From pop culture tales and animated but ultramodern characters, there's always ambiguous charm rambling on Radioactive Sago Project's seminal juices, and never does it fail to amaze, generate an impression and makes us wobble and think.

The immersion with their pseudo-intellectual not to mention immortalizing music is completely fulfilling for all the marathon of political satires and dark comedies hiding chameleon-coat in nonsense repetitions and Lito Camo-rhymes; Not only does it indulge the listener into a Sudoku of deciphering lyrics and meanings but also teleports them in an exotic Mardi Gras fueled musically by worldly, otherworldly and extraterrestrial beats, jazz and horn-driven noise elbowing with a lot of George Clinton funk, Zappa and dizzying rock arrangements either sounding carcass or just plain avant-garde, and also a strong heap of afro-Caribbean musical variety. It's festive with legs spread all over, but in the end of the joyous skin chaffing – intellectual discussions are made, b-boys and fashionistas engage in twisting debate about the recently passed Anti-Terrorism bill; irony, sarcasm, allusions and chuckles complete the event with strong definition.

But the most interesting thing with Sago is how they balance criticism and socio-deprecation by means of sketching mockery for all our inner slums and evil souls, ruthless socio-political situations and hypocrite pinoy values. Lourd and Company tells it all just like how Bernal and Brocka dramatize it on Manila-wandering parodies and how Tony Perez reflects realist and surrealist characters on his Cubao book series, but with exploitation on comic relief, metaphors so nonsense but filled with mystery and kitchen-sink cum townfiesta music – so unnatural, it blurs your thinking by full speed.

Above all the brouhahas and raves, it's hard to pick a favorite in a troika of brilliantly done albums. Of course it's not surprising that every Sago records cream your pants and activate your cerebral tendencies. It's just that being a parent of three well-endowed child isn't at all fair. You can't help it but love them all and provide even their excess needs, equally. Even if it requires monetary instability in the future.

The band's eponymously debut major label release is charmingly naïve, poised by Lourd's timely sentiments on social misconstruction and everyday turmoil. Follow-up Urban Gulaman is heavily pop culture satire, aesthetically woven with various music genres to mold avant-garde and impressionism altogether. The latest and the most vulgar to date, Tangina mo Andaming Nagugutom sa Mundo Fasionista Ka Parin – is aggressive, ravaging and figuratively challenging. It ups Sago's ante not only for their smoothing and clever approach for topical themes, but also for their kind of junk sophistication – a toss on charming theatricality, melodic noise, rich arrangements and the in-your-face lyrical statements.

Their latest I must say is sort of different compared to the two predecessors: more guitar-driven, more sing-songy, more political, bolder even. Still its trademark lies on grandeur Zappa-rock rolled with horny horns, 70's funk and disco, Baghdad-explosive jazz fusion, hardcore-metal tendencies, spy-thriller scores, Celia Cruz, rumba and all else latinofied – injected with witty spiels and De Veyra's Palanca meets Pugad Baboy songwriting. If freshness is the key to your weapon of choice, then the epic-worthy Tangina mo Andaming Nagugutom sa Mundo Fasionista Ka Parin is the finest, if not on its ultimate context, among the brainchild of the Sago band. With its earnest musicality that's incinerated on its literal meaning but starkly gleaming one's you invade its profound thoughts of political resistance and backlash on our very social cancer – Sago made the penultimate art to the novels of Rizal, to Bernal's City After Dark, to Jeffrey Jeturian's local film parody Tuhog. Yet there's conscious effort for Lourd and gang to invent comic punches akin to their heroes TVJ, so to not alienate the always-happy Filipinos with their anti-Commercial, anti-Colonial, anti-Sociopyramid, anti-Corporate, anti-Globalization, anti-Government, anti-Church Intrusion brand of music.

Lyrically, Lourd doesn't just slap the irony, the farce, and the definitive statement on his wordplay – he seems to occasionally diagnose his brilliance with poised mass sensibility, those idiotic repetitions whirring on the novelty pop songs and three-minute dance craze. He whines, mumbles and chants with the gang on "Wasak" like an orgy of Lito Camos, the Hippies, the Coltranes, the Avant Gardes, the Metalheads and the Drum and Lyre band members. He infused repetitive liners with razor-sharp witticism and condoles on how much wasak (destroyed, distorted) our constructed reality is. Not contented, Lourd unleashed his street-smart radical outpourings on the anti-Globalization anthem, "Foodtrip" by messing around the lyrics of Bahay Kubo – a song about the abundance of food resources we have in the country. Lourd sings about Pechay na Malaysia, Sibuyas na Stateside, Pansit na Hongkong and Italyanong Tahong like Michael V. on satirical vengeance, interchanging the lyrical content with total disgust and note of sarcasm. Despite the effort to divert its listener to the music phase and the over-all comic feel more than the hidden-protest gist, the song itself is valiant and daring, inviting message of resistance to WTO-principles and the government's being passive of it. Lourd horribly spits, "Stateside na Sibuyas, Ubas na may Cyanide at salamat na lang sa Gobyernong Halang." Enough conviction to make or break his day and instead lit imported Marlboro lights and listen to Arts Ensemble of Chicago.

