Yes, to steal a line from Billy Joel, it’s still rock n’ roll to me (with electronica and acid jazz flourishes), but one simply can’t pin singer Armi Millare’s voice down. She has this ineffable banshee voice writhing on a bed of guitars, bass and looped drumbeats, talking about lost loves, procrastination, and all things broken. Does she sing like Tori? Janis? Yoko? A more electric Anita Baker? Who the hell cares? "Critics" have this penchant for categorizing, labeling, or giving names to things, and in the process putting them in prison. Simply put, this girl has a whirlwind for a voice.
At cramped Saguijo, Armi’s voice jets, pirouettes, and thrashes about. Before the band played, my girlfriend and I had to endure a crappy Murakami-namedropping and I Melt With You-stealing band with a turntablist (as passé as Incubus), as well as an equally crappy band featuring a singer with an anorexic voice box and a guitarist whose delay stomp box is switched to 11. (He thought he could wow the crowd with clichéd major scale solos.) The people quadrupled when it was Up dharma Down’s turn. Ah, music as magnet.
A digression: We had to stand on chairs since we couldn’t see a thing, what with the mass of bodies in front of the stage. That irked a fascistic security guy in barong who berated the "culprits." Friedrich Nietzsche called this sort of behavior "Will to Power." Give a guy some semblance of authority and he acts like the master of the universe. Imagine being asked to behave like sheep in a "rock n’ roll club." Although Saguijo is more like a rocked-up apartment frequented by real rockers and kids who think The Libertines is a punk band.
Anyway, the grooves were great, so we stayed. Each Up dharma Down song insinuated itself into one’s skull.
That’s dharma for you.
"And we made a conscious effort to make our music as free as possible, wala masyadong limitations," adds bassist Paul Yap. And according to guitarist Carlos Tañada, they are even surprised at what they come up with when writing new songs.
"Every day is a revelation," enthuses Armi. "It doesn’t end."
The songs on "Fragmented" are astonishingly good for such a young band. One track stopped me from picking my nose and wreaking Armageddon on buggers just to listen to it. Intently. (Reminded me of the time I heard Skunk Anansie or Portishead, with the lights out, the windows closed, and the spirit crushed.)
Let this geek discuss the songs.
Layag is for me the band’s Tomorrow Never Knows, what with its eerie "reverse reverb" (courtesy of sound alchemist Noel de Brackinghe). John Lennon wanted his vocals to sound like the Dalai Lama chanting from a mountaintop in the "Revolver" tune. Armi’s vocals in the intro sound like a banshee being back-masked. "Gusto kong mag-Latin sana pero walang time (laughs)," Armi shares. "We originally wanted to make it a hidden track because it is the most different," informs Paul.
The killer tune Maybe is not a love song, contrary to what most people think. Armi says she has a more general (universal) approach to songwriting, while Paul is more personal. As to who has a bleaker outlook on life, the bassist says, "(Armi) has more angst." "Angst is good," the singer counters.
In the song, the listener gets sucked in once the infinite guitars, the fat bass line, and the syncopated drums kick in. The voice then proceeds to dwell on dark, crushing things. Essential.
Aweird scene inside an old studio in Pasay. When the band-members recorded Maybe, they told Noel de Brackinghe they wanted the song to convey a spooky vibe, like a ghost’s lament or something. Carlos recalls, "Noel told us, ‘Be careful what you wish for…" When they returned after a short break, someone (or "something") messed up the keyboard settings. "May nag pitch-bend," says Carlos. "It went ting, ting, woowrrrllllllllll…."
But this was not the most frightening thing that ever happened to the band. Playing in a debutante’s ball was. True story.
Lazy Daisy is about a "complicated woman." She was not based on a real person. "It’s my friend’s nick, and I created a character (out of it)," explains Paul. Carlos adds, "It is one of the first songs we wrote using a drum machine." The volume swells from Carlos’ guitar are haunting.
We Give In Sometimes is about "taking chances." "I came up with a relaxed na riff," says Carlos. "Steady lang na medyo bagay pag basag ka or something (laughs)."
Oo is about Armi picturing herself in a specific situation. "It’s hard to write a song about a particular experience only," she says. "Collective (experience) ’yan eh."
This song is one of the best OPM tunes I’ve heard in a long time. (All we hear these days is Especially For You and Waiting In Vain covers… Tama na, please.) Dig Armi’s jazzy, breezy delivery. Lilting.
Fragmented was birthed by one night of writing filler tracks for the album.
June is the first Up dharma Down song ever recorded. Armi says, "This song was included in a compilation CD (featuring) four other bands. Doon nag-start mag-materialize ’yung band. June started as an acoustic (number), wala pa si Carlos. We launched it March 9, two years ago." A piece of trivia: at that time, the band still had world music leanings.
"I think it was too early for us (to go into world music)," says Armi. "The song is about how you are the center of all the things you do. Kalaban mo lahat, kakampi mo lahat – depending on how you look at it. It’s a matter of perception."
Sleeptalk has a naughty overtone. Paul explains, "It’s about catching your significant other saying something (revealing)…"
Pag-agos has that Twilight Zone of a video.
For me, Broken Mirrors and Screaming Turtles (which sound like a Tortoise tune), Malikmata, and The World Is Our Playground And We Will Always Be Home make up a trilogy of sorts. (The Beatles mastered this; check out the segue from Golden Slumbers to Carry that Weight to The End on "Abbey Road"). I think the last three Up dharma Down songs build to a conceptual climax – even if the band itself disputes this claim (and points to drummer Ean Mayor’s track-listing as the reason behind it).
"If you want to make a story out of it, it’s okay," says Paul. "The World Is Our Playground is about being on top of your idealism in terms of relationships. You go, ‘Everything will work out, everything will work out, we can try, we can try.’ To exhaust all possibilities. A very idealistic song." (Another piece of trivia: I played this evocative tune when I was the guest in NU 107’s Tapsirock program hosted by Dylan.)
Dig this, kids. "Fragmented" begins with a dark, angst-ridden track with reverse reverb called Layag, signifying a journey of sorts. And then it ends with We Will Always Be Home, where everything comes full circle and has worked itself out. Down one moment, up the next. That’s dharma for you. Astounding rock n’ roll from four unassuming individuals.
Paradox rocks.