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If 2007 is touted to be a year for cocktail-soul and mad scientist offspring of every genre somewhere the timeline of the 60’s and 70’s, then newcomer Sino Sikat comes to mind as the unerring artists who started all this artsy-fartsiness of funky, live-feel urban music reminiscent of neo-soul acts D’Angelo, Jill Scott and Erykah Badu, only with a wilder passion for jazzy and sassy rhythms, glam guitar solos bordering from showbandiness to Def Leppard cheese, and everything raw and electronic-free. Then throw in the already distinct and well-sieved music compartment a bulk of Incognito, Brand New Heavies, Fugees, Mary J. Blige, old school Motown grooves, jazz-fusion and 70’s Manila Sound. You now have the warm sound of Sino Sikat.

A hefty custody of good ‘ole languid soul and polished vibe of the Sunday Noontime show-musical direction, Sino Sikat’s new album is dangerously sexy, intimate and borderline funky. The over-all treatment distills on the ultra-thick textures and poly-funk workout of the rhythm section, which in my honest opinion sounds like veteran-like players with enough know-how on technical control and bung ups of sparse spaces and gaps.

The conscious effort to sound soulful while maintaining their soft spot for laidback groove and campy jazz-rock sensibilities is also on its sterile and commendable shape. And Kat Agorrado, probably the female counterpart of the legendary Karl Roy, provides the sex machinery and soul to the body of work. Her distinct Dulce meets Portishead’s Beth Gibbons vocal style reveals some depth and uncanny conviction to smack in fine fettle within upbeat, angsty and slow songs, with the kind of chameleon-vocal register that’s either classy and commanding.

 Although a tight collection, it may take some time before you could dig and digest some of the songs in the album, particularly those that undergo the surgical experiments of the band. But the wait can bear fulfilling results and surprising amount of satisfaction. “Akin ka” is hypnotically arresting, its dimming jazzy chords and cascading yet repetitive keyboard structures overflow with bedroom fantasies and a strange force to close your eyes and voyage into exciting sexual urge. It may sound cacophonous or awkward in the first few listens, but the moment it clenches on your aural faculty – it will set the tricky tone to a medical prescription of remorseless fantasizing. The strangely dark “Turning my safety off” on the other hand is Portishead’s “Glory Box” sans samples and triphop beats. Its indelibly romantic dirges bring to mind Billie Holiday singing in heartbreaking subtlety, atmospheric and almost fogging rhythms and a punishing emotional delivery equivalent of a Sinead O’ Connor early 90’s ballad. Whereas the gentle and somber exquisiteness of “Pag-ibig,” “Magic” and “Tragic beauty” shows enough positive vibe and intimacy to keep you hanging with love and its burning desire.

The upbeat numbers are so immediate and brief, and it leaves you wanting more of the booty-loose beats and urban funk readied for one great weekend party. “Praning” treads heavily on James Brown-accent and inventive pinoy street lingoes, with Kat Agorrado as boyishly sass as ever. “Telepono” sounds like Kapatid’s “Hangin’ out” with a screaming madwoman to boot and a flirting sax.

 There are calypso and Jamaican soul infused to “Prayer,” a spiritual anthem that’s so catchy it leaves indelibly lasting taste. But the last track, “Sino?” delivers the high energy of the record: non-stop conviction, somewhat projecting arrogance, yet it’s just a reflection of the band’s strong character and undeniable musical talents. Kat brings out the whipping spunk of a voice, Nikki Cabardo drops his mint-coolly keyboard pyros, Reli justly provides secure beat patterns and Nick Azarcon shreds off heavy funk and 80’s glam riffs to the mix. Everybody plays their respective roles like members of an all-star basketball team. And with trending victory, they are able to show us that tightness and teamwork brings out the best in a collective.

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What do you expect from teenage punks peddling music about the already torn subject of love and what it feels like to be hurt, bulldozed and crushed by your loved one? Absolutely nothing. Listening to the same old whiny music with bits and pieces of MXPX or The All American Rejects and a nod to three chord aesthetics almost lets you grow fish scales in your ears. It’s almost exhausting, really. Almost everyday, radio and music channels are serving you the familiar meal on your platter, the recycled Total Request Live-approved punk your stupid classmates have been praising all these years. It’s like pegging whiny teenybopper pop-punk to be the next rock. And to express utter disgust over such fallacious and adverse labeling, you urgently insert The Clash’s London Calling on the playlist or any song from Black Flag and The Dead Kennedys, for an hour of real punk rock and possibly REAL ROCK MUSIC. I have nothing against bands playing pop-punk bordering on emo and silly suicidal music, it’s just that most of them producing the same ilk lack the flair to write mature songs or even try hard to reinvent their music.

