Plaka Notes #12: "I'm Okay" by Moira Dela Torre / The Traveller Across Dimensions by Ben&Ben
Two of Philippine music's biggest names released new albums just weeks apart, and both show an unboxed and unleashed version of themselves... for the most part.
One of the things I’ve been trying to address when I first embarked on my Plaka Notes last year is to cover both acts that are “cool” and flying under the radar, or popular enough to compel some people to turn their nose up on them. Sometimes it’s because of overexposure. Sometimes it’s because they play with predictable formulas. And sometimes people just want to look like they’re such purveyors of taste, or something.
Not that I’m saying the two albums I’m featuring this time are typical and predictable. Sure, both Moira dela Torre and Ben&Ben are really popular here in the Philippines, and sure, it’s in part because they played well with their own formulas. Not surprising, really. We may want to pay attention to what is cutting edge, but the vast majority like the familiar, and both are just that.
Interestingly, though, the new albums that both released within weeks of each other showed further attempts to push their boundaries and go beyond expectations, at least slightly. For both artists, it helps highlight their strengths and perhaps bucks expectations set by their previous work. But also, it doesn’t always work—but that’s both me being nitpicky, and me acknowledging that while both of them would naturally want to grow, the weight of those expectations can be quite heavy and daunting.
It’s become a bit of a joke around these parts. Whenever Moira releases a new song, the question is, “who hurt you?”—a testament to how, with her breathy voice and emotive delivery, she is able to convey love and heartbreak to millions of Filipinos who really just, err, love a good love story.
I still have vivid memories of listening to her 2018 debut, Malaya—I was reviewing it for the old music blog while waiting for my brother at a mall that had virtually nothing in it—and they aren’t good. It was a really boring record: ballad after ballad after ballad, and then a couple of covers (again, nobody should touch Imago’s “Sundo”) before we get to “Titibo-Tibo”, the frothy, fun song that made her popular. The worst part is, it clearly isn’t her fault: while the producers understood what she’s good with, they shoved her in a box and kept her there. Whatever texture or flavor she can bring to the table was denied by the need to bring more crowd-pleasing ballads to the masses.
Disappointingly, but not surprisingly, the same is the case with her follow-up, 2020’s Patawad. (No covers, though, so there’s a plus.) Again, Moira’s voice is pleasant, but the producers kept her in a box. When I remembered that those first two records were under the auspices of Star Music, I realized that I had heard all this a few months ago, when I reviewed Jayda’s Sad Girl Hours and noted that her first two records pretty much kept her in a box as well.
Both of their trajectories changed a bit thanks to a record label shift, but for Moira, a lot of personal intrigue came in, too. I haven’t followed, to be honest, but her popularity meant I couldn’t escape news of her marriage to her songwriting partner Jason Hernandez—and their eventual separation, when he admitted to being unfaithful. Around the same time, she signed up to Republic Records, for whom she released Halfway Point—an obvious attempt at subversion, rewriting the songs they penned together in light of all that. And one can’t help but think of that context when listening to her new record, “I’m Okay”. (Yes, the quotation marks are included.)
Okay, so, yes, I can’t help but think of my context too. While listening to this record I actually thought if I’m more receptive to it now because of that heartbreak. I play songs like “Bandaid” and especially “Gaslighter” and I think, I’m just relating to all of this hard, right? Did I need to have my heart broken to get all this?
But all that aside, “I’m Okay” does push the boundaries a bit. I was surprised to learn that Moira is heavily influenced by Brooke Fraser—although a part of it is because of how they express their faith through music, you can tell that their secular stuff also jive stylistically. There’s a bit more theatricality to this record: less of the floating fairy stuff and more of an edge. Producer Casey Lagos—who’s also worked for, interestingly for our purposes, Cold War Kids, Parkway Drive and Architects—accompanies Moira’s sense of vindictive mournfulness well. This is an obvious metaphor, but it does give me a bit more to hold on to.
The downside is, now that I’ve finally had a taste of what else Moira can do, I kinda wished she did more. I am on the record as enjoying her poppier stuff, and while I’m not looking for a banger, I feel we will all be for the better when she gets a chance to really flex her muscles and grow further as a songwriter and musician. As I write this, I have this image of her touring the world because she’s resonating with a lot of other people. (“Gaslighter” could do that, really.) It doesn’t hurt that she’s really easy on the eyes. You go, girl! Walk further!
