Welcome to my weirdest weekend ever
For three days I hung out at queues for concerts I didn't have tickets for. What happened was a reminder of how music brings us together—and how I probably need to chill out once in a while.
First off, I must clarify that none of the things that I’m writing about here would have happened if not for my friend Nat.
A potted history: we first crossed paths during Keane’s Manila concert back in 2012, but only really met the following year, when she tried to meet Brandon Flowers at what turned out to be the wrong hotel. We’ve been talking and meeting since—infrequently, since she lived in Cebu and I live in Manila. It did lead to a handful of music recommendations and the one time I rode a habal-habal, in the middle of the night, in a city I don’t know much about.
I consider her one of my better friends, so when she got tickets to this year’s Wanderland Festival—and, at the same venue the following day, the Arctic Monkeys—I knew I would be involved somehow. Getting around Manila is a chore, after all, more so if you’re going to the “south”—the southern cities that are somehow harder to get to without driving. I would know: I lived in the suburbs further south for most of my life. So, I offered to drive her and her friend Aneen, who comes from Iligan, which is even farther than Cebu. That’s how my weirdest weekend ever began.
4 March—Am I fitting in?
Yes, I was outside Wanderland. This is already weird in and of itself. Back on the old blog I had a… somewhat adversarial relationship with the festival, specifically, their whole #TakeMeBackToWanderland marketing strategy, which I felt overly glorified the live music experience. I suppose it says a lot more about me than them, but whatever. I go to concerts, but it’s not the be-all and end-all of my love for music, and it frankly shouldn’t be for anyone.
The first few festivals were held in Makati, but they moved to Alabang in 2019. Bigger space, but much farther, at least according to those who think anything that you can get to via a toll highway is very far. Now, I spent three decades of my life in Cavite, which meant Alabang, only a 20-minute drive away, was my playground. But then, I’ve been living smack in the middle of Manila for three years now, so what claim do I have?
It’s not like I haven’t visited my parents all that time. I still know my way around, but a lot of new buildings seem to have come up. The festival venue was right beside Festival Mall, whose new wing only really filled up in the last couple of years. The crowd isn’t as upscale as Alabang’s typical rich-kid crowd—the mall really served the suburbs—but on day 1 of the first Wanderland in three years, there were a lot of people in, um, festival outfits. You know, the sort you’d imagine someone going to Coachella would wear, but without the flower crowns.
“I’m not wearing a festival outfit,” I said. “I don’t fit in.”
“Actually, you are,” Nat said.
I initially thought I’d just be doing the driving, but I have to keep my friends company, so here I am, in line outside Wanderland. Gates were supposed to open at one in the afternoon—they actually opened an hour later—but you have to queue early to have a good chance at the barricades. We were there by noon, but even then, apparently, the lines were shorter. Or maybe it’s because it’s too hot? Or maybe it’s because the Carly Rae Jepsen fans haven’t arrived yet?
Turns out a lot of the people I know who would otherwise complain about going to Alabang went to watch her. She’s that powerful. I no longer have doubts.
5 March—You’re always worth the wait
Wanderland’s line-ups through the years is pretty illustrative of how broader cool kids’ preferences have become. Nine years ago there were a lot of indie pop acts from Australia, so much so that I tried guessing who they might want to bring next. Since then genre cliques have somewhat blurred: you can like the indie-est of pop and the most mainstream of it, with a peppering of subcontinent-inspired R&B or good old pop-punk, and not bat an eyelash.
All right, so there are still gatekeepers who insist their tastes are supreme, and some scoffing at the popularity of certain genres, but, you know, things seem better now. Take K-pop. A lot of that was because of acts like BTS and Blackpink paving the way, but the acceptability of liking idol groups from South Korea extended to all the others. My friends who watched Mamamoo with me had pretty cool music tastes, too.
Which brings us to Wanderland announcing Bobby at almost the last minute. Apart from two solo records, he is also a member of iKON, and alongside former stablemate Mino was part of the project group The Mobb. A harder-edged idol, but still a surprise booking for the cool kid festival. “How would that work?” But also, “I suppose it will, because things have changed.”
Only he pulled out of the festival at the very last minute. Like, the news came the morning of his performance. I think his entourage was already in Manila. (I saw photos of them chilling at the nearby Crimson Hotel.) Maybe a paperwork issue? I saw iKONICs tweet his new agency, demanding an explanation.
Day two of me driving Nat and Aneen to the festival, and we all thought the lines got longer this time around. What we thought was the end of the line were actually Bobby’s fans congregating by his poster. They had lightsticks and banners and merchandise and even a bunch of standees of the guy. They had all that made, and for nothing. Might as well turn lemons to lemonade, or something.
“Go talk to them,” Nat told me. I felt the old music blogger coming back.
I felt bad for them. I couldn’t help it. I just came from almost not being able to watch Mamamoo almost nine years after they debuted. Sure, they’ve probably seen Bobby a few times (although he hasn’t been here solo, as far as I know) but it doesn’t stop them going all-out to show their support. It’s a K-pop thing, come to think of it.
As soon as the news broke, the fan groups called out for anyone who’s already at the area to gather by the billboard at exactly 12:15pm. The plan was for them to make a video message for Bobby. I was honestly surprised that they allowed me to take photos and videos throughout. I felt like I was intruding, to be honest—but I think they were happy to be seen and acknowledged. After all, despite how far we’ve come, many still see being a K-pop fan as a novelty—just take the whole Kapuso Mo, Jessica Soho thing.
