Plaka Notes #13: Silakbo by Cup of Joe

The debut album from the Baguio-based band takes a while to start up, but when it gets going, it really gets going. Or maybe it's because I'm a hardened, cynical listener in my late thirties...

The fun thing about doing these Plaka Notes is that it forces me to pay more attention to what most people enjoy listening to. Consider that I don’t consume as much Filipino media as I should, meaning I am not as exposed to the acts that are gaining ground today (unless you’re Bini, and in that case I am surrounded by them—but more on that next month). Also, somewhat paradoxically, between limited coverage and lots of choices, there seems to be more barriers to go through before one can make sense of what these islands are producing.

But it’s not like it was always that difficult. One significant barrier is my age. It just seemed much easier to know these things when you’re young, when you had the energy to immerse yourself in these acts—or, better yet, had easy access to them, because they perform in your campus and you don’t have to go to a music venue really late into the night. (I know this is a specific problem for me, who lived far away from these venues.)

The other thing is this general feeling that what’s popular these days don’t really resonate with you now—but you know they would resonate with the younger you, and that version of yourself, you can definitely no longer access. I felt that way when I was listening to Paolo Sandejas’ The World Is So Small, although the added context of this being a record of him moving from Manila to Los Angeles echoes with 36-year-old me’s sense of displacement upon hitting it out alone. I’m not calling his music juvenile; I’m calling myself jaded and cynical.

Same thoughts when I listened to Silakbo, the debut record from Cup of Joe. They’re one of those bands that the young ones seem to really like, but have never come across myself—but then, that’s likely me not listening to as much local radio as I should. I’ll confess that I listened to the album thrice in three weeks and each time I found myself initially thinking, “what’s this about, then?” And I’m trying, I really am, but somehow I find myself going back to square one whenever I revisit it.

Nope, this is not a negative review. In fact, in the three times I approached this record, I found myself enjoying it. It is not the fault of the band, but rather my fault as a listener.

Repeat readers of the Once Monthly might have figured out that I’m a guy that wants to be grabbed by a song. Those moments serve as a marker; it tells me the turning points of the entire work, makes it a little more obvious to me, this old guy with a limited attention span and a lot of things to worry about. Cup of Joe was gunning for the opposite: they were going for something fleeting, something ethereal. Admittedly the lyrics feel a little basic, but the sweeping, synth-heavy production elevates the songs and carries the message across effectively.

Silakbo is a leap for the Baguio band. I listened to their earlier stuff and it’s jaunty, accessible pop-rock. Again, it’s my age, but it’s something I’ve heard a lot of in my youth. (I couldn’t help but think of Sponge Cola’s “Lunes” when I play, say, 2021’s “Bukod-Tangi”, or “Estranghero” from a year after.) You can hear the shift with their break-out hit, “Tingin”, a collaboration with Janine Tenoso where the music gets a little dreamy and everything else is lifted as a result. (The follow-up single, “Misteryoso”, goes back to jaunty territory, but relies heavily on fairy-like imagery—just watch the music video, featuring Bini leader and resident Darna, Jhoanna Robles.) There’s a lot of this on the full-length, but it does not feel like they’re just capitalizing on what worked for them.

The downside is, the album does take a while to really get started. The first half feels a bit samey, although the words of “Bagyo” and “Kanelang Mata” are pretty evocative. If Silakbo has that “grab me” moment, it would be “Pahina”, where the pace starts building and you realize that the slow build is deliberate; the beginning is supposed to be drab, and the pay-off at the end, supposedly, is great.

And then it goes further. “Multo” is a definite standout—but then I feel it appeals to me and my thing these past few months for the idea of the ghosts that you have to exorcise (also see Playlist #26 and Niki Colet’s “Ghosts” being on it). But by this point, the band is locked in and firing on all cylinders. (Or at least that’s what I think. I know you’ll say they’ve always been locked throughout the album. I’m very much embracing the unreliable reviewer role in this case.) It’s pretty gutsy to have the most upbeat track, the title track, appear only at the very end. A “now we’re here, let’s begin” marker, perhaps? That’s pretty satisfying, I think.

After three listens, I think I have a better appreciation for the band’s approach to their debut album. It sounds modern, no doubt, but it mines from the 1970s tradition of vocal harmonies and tightly-arranged melodies, both in this country and elsewhere. It’s not an outright homage the way, say, IV of Spades have done it; it’s more subtle, but it’s there. Also, if you’re a believer in how musicians evoke a sense of place, I’ll tell you that the third listen—the point when the album finally clicked in place for me—was early in the morning, when the temperatures were still cool and the skies were still overcast, and I remembered that this band comes from the Summer Capital of the Philippines, where that is precisely the weather.

But maybe I’m reaching a bit. Am I getting too old for this new bunch of musicians, the ones storming our charts and capturing the ears and hearts of the youth everywhere? Maybe this would all make sense much easier if I was in my twenties, or maybe my late teens, when I still had more of that romance I supposedly killed in other people. But I suppose that’s proof of the system working the way it should. If this jaded, cynical reviewer finds a piece of music that manages to crack through these hardened ears, then it’s on the music… even if it took a while.

And besides, if I feel like a lot of the popular music today is just “for the kids”, I can dig a little deeper. For one, Barbie Almalbis released Not That Girl, which is both familiar and comforting… but also isn’t, because producer Nick Lazaro’s fingerprints are on everything—if you know, you just know—resulting in a record that struggles between being exciting and being self-indulgent. If that gets a little too glitchy for you, there’s always Barbie and her cohorts releasing a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide”… I mean, us on the older end, we do need to sit down sometimes.