Some might scoff at the idea of me putting Ben&Ben in that pile of very ubiquitous Filipino mainstream successes, but despite the slightly different path they took—the titular Bens, twins Paulo and Miguel Guico, first came together as folk duo the Benjamins in 2016—they tap into our thing for the emotional and anthemic. I remember watching them (as a duo) perform live at the launch of Leni Robredo’s Angay Buhay initiative back when she was vice president, and despite the very big space and the very corporate audience, they filled the room as if they were just singing to me. You can’t help but feel, you know what I mean?
Expanding as a nine-piece ensemble allowed them to add more layers to their already heavily melodic yet modern sound. Yet they very much hark back to the 1970s Filipino folk scene, when acts like Asin and Coritha had a space for themselves, turning out socially-aware music, particularly relevant considering it was during the height of Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s dictatorship. Ben&Ben’s most popular songs may be on love, heartbreak and healing, but they have released impactful songs tackling mental health and social justice. (Again, the song they did for Leni Robredo.) If anything, they feel like the quintessential Filipino band for a whole generation of listeners.
That said—and I feel some people will really dislike me for this—I’ll confess that I often have to remind myself that the group is a nine-piece and not just the brothers. It’s not the name, really. It’s just how very polished and clean their sound is. Not a problem, really—in fact, if anything, that shine on their recorded output is one thing that sets Ben&Ben apart from most other Filipino musicians—but the slickness of the package and their distinctive harmonies automatically reminded me of that one time I watched them live, as a duo. I’d listen to their albums—their debut, Limasawa Street, and their more loose and collaborative follow-up, Pebble House, Volume 1: Kuwaderno—and remember the rest, and then I forget. I know, it’s really just me. Please don’t send me hate mail.
I feel that with their ambitious third album, The Traveller Across Dimensions, they sought to present an even fuller version of themselves. Apparently, it’s a concept album, about Liwanag, part of a race of inter-dimensional beings seeking to reach the Duyan Dimension to achieve a state of inner peace. (I must mention that, in true K-pop style, Ben&Ben fans are called “Liwanag”, or “light”. The commercial considerations here are too obvious. Also, “duyan” is Filipino for “cradle”, so, again.)
Honestly, they really didn’t need the concept. Considering that the group also has a tendency to be very earnest—”Triumph” stuck out to me in a bad way in that regard, and not because it’s not their typical folk-pop fare—they didn’t really have to use heavy-handed mythology to convey their message. The songs are good enough on their own, and in some cases they thrive without the burden of that background. “Could Be Something” works perfectly as a paean to blossoming love, for instance.
Yes, The Traveller Across Dimensions is the same slick, melodic package that you’ve come to expect, sure but here I feel that all nine members were able to stretch and play. If the concept is really because they decided to explore their cosmic, almost psychedelic side, then yes, it worked. I’ve always appreciated the layers they did in Limasawa Street, but they have been turned up to great effect on the new record. I was enthralled, I forgot I needed to keep track of that concept again.
But my highlight, perhaps oddly, is the song that does not feature the Guico twins on vocals. “Shutter” stands out because the band’s percussionists, Andrew de Pano and Toni Muñoz, also performed vocal duties—they wrote the song—and gives me a greater, more organic sense of the collective nature of the group. (It was also a bit of a breather from all of the soundscapes they were turning out, not that they were tiring to begin with. Light and shade, always, for me.)
I’m sure somewhere along the line the group will hit that balance of showcasing everyone’s charms while also keeping that polished sound that sets them apart and made them enduring favorites for many Filipinos. I hope they get there. They have lots of time to do so.
I find it funny that both “I’m Okay” and The Traveller Across Dimensions dropped within weeks of each other. They’re not similar albums—not thematically, not sonically—but I feel both capture what the typical Filipinos really like listening to. I always come back to the one time I was interviewed in my capacity as a music blogger, when I said that Filipinos enjoy a love song. These two albums, familiar in many ways, are exactly that.
But does that make them uncool? That’s an unfair accusation. Sure, both records do their part to elevate what could be seen as typical. But do we really have to stop being so in touch with our emotions, the one thing we share with everyone regardless of distance or inequality or degrees of disagreement? So what if we can’t help but make songs about that? They make songs as a testament to our shared humanity, and all that. I know that now makes me sound extra earnest too, but whatever.