It took them a while to disperse. Some took photos by other Bobby billboards—there were a couple of street lights with his face on the next street. Others decided to give away the glowsticks they had made to those queueing. We all got one. Apparently some continued on to a restaurant for a previously scheduled gathering. They had to make the most of it, even if most of the people I chatted with decided to get refunds and not proceed with the festival. It’s a shame, but I suppose it’s difficult pouring all your energy on one act and not having any left for the others.
“Bobby, you’re always worth the wait!” they said in the video.
Just a few days later, iKON announces a Manila stop to their world tour.
6 March—Trying to be cool
I know watching live music can be competitive, whether you’re going for the best seats or, in this weekend’s case, trying to be as close as possible to the barricades. I wasn’t expecting the vibe to be a bit more chill outside the Wanderland gates, though. I mean, I was able to hang out there both days despite being upfront about not having tickets. It was nice chatting with folks you otherwise would have nothing in common with (hi, Madz). Come to think of it, the last time I did something similar was almost nine years ago.
The queue was as nice for the Arctic Monkeys, but it felt a little more intense. Nat wanted to fall in line as early as 8:00am; she was already tenth when we got there! Ahead of us were three folks who flew in from Cagayan de Oro, and who nicely gave Nat a Twix bar in exchange for a Berocca tablet. After her were three folks who came from the northern part of Metro Manila—much closer, but they left at 5:00am anyway, and even booked a van to get to Alabang to get around the transport strike.
Nat wanted to do one more thing before the “main event”: try to catch Phoenix, who headlined the night before. She actually won a meet-and-greet pass with the band the night before, but skipped it so she can stay in the barricades; she did end up going to the other meet-and-greet she won, with Dashboard Confessional. So, one last fangirl moment, she said—a bit of a big deal from the lady who met Foals thrice around the world (and got featured in the NME in one instance). Someone spotted them at Crimson the day before, so she thought, why not try?
Suddenly, my job was to not look like we were at the hotel just to get a glimpse of the band. “We’re having coffee,” I told the restaurant staff, perhaps unconvincingly. But then, we both needed coffee. We’re both running on little sleep.
We barely had our coffee when I saw a familiar face enter the restaurant.
“Thomas is here,” I told Nat.
The band had arrived—and they were seated on the table next to us.
The plan was to play it cool. You don’t want to just come up to them and say hello, ask for a photo, give your gifts. Nat did pick up four packs of mango-tamarind balls, one for each other, at a 7-Eleven along the way. It was hidden somewhat awkwardly under the table, as if the fact that we were wearing plain clothes wasn’t awkward enough. But, you know, play it cool. Don’t disturb their breakfast.
We ended up watching four waves of people (yes, I counted) who were also waiting at the restaurant approach vocalist Thomas Mars as he went to the buffet station. They all had watched their set the previous night. I think one was a blogger who wanted to show a photo of them he took that night. Cue my own existential moment. I only heard their performance while waiting for Nat and Aneen the night before! Five songs, but still! Next thing we knew, the only ones left were us and the band.
I may have overdone the playing it cool bit, because I ended up ordering a club sandwich, which we had to have packed to-go. They were leaving, and we had to go, too.
What happened next was a blur. I mean, I suppose it would be. The adrenaline (or the Berocca, in Nat’s case) keeps you going. I remember that she wanted me to approach Thomas first, but I ended up saying “you do it!” as we got up.
They talked. I took photos. He asked for my name. I thought, “yeah, he is a very generous guy!” She gave the gifts. She talked a bit about Cebu. He said he’d love to eat it on the plane. He asked about whether we were watching the Arctic Monkeys. Of course, I couldn’t say I wasn’t, but I had this thing about everyone going back to live music and relishing it all. I suppose I made sense. I took more photos. Several on my phone, two on Nat’s film camera.
We both forgot about my photos with Thomas. It was on our plans, but the moment took us elsewhere, I suppose. I am fine with it; at least I have this story to tell. That said, now that I’m telling the story, I have nothing else to show for it. Maybe if Thomas ends up posting about the mango balls on Instagram…
I call this my weirdest weekend ever because I was doing the sort of thing I wouldn’t do normally. Not the driving around—I’ve offered to drive my friends before, and more so in the past few months. Sorting out logistics for friends who aren’t from here is fun, in a way.
No, what’s different is me going along with things. I tend to really stick to a plan, even if it’s one in my head. I certainly never planned to hang out at the queue for twenty minutes, and then, for two hours. But they asked, and I just said “sure” and went with it.
But then it’s been a difficult past few months for me, and I may have responded by throwing just a little bit more caution to the wind. Well, it’s been a difficult past few years for all of us, and I suppose we’ve all done something similar. Now that things feel like they’re going back to normal, we’re heading back in with all those things we learned, and are hoping it works out a little better this time. It feels like a new chapter.
I think Nat feels the same way, too. She was talking about the Phoenix encounter as a full-circle moment from her, how after this she would “retire”—unless the Strokes somehow come to Manila, but when, and how, really?—and “pass the baton” to someone else. In this case, Aneen, who was starting to go to concerts and was having a real fun time. It was her first time to go to Wanderland—I think her first time to watch a concert in Manila, actually—and we both kind of took it upon ourselves to make the experience go as smoothly as possible. Shame she never caught Raveena at the hotel the way we did Thomas Mars, though.
I’ve had a week to look back at those three tiring days and sleepless nights, and also at all the things I’ve experienced surrounding live music over the past decade—the people I’ve met, the perspectives I’ve heard, the experiences I’ve had. My head goes back to this one exchange Nat and I had at the restaurant.
“Are you having fun?” she asked.
“This has been a very weird weekend,” I said.
Really, I should’ve said that, yes, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long while.