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Listen to newcomer solo act Julianne and you would find yourself harboring to the feathery, soft soul music of Corinne Bailey Rae, India Airie and D' Sound. The familiar sickly-sweet melodies and the sashaying warmth of acoustic guitars, honeyed vocals and minimalist arrangements grant Julianne the obvious comparisons to these fresh music talents. And these elements seem to be the signature drama of her latest CD under MCA Universal entitled Grateful, a languidly guitar pop-influenced neosoul record, swooned by her sentimental lament as a young adult in love.

Unlike other pinoy soul luminaries like Chillitees, Sino Sikat, Cosmic Love and several other bands, Julianne is more of the sensitive singer-songwriter type, but instead of good old folk-alternative and movie filler-potentials, she squeezes out the Stevie Wonder in her and heartbreakingly renders emotional ditties with fiery passion like no other. The songs in her latest album, Grateful proves that charm comes in small, simple packages. It's like Julianne's soulful vocals and her gently strummed acoustic guitars against all oddities, no signs of hiphop samples and overly stuffed beats – just low-key band set-up and her balmy, folkie soul musings about passionate love and heartbreaks.

Whether Julianne takes her grasp of sunshine tunes or depressing girly anthems, she succeeds to the point of exuding strong intimate moments; something you'd cuss over lame ex-boyfriends and secretly listen to the shadowy corners of your room while reminiscing sweet memories of your loved one.  Even though the lyrics are most of the time hackneyed and just mere emotional encounters, there is much to celebrate with fine songs like the ease and laidback, mellow soul grip of "Tulak ng Bibig," the only tagalog track in the album which tackles uncertainty of love and feelings or the sing-along R&B number "Queen in me" whose meek drumbeats and easy summery-feel reminds me of EBTG-circa 80's.

Although lovely and gentle, songs like "Grateful," "Choose to Believe" "Let it Rain" and "Thank you" when played consecutively, end up being cloying materials drained under the same sun and same temperature. It all sounds the same sans a bit tweaking on chord arrangements – the acoustic guitar-driven soul, the equal parts lazy equal parts breezy melodies could've been graceful if not for its repetitious quality all over the record.

But luckily, there's producer Dan Gil (Chillitees, Sino Sikat?) to save Julianne from lack of variety. On his two contributions "Unsaid" and "Healing," Dan is enable to transform Julianne into classy urban chick running amok mind-swelling 70's soul, Lauryn Hill vocal acrobatics and elegantly modern R&B, with the horn arrangements and the slicking beats as clean sweeping as cold beer suavely flowing down your tonsillitis-free throat. It's innovative songs like these that bring the best in Julianne: brave, free flowing and still as soulful as she could get.

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Giniling Festival’s brand of merrymaking is bloated with inescapable energy that’s supercharged by power chords and highly opinionated lyrics equivalent of a live Tessie Tomas kind of stand-up comedy whose intention is either to convey the message straight and transparent, or just hit the bull’s eye target through injection of irony and mockingly double meaning jokes – something that could pass out as profound and smart, if you’ll just be willing to spend time cracking the meaning. No thanks.

On their self-titled debut record under Terno recordings, Giniling Festival drops their bombs of angst and twisted comic abilities, and further stretch the brilliance with their bold and honest statement that so unafraid to clash even with the most lauded ideas. They, bravely instead of jokingly, express their loathing for fake boobies and gigolo boyfriends through songs like “Dodo” and “Tsong (Boypren mong Pokpok)”, but end up gossiping like salon fags in an instant when the most heated topic centers on rosebud-lipped Angelina Jolie, their confessional adoration for Bicolano-approved chilli foods and fastfood wars. Whether its satirical or just plain assertion of rant, rave and musings, these pranksters winsomely are charismatic when it comes to delivering tight as hell songs with banging chorus and quotable liners.

Technicalwise, Giniling Festival sounds like B-rated System of a Down – only that it’s Jack Black of HBO-branded Tenacious D band instead of Serj Tankian freewheeling on the songwriting duty. And the result: trippy and riotously funny lyrics soaked in catchy pop-metal pastiche and hooks. But it’s more simplified compared to the groundbreaking experiments of SOAD, albeit not generally toned down. The operatic and oftentimes harmonized vocals are still copy-pasted here and there, and the intermingling riffs that crossover mountain and hills still electrocute some big haired metal dude. But there’s more punk-rock feel to it, and the gimmicks are scattered all over the package like pompom-wiggling, alphabet-cheering in “Siling Giniling” (read: Toni Basil), the Bioman-Shyder spoofs of “Psycho,” the courtroom pleadings in “Holdap,” and the list goes on.

The spark of the album doesn’t stop on the technical and lyrical aspect. The fact that it is easygoing, likeable and even marketable (I pity big record labels for not recognizing its cash-bucket potentials) has so much to say about this band of goofy brothers. Who knows, they might have kicked Jay Contreras’ butt in the next few years or put Chito Miranda to mere extinction. Guess what? We wouldn’t see that in the coming years, since they chose to be exiled under Terno Recordings like genre exhibitionists Up Dharma Down and junk satirists Radioactive Sago Project – to prove that it’s not all about selling records and gracing giant billboards. You go, art guerillas!

GOD BLESS THIS COUNTRY.

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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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