An hour or less of a joyride in a patok jeepney is an ultimate experience, or a horror of a lifetime. To be able to absorb the deafening, dinosaur flatulence of the stereo blast one must have a scandalous motormouth that can match the… take a breath,, the torture of the jeepney playlist, the cocky driver's tackiness, and worst, those thugs who might have a thing for your over-exposed cellphone and wallet. Be ready to scream, to argue or worst to call upon the crowd/police's attention, if you're up for a bright day…

But patok is never really about the awful experience that might strike you of disgust, it is, as passengers coin it, about "masa music" mostly bordering from the ultra-mega volumes of remixes be it tagalog rap, labsong, new wave, or hiphop (mostly sampling Mary J. Blige's FAMILY AFFAIR, hehehe!), up to the cheesiest radio stations that oozes the guilty chuckles in you especially when you hear the famous lines…

"Kelangan pa bang imemorayz yan, bisyo na toh?"

"Mula ng makilala ka, ako ay napaakit mo…"

And without a doubt, the latter has turned your regular jeepney ride an interesting one. Secretly and guiltily you're starting to hum along its stray of songs be it the standard type or not.

Not until recently since I find it odd anymore to listen on those ilk of "masa" stations. It's certain that I'll pinpoint that radio programmers in this hype have gone open-minded or better yet have become smarter than ever before. They seemed to reformat the playlist from crap to slightly crap, but still it's the same crap that everybody would love and like. My assumptions though gave another idea regarding this whole new platform that "masa" stations are trying to flesh out on the airwaves. Maybe the relationship between record executives, musicians and radio itself has becoming integrally solid that each has its share of support and not just basking songs after songs instead of just trying to play it and let the "masa" judge its replayability.

Hence, it's no surprise to hear both awful and considerable acts upstaging the "masa's" heart. Nowadays, you can hear Imago, Pedicab, Orange n Lemons, Paramita, Bayang Barrios and other noteworthy acts at your nearest, frantic patok jeepney. And might quite alienate you to the idea that "masa" stations, as pa-sosyal and pa-cool label it, is all about JOLOGS. Well, Radio is.

Then here I am picking up a copy of PANORAMA, 6cyclemind's 16-track, sophomore effort. I happened to hear its hauler single, "sandalan" almost everyday in the "patok" jeepneys. The simple dynamics, pop-rock feel has gotten me in more ways than one, exhausted. I couldn't take it anymore. Seriously. Bands are attempting to sound like it's the 90's again, which gives you the impression of what a safe/surefire hit/copious ditty has gotten a 'mediocre' band into superstar status. I don't blame the radio, I don't blame the people, I blame it all on the trend that continues to devour the rock music scene like a large amoeba. Yet there is a need to argue, that there are still those of the "same kind" that deserves the laurel that they are getting now. Unfortunately, 6cyclemind is not one of those whom I'd give another try on my CD player. Maybe considering it as a Christmas gift might ease the burden, money wise.

Don't get me viciously wrong; Panorama is still a good record this year around, even better than its predecessor, Permission to Shine. But the growth is felt with one eye closed and the other one opened. This record could've been a tight one, needless to say. Its sincerity on cult-like hits and power ballads is of a great catch, however it limits the band to hone their marketed sound into something nifty.

On tracks like the beerhouse-laden "trip," the trouble-free pouring of "landas" and the optimistic "naghihintay" (which includes a short reggae interplay after the 1^st chorus), I'm more likely to smile than to grunt. It's one of those songs one could easily relate to, in both their happiest and most depressing time of the day. 6cyclemind's good at it, really. And it's easy for a band to come up with a good melody rather than an impressive melody that makes for a great hook. Ok, given a fact that "l" and "clown" has got some serious tearjerky material going on with it and that "touch" can let anyone croon along with its strain of down-in-the-dumps vocals and jangling acoustic guitars, but that doesn't measure my outlook towards Panorama as something not worthy of a second listen. While hardcore 6cyclemind fans might bitch me of how slanderous my motormouth has become, some might actually love this tiny opinion of mine.