So when my cousin hand-over me a copy of three-piece band Cover Me Quick’s sophomore effort, Mga Kantang Galing Sa Loob ng Kuwarto Ko – I already have hints of what it would openly offer in the outer field: angsty pop-punk (read: Sum 41, American Hi Fi or maybe some Dashboard Confessional), with a three or two acoustic/slow song contribution and with lots and lots of toilet bowl-constipated singing on a menace of crunchy riffs and panicky drumbeats. Since the album title Mga Kantang Galing Sa Loob ng Kuwarto (translated as Songs from my room) suggests something that’s private and reflective – probably a collection of anecdotal pieces on experiences and personal intimacies -- the album might have a sore and even bare response of a journal, only written in a virile perspective by an adolescent guy who thinks smoking is ultra-cool just like those kids in Rob Reiner’s 80’s flick Stand by Me and nailing them chicks in bed, a biblical testament of clinically tested, male machismo.

And all else fit the description. The moment “Ayoko na” jolts in aggression and immediacy, its cramped energy boozing a lot of screaming and whining about the struggles of teenage life (immaturity, alcohol, drugs, chicks) – you already know what’s going to happen – a succession of riotous songs about adolescent love and angst played in almost same chord patterns, similarly veined pace and occasional flat notes gangbanged here and there: the girl-confide-in-my-arms of “Tanya,” whose absurd rhymes seemed to be forcibly dragged (“Tanya…Tanya…sabihin mo kung ayaw mo na, ipapabugbog natin siya…tang’na niya”), the story of unexpected sexual trysts and betrayal on “Biglang Liko” and the break-up song, “Ang Huling Kantang Gagawin ko para sa’yo,” all following a linear identity, like a very long and draining song (I’d rather listen to R. Kelly’s 12-minuter Trapped in the Closet and not get bored) with four short but connected themes that run out of steam because of its topical tackiness and usual teenage-issue gist.

Upon reaching the middle part of the album, Cover Me Quick’s Mga Kantang Galing Sa Loob ng Kuwarto reaches the peak and most probably its major strengths being quarried at long last. “Kung Gusto mo Maraming Paraan, Kung Ayaw mo Maraming Dahilan,” is acousticky Jack Johnson sweetened into what passes off as Parokya Ni Edgar-emotive pop tune that casts sheer joy. “Fifteen minutes,” with its downer vocals turning into messy chorus – is forgivable since it isn’t something reminiscent of the first few tracks and it’s strategically located in-between the two delicately good tunes in the album. The highlight belongs however to the charming “Gabi ng Prom,” which starts off with a calm acoustic guitar and a toned down but expressive singing then metamorphosing into head banging, mosh-punk bedlam that brings the seemingly off-dress code ‘punks’ jostling on the center stage of the prom ball, with romantic music sweeping off their feet – definitely a memorable and fantastic night to remember. “Sabihin mo na lang” ends the prolonged ecstasy, but with rude and bastardized guitar riffs swirling nearly at its tail end and its last minute – a chunk of surprisingly britpop influences with a dense showcase of in-your-face guitar splatter to the canvass before the song hits its final post. As the record reaches its finishing mark, things turn into dissatisfaction. The two remaining tracks “A Billion” and finale “Lagi kang Tama” obviously are just clones of their previous songs, and doesn’t hold any guarantee of fastening effect to the memory.

 CMQ can get away with half the bad as bull tracks and could’ve tightened a little here and there. But what can I expect from the same shoe-in music I’ve been hearing over and over again? Absolutely nothing.

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Pinoy hiphop may have waned or even lost its glint even in the cheapest, low-end frequency of the radio this point in time – but its renaissance of struggle remains at least in fighting terms. The Philippine Hiphop music awards just launched its third year, critically acclaimed albums by Nimbus Nine, Pikaso, Mike Swift and Ampon blew up hopes for scenesters who are conveniently nauseated by underground patok-radio mix acts and foreign Billboard charts-standards, and then there’s Gloc 9 already making thumping noise with stellar cast of collaborators and pimped-up rags-to-riches tales on his latest release, Diploma.

Among the recent developments, Gloc 9 seems to be a guaranteed shot of regaining what has vanished with hiphop, whether its monstrous gold-record breaking music that once attracted a strong and solid subculture, or the genre’s towering definition of brilliant verses, all marinated into swathe of keen observation and prosaic verses that executes the real meaning of what it is to live in a country like ours.

