Air Supply is coming back to Manila to celebrate their 50th anniversary as a band on September 17 and 18 at Solaire Resort and Casino. It’s another notch in the long list of visits that have unofficially earned them the title of “honorary pinoys” — a band that returns more often than most local acts tour the provinces. The crowd knows the setlist before the band even takes the stage. These are the same songs that have moved prom dates, wedding dances, radio dedications, and more curiously, generations of commuters crammed into the back of a UV Express.
The UV Express playlist is its own kind of religion. It’s not curated by trend algorithms or shuffling charts. The playlist is a ritual built on repetition, memory, and heartbreak. It’s the soundtrack of a country in motion but never quite arriving, where ballads bleed out of tiny speakers as you sit in traffic for what feels like forever, watching Manila’s chaos unfold one clogged avenue at a time.
There’s no irony in it either. On Spotify or YouTube, these UV Express playlists don’t carry a wink or a snide nod. They’re sincere, unabashed collections of songs that meet people where they are, in the thick of life and commute. The casual music listener would naturally belt these songs because they still cut deep. What ties these songs together is a mirror to how people here feel, even if they can’t name it. They’re the sound of resilience, longing, and routine. They score the nation’s emotional weather. And even if playlists evolve, the essence remains: a devotion to feeling things fully, especially when you’re stuck in a van with strangers, somewhere between work and home, wondering where the time went.
So yes, Air Supply is back. But really, they never left. Not in the Philippines. Not when their music still plays through the static of old speakers in the backs of vans, helping people endure traffic, loss, and life. That’s not nostalgia. That’s national soundtracking in real time.
Air Supply, ‘Making Love Out of Nothing At All’
Air Supply’s “Making Love Out of Nothing at All” is the anchor to it all. From jeepney rides to trike trips, that impossibly theatrical ballad remains a gold standard for emotional excess. It’s the kind of song that stretches a moment, that makes every mundane errand feel like an emotional reckoning. There’s something about that soaring arrangement, that whispered desperation in the verses that suddenly explode into a power chorus, that connects with Filipinos like muscle memory. The song’s melodrama has the right amount, especially when you’re stuck between Cubao and Commonwealth at 6 p.m. with nowhere to go but into your own feelings.
MYMP, ‘Tell Me Where It Hurts’
In a playlist dominated by high-sheen adult contemporary acts and global ballad juggernauts,”Tell Me Where It Hurts” by MYMP carved out a quiet but no less emotional lane. Built on a foundation of crisp acoustic guitar and stripped-down arrangements, the duo of Chin Alcantara and Juris Fernandez offered a kind of intimacy that bigger productions couldn’t replicate. Alcantara’s precise guitar work was the backbone, but it was Fernandez’s voice that defined the song’s emotional gravity, pulling listeners in with a strong vocal performance. “Tell Me Where It Hurts” was a kind of song that traded drama for vulnerability, and found power in understatement. And in the intimacy of a cramped ride, that restraint hit harder than any vocal run ever could.
Chicago, ‘If You Leave Me now’
Then there’s Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now.” Smooth, soulful, and soaked in regret, the song fits seamlessly into the UV canon. You can’t really overstate its power here. It’s the kind of track that defines a whole sound in its lush, orchestral slow burn of vulnerability. Peter Cetera’s falsetto is a weapon of mass destruction when piped through the metallic speakers of a commuter van, especially when played back-to-back with Air Supply. There’s a reason this song shows up in karaoke books, high school recollections, and viral “Tito playlist” memes. Its structure is pure emotion: a song that builds like a sigh you’ve been holding for years. To most commuters, it’s a mood stabilizer for all those stuck at the rush hour.
Spandau Ballet, ‘True’
Spandau Ballet’s “True” occupies a more delicate corner of the UV playlist universe. It’s not as bombastic, but it’s a slow dance through memory lane. The saxophone solo alone could score a nation’s collective heartbreak. The song is a staple for a reason: its pacing mirrors that creeping sensation of realization, that exact moment in a traffic jam where you suddenly remember someone you tried hard to forget. And in a city that often drowns people out, that quiet confidence stands out. It’s no accident that this song lingers, decades after its release, in both high school yearbooks and Spotify queues.
Anita Baker, ‘Sweet Love’
Anita Baker’s “Sweet Love” is a different flavor of sentimental. It’s velvet and wine compared to beer and cigarettes, but it still fits. Her voice is controlled, tender, and strong, exactly the kind of vocal presence that cuts through noise without needing volume. This track gets playtime in UVs precisely because it feels luxurious. Even as you sit squeezed between strangers, it gives you a moment of grace. That’s the heart of the UV playlist ethos: turning daily discomfort into something almost cinematic. Baker does that with ease. Her voice assures the rest of the listeners’ broken hearts. That’s a rare energy in a city that always demands something from you.
Freestyle, ‘So Slow’
Released at the height of late ’90s to early 2000s R&B-influenced OPM, Freestyle’s “So Slow” moved like its title: deliberate, sensual, and low to the ground. Where most UV Express ballads came from American soft rock catalogs, Freestyle brought a homegrown take to the slow jam formula, laced with the unmistakable accent and emotional weight of local storytelling. The acoustic backbone, again, played a central role, but it was Jinky Vidal’s subtle rhythm, half-whispered verses, and the open space between notes that made “So Slow” feel like an exhale in traffic.
George Benson, ‘Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You’
George Benson’s “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You” is practically the godfather of this entire subgenre. Its presence in UVs, weddings, and TikTok nostalgia edits is foundational. There’s something universal about its melody, about the promise it makes, about how it holds hope without being naive. It’s comforting. It’s reliable. And in a transport system that often isn’t, that kind of musical promise sticks. No matter how bad the traffic is, when this song comes on, it feels like it’s all going to be okay. That matters more than it should.
DionNe Warwick, ‘I’ll Never Love This Way Again’
Then there’s Dionne Warwick’s “I’ll Never Love This Way Again.” This one plays like a benediction. It hits a little older, sure, but it hits harder because of it. Warwick’s “I’ll Never Love This Way Again” was a farewell, a confession, and a resignation all in one track. In the context of a UV ride, where windows fog up and neon lights blur against the rain, Warwick’s voice feels prophetic. This song doesn’t comfort. It confirms. That’s why it sticks.
