Album Review: NANCY JANE - Nancy Jane

GENRE: pop/dance/electro
RATING: 8.5

I’ve been listening lately to a lot of clubby electro-pop records, those that remind you of a robotic figure version of Gloria Gaynor lending its lanky singing to a modern disco pulse and mercurial studio production. Sure, it brings to mind a suggestive image of LGBTs prowling in the dark alley of Malate for a night of clubbing and partying, or an obsessed Madonna fan following zealously the blonde bombshell’s futurist pop trend after the innovative breakthrough of 1998’s Ray of Light, but there’s more to its gay, almost provocative, beat-driven pop music that makes it a counterculture fixation: its mechanical and surrealist tendencies, its ability to sometimes divert you from the real world, far from the societal constraints and everyday life—and that itself, is refreshing.

From Madonna (Ray of Light, Music, Confessions on a Dancefloor) to Kylie Minogue (Fever, Body Language, X), Cher to Lady Gaga, M.I.A. to Blackout-era Britney Spears, this entire barrage of sing-songy, electro-trend acts (with status sex symbol up into their arse) deliver nothing but coked party tunes that makes everyone stow away from random stressors. With the aid of forward-thinking producers and the endless possibility of electronic music, it is also slowly gaining strong critical reception because it pushes the envelope for electronica and pop music to conjoin moods, sonic challenges and pop sensibility all at the same time, to convey a specific purpose or meaning. It’s no longer the same old, dumb robotic music made for gangbang romance; now, it’s called blissful dance music that welcomes complexity and innovation in form.

In response to this growing trend that spawned dancefloors and generation of midnight sex turfs, local record label Warner Music Philippines decided to join the bandwagon by devising its own version of a disco vixen—sultry and all. Warner picked a minor TV personality with potential sex symbol status, someone who is just like Kylie Minogue, a former soapstar in Australia. By accident, they’ve turned their heads to actress-model Nancy Castiliogne, after stumbling down on the unofficial demo song produced by DJ Brian Cua called “When You Play Around.” The record executives who heard the track were impressed by Nancy’s slightly nasal, but-perfect-for-raver-moments singing style, so they signed her up, decided to drop her surname “Castiliogne” for a meaner, sexier and easy to pronounce “Jane” and the rest as they say, is history.

Armed with a new name and established music producers/collaborators (Brian Cua, Rico Blanco, Bimbo Yance, Ricci Chan and Benjamin Gabitan among others), Castiliogne’s self-titled debut Nancy Jane scampers around various retro-modern dance music influences (house, trance, electro disco, cosmic disco, eurodance) and revels a shameless mirrorballsiness out of filtering her mesmerizingly thin voice on spatial modern discos and Hed Kandi-inspired anthems. It’s the perfect heir to Kylie Minogue, Sophie Ellis Bextor or post-90’s Madonna, as it favors a sensuous, club-oriented pop music centering on sensuality, love, unadulterated relationships and none of those pretentious philosophical musings that a lot of singers have explored failingly.

As expected, the songs in Nancy Jane contains hook factor and infectious moments, but at the same time, it accommodates finesse in stylistic frivolity, like a clockwork electronic pop record that seeks to define chart music’s latest edge. “Love Song”, Nancy Jane’s first single, is a declaration of this impressive feat: easily likeable, fun, clean-cut, dance-pop tart that even adult contemporary fans would enjoy. Its chirpy hooks and bubblegum electro-feel sustains Nancy Jane’s sultry flair, but with a sticky-sweet image and an inrush of confidence now imbibed in her singing. Credit also goes to the slick production of DJ Brian Cua, who builds a cascade of delicate sonics and samples, like a Stuart Price studio treatment, only softer and a bit languid.

As much as Castiliogne steals the show with her crushing twee, Cua’s evading templates help garnish the songs with compelling house music details and a sleeper lounge vibe, resulting for a mesmerizing air. This delightful work from Cua is evident on “Love Song,” “Without You,” the Kaskade-influenced track “Hold You Close,” and the chill-out fantasia “Deep Inside of You,” featuring layered percussions and world music touches.

Other than Cua, former Rivermaya frontman Rico Blanco also shares his studio wizardry in the hypnotic, ambient swirling “Moonlight Mood” and displays his writing chops on the very catchy, stalker anthem “Control.” His role as part of the A&R and not as a revered, artsy musician might have compromised his artistic intentions for Nancy Jane, but his other side—house/trance venturing, loose lyrics, gauchely commercial ideas—validates his versatility as an artist and his secret love for, uhm, Kylie Minogue (In a year-end list interview with Pulp Magazine, he cited Kylie’s Fever as one of his favorite albums of 2002, along with The Strokes’ Is this It?).

