gen-X concertgoer.
November’s fickle weather had other plans. The festive night I imagined quickly transformed into a muddy, almost-Woodstock-like spectacle that was truly one for the books. By the time I dragged my mud-soaked shoes and hungry, tired, sleep-deprived self out of the CDM Event Grounds near midnight, torrential rains threatened to turn the place into one giant carabao puddle. My tiny folding umbrella was no match. And there was no way the hotel would let me in with shoes that looked like they survived a rice field harvest. So I surrendered. I headed back to my room on the 18th floor and watched the rest of the show from my window—though a telescope definitely would’ve helped.
Strong winds. Lashing rains. Mist swirling like smoke. The entire venue seemed to vibrate as Rico Blanco’s defiant voice pierced through the storm: “Umaaraw, umuulan, ang buhay ay parang ganyan.” Even from my cozy room, goosebumps rose all over. Ah, if only I were 20-something again—still foolish enough to brave the downpour. Petulant youth, you are blessed.
One of the highlights of my weekend wasn’t just the music—it was being unexpectedly upgraded from Fili Hotel to Nustar Hotel. A bathtub with a sweeping view of the bay and fancy French toiletries were enough to revive my worn-out city soul. They even had one of those high-tech Japanese toilets with a warmed seat and ambient glow. For a moment, I was back in Japan. Banzai!
Because of our early flight, we spent the morning exploring SM Seaside Cebu—a circular retail wonderland. First stop: Flying Tiger Copenhagen (finally, something Iloilo doesn’t have). I ended up with a Nordic Christmas décor haul and then picked up shoe covers, and a spare umbrella just in case the skies threw another tantrum. Cebu’s post-flooding worries still lingered in the back of my mind.
Honestly, my mall-rat self wanted to stay longer, but my two-hour-sleep “Tita body” was wobbling around like an exhausted wind-up toy. I was happy enough with my Flying Tiger finds and decided it was best to rest before the concert.
As expected, the crowd was dominated by energetic 20-somethings with a sprinkling of 40-somethings whose default bedtime is, well, 11 PM. The vibe was youthful and infectious. Earl Agustin was a revelation—smooth vocals even with a temperamental sound system. Maki wasn’t the strongest live performer for me, but he was undeniably charming and knew how to hype a crowd. Ben & Ben? Always excellent. Always consistent. Always magic.
My beloved Cup of Joe, though, had a rough start—tired eyes, jet lag, and technical mishaps with their IEMs. I’m expecting a better showing when they bring their Stardust Tour to Iloilo next year. I sadly missed Rico Blanco and SB19 live, but even from 18 floors up, you could feel their energy electrify the stormy night.
Of course, I have a few suggestions for the next Aurora Music Fest. First: please hold it during the summer. The hot air balloons—the festival’s signature charm—never even made an appearance. The food kiosks would’ve been more convenient outside the gates; I spent almost an hour in line for Korean snacks (essentially pastries) while Maki serenaded everyone. Many performers struggled with technical issues, and the sound system was noticeably weak for those farther back.
Eventually, the rain forced me to leave in the middle of Cup of Joe’s set, just as “Multo”—their chart-topping anthem—lit up the night with fireworks. That was my unexpected finale. And despite my list of complaints, I still walked away happy.
Aurora Music Fest Cebu may have been my first and last outdoor concert experience—I’ve accepted that I’m now an indoor-arena girl—but it was unforgettable in all the ways that matter.
I woke up at 9 AM the next day—too late for a morning dip at the pool, since breakfast was already being served. But any concert hangover vanished the moment we stepped into the private Executive Lounge on the 23rd floor for an exclusive breakfast buffet. With panoramic views of the ocean unfolding beneath us, even my groggy self felt instantly revived. I savored every minute of my stay at Nustar Hotel. Truly superb.
After checking out, we asked our taxi driver to bring us to the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño for the 1 PM Cebuano Mass. We also requested the scenic route via the Cebu–Cordova Link Expressway (CCLEX), because why not make the most of the day? In true tourist fashion, we managed to cross all three of Cebu’s major bridges before heading to the heritage district.
The afternoon heat was unusually intense, so we wandered into Plaza Independencia for a breather. Just beside it stood the historic Fort San Pedro and the National Museum of the Philippines–Cebu, where we spent a relaxed half hour soaking in the exhibits and escaping the sun’s glare.
From there, we made our way to Ayala Center Cebu for a bit of sightseeing and an early dinner before heading to the airport for our late flight home.
Overall, Cebu was awesome. Daghang Salamat, Cebu. Till next time!
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