Even his hiphop resume says it all, more than his high pitched, speedy-talking signature and his humbling beginnings. Gloc started out with amazing street-rap cred, and outshining horde of wannabe’s – he wrote narratives that deals with his personal experiences, love tales from a poor man’s perspective and the societal constipations that every one of us suffers. Amongst them all, Gloc 9 remains amiably one of the most recognized hiphop artists of our time, and with his third project helming every music stores and first single “Lando” topping every major charts nationwide - once again, pinoy hiphop’s taking a step front, gambling a higher chance to regain mainstream acceptance.

But beyond the hype and the chances at stake, Gloc 9’s latest record, Diploma is hardly a knockout compared to his previous materials. Its confusing mix of heavenly great songs and excess luggage are very detrimental to the solidity of the album, since he could’ve made another brilliant five-song EP instead of icing another nine-rough cuts that sound either half-baked or simply lackluster – to call a deal for a major release third album.

Don’t get me wrong, there are exceptional tunes and more than the usual – jaw-dropping songs milled by poignant life stories and earnest musicality. “Diploma” is a highlight introduction, with ethereal back-up vocals and breakbeats stuttering and calming towards Gloc’s rich but painful narrative about his early human struggle and his achievement as both a rap artist and a poet. He sincerely spits "Ang Tula kong ito ang tinuturing kong Diploma” by contentment and conviction, like hitting bull’s eye. The drumbreaks and chaotic to mischievous drumwork of Vic Mercado makes “Demo Tape,” a jostling rap exercise, while Gloc 9 agonizes on his experience cutting demos under the scorching heat of the sun and the disgust of eating rot fishballs. Gloc also gets the best of rock and rap on the Gobas and Reg Rubio-collaboration called “The task is done,” and remarkably enters into a diaspora of credible spit-rhymes, ticking catchy beats and egotistic production values on “Lapis at Papel” and the dissing, thug-centric “Sila,” which he shares equal billing with Konflick of rap group Death Threat and Loonie of Stick Figgas. 

But “Lando” steals the event. Hauntingly executed and touching, with guitar riffs wailing on a seducing manner that occasionally morphs into darkly crisp acoustic guitar-driven chorus – “Lando” tells the narrative account of the same name, whose showcase of fairytale happenings turned into a sudden twist of faith – a tragedy that changed his life forever. Francis M. provides affecting vocal work in the Chito Miranda-penned chorus, and Gloc 9 miserably tells the disturbing tale, with dramatic license to tease. The song also has three versions in the album which includes the radio edit version and the Chito Miranda-sung chorus.

Despite all the praises, impediments are more likely noticeable, criticism-wise. Diploma suffers from its undertaking of blending mainstream sound with an alternatively loose vibe: collaborations with pop artists whose penetrably thin cred makes for something that’s crowd-mocking, cheapskate samples that’s better off set as a rebuffed polyphonic ringtone, drum machines lulling too much from overexposure and stinging quality, and the R&B-ish tendencies, although nicely paired with considerably fine vocal textures lack spiritedness and feel-good catchiness. “Sumayaw ka” with all its groovy synthesizer horns and consistently analog drums, is catchy yet it lacks the club-banging sensation and the class to grandstand as a danceable hiphop track. The attempt to sample Nelly’s “E.I” into sleazily written, off-hook slang called “B.I” is a no-brainer especially if you started out with a sound reputation, and declines two times sampling The Eraserheads’ classic “Torpedo.” “Lov na Lov” sounds as if Lovi Poe’s out of the picture, her vocal traces sounding like a third degree, lowered volume back-up singer. “Blues niyang itim” is something you’d hear in a 90’s slow jam record, with Czarina Rosales crooning with soul hurt feelings, and excruciating cheesiness – it’s short of the provoking mood that entice you to go back to bed and reminisce about that sad, break-up story you just had with your boyfriend -- something Lauryn Hill, Mary J. Blige, Alicia Keys or on local perspective, Kyla could pull-off in just a snap.

But the thing is, no matter how many drawbacks there are in this album, Gloc 9 still maintains his composure and gambles this collection of songs with full-gear statement of courage and definition. The results could’ve been better, but heck – the album isn’t half bad either. With songs like “Lando,” “Lapis at Papel” and “Sila” – you can’t go wrong with Diploma. It’s just a matter of skipping the bad tunes and congesting your time on songs that’s daring and fine-tuned to that of your music taste.

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The Bloomfields steps out of a time machine from the 60’s, reintroduces golden age music of summery pop and soothing vocal harmonies, and charms us with their naiveté and enthusing stage presence while gamely singing to the tunes of The Beatles and The Beach Boys. Theirs are romanticized melodies ballooning escape and love, sonic flourishes of jangly guitars, steady basslines and sophisticated rhythms that coax everyone to hop, romp and jerkily twist in the streets with their closet mod costumes.