It's like riding a "patok" jeep, one must have a scandalous motormouth to cope up with the whole journey.

It’s the same old joke. Talking rubbish and all, barren ideas tending to look radically ripe, accusing and nitpicking the next piece of crap while disclaiming one’s own fault not realizing that all we have is a dead planet like Earth and not that dreamy landscape of the ostensibly perfect Utopia. Those made me boldly believe that we are born to badmouth and wear a badge of insecurities to pass off as a human rather than a Martian, as to how every self-proclaimed Mother Theresa secretly fondle their priced “armors” in the night of the sleepless and the abandoned.

Accepting the fact though, is a different challenge for people who knew nothing but their Weberian cum Marxist lingo. We are playing the realists’ game, and if you’re not, then where (planet) have you been?

Despite the ruins, the bloods, and the deads that were served fried through differences, mankind remains firm with what he deems to as tasteless and weak. Predicting the next years to pass, I should utterly direct my words in sheer…denuding trees, leaves withering away to extend their goodbye to its motherland, while postmodern thoughts will preoccupy the mechanical mankind like what a warped blackhole does with stretching to the fullest a not so flexible material. Yet, it won’t make up for a revolution, for all we see is a regressing society, sharp of one person pitted against the other. And as history repeats itself, all things will turn medieval and prehistoric. New species will soon replace us, and create another story that could fare or stray from their long lost legends. Being the legends that we are, our story will soon be wiped away. And those mouths that blabber like one loser will rest into peace. Including mine, of course.

Old jokes could turn out however into half meant bitching just to seek attention and by just merely trying to paint the blue and dark world with the shades of pink. Like the route of mass media today, the television to be particular - it’s pretty creepy, serious and becoming too boorish. All you see in your local boobtube channels are nothing but violence, sexual suggestiveness, foolhardy thoughts that spellbind viewers to follow the latest shit to nail one’s money at. Quality control would define an answer to this ill, but media conglomerates are ought to pit what the surefire hit struck the masses most. And like most of each and everyone, I’m a victim myself of the formula fed by the television dynasty. It’s cultural Imperialism as what they coin it, and I can’t help but to embrace its substandard efforts to please me for I’m but a weak and helpless guy who finds joy even in the slightest juice of things, even if something valuable is barred into it.

I know I’m not making sense here, and to reciprocate with my silly, dramatic ideas-turned-into- merely “pouring out” will just be as ambiguous as to how I discovered comfort and strange nirvana by murdering the Itchyworm’s latest pet project, NOON TIME SHOW. Incalculable spins, considering it as a sleeping pill to the weeklong sleepless nights, granted that it’s boxed with bright musical concepts having fun – I have yet to love NTS day by day.

And whether you label Noontime show as socio-commentary, political statement or blast critiquing, the album sharply makes up for great melody and a feat for lyrical ingenuity as honed and preserved by drummer/vocalist Jazz Nicholas (also of the band, BOLDSTAR). The same old joke to perceive here is something, which you’ll find really disturbing but digestible and if you’d just allow yourself be swept by the holistic message that it has been attempting to channel, you’re free-spirited to say that NTS is more than or beyond a smart-ass Comedic/theatrical wonder. It’s safe enough to say that Itchyworm’s follow up to its debut gem, little monsters under your bed is what literature experts might just term us “black comedy” or “dark farce” while some leftists and anti-commercialists might cue it as a hymn to sung at contrary to those that label Noontime show a tribute to the likes of Tito, Vic and Joey or those famous mainstays of the Noontime shows. If you’d just probe into the straightforward yet thriving lyrics of most of the cuts in NTS, you’d think it’s actually an anti-Noontime show or better yet an anti-mainstream television album that’s created to wake the people’s sensibility towards the trite drama that left our eyes glued and sticky. But whatever interpretation one might have in mind towards NTS, it still is, and will be the album to beat this year around.

