Among the many things that can unite people, an escape from turmoil — both personal and social — is what the spectators hoped to find on that fateful Saturday night, well-orchestrated by the good people behind The Polaris Project. With an open mind and very little expectations, I had put all my trust on the captains of this event and was able to fully immerse myself in the music and in the crowd.
This was one of the best gigs I’ve been to.
I almost feel compelled to intensify and make that previous statement more dramatic, but that’s all I can make of at the moment. Words couldn’t sufficiently justify how much I enjoyed myself that night.
Like I happen to always do whenever I attend a gig with a lineup completely new to me (this time with the exception of Beast Jesus and Musical O — both acts I’ve already previously seen live), I try not to do prior research to keep myself from having my experience be influenced by expectations. I did feel that I needed to read up on the main boys just so I know whose party I was going to crash, so to speak. Regardless, in the true spirit of writing for Indie Manila, I wanted to be nothing more than a witness to this musical, visual, and almost spiritual journey.
With that in mind, one can only imagine how it feels to be plunging yourself into the unknown with no one holding your hand or watching your back. I felt a surge of chills down my spine and along my arms as I set foot on this enthralling madness like Mad Max being a lone wolf in his quest for answers and self-discovery (and water); but just like Max, who found his tribe along the way and traversed the dystopic Fury Road, I met and made some friends who were just as willing to surrender themselves to whatever will ensue.
I can’t exactly put into words how the program was curated so seemingly otherworldly. I probably was the earliest person possible, and the best part of it was getting a kick out of people’s faces upon entering Mow’s right smack in the middle of Local Disk (C:) live scoring a film projected across the room and on the ceiling. The apparent daze in their eyes only dissipated and morphed into hype and euphoria during the sets of Beast Jesus and Lindenwood. The familiar melodies and verses of Musical O kept the crowd’s energy at bay, and for good measure, to prepare everyone for the most anticipated quartet of the night.
“In Time Of Need” stands true to its name. It was unspoken and fragile, but there was a dense air of darkness and affliction looming over all of us who were inside during Sound Architects‘ set. Every song was a reflection of truth and ugliness both repressed and manifest. That night, I witnessed something that has never happened before, and I do hope people did not take this for granted.
I have never heard the audience roar — roar, I say — two songs into the band’s set! I know I’m not the most regular attendee, but this has just never happened before.
Like I said, everyone was on the journey willingly not knowing that it was going to be the time of their lives.
As personal as the album was to its creators, the same could be felt by the ears receiving every chord thrashed and every beat struck. There’s nothing new about relating to tempestuous sensations and emotions, but it’s criminal to overlook the fact that something so heavy and almost too sensitive could be imparted sans rhyme and verse; and like any tragedy would, every song ended with a resolution.
It’s okay to bask in melancholy. It’s okay to acknowledge that there is monstrousness inside us and in the world we live in. Shying away from conversation and confrontation is natural when dealing with such matters, hence why music undertakes the task better than words.