Their debut self-titled album released under major label EMI-Philippines, The Bloomfields is a satisfying nostalgia trip towards the cozy and breezy music of the 50’s, and the 60’s, reminiscent of the heydays of Liverpool beatnik bands, California surf sounds and rock and roll. Fun, witty and rollicking crazy – The Bloomfields’ debut project also serenades its listeners with five originals and 12 covers, all crafted by the band’s youthful energy, passionate playing and delicate arrangements.

Although overflowing, the cover songs are the record’s most vital point which fashionably brings the over all retro-vibe of the band and their penchant for good old rock and roll, sing-along tunes and everything that would make our daddies and mommies proud of. There’s sort of an amateurish display of musicality, but Bloomfields recoups such weakness with charm and ease. The jolly lads made the classic hits sound perfectly rendered, almost near to the recording quality of the original or probably much better in terms of delivery – yet you wouldn’t feel like loathing them for doing such eyebrow-raising interpretations. This is widely showcased on their clear-cut but engaging rendition of The Beatles’ syrupy cuddling gems “If I fell” and “You’re gonna lose that girl,” Elvis Presley’s “King Creole,” Andrew Gold’s “Never let her slip away,” and The Beach Boys’ top40 hits “Little Honda,” “Surfer girl,” and “Wouldn’t it be nice” – the latter being a hands down favorite sing-songy tune in the album.

Yet despite the sincere, true-to-the-bone renditions, attempts to hollow their cultivated retro-guitar pop signature on Astrud Gilberto’s bossanova standard, “Girl from Ipanema” and classic OPM hits like Richard Reynoso’s “Ale” and the comic Tito, Vic and Joey hit “Iskul Bukol” – are promising in terms of capturing indelible moments throughout the course of the listening experience. Their version of Danny and the Juniors’ “At the hop” (also the album’s opener track) on the other hand is surprisingly executed in grand, chamber-like scale; complete with a pedantic rhythm section, cheery and swinging rock and roll beats, subtle but slippery pianos, snowcapped vocal blends akin to the sounds of cherry-cute boy harmonies, and the group handclaps – this gives off the premiere smoking spank and the oomph of the record.

As for the originals, the all-pinoy beatnik band delivers near to pristine sound that still evokes nostalgia and beautiful guitar tunes, but with distinctly glaring pop appeal unmasked by subtle yet carefree music arrangements and honey-sweet lyrics. The tunesmith team-up of Rocky Collado (drummer) and Jay Jay Lozano (guitarist) has promising chemistry. Their collaboration knitted nice songs with strong radio hit potentials and imposing melodies, in which songs like “Say you do,” “The Way I care” and “Alam mo na yun” are among the band’s well-earned product. But the stellar seats belong to the lullaby-twee of “Please don’t go,” with its harmonies soaring and floating romantically in the air, and the carrier single “Wala nang Iba,” a cute, floral dress-approved power ballad that makes girls go nuts and teary-eyed at the same time.

As highly spirited as the music is, The Bloomfields justly proves that they have etched promising careers written all over its name. With its brand of sunshine vintage-music and receptivity for romanticism and the eternal feeling of being madly driven by love – their debut album is able to pull off the trick that made us sit on the couch and listen to the music evoking pure nostalgia and sugarcoated sweetness. We are all suckers for that kind of persuasive trick, and Bloomfields came along in a smack of time to provide us just like that.

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The real score on posthumous records confuses me. There's a part of me saying that it is a ploy to quick-cash on the dead's work of art, yet I still believe on the idea of paying a tribute to a defiant artist who made a great contribution in the field of music. Regardless of whatever is chainsawed to the concept of posthumous records, I cannot deny the fact that I'm more marveled than disappointed listening to discovered treasures straight from the grave; those unreleased tracks, rarities, even reworked tracks – it all makes sense for music aficionados like me.

I'm not fond of Wolfmann and his tech-savvy chops for melding rock with electro-programmed beats, synthesizers, loops and samples. We've heard it all before with Moby and The Chemical Brothers, even with LCD Soundsystem, Postal Service and hundreds of aspirants in the scene. There's nothing new to his brand of electro-rock culinary; yet he made electronica, a cousin to that of rock music. Aside from inviting the who's who of rock to guest on his albums (Ebe Dancel of Sugarfree, Kathy Meneses of Daydream Cycle, Reg Rubio of Greyhoundz, Buddy Zabala of The Dawn/Eraserheads, Aia De Leon of Imago, Raymund Marasigan of Squid9/Sandwich to name a few) and dabbling on making remixes for several bands, Wolfmann armed his music jigsaw with socially relevant lyrics – an ironic measure from the genre of the elite and the social upper class. There must be suspicions on his sincerity, or at least on how he'll merit his piece with the right audience. Wilfred Hernandez or Wolfmann just shrugged it off, and remarkably produced two stunner electro-pop albums, Breaking the Beat Project and the concept sophomore Diner.

