Plaka Notes #8: Superpower by Zild

The IV of Spades vocalist further breaks free on his fourth album—but, for better or worse, one still can't help but think of the band that started it all.

Let me begin by addressing the elephant in the room, one that only I am probably seeing. Earlier this month, SB19 member Stell dropped his first solo EP, Room. As a member of one of the biggest musical acts in the country today—I know I said that about Bini a few Plaka Notes ago, but SB19 pretty much made P-pop a force despite the odds—it should be an editorial no-brainer that I write about it. But honestly, I’m a little bit scared, because admittedly, apart from a few curious listens, I haven’t spent a lot of time with SB19’s music. (Many factors: different preferences, lots of preoccupations, the fact that I am more inclined towards girl groups.) Thus, I am anxious that whatever I write would be “wrong”, whatever that means, and I don’t want to risk the ire of the group’s fans… at least not until I get to talk with my friends who are fans, who can explain the lore to me.

So, instead, I’m writing about Superpower, the fourth album from Zild. Somehow I believed this would be easier because I spent a little bit more time with his music… until I realized that, in tackling this record, I figured I had to write about his band, IV of Spades—how they seemingly captured lightning in a bottle in the mid-2010s, how it all pretty much came to a halt when one of the members suddenly departed, and how it led to a lot of really interesting music. Again, should be easier, because I have written about them on the old music blog, but if we’re to talk about numbers, this meant I had to listen to ten studio albums and a bunch of singles in roughly three weeks. Easier, Niko? Really?

But enough about that.

Founded in 2014, IV of Spades (that’s the Roman number, so read it as “Four of Spades”) has strong musical pedigree. Three of the four members—Zild Benitez, Blaster Silonga and Badjao de Castro—are sons of musicians; Zild’s father, for instance, is Franklin Benitez, formerly of Hungry Young Poets and Barbie’s Cradle. (Nope, I am not going there.) The fourth member, Unique Salonga, went to the same church as Zild and was already writing his own music at the time.

After signing up with Warner Music, they released their first single, “Ilaw Sa Daan”, in 2016. It pretty much set their early template: very young folks whose sound (and wardrobe) was very much rooted in the 1970s. The press called them “pop funk”, but despite the obvious groove—very much reminiscent of the Manila Sound—their music seemed very keen to transcend the label. To me, it was just good old Filipino alternative, the version that a lot of people end up liking: accessible but not entirely predictable, and ultimately quite irresistible. It was arguably pop, but it was also “real music”. IVOS was a group that regular listeners and “discerning” musical types can get into. Nobody could gatekeep them.

On Valentine’s Day in 2018, they released their fourth single, “Mundo”. That’s when everything just went up a notch. It was decidedly different, but also quite obvious: a love song, very much for slow dancing, but six minutes long. Oh, love songs are the weakness of every Filipino, and not just the gloopy ballads. It’s these songs that everyone somehow resonates with, no matter what they’re facing. For a few months, this song was everywhere—an ethereal presence, a figurative hug.

Just a few months later, Unique, who served as the band’s vocalist, left the group. No official reason was given, although there was a bit of drama that preoccupied indie kids at the time. He would sign to a different record label, while the rest of the band continued under the same name. It was extra tantalizing when both entities released new material on the same day—and their directions couldn’t be any more different.

Unique signed up with O/C Records (led by Callalily frontman and actor Kean Cipriano) and immediately relished in his boundaries being broken down. I remember the buzz from music types surrounding Grandma, his 2018 solo debut. I remember comparing the first single, “Midnight Sky”, to Jeff Buckley, but the album really sees him merge that with Harry Nilsson, his slightly cryptic yet earnest songwriting taking the spotlight. After a discursion with the eclectic, if self-indulgent, Pangalan:, he went back to heartfelt territory on last year’s Daisy, a rumination on the end of a relationship—and an album that friends initially warned me not to listen to. They were right, but that’s besides the point.