More than the producers and collaborators who shaped Nancy Jane’s entrancing club sound, Castiliogne also shares limelight weight and equal praise. Without her trademark vocals—nasal, light as a feather, bred with Canuck English accent—there wouldn’t be any twee factor, something that the country’s disco vixen has that similar local dance pop artists (G Toengi, Vina Morales, Geneva Cruz, among others) don’t have. Clearly, this projects the kind of successful partnership that happens between a pop singer and her creative posse of producers and collaborators.

As evident in the craftsmanship of the songs, Nancy Jane’s self-titled debut album proves that a great record doesn’t necessarily have to be unconventional, intellectual and un-pop. Sometimes, all it needs is a universal sound that streamlines between simplicity and earnestness and an indelible hook to play around.

ALBUM REVIEW: Bipolar - Up Dharma Down

GENRE: Electro/Indie/Neo-Soul
RATING: 9.3

Up Dharma Down’s fervent adoration for thriftshop soul, rocktronica and droning soundscapes makes for a thrilling listen. Call it perfect latte soundtrack to futuristic, high-end Manila or the sound art that Thom Yorke wished to unearth post-OK Computer, the foursome’s sonic experiments brim with so much stylistic tendencies, earning them critical respect and international accolades from Time Magazine, MTV Advance Warning and BBC Radio.

Fast forward 2008. Up Dharma Down just released its make-or-break follow up to the brilliantly exhausting Fragmented, the debut record that combined genre-mashing expertise with earnest pop vibe.

What seems to translate into another episode of genius becomes Up Dharma Down’s tight spot: follow up record Bipolar isn’t in any detail, their ticket to sophomore jinxdom. Instead of recreating their bits and pieces of organized riot, Armi and gang veered from the formula that made the first record triumphant in both critical and commercial aspects.

Evolution Dharma
The intense menace gushing over ‘gazer-pop melodramas “Maybe” and “Pag-Agos” evolves into downtempo, Radiohead-approved ballads while the radio-courting, 70’s soul revivalism in the same league as “Oo” and “Lazy Daisy” slots in post-rock instrumentation and brooding ambient textures for a retro-modernist effect. As a result of growth as band vocalist, Armi Millare has also lessened her tendencies to oversing—like Macy Gray taking an overdose of Prozac on “Sleeptalk” or Jill Scott panicking on having a bad hair day (“Malikmata” and Maybe”).

Peculiarly, the trademark components of the debut record are not recycled on Bipolar, the band’s “second first album.” However, the band’s first outing, Fragmented offered nothing but heavenly greatness and the idea to topple its production merits might just lead to frustrating remorse.


Apt Follow-up
High expectations aside, Bipolar succeeds as an apt follow-up to Fragmented, mainly because it doesn’t aspire to be a clone of its previous masterpiece. It isn’t afraid at all to be grating, bold and vulnerable to criticism. As the band goes out of the comfort zone to seek for breathing spaces and worlds unexplored, they discovered growth—one that is sincere and self-serving, not ambition.

Compared to the previous output, Bipolar appears to be subtler, bolder and more cohesive as a collection of songs. It feels as if Up Dharma Down is trying to lean for slight reinvention in form, while still keeping their identity as style troubadours of the local indietronic scene. Although it lacks the hook-laden appeal and diversity of its famous elder sister, it has the sense of urgency that makes it bulletproof for downcast comparison.

Tight, fast-paced psychedelia
As a fresh alternative to the already fed-up, ear-clanging experiments of their prime, the teaser single “Every First Second” has the band upping the ante for straight-up, rock anthem and pace-setting angst. Though, given the gravitating energy, Armi is still as perversely soulful as ever and the band is still as compromised with mixing dissonant rumbles, head-bop melodies and speed. It’s the closest thing that they could offer to modern rock—well, this or the turbo-charged, psychedelic soul of “Two,” which has beatmeister Ean Mayor donning his inner Vic Mercado—drumming crazy and psychedelic at 250kph.

While “Every First Second” and “Two” espouses the climaxing build-up and fast-paced groove of “Maybe” and “Pag-Agos”—from their debut record—both songs have distinct personalities: “Every First Second” is more rock-oriented and organic, while “Two” aims for a progressive, career-defining sound— kinda like Radiohead and Deerhunter inviting Aretha Franklin and Tricky for a twisted jam.

Perfect pop songcraft
In another daring attempt, Up Dharma Down opts not to recreate another “Oo,” “Lazy Daisy” and “We Give In Sometimes”—the gripping, mellow anthems that showcased their extremely emotional side. However, with their drive force and creativity on hand, they could still dish another perfect pop songcraft in the making. This time around, it’s no longer that similar laidback blueprint that had the rest of the gang incorporating vintage sounds with tight electronic samples and quirky beats or the other way around, just digging plainly the entire course of their roots influences—jazz, rock, soul, funk and blues.

