TAKE jazzy rhythms, prog-rock guitar fills and a steady backbeat; put a talented singer-songwriter out front, then plug the ‘70s fusion ambience all over the place, and Farewell Fair Weather (FFW) makes for a welcome treat in these arid times for jazz. The seven-piece band plays the most accessible music pitched between the intelligentsia/experimental inclination of the Tago Cafe/Minokaua axis and the renegades of the last soul-jazz rebirth hereabouts.
FFW’s across-the-board user friendliness follows from the group’s, and most likely, album coproducer Francis “Brew” Reyes’s feel for what makes a band stand out. There’s also the recognition that each member is a virtuoso, and the collective meeting of minds adds up to more than the sum of the individual strengths.
Theirs is not a search-for-something original under the sun, but while circling around the shadows of deep-rooted traditions in rock, jazz and pop, FFW merrily stumbles into some things old, a few things new, and a lot of things that can perk up attentive listeners.
At the very least, the progressive/post-rock guitars threading through Cosmic High and “Amihan” kick up a quiet storm against a fluid jazz-fusion setting. Vocalist Mic Manalo adapts admirably to each track, interjecting sexy and sassy radiance as the song demands. The bass and drums collaborate seamlessly firing up a slick soulful groove in uptempo numbers.
FFW’s kind of musical ride has an easy way of prompting fingers to go snapping, heads a-bopping and a warm smile spreading from otherwise tight lips. Blank Pages is a strong debut from a band that has finally fulfilled the promise as the “chosen one,” and this year will be their crowning glory.
LEXUS
Paglaya
RAP is 80 percent inspiration, and 20 percent perspiration, drawn by the tools that motivate a rapper to bust a lyrical move.
Lexus, a member of OWFUCK, the charismatic leaders of the boom rap and trap scene in the country, goes solo with “Paglaya,” and the rush of words from the Tondo native comes at you like a torrent of pent-up emotions. It’s as if he’s eager to unleash personal experiences and issues that could not find true expression in his mother rap collective.
Just one problem: his rap, more often than not, seldom builds a coherent case for the subject of his outpourings. “Pagkalito” perfectly illustrates his dilemma as a wordsmith. In the introductory stanza, Lexus talks about the sweet leaf as his instant problem solver. Then three stanzas later, he courageously snaps at you: “Magpaka-leon sa gubat at huwag magpaka-pusa/ Pera ang aking kailangan; pero karunungan, kalusugan, ‘yan ang tunay na kayamanan…” Will somebody tell this guy downers couldn’t possibly induce troublemaker behavior?
In “Magduda”, Lexus admits, “Sa kaalaman, ako’y busog na busog…” Yet he’s willing to put this aside: “Sa mundong puro manloloko/ Minsan, dapat wais/ Minsan magduda…” Why contradict yourself, o learned one?
Nevertheless, when he sharpens his antiauthoritarian edge, he’s spot-on in the nicely sculpted “Istokwa” with, “Masakit mang tanggapin/ Tayo’y inaabuso ng mga binigyan ng kapangyarihan/ Kayo ang dapat magsilbi/ Di mag-hari-harian/ Kung sinong may alam, sila pa yung mga pipi…”
Given backing music that’s as bare bones and sketchy as they come and go, a rapper should realize the spotlight will fall on the consistency and precision of his/her lyrical blast. Lexus must start flexing his story-telling power or risk getting pushed aside by a more imaginative competition.
ANDERSON.PAAK
Malibu
THE backstory behind rising R&B sensation Anderson.Paak tells that both his parents landed in prison when he turned 18 and he has been raising a young family through long stretches of joblessness and homelessness. The light at the end of a nightmarish life came in the form of Dr. Dre, gangsta rap pioneer with NWA and godfather to the careers of 2Pac and Eminem, among many notorious others.
Anderson.Paak would later play a prominent role in Dr. Dre’s 2015 album Compton and that would lead the former down a prospering musical path. In his latest sophomore album Malibu, Paak finally comes into his own, blossoming into a post-hip hop Stevie Wonder or an adventurous John Legend—take your pick.
Actually, the comparison with Legend is more appropriate since Paak sings in the same clear baritone that’s suffused with the musical conjugation of classic pop, blues, soul and funk. He differentiates himself by adding hip-hop and EDM to his gumbo and delivers personal songs about hard living and easy lays.
A nameless girl of unspecified age is the subject of Malibu, especially on occasions when Paak isn’t nitpicking about his own past and future. He searches for her in Without You; finds her, and tells her to let loose in Light Weight; then enjoys her company in bed in Your Prime.
Paak’s personal musings, in contrast, are darkly intimate starting with The Bird, which pays homage to his upbringing that made him the man he is today. For instance, his songs of survival The Season and Come Down are riveting, despite the laconic lazy delivery he invests in them.
Malibu earned Paak a Grammy nomination for Best New Artist in 2017.
(Anderson.Paak & The Free Nationals will play at the Vertis Tent, Quezon City on July 24.)
DEPECHE MODE
Some Great Reward
THE album title is a tad modest. The rewards of Depeche Mode’s fourth studio album are abundant and massive.
First, it produced hits in People Are People and Master and Servant that pushed electronic music past the happy charade of dance-friendly new wave. Second, it mainstreamed industrial music’s metallic clangor for a global pop audience and turned otherwise nondescript musicians into idols whom ordinary people did recognize by name. Third, the group’s memorable songs became superb fodder for equally excellent remixes that boomed from the clubs to Top-40 radio. (Locally, Depeche Mode was a standard fare in the now-defunct but fondly remembered DWXB-102 FM.)
Musically, Some Great Reward became highly accessible across generations. Underneath the glossy production, however, lurked nontraditional subtexts of sex inequality or even S&M as a norm: “Domination’s the name of the game/ In bed or in life, they’re both just the same…” in People are People. Or, suicidal tendencies explored as vagaries of fate in Blasphemous Rumours in these terms: “Girl of sixteen/ Whole life ahead of her/ Slashed her wrists, bored with life…” The Boomtown Rats’s I Don’t Like Mondays got resurrected as a thumping electronica.