Wilfred Hernandez's works are purely mathematical: electronic music, rock, lyrics aiming to reflect our very social fiber, add them all and rewrite the misconceptions of electronic music being the 'music' for club-bangers or the rich hippies and presto! – a mutated hybrid for everybody to appreciate. If that's the case, then Wolfmann made a quite near antidote that conquers genre after genre, audience over audience, and pushes for the possibility of electronic music as a venue for protests and observations. But he died at a very early age not completely fulfilling his dreams for the genre here in the country amassed by socio-political problems. Yet, with the aid and persistence of his friends in the music scene, the tribute cum posthumous record, Wolfmann+ was born, at least to continue his legacy.

His stalwart contribution in the electronic scene is unparalleled; his lyrical visions, sounding melodramatic and serious at times are streaming torrentially on the tattered beats and modified sounds, while he let a spray of granular guitars and echoing synths ripple on the marvelous pouring…And for hungry, cold-blooded music enthusiasts like me, Wolfmann's techno-poet masterpiece is just so rightly mixed and served, proving that this posthumous record has really something special on it.

There are shorter but insightful themes on Wolfmann+ without partially and fully sacrificing the catchy, techno-wired hooks and the over all hybrid-feel. "Behind the Headlines" kicks off the chasing-of-a-car moments in the album. Its robotic textures, beguiling automated touches and complexity are just tip of the iceberg; its gist of rejecting news sensationalism is diminutive in lines but never undersized in its bold statements. Jumping to the now-eternal "Check, don't believe the headlines" is so much of a relief in today's ratings war-infested TV/radio programming. The Ebe Dancel sung "Dasal" is sincere techno-guitar experience, with anthemic rush splattered across the vein of the song, while "Driving school" and "Forgotten method" is surprisingly melting chaos of pop hooks, noise, speed and hyper-kinetic beats. "Kaizenizer" provides the sudden downer with the still robot-feel, only with doldrums and boredom to top it.

"Para" breaks the moods, boredom and the temperament as its coiffed balladry stepped off from the department of Ben Gibbard led-Postal Service to give us the slit-wrist drama of aching love and the sad figurative language of road trips. Wilfred knows how to embroider pain and unstitch it gracefully, in the most affecting way. He muses and gets lost in his own road signs, "Hindi ko man alam kung saan na pupunta / basta magmamaneho lang hanggang sa may pumara / Para! may naglalakad sa putik / Para! lumulutang na pag-ibig / Para! hindi na kaya pang kumapit / Para na, Oh ayoko ng umibig."

The second half is a bit obscure, if not just plain acerbic in its clinical framework on beats and hypnosis. Less funkier, more vague, abstract or I guess it sounds like boring music pieces severely mud on loose loops, drowning and ethereal vocals – makes for another challenging listen. "Recluse" tips off with the art rock vibe that's gasmasked into a techno-ambient ornament to further stretch the gloom and the atmospheric noise of the album's second phase. "Secret Army" on the other hand sounds like fiery house-pop, completely blasting on drum machines, sirens and grinding grooves. Stories of terror enrage "Shooting Mercury" with its wailing guitars, while "Taxes" although worthy of its endless questioning and musing, has dull rhythms that sound too offshore from the rest of the songs in the album.

Aside from the remixes of other electronica artists like Morse, Silverfilter, Squid 9, and Abdul Aziz, there are two standout tracks at the end post of the Wolfmann+ record, ditching off the obscure touches with rawness and simplicity. Kathy Meneses of Daydream Cycle offers her arresting, sugarcoated vocals on the "Voice," a dreamy-tinged pop number complete with spellbinding hooks and seductive aura to give off that lackadaisical sweetness well needed to comfort you on the breezy summer afternoon and chilling nights of somber and loneliness. To close the album with smiles, "Walk Slowly" nicely and gently makes sore melody without excess sappiness, just like a tribute full of hopes and happy memories. Ebe and the gang gamely sing, "I'd like to toast this bottle of beer for you, thank you," a line truly deserving for a man who not only contributed largely to the electronic music movement but also made us damn proud of his conviction and utmost sincerity in making great music.

