The local music scene in the Philippines was heading to a point of no return, and for good reason. The intersection between the Roxas Boulevard new wave kids and Malate punk scene began to take a lane of its own with venues like Club Dredd and Mayric’s entering the fold; the Washington grunge scene was at the cusp of popularity in local airwaves, and NU 107 was the number one radio station for a burgeoning youth culture. The word “alternative” was the talk of the town, and so was the reportage on subcultures breaking through the mainstream.
With the rise of so many original compositions from starry-eyed musicians, the “showband” culture began to lose its staying power. All of these events ballooned in the year 1994. It took several records to burst that bubble, and the scene hasn’t been the same since.
It was a watershed moment for Original Pilipino Music and some wouldn’t expect the sheer number of impactful releases in the same year. One would say it was a time to be alive, others would say it’s the year that broke all the rules and defined a generation. Here are the records that prove that the year 1994 was a monumental time for Filipino music.
Eraserheads, Circus
The Fab Four of the University of the Philippines Diliman were shooting for stardom in their debut release Ultraelectromagneticpop!, an album that brought out college rock hits like “Pare Ko,” “Toyang,” and “Ligaya,” to name a few. For them, it was a taste test of what was to come, but the rest of their growing fanbase wasn’t ready for their sophomore release.
Circus was a product of the quartet’s penchant for pop songwriting sung in one curveball after the other. It showcased their knack for experimentation, whipping out garage-punk two-step anthems like “Insomya,” the psychedelic sparse instrumentation of “Alapaap” (a song that caused controversy and made Senator Tito Sotto panic due to the track’s lyrical and production choices), and the climactic storytelling of “Magasin.” Nearly every track on their album has either created myths in the alternative rock scene or paved the way for new bands to go against the grain of conventional songwriting structures. Circus was a eureka moment for the ‘90s alternative boom — a blueprint for oddball rockists, who praise Eraserheads as the second coming of The Beatles.
Bad Omens, Bad Omens
According to superstition, the black cat symbolizes good fortune or, more famously, a bad omen of what’s to come.
For the punk band Bad Omen, the black cat was a signal of anarchy. By the late ‘80s, the Philippines already had a rich history of punk rock music, and their ruckus energy invaded parking lot spaces and beer houses during the wee hours of the morning. A decade after, their contemporaries — Biofeedback, Mindrape, Tame The Tikbalang, and the like — joined together to evolve the genre further; bands like them were evidence of shaping a community and what’s to come.
Tracks like “Buksan Itong Isipan,” “Fuck The World,” and “Change The System” harness an energy that could break bottles in the moshpit and easily topple the powers that be. Bad Omen’s strong impact in the local scene has surpassed so many generations and iterations of punk music — even the cover art of the cat alone has left a lasting impression, making an appearance in every single punk gig anywhere in the Philippines. It is a status symbol of the ‘90s, and so is their music.
Gary V, Hataw Na
For a pop culture icon like Gary V to come from an industry where dance music has mutated in so many forms — from warehouse raves to discotheques — Mr. Pure Energy released “Hataw Na” when rock was more favored in the mainstream.
However, it was a decade where entertainers like Gary Valenciano were the pop figures to look out for: His steps were showstopping, his voice compelling, and the proclaimed energy was incredibly infectious. Prancing along to the grooves of the New Jack Swing genre, beat switches, and record scratches, it goes without saying that Valenciano would masterfully command the listener to join him on his own dance floor in “Hataw Na.”
Rivermaya, Rivermaya
The success story of Rivermaya in their debut album was all there: Rico Blanco’s New Wave influences translated in his piano playing, Bamboo Mañalac’s electrifying pop performance, Perf De Castro’s striking guitar solos bordering on metal shredding; Nathan Azarcon and Mark Escueta holding it down for the rest of the band’s eclectic taste in music.
The band’s adventurousness was enough to recognize them as one of the ‘90s most sought-after bands, putting them head-to-head with most alternative rock bands that were emerging at the time. But if you listen closely to their self-titled debut album, you can clearly hear the X-factor in their music. Cuts like “Halik Sa Araw,” “Awit ng Kabataan,” “Ulan,” and “214” had a childlike wonder — a unique trait that Rivermaya possessed, which most bands were missing during this decade of music — Rivermaya’s debut album didn’t stay put; it jumped, cried, screamed, and sang its heart out from start to finish.