An obvious comparison to the Eraserheads though might piss some E-heads fans whom happened to not relate of any Itcyworms’ song. Relatively, both the e-heads and Itchyworms drown their creativity from their brand of great pop hooks and sonic masterpieces, which in return could tariff cult following both from the masses and those with the heart of a true critic. Also, itchy’s potential hits like “akin ka na lang” and “buwan” evidently tags along a number of influences, recalling Weezer’s maladroit (seriously! Go grab the album and go whip on a song called “island in the sun”) and any cool, summer song from The Cars or some Apo Hiking Society.

Going back to the album’s spectrum, the 17-track sophomore effort from the band has some serious hate-crash towards the system that television shows doomed to throw at the innocence of viewers across the Philippine islets. There’s the unapologetic “theme from the noontime show,” the loser’s ode “contestant number one” and the anthemic “soap o pera.” But those who engage themselves watching flicks and tweetums shows of Mark Herras-Jennylyn Mercado team up or their slated contemporaries (whew! Showbiz.. hehe!), better take a peek at the infectious “loveteam.” You’re sure to agree with its brevity:

“sinungaling ka, kapag may tao ay nilalambing mo ako / pero pag wala, ay sumasama ang turing mo sakin ay parang hangin, bitin na bitin / ‘di mo lang alam na sa dulo ng tagpo hindi na patok ang mga linya ko / nag-iiba ang iyong asta hanggang sa susunod na eksena / sana wag mo ko sisihin…”

“Salapi” and “everybody thinks you’re crazy” also erupts into full explosion with its attempt to go hardcore while still has its foot on the land of radio-friendliness while “one ball” balls out some chunks as the tune slows down in limited proportions to impress.

Then, I happened to reserve my last favorite three songs on the lower spot of my review. “mister love” ranked as third, with its fresh, Motown-y voiceover of “leave your life a little, fold it in the middle and sending out to mr. Love…” The song endears with Boy, the 39 year-old letter sender asking tips for mister love on how to get a girlfriend and experience that kind of magic lovers could only attest. Then the exchange would soon contract between mister love’s candor and harsh feelings towards love like one experienced guy and Boy’s earnestness to feel it whether it could end up in a bitter way. But the two agreed to each other with the immortal lines “everybody in this world needs love.” Cheesy indeed, but the cascading pianos and the chord progressions seemed to add spark on the naiveté of the song, which clocks out sadly at 5:18. The second favorite track of mine went out to the depressing, drinking session anthem known as the “beer song.” The gigantic chorus could give the Eraserhead’s pare ko, Parokya ni Edgar’s inuman na and the guilty pleasures of 6cycle mind’s sige a place in the beerhouse backseat.

“ibuhos na ang beer sa aking lalamunan upang malunod na ang puso kong nahihirapan / bawat patak, anung sarap, anu ba talaga ang mas gusto ko? / ang beer na toh oh ang pag-ibig mo..”

the almost twelve minute interplay of “production number” scored the top position on my list of NTS favorites, and at present – the best OPM song of the year albeit the number of guest musicians (Ebe Dancel, Aia De Leon, to name a few). If it wasn’t marked as an Itchyworms’ song, it could probably pass off as a tribute song to Philippine Entertainment's ineffectiveness in delivering quality program, and its barrage of apologies that may put any television freak/followers near to tears. The principal geniuses above the lyrical attacks are those extravagant musical numbers by those fictional characters that has its equivalent on the local showbiz fanfare of today: Rodel “Jukebox” Rodrigo spoofs April Boy Regino with a stint on the song grabeng pag-ibig, the pretty boys Wackie, Cholo and Paeng recalls the “pacutie” boybands, a guy whom escapes my mind tries to copy Bayani’s rehashed novelty “otso-otso” by a short ditty penned as apat-apat, then my favorite spot on Production number bembang bebots and jimboys (baywalk bodies? Masculados?) exchanging the accusations “bastos-laswa” to both parties. What irritates me though on this take was that part of Kris Dancel’s (Cambio, Fatal Posporos) where her vocal part tends to burry her other co-Bembang bebots. Anyway, that’s not even a thing to bother. Also interesting characters who made the list are that of Ramil Ramirez Jr. promoting his Justice Vergara story (Magpakailanman, Maalaala mo kaya?), the gang vocals from Akin ka na lang casts, Lol Amor Reyes and Aisheteru’s Fuji Nakamura and Yumi Nakayama’s bastardized version on Itchyworms’ song “beer,” Sago and Carlos Santana band’s effort to sound “rock and roll” and Dr. Groove’s injection of 70’s flashback funk to the Noontime show dance floor. The production number chorus, which was repeated 4-5 times, has diverse structures per blow, with the first one sounding like a foxtrot vibe then the second one like a European polka, then the third showcasing the style ala showdown (think: divos and divas strutting their vocal prowess via “sapawan”) and the last one being an old school discotheque that recalls VST’s sumayaw, sumunod. Call it grand or impressive, the orchestral touch on the twelve minute ride smoothly gushes through the whole appeal of production number, especially on its last few words that put humor in theatrical extravaganza.. “lahat ng ito’y kasalanan naming / hinain naming sa inyo kahit di wasto..” 

Then after finishing some rounds on NTS, you’ll understand why old jokes are left at every corner of the tongue, that you admittedly swallowed it with the taste of a “stand” rather than a sense of pride. And what’s funny is you see yourself sitting on a couch writing some of the dumbest thoughts that somehow distill the blood in you like torrential stream… and you point your early statements as a joke considering how whiny you are of things you never really knew in the first place, when all you really want was to essay your opinionated alter-ego whom all this time tried really hard to pluck that loser in you…

Call NTS influential, who knows? I might as well look for television for the answer.

 the mogul's take:

I first heard of alterna-pop band JOIN THE CLUB on my friend's FULL VOLUME CD Compilation released by EMI summer of 2005, which includes hale's broken sonnet, urbandub's cover of Sade's no ordinary love and typecast's forget. Their contribution in the compilation is a song called "mahiwaga," and quite incongruous to the song title, nothing mysterious or enigmatic if truth were told, is there to expect with JTC's offering of their branded sweet pop convenes with a bitter rock material. Taking it literally, its pop-rock with a bittersweet tale, best served with painkillers and a hankie.

Now, with an album of dozen songs, I still feel the same way. Nothing really new and edible. The album is NOBELA and the roots had its debt to Sugarfree's widely received discs "Sa Wakas" and its sophie effort "Dramachine." And blankly in my mind, that's how I perceived almost the dozenhold song. But my mind tells me that it couldn't be Ebe Dancel at the center stage, vocal style speaking. Maybe it's something vocally merged, by Wheatus' Brendan Brown and Rico Blanco with barefaced minimalism on the crooning duties. Nevertheless, the tight instrumentation vis-à-vis the smooth drumbeats and the heartfelt stratum of the basslines and the toothed yet simple guitar riffing is a point of downright consideration. If you like Simple plan and those pseudo-punk/pop punk groupies then you must glue your ears on "My Way with you" "Minsan pa," "Tinig," and "isang minuto sa buhay ko." A little less whiny though, for the latter. Save for their catchy tunes, it's pretty much obvious that each song sounds like the other one, and by that you can predict the tune of the next song. And it's not bad at all. But the monotony and oneness gives you that impression to frown, for it lack that certain catch of "spank" and you feel like listening from one track to none that you'd end up gratifying to just one or two songs in the album. "Emotional overdose" for example, pleases great audibility and its dosage is one tearjerker to add up on your very own break-up CD collection. "ano ang say-say pa ng suyuin ka ngmuli, di na mababalik ang iyong damdamin pa muli, hangga't maaari ay limutin ka sandali / hanggat maaaari ay limutin na…" title-track "nobela" and "Lunes" also has that potential knock of rerun, both of which tells you a tale unanswered by fate, to which the dictates could only be reigned by the smallest unit of emotion – the heart.