(this review also appears on http://philmusic.com)

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Popularly known for their messianic hooks, anthemic-feel and powerful stage presence, Bamboo surprised us when they released the all-covers album, We Stand Alone Together a few weeks ago. Although fellow arena rockers Rivermaya and 6 Cycle Mind did the same tribute modus which scopes on influences and major label intrusion, Nobody else thought Bamboo would do the same thing injecting personal touches on classics and pop gems – while mixed reactions from critics and fans continue to storm mailing lists, music forums and classroom discussions. It's like a make or break for them, since we are expecting an all-original repertoire on their third album.

Please don't be thrilled in case you realized that it's a two-disc album: the first disc is for the revival luggage and the other is for the CD extra (minus Vic, minus Ira, minus Nathan WTF?). The first disc, which is at least tolerable – contains the band's take on OPM classics, cult rock archives, and solo pop icons with Grammy degrees. There are a lot of garnishing and embroidering when it comes to their sonic makeover with the tracks, while they still stalwartly marginalize it on anthemic stance and same old Bamboo histrionics.

The result is almost good: neatly arranged, well formulated into orchestral and jazzy pop-rock to exude something stadium-sized, charismatic and gospel-oriented. But that doesn't certify that it's good within bounds of a good album. A true good album seeks for the impossible, the daring and the sincere – and not for making an album for the sake expanding the discography or strategizing on commercial value with record companies as masterminds. It also attributes on how the songs should be strategically laid on the album (final track, "Tatsulok" contains scattering bonus tracks) and how they'd patch it into sounding consistently terrific and bearable at the same time. In We Stand Alone Together, the notes above are some of the concerns, but don't totally devalue its major strengths.

The tagalog tracks are the strongest points of We Stand Alone Together, creating a room for moving themes and mainstream acceptance which is akin to their early hits "Noypi," "Masaya" and "Hallelujah." The first track "Probinsyana" is all-out funky and heavy, the energy's splashed into utmost level with all the shoving horns, Vic's drumwork wits and the lethal guitar-bass intermarriage courtesy of Ira and Nathan. The 1979 Metropop winning piece, "Umagang Kay Ganda" is Bamboo in its most positive and non-aggressive shape. Backed by a children's choir, a tight rhythm section and an uplifting pop chorus, it is by far Bamboo's most affecting rendition in the album. The current radio hit "Tatsulok," a Buklod original also strikes a chord with its definitive statement against social pyramid and Bamboo's commanding interpretation which soars with conviction and sincerity.

I don't really enjoyed some of the reworked tracks, particularly Sting's "Englishman in New York," a hidden track, Pearl Jam's "Alive" and Seal's "Prayer for the Dying," not because of the song itself, but because of Bamboo's lackluster interpretation. It's soulful rock without the signature spank the song's known for. Also it's bland and derivative of what they've done before that's overly anthemic and imposing. 

I must say though that Bamboo did a great job with their cover of the Carole King ballad, "So Far Away." With its lilting piano and poignant melody, it brings to mind Bamboo's early hit, "Much has been said." Among the English tracks, their intense performance of Paul Simon's "50 ways to leave your lover" is one of the album's major highlights. Tiptoeing on jazzy chords, pumping keyboards, choral singing and pure seduction, Bamboo triumphantly nailed the song with suave lyrical interpretations and the over-all feel of the rhythm is just scorching and solid as the original. It's like U2 with gospel choir at the annual Live 8 fests, only that they're up for soul and the seething funk than grandiose anthems.

We Stand Alone Together might be disappointing, dreary or just pure lackluster, but what we have here are old songs interpreted the way Bamboo would do on their future releases. I'm glad that they didn't shrink too much on copying the melody note by note. Instead, they make the songs their posséder. Their tenencia. Their proprio. Their own. Maybe that's the reason why I still have a tinge of respect with the band's working ethics. They are always up for expanding their creativity whether on doing originals or revivals. And for me, that's so enough.

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Colorful, poised and dazzlingly theatrical – Skarlet's debut solo record, The Powder Room Stories mints into strong Montmare cabaret-biographical sketches, a courtesan diva's tale of desperate love, and lustily musical interpretations either Broadway guru Baz Luhrman or jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker wouldn't mind listening to shortly and have a cup of tea. Whether it's the silken vocal flexes that borders from strong, powerful and mesmerizing or the distinguished diva presence, Skarlet's voice is the defiant element that makes The Powder Room Stories simply a clear-cut Broadway jazz opera donned in spunky rock chic.

A cross between Sarah Vaughan and Nina Simone, Skarlet's vocal style has precise sense of rhythm and has a chameleon-coat towards slow and fast tempos, scat singing, standard ballads and falsettos. In "Birdy bop" she hops, leaps and frantically plays on random notes and improvised syllables like cold ice melting on suave, summer heat; while on "Anguish," the gentle cover of "One way ticket to the blues," and the dreamy temperament of "Stay with me," Skarlet sings like Billie Holiday in 30's nightclub suit gracefully weeping soul, black n' white drama and romantic sincerity.

 She absolutely knows how to tone down, embellish or establish vocal theatrics within certain limits that doesn't overlap the genius of the horn and rhythm section, and yet it sounded as if her vocal presence is the heart and soul of the entire song. Thus, Skarlet proves that she is more than just an overnight fixation, but an epitome of real class and feminine power.

In The Powder Room Stories, Skarlet is also at her best subdued to swingy jazz anthems and bouncy numbers particularly the opener track "Skarlet," a name with spangled equivalent to Broadway chanteuses Satine and Roxie.  The title track flirts over blaring trumpets and sax, lively and piercing drums and subtle piano with Skarlet's voice just as plain and acrobatic on conviction. The fact that she has mastered unlikely similar terrain with her ska endeavors Put3ska and Brownbeat All Stars makes it easy for Skarlet to tap vocally on the upbeat, the danceable and the melodically vigorous.

Fashionably controlled and flexed, Skarlet's vocal designs are also worth mentioning in the swingy yet steadily soulful tracks like the Edgar Avenir arranged "The Way that you do" and "Joy," which she lets loose and strangely avoids the signatured meticulous crooning. The result -- a sizzling vivid, completely honest performance that showcases her chops for topform versatility.

The only tagalog track on the album, "Babae ka" pimps on latin tropicalia rhythms, gentle samba beats, stripped down guitars and subtle orchestral arrangement that elegantly rolls like a ball of yarn. It's one of the fine moments of the album, not because of its marginal beauty and unsophisticated appeal but for the reason that its sincerely written and interpreted in the course of a dignified woman aiming for equality and change. Skarlet's raw but carefree emotion also stirs to the song's conviction; her treatment goes beyond just the powerful showcase, but real deal sincerity of what it is to be society's dictate of a woman – often delineated, oppressed and subjected as sex objects.

Even on the last track, "Words behind the tears" unarguably in her most depressing tone, Skarlet achingly ponders as if she rolls cocaine and intensely yet clearly sings out of a realization of her desperate love. It's deeply affecting how Skarlet interpret the closing track with such evident pain that you are left wondering why her final narrative in The Powder Room Stories has to be miserable and depressing. Maybe, just maybe – hurt is the price for love. And it defines The Powder Room Stories, as a tragic opera of big band sounds and Skarlet's search for her fictional portrait as a woman in love.

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My limited knowledge to blues music confines on teasingly climactic guitars set on twelve-bar structures and virtuoso stints, unexplainable music force that makes you bop and scratch the invisible strings on your tummy, and anything with fiery passion with regards to guitar playing.. Although I admire the blistering solos, the grinding vocals, and the passionate slow burn-sensations the music makes – it's not the music I'd play the most during chilling nights and mercy hours. In simpler term, not my soundtrack material.

However, my least liking for blues music didn't deter me for grabbing a copy of what could be the first local blues compilation ever, BLUESKRIEG Original Filipino Blues Music. I've been listening to it for a week now, and instantly found new admiration for all its striking pinoy sensibilities, caffeine spell-charms and well-verse synthesis of various music styles influenced primarily by blues music. Featuring obscure blues artists like Plug, Snakecharmer, Firebottle, Dahon and Kulukati – BLUESKRIEG Original Filipino Blues Music consists of 15 tracks, each with compelling moments that recall early blues guitar heroes Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Carlos Santana and B.B King; established pop acts John Mayer, Jack Jackson and Eric Clapton; classic rock icons The Rolling stones and Fleetwood Mac; even our very own Juan Dela Cruz band.

While there's enough diversity and subtlety to the entire mood of the record, there are times when you feel exhausted with its repetitive, bluesy quality and rasping groove that borders from mild, rock-ish and funky. I'm not complaining, and there's no way around the corner to justify the bore feeling since it's a compilation album of entirely blues music soaked in guitar solos, arousing rhythms and soulful interpretation of bobbing notes which leaps and soars through grinding shuffles. The dreary setbacks are inevitabilities in every compilation albums, but the main draw here are the favorites or the most likely sufferers of the repeat button mode. With Plug band explosively commencing the album compilation with the "Tumbling down the devil's game," a smoking song that has deep baritone voice smoothing over jazz standard-statements and catchy but sensuous blues harmonics, it sets the skyline for expectation and thus the songs that followed suffer from too much expectation despite being acceptably good tunes.

 

But there are enough fine moments to keep you glued. Snakecharmer's yodeling cowboy-funk "My Slow Draggin' Week" depicts littered cigar butts, sunny days and weekend bum-around. Just enough funky music crooned through soulful lament and slackening harmonica. Another Snakecharmer's song, "Suklob" sounds like a lift from 80's protest folk ballads, only cheesier and akin to an aching love ode that makes you reminisce that special someone on that hot, scorching roadtrip to nowhere. Its delicate piano tunes are nicely laid all through out the song, bringing the element of fogging gentleness to the coarse vocal texture. While Firebottle's "Di na lang sana" sounds like a B-side to "Suklob," its subtle melody is still one of the compilation album's most deluxe suit. Dahon and Kulukati showcases the more raw streamline of blues through hard rock and straight rock n roll numbers "Monster within me" and closer track, "Taga sa bato."

To sum it up, BLUESKRIEG Original Filipino Blues Music is a tedious but rewarding listen. It gives us a little background of pinoy blues and its seamless possibility to take toll in the music industry in the near future. Blues might have a hard time penetrating the scene, but the passion and virtuosic playing will forever keep the blues aficionados to their toes. it's not all about the money, as they put in cliché.

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2004's Panic in the Skies accomplished a level of grandstanding from emo/post-hardcore/metal diehards, producing minor rock radio hits like the pensively written, romantic ode "Half of 8" and the slit-wrist painful "Harakiri." The album's most sacred revelation more than its music was Alexis Sarmiento's crafty poetic sensibilities, which is far from thwarting and awful just like most emo lyrics.

After those stellar write-ups and raves, the effort to topple the success of Panic in the Skies must have challenged PDTS to gear on a charismatic departure from the debut record's strident, fueled intensity. The Campaign to Capture, their brand new album still maintains its action-packed histrionics, paranoid hardcore grooves and technical well-verse but leaves more space for sonic punk rock energy, melodious singing and less of wailing and the guttural shrieks which they are known for.

Although furious and promising, The Campaign to Capture has abandoned the distinct lyrical profundity of its debut and instead maximizes on bigger, gloomier concept of an epic war whose storyline from beginning to end is pretty conventional. It's like Final Fantasy or Black Hawk Down on defiant sonic blast, only that it is poetic and less visual. But as they say it in music scores – it's the atmosphere that lets you feel the most more than anything else. In PDTS' The Campaign to Capture, it's also their drive to make you listen to their hurtful but thriving stories that passes off for commendation, even though the whole saga accounts relativity with almost all war films with machine guns, suspense plots, and what else of blood and gore. Think of Coheed and Cambria, minus the cheese, the prog-rock virtuosity and the annoyingly whiny vocals.

Each tracks in the album serves as chapters, with a flashback narrative account evident on opener instrumental title-track "Campaign to Capture" which serves as the introductory sample to the finale "A Halt to hallucination," also an instrumental track with moody and sober vibes. "The Elements of fire," "Flowing lakes and kindness," "Dogfight (He who fights true stands forever)" and "The Elexir must be consumed" represent the early fight scene stages, where sturdy dynamics becomes rapid, intense and more action-packed. The well-calculated marriage of double guitars with aggressive but catchy beats, the nice shift from steady punk to aggressive and the incorporation of gang vocals and sax interlude ("The Elexir must be consumed") makes the build-up of musical dimension to the war visual - more exciting and more car-of-a-chase to watch.

The time you reach "Transmission to Error," "Trapped in flames between gardens and meadows" and "Sights reminiscing falling," "We stand together on the grounds of doom" and "A 5 day dance with danger" – the emerging climax materializes problem concerns, defeat and victory. "Closer (In the memory of those who leaves us behind the battle)" is the album's most melancholic moment and also its centerpiece. It's a nice little tribute enough to break hearts and bring sunlit smiles to our faces.

The story goes on with the victory prelude "Waves Calling to Embrace,' a quirkily done hardcore and noise that combines rhythmic genius with tambourines, percussions and jumpy chorus-quality; the pop-metal shtick of "Liberty to the Prisoners of the sun" which connotes triumph and success on the long war; and the celebration cum tribute of sorts, "An anthem for those who survive."

 In just 54 minutes, the epic saga of The Campaign to Capture challenges you to sit on the corner and listen to its unraveling success story. The storytelling might just be plain, lackluster and banal – who cares? It's the whole listening experience to die for, in the first place.