In the case of “All Year Around,” “Blessed” and “Unspoken Definites,” the familiar ground has now morphed into atmospheric, mood-trotting soundscape that’s still as easy listening and pop as their previous hit singles. “Taya” follows the newly set reference, but with an echoey chorus and ethereal vibe to boot. It could’ve bee be a good addition to Portishead’s groundbreaking new album, Third—if it is only less conscious in sounding too loose and accomodating.

“Oo” in the making?
But the real scene-stealer that could nudge the throne of “Oo” as the group’s biggest hit single of their career belongs to the lamenting ode “Sana.” The track starts off with arcade beats and 2 tone keyboards that sound more embarrassingly gothic than discordant, and surprisingly unravels as an anthem potential after first few seconds of bleakness and blankness. When Armi starts singing the first line, “Nilibot na ang buong mundo / Di pa rin ako nakukuntento,” the world instantly feels her desperate, wounded tone; its moroseness sinking in and out of Carlos’ spiraling guitar riffs and the group’s melancholic space. There are no tacky pronouncements of mental helplessness, no profound statements or anything that is forward-thinking. It's just Up Dharma Down revealing their downer soundtracks for the lost souls.

And we hope, the world is listening.

FEATURED MP3: Christmas is here - Daydream Cycle

It's confirmed! Daydream Cycle is already on the finishing touches of its most anticipated follow-up to 2005's excellent sophomore record, Underwater Kite. As early as now, people are already talking on how the upcoming early '09 release would sound like. A slight deviation from its electronic-influenced dream pop sound to a more lackadaisical, bedroom indie pop? Lush meets St. Etienne? Or WTF, maybe more noise and dissonance in the same league as Portishead's Third? As music fans, we can only wait and make intelligent guesses.

For some early christmas gift, check out this treat from DDC. Enjoy.

Christmas is here - Daydream Cycle (mp3)

Album Review: TOMORROW BECOMES YESTERDAY - Bamboo

GENRE: alternative rock
RATING: 7.1

When career-defining debut record Bamboo’s As the Music Plays first came out, we’ve already hinted that the stadium-sized anthems and spectacular rock antics will serve as a take off for a few more albums in the future. In just five years, they’ve built a career out of conjuring epic renderings of life, social issues, love and awakening. They’re like, aspiring to be the Michael Bays and Spielbergs of pinoy rock, churning out hit after hit, anthem after anthem, nonstop.

A lot of people, mostly fans, viewed it as an earnest pronouncement of sticking to the trademark sound, a facet they shaped early on their rocky ‘Maya days. That of course isn’t a bad thing—especially for a band that does it outstandingly. But it does invite negative impressions especially if the album is played in a long haul.

On Bamboo’s latest record and fourth to date, Tomorrow Becomes Yesterday, you’ll hear the same pace, melody and arrangement over and over, that rehashed context of social empowerment in messianic hooks and uplifting arena-choruses, that sonic compartment that sealed Red Hot Chilli Peppers, 311, Sting, Gary Valenciano, James Brown, Bob Marley and old Rivermaya in the mix. It’s nothing but old Bamboo histrionics, for better and worst.

Building on the gains of its predecessor albums, Bamboo safely devices its anthemic stance on songs like “Kailan,” “Last Days on a Cruise Ship” and ‘Kalayaan,” inarguably, the most memorable tracks in the fourth record. Ira Cruz’s guitar playing, as usual is compelling, over-the-top and tight as ever, Nathan Azarcon brings funky bassline in the groove foundation and of course, scene-stealer Vic Mercado blends aggression and subtlety in his drumming. Although it turns out to be Bamboo Manalac’s weakest vocal performance so far—surprisingly less powerful and less angry, he still has some moments—when he does his best Francis M. rap-sung vibe or simply when he tries to burst out in the swelling chorus production.

At their most restraint, Bamboo delivers arresting melodrama that instantly sticks out to the generation of music enthusiasts. As attested by songs like “Blown Away” and “Nobody Knows,” they can create moments-filled ballads with such amount of ease. Ira’s enticing guitar solos on “Nobody Knows,” in particular, showed effacing statement of poignancy and profound sense of loss. Brilliantly executed, yet, it doesn’t intend to sound grand or too tad.

While the album’s greatest triumph is its relative leanness and its spirit to stay true to its roots and distinct music style, some of the songs pale in comparison compared to the standout tracks. Seriously, it’s hard to buy the rap-rock-reggae-funk hybrid thing repeatedly rehashed over and over—not if it offers fresh musical ideas or some special hook to play around.

But still, it’s Bamboo: so far, the biggest and most influential band that came out in recent memory. You could not fault them for not turning into radical reinvention for their name depicts an entire space of comfort and assertiveness. After all, they’ve crafted songs that inspired an entire legion, rich and poor, critically bent or casual listener. And maybe, we should just take it from there.