If that doesn't count to you as something melancholic, then leave it all behind to those who rant about their loved ones be it their past or their present. After all, this world is a whirlpool of emotions, with each and everyone of us playing their very own game of win and defeat.

THE MOGUL'S TAKE:

Imagine Joni Mitchell pinning her eggs on a jazz record. How about Norah Jones, or let’s say Diana Krall trying to embellish their artsy gamut with a sprinkle of “new age” and “world music.” (Enya would be a familiar example of what new age is all about. World music, being a collective term, is used to incorporate ethnic, folk, reggae, continental, Indian et al.)

The product: A young, British-Filipina crooner, who’d rather spend her day reading the cryptic flaws of a Bach oeuvre, or lending her porcelain ears to some of old school’s greatest jazz and blues singers like Ella Fitzgerald and the pioneering queen of “the music for the elites and the intellects” Billie Holiday. My conjecture, as it is. But arrogance is not what she tries to mirror, for one fact, Mishka springs out of her chest in some of her interviews that Jazz is not just for those people who could afford buying concert tickets at a price of a thousand bucks or those degree holders of music conservatories. Jazz, as she claims is a universal sound, that’s been an upstart as a root of what looks to be rock music today.

Signed under international Jazz label, CANDID; the same label that made Stacey Kent and Jamie Collum a landmark in the mainstream, neo-jazz hallway, Mishka proudly displays the Pinay soul in her, transcending beautifully at the minimalist yet new-fangled GOD BLESS THE CHILD, a collection of eleven cuts, original and remakes. Guest sessionists on the album is of dignified names, some of which includes Pinikpikan/Razorback bassist Louie Talan, SPY’s Sammy Asuncion, Mr. Egay Avenir, Noli Aurillo, Michael Guevarra alternating on the sax duties with Mishka herself, Ria Villena on Keyboard duties (the sessionist of the Bamboo-famed “masaya”) and many others. 

After a spin of two at GOD BLESS THE CHILD, I felt nobler than ever. It’s as if a therapeutic massage driving away some of the worst, summoned spirits that ever resided my body. And she preyed me like a flag swaying to the mustangs of the air, with her every blow I’d be in my bending form.

Above all, it’s not being too safe and not being traditional contrary to what her contemporaries have been slating. Hence, hers was borderless, a crisscross between dark and lite, between being pop and being anti-pop, between love and suffering. All rolled into one to bring an adventurous record pitting against the must-be-label kind of attitude. A better case would pattern her hauling, radio friendly single “where do we begin,” a great summer song jumpstart. To think that it’s only September.

Mishka’s rendition of Judy Garlan’s often slaughtered “somewhere over the rainbow” is downright tasty, yet the record didn’t strip its original feel of overcastting simplicity and the vocals, as they say it are of airy galore. “Marrakech” is also commendable, the sax-medleys are brilliantly palpable, and her vocals would ring you somehow of Filipina Jazz-pop artist, Isha (also Pearlsha Abubakar of PULP). Eerie is an atmosphere for the Benny Goodman original “autumn leaves” humming at the commence of ethereal vocals, and drowsy basslines yanking with the almost salsa-sounding sax. All to bring the dreamy, ambient pop at the sustenance.

The hefty presence of percussion beats on “green dolphin streets” and “when did you leave heaven’ surprisingly blend the blues and jazz with the classicisms of boogie and surprisingly, swing while “body and soul” would fit as a perfect makeout song, with the matching, strip-along pianos that’s winding sultry. “War of the skies” on the notable side, is probably the best cut from the almost dozenhold. And like what the song teaches us; rather than trashing, that the war is not about the good against the bad, the eradication of nonbelievers and believers. Instead, it’s all about ourselves, our other half that defines how we should act, or how we should be viewed upon as settlers of this ravaging world, which will somehow diminish once the skies have called for its closing day. The day, when his judgment takes over our path. Truly, pain is a healing.

But let’s not depart some sad truths on the wake of Mishka’s eleven track debut. Instead, lets remove some clots, and enjoy the stories that jazzes out how the sky have blessed the child, Mishka who’s more than a promise of a future.

the mogul's take:

“You can teach taste, editorial sense, but the ability to say something funny is something I’ve never been able to teach everyone.”

 - Abe Burrows                                                  

Humor played a lead role on the well-off evolution of our very own local music scene. Dating back from the Spanish vaudevilles up to the confrontation of post-ROCK N ROLL dwellers like Bobby Gonzales, Lo-waist gang, Cinderella and even those grazioso stints of Dolphy and his sidekick Panchito, Humor penetrated the attention of the mob by its experimentations that enticed witticism on the lyrical process, punch lines and spoofs on the harmonious combustion and the level of performance to the elemental joints of slapsticks and the irk. At such, humor conquered even the serious degrees of protest and folk purists such as Asin, Joey Ayala at ang Bagong Lumad, Florante, Heber Bartolome, Grupong Pendong and on consideration, the mainstream invasion via Boobtube and the recording industry of Tito, Vic and Joey and its former institution, VST and Company.

Up to now, the formula is still the same math being purveyed by not only those Lito Camo-enthused novelty ‘fucking’ explosions, but also those new hopefuls of wannabe’s that are trying really hard to match the inventive, funny hooks of the Eraserheads and the gods of effortless hilarity, Parokya ni Edgar.

Nothing beats the original though.

And for one brainy comic relief, Parokya ni Edgar is without a doubt, its primus embodiment. Their decade-span survival in the scene is more than just a testament of power, but also a declaration of how Chito, Vinci, Buwi, Gab, Darius and Dindin stayed put together as one, as inseparable friends who had an utmost adoration for making good music with of course, the twist of merry-making attitude and glee.

PNE’s eight installment, HALINA SA PAROKYA suggests the heap of renowned Parokya classic humor that collides with a more bubbly intervention.

Carrier track, “Mang Jose” reserves a patronage to “Mr. Suave,” and its pace, somewhat guttural but snotty, implies a comparison to Tenacious D and the gruesome Queens of the Stone Age. The latter talks about a superhero for hire, whom asks for payment after the transitory service. “Kayang Kaya kaya” is a treadmill between power and pop, to which the colossal choruses by Chito and band members remind you of the Sesame Street and its local counterpart Batibot, and man, they echoed that of a song from Weezer.

Ever since, Pinoy rap had been a quarter influence to the band, and for their latest record, PNE boldly spoofs Andrew E’s Andrew Ford Medina, with bloodcurdling guitars, and future-like basslines on the track “Walang nangyari.” Also, Chito clears on that song irritably that he has nothing to do with Rico Blanco on mutual, I mean on amicable terms. Heheh! And the attack doesn’t stop there. Gloc 9 and Sir Francis M. joined Chito and company in the trippy, glam-pulp feel of “Bagsakan,” with its endearing intro of “andito na si Chito, si Chito Miranda, nandito na si Kiko, si Francis Magalona, nandito rin si Gloc 9, wala siyang apelyido…” pulsing like a Nursery rhyme.

Speaking of spoofs, PNE does it again with the burst of the buoyant “name fun” (remember the song, name game?) and the gnashing-of-teeth take on Armenian geniuses System of a Down’s toxicity, “the ordertaker” and the screams are nonetheless of a considerable attempt. Nice one, guys.

And the thematic ballads are of mixed value. “Muli” is worth discarding; I don’t seem to understand its inclusion on Halina sa Parokya. But much to disappointment is the smooth-sailing “Nandito,” heeding one’s flashback of True Faith’s kung ok lang sayo intro. “Gitara” is considerably born out of a silver spoon yet its simple in its truest form, while the engaging punk-pop “Para Sayo” is sweet without removing the swift licks of the guitars. Siesta is a word next to the acoustic-guitar dosage of “telepono,” and to your wake, you might encounter the various gimmicks of “Pedro’s basura mix” or worst, the hidden track, a fed-up mix of the overrated, “first day funk.”

Not bad for a name who'd been a hero for rent.

the mogul's take: