Ciudad

How's Ciudad these days?
THE X-PAT FILES By Scott R. Garceau

I confess a weakness for the pop music form. I’m old enough to still feel the first bask of the Beatles’ timeless melodies, before it was all repackaged for the next generations in Las Vegas reincarnations. It doesn’t mean I haven’t explored all kinds of other music in my life — jazz, classical, industrial, country, early hip-hop, Brazilian, African, whatever — but I’ve always felt like those who carried the torch of the song form were doing a service to mankind, somehow.

That’s why I feel that Itchyworms and Ciudad are probably the traditional torchbearers for Filipino popular music, and the logical heirs to the Eraserheads’ songwriting canon.

No? Don’t believe? Sure, you have plenty of Filipino bands that push the form into different places — Up Dharma Down and Radiactive Sago Project (both on Toti Dalmacion’s Terno Recordings) being two obvious, diametrically opposite examples. But the pop form remains eternal, even after you strip away the style and studio effects. Being a sturdy vehicle, a pop song can be reinterpreted in any number of ways. Ciudad (specifically, Mikey Amistoso, Justin Sunico, Mitch Singson and Jason Cabal) understands this.

Proof is evident on their 2008 release, “Bring Your Friends” (as well as the Worms’ “Self-Titled,” also from ’08). I remember being privy to Ciudad in the early Ateneo days, when my sister-in-law Marie Jamora would play demo cassette recordings of the incubating band to us. Despite the indy, lo-fi quality of the tapes, you could tell Mikey had songwriting talent. That talent has only grown through “Is That Ciudad? Yes, Son, It’s Me” and other releases. Though I may have once joked about Mikey’s singing style (on one song in particular; I forget the name), I have seen this band craft music for a variety of settings — movie sound tracks, pop jingles, anthemic singles — and they are, for want of better words, serious and workmanlike about pop song structure.

“Bring Your Friends” will stand up as one of 2008’s best because of catchy songs like Until It’s Cool, You’ll Be Out of Here and My Emptiness. But Ciudad will continue to grow because writing catchy songs is now only half the trick for Mikey and the gang. It’s the equivalent of a juggler who, having mastered the art of putting a watermelon, chainsaw and bowling ball into orbit, decides to drink a glass of water and yodel the National Anthem while doing so.

A small example: the way Ciudad deploys the chorus in Underwater: the first syllable comes out “Ahhhhh…” — a typical pop song breath release— while the chorus comes back in with “…nderwater.” Mark my words: these things are thought about, discussed, by pop songwriters worth their salt.

What Ciudad and Itchyworms clearly possess is a healthy respect for harmony, something that may seem like the nostalgic trip, a backward nod to the Beatles. But harmony is to, say, the music of Eminem as 3D chess is to checkers. It’s a whole different musical realm. And these two bands know this, and use harmony like mad men. Take a song like Itchyworms’ Love Team — there are few things more satisfying in pop music than the descending three-part “oohs” in the third chorus of that song. This stuff sounds simple, but it takes total understanding of the form, its history, its forebears; then it takes the joy of tinkering with lines and layers to pull something new out of it. It’s this kind of understanding that led the Beatles to go beyond the R&B and country classics they once reverently covered to craft intricate three-part harmonies in the studio.

Musically, Ciudad’s sound, with its intimate, breathy vocals, acoustic underpinning and softly shuffling backbeat, often reminds me of Elliot Smith (without that singer’s suicidal depressiveness, of course). And not only because of the drawn-out lines and the folky blend of voices; there’s a wistful undercurrent to most of the lyrics, which deal with romantