Atlanta singer-songwriter Faye Webster played her first Manila show on June 21 at Filinvest Tent in Alabang, Muntinlupa City. The set blurred the line between confession and performance, drifting in and out of emotional unease and deadpan restraint. Her sound has shifted slightly over the years, but its emotional charge remains. From her 2013 debut Run and Tell to her stint with Awful Records — once home to cloud rap artist Father and rage music rap pioneer Playboi Carti — Webster’s evolution hasn’t been about reinvention. She’s kept the same warped tranquility across albums, anchoring even her most resigned lyrics onto something close to comfort.
This visit to Manila had been a long time coming. Tickets sold out faster than usual, with fans locked in online as soon as they dropped. Karpos Live, the local promoter behind the show, handled one of its most vocal fanbases to date with fans online actively gatekeeping the tickets across social media platforms. It was a crowd that not only lived online and knew every word, but they braved one of the worst southwest monsoon nights of the year just to be there.
Inside the venue, people showed up in DIY outfits that echoed Webster’s oddball aesthetic: denim on denim, crochet Minion hats — hinting at her collaboration with Los Angeles clothing line Brain Dead — and wired headphones looped into outfits. It felt like a cosplay of the singer’s social media persona. There were arguments, shoves, and kids determined to claw their way to the front row, often at the expense of anyone in their way. For those used to gig etiquette, it was chaotic. But the tension said something: this wasn’t a casual fanbase. This was a generation that saw Webster as their own.
The pre-show playlist cuts across a range of styles. One minute it was ambient instrumentals from “LUSH” by Dean Blunt, the next it was Alex G spazzing out to “Brick,” followed by a sudden blast of “How Sweet” by NewJeans. There’s something about these musical crossovers that speak to something deeply personal about Webster — who is even alleged to be dating Daniel Fang, drummer of hardcore punk band Turnstile. Webster’s approach to deep cuts isn’t for the sake of it, and the night showed us a glimpse into Webster’s fragmented world where indie pop, weirdo folk, and TikTok all bleed into each other.
Then came the bait and switch. Animated Minions appeared onscreen singing the opening of “But Not Kiss,” the second track off Webster’s new album Underdressed at the Symphony. The audience screamed. The show had officially started when the band ran up front and picked up their respective instruments.
From there, the performance moved fast but never lost its mood. Webster played with a steady rhythm that was both casual and emotionally exact. Her band didn’t overplay, but they didn’t hold back either, especially in tracks like “Right Side of My Neck,” “Better Distractions,” and “Tttttime.” There were also moments of musicianship: the slide guitar on “In A Good Way” gave it just the right kind of ache; “Right Side of My Neck” hit harder live, with drums locking into place around Webster’s phrasing; “Jonny,” a song that leans into spoken word, landed with quiet power. And “Kingston,” the TikTok favorite that helped push her into the mainstream, closed the set to a chorus of phones raised high.
Besides greeting the audience that this was their first time in Manila, Webster didn’t talk much onstage. At a time when indie artists feel forced into performative relatability, Webster didn’t overexplain or dress up her set with forced theatrics. Her songs did the work. For a debut Manila show, the concert was a snapshot of how far Webster’s brand of tender indie pop music travels now. Soft-spoken, emotionally precise, born from Southern American melancholy and Atlanta’s rap-adjacent weirdness, now sells out a venue in the middle of a Philippine monsoon.