Meanwhile, what remained of IV of Spades was also keen to break out. Their only album, CLAPCLAPCLAP!, is not “pop funk” on a superficial level, but underneath the heavier use of synths (and less references to a “disco”) is an irresistibly chunky rhythm section that makes the record’s themes of childhood alienation and growing up worthy of several furious head nods.

A couple of singles later, the band would go on hiatus—four years ago this week, actually—and as the members pursued individual projects, things got really interesting. Lead guitarist Blaster Silonga released My Kosmik Island Disk in 2022, going all in on psychedelic pop’s weirdness but only really starting to push at the edges. He continues to work with drummer Badjao de Castro, whose only post-IVOS project I can spot is as drummer of Party Pace, an experimental vibe-pop-adjacent band that also features Chicosci’s Eco del Rio and Raimund Marasigan, the closest the Philippines has to Damon Albarn when it comes to breadth (and amount) of work. (That said, Nauseous is a surprisingly accessible record.)

But it’s Zild—who always shared lead vocalist duties with Unique—who has churned out a lot of work. 2020’s Homework Machine and 2021’s Huminga were of a more conventional vein, although his evocative songwriting has always shone, particularly on the latter’s “Kyusi”. It was after moving to Island Records Philippines when he seemed to have more of the freedom to get even just a little bit weird: the 2022 release Medisina somehow merges his “pop funk” past with his newer sonic palette, with “Dekada ‘70”—a somewhat heavy-handed reminder to his generation that the Marcos legacy isn’t really great—conveniently allowing him to dive back into IVOS’ earliest stuff.

But what’s great about Zild’s trajectory—and, by extension, the rest of IV of Spades’ members’—is his restlessness, his unwillingness to stay in the lane he and his gang was first known for. Superpower is the record where he goes all gangbusters sonically: despite the familiar reference points, his enthusiasm is so infectious I can’t help but also go all in.

All that somehow makes for a record that’s both familiar and fresh. Lead single “Segurista” is a song you can’t help but sing along to, even if you’ve only heard it for the first time. Same with “Huwag Mong Ipilit”—I just instinctively knew it was familiar but did not have the urge to figure out what it is, although I’ve read people compare it, not wrongly, to Radiohead’s “High and Dry”. I get the same vibe from “Lia”, although it is a happier song, a paean to love that isn’t afraid to reveal details, because God damn it, he’s just very much in love, and why can’t we all be?

And then there’s “I.N.A.S.”, which I did immediately realize is a riff on Beck. That realization triggered a momentary existential crisis for me. Musicians referring to the ones they listened to while growing up at the turn of the millennium isn’t new; I had a bit of a whiplash while realizing it with Western artists, but somehow that felt all the more pronounced with Superpower. I mean, Zild’s references speak to my musical awakening as well, at least part of it. You know, that time when I tried listening to more alternative acts of the time in the hope that their cool would somehow rub off on me and make me a slightly more desirable friend. I remembered all that, and I felt awkward, but thankfully it’s something that Zild carries very well.

After listening to the record for the second time to get all my descriptions right—and to marvel again at how obvious the evolution has been—I couldn’t help but wonder. IV of Spades, in their seemingly-brief-but-not-really existence, captured lightning in a bottle. Just when we all realized what they were capable of doing, they went their own ways. Ten studio albums later, I can’t help but think about what we would have gotten from the band if they stayed together. Would they find themselves stuck somehow in that “pop funk” vibe? Or would they have slowly surprised us with all these excursions into psychedelia and post-grunge and whatever else is happening out there? What direction would they have taken? Would that have nonetheless triggered the sequence of events that led me to a ten-album queue?

Personally, it was still satisfying connecting all these dots over the past couple of weeks. But Superpower—and Daisy, and My Kosmik Island Disk, and whatever else the boys get out individually in the future—will make me think about what could’ve been. Well, never say never. It’s not like the split was acrimonious. There were rumors. I think there were rumors. I might be misremembering. I’m old.