Walking into the New Frontier Theater in Cubao for the reunion concert of Wolfgang on February 7, I assumed I would be among the youngest people in the room. That part turned out to be very true. What I did not expect was how familiar the crowd felt. Men in their 40s wore the same clown-face Wolfgang shirts they might have owned in 1995. Tattooed biker types stood beside parents who brought their kids in oversized band tees. Even members of the media recalled stories about cramped Club Dredd nights, thick with cigarette smoke and sweat; when seeing the band meant standing shoulder to shoulder in a room that barely fit the band bill. Time had passed, but uniforms had not.
By 8 p.m., the chatter settled inside the venue. Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” signaled that the show was about to start. People took their seats. The mood shifted from reunion banter to laser-eyed focus on the stage.
Three of the band’s four original members, Basti Artadi, Manuel Legarda, and Wolf Gemora, reunited onstage for the first time since 2002. Filling in on bass was Razorback’s Marco Cuneta, who played in honor of the late Mon Legaspi, Wolfgang’s bassist who passed away in 2022.
Days before the concert, I spoke with the band at a rehearsal studio in Makati. That setting felt far removed from the seated aisles and dad jokes at the Cubao concert. During the rehearsal, the rock outfit moved with the ease of a ‘90s rookie band that was just cutting its teeth in the rock scene.
“We were a product of our time, we weren’t fabricated to be,” Artadi tells Rolling Stone Philippines. “The music that we put out was based on what we experienced from that time. We were genuinely whatever that time made us, and whatever we recorded was based on what we experienced during those times.”
dECADES OF fURY
Back in New Frontier, it’s already 8:15 p.m., and the lights went out. When Legarda stepped forward from the dark, an electric fan was positioned in front of the stage with the spotlight directed on top of it, a nod to the long-circulated story of him using a fan during early recordings to get a flanger-like effect.
A burst of flames filled the stage as the four members walked out, setting the tone for the night. Wolfgang opened with “Natutulog Kong Mundo,” and for that moment, Artadi sounded unchanged with a wig on his head, harkening back to days when he’d sport his iconic long hair. Gemora, who is now based in the United States, locked in quickly with Legarda, whose guitar work remained precise and technical alongside the drums’ tight beat changes.
Tracks like “Center of the Sun,” “Cast of Clowns,” and “Man ‘98” came early. Legarda told me during the rehearsal that the set would reflect how the band plays today. The songs were delivered without extra sections or breaks, keeping the pace steady throughout the night.
“There was no conscious effort to imitate,” Legarda says. “[For instance,] grunge became really big early on, and we never latched onto that. We just did our own thing.”
Later in the set, “Anino,” “Halik ni Hudas,” and “Mata ng Dios” pushed the theater into louder territory. Red plastic cups filled with beer appeared in people’s hands. Devil horns went up. Before the night fully tipped into volume, the band paused to honor Legaspi and played an archival video clip of him performing.
“Arise, motherfuckers,” Artadi shouted at one point, delivering the line with the same blunt force that defined him decades ago. At that moment, it was clear the show was not aimed at any single demographic. For more than two hours, the band was there to show that their songs still hold up well beyond the 1990s. After the final song, why the reunion worked felt obvious: the promoters believed in it, and the audience showed up ready.
Artadi personified that same directness offstage. Speaking earlier in the week, he offered blunt advice to younger bands weighing label deals.
“Don’t sign away your publishing. Don’t sign away shit,” Artadi exclaims. “And when the fucking record label puts the pizza in front of you, you know that they’re trying to fuck you. And every box is one fuck. The more boxes, the more fucked you’re going to be. No amount of money is worth you giving up your rights or your publishing. Unless you’re old already. And you’re going to die like what Fleetwood Mac’s doing — that’s different. [But] don’t ever do that.”