The political sentiments are in fact too palpable on the record, which sometimes tend to be nauseous and recurring as you go along the music immersion. But the drive to take the burden and hum along with it, the voyage itself on the Pan's Labyrinth of imagery and soon-to-be fathomable ideologies and intellectual constructions of Lourd De Veyra – must really be a harvest, not only in the account of deciphering its meanings, but also on how he marginalize and interpret the world with certainty, with a dose of comedy, with an intense fuel of anger and grit.

Along the cyclic occurrences of fire that ruined the houses in Manila comes the issue of social neglect, Maynilad (the umm…Lopez-owned Water Service firm), and the very core of poverty and ignorance with "Nasusunog Ang Maynila," and on the futuristic and surreal "Superhatdog," he draws a picture of hope via a timewarp on 2069, altering the horrifying, almost evil-cluttered world with Utopia, barring the wrong dictates of the Church and Religion, the corruption of Soap Operas and the Corporate World as soon as the invention of "Superhatdog" takes place and enlivens our souls with peace and solidarity. These two are luminous not only on its appeal to make caustic measures against neo-imperialists and hypocrite Filipino values, but also on its textural tone and rhythm, its multi-facet ability of smooth transition from heavy to silken, from ethereal to comic, from jazzy to mere recital. Sago must have mastered the art of transition whether on simple to random beats, or from mercilessly fainting arrangements to 70's disco. Maybe that's the idea of Sago's music: conceptual, ever-changing time signatures, no definite space and speed, everything's in the namesake of stroking variety and legitimating various approaches within songs.

On what could be a potential hit, "Basagan ng Mukha" flirts with imposing themes, starting off with suspense-sounding horn arrangement, then guitar-squawking on that certain RHCP song from Mother's Milk to grandly introduce 70's ambiance: Motown, George Clinton, Sly and the Family Stone, even Saturday Night Fever. Then quickly assaults into merry beats, booze and babes, Sago's funk fetishes that loosely fill the disco floor with trendy dance-steps and platform soled shoes, and anything that has the word 'groovy' being tagged along. It's Sago not whipping its brilliant junk and noise, but Sago whose eagle-spreading remains wide, embracing different music forms to shelter a distinct music of its own.

The latin/Afro-Caribbean prescription of sophomore record Urban Gulaman widely encrypts its influence throughout the jazz-rock-avant garde-funk template of Tangina mo Andaming Nagugutom sa Mundo Fasionista Ka Parin – providing spice, seduction and beat-heavy glamour on the already amalgam of music pieces and cultural spat from East and West. "Alak, Sugal, Kape, Kabaong" is tongue-twister and a metaphoric sketch of literal and contextual death, lured by beach babes, Afro-Caribbean beats and polyrhythm, chasing horns straight from a colorful and festive funeral somewhere The Bahamas. Sago mixes latin jazz, samba and salsa with floral audacity to succumb on the miserable subject of death – that life's so short, so we must enjoy every bit of it. Also take notice of Sago's short and lulling imitation of The Door's Riders on the Storm in the background.

The other latin-infused track, "Mambo Rat" is strangely sweeping with its concoction of mambo and rumba styles, pop sensibilities and world beat. On the other hand, "Sisboombay" leaps from Havana to Calcutta, tarpaulins on hooks and loops, and wears pseudo-Ballywood feel complete with Belly dancing, dancing cobras and Taj Mahal. It's Lourd's secret fixation on the rhythm of idiotic repetitions, novelty-pop and dance hooks that regularly circuits the low-end, mass-approved radio stations.

The album fillers are also not to be left out. Although not as intoxicating as RASP's earlier instrumental works like Urban Gulaman's "Methamphetamine Hydrosuicide," the album opener "George Estregan Groove Explosion" is orchestral funk-jazz temperament, a toss between Hancock, Coltrane and Mission Impossible music scores, anything that's heart-chasing and groovy while its brother "Raul Aragon=Rick Torre" is striking mathematically with jazzanova solutions and fleeting abstract imagery, bringing out the modest of Sago's elaborate horn arrangements and quirky musical interpretations on some of the most important names in Philippine pop culture.

Having outlined its eccentric appeal and grandiosity, RASP's Tangina mo Andaming Nagugutom sa Mundo Fasionista Ka Parin is truly a musical gem that deserves a wider access to the public. Not only is it one of the best albums of the last 15 years (count E-heads' Cutterpillow, Pinikpikan's Atas and Obra Encantada, and Yano's self-titled debut album to name few), but also an indication that fun and wit, self-expression and intelligent music could go altogether. It's brilliant albums like these that makes me proud to be pinoy – a statement that's almost an understatement in a country plagued by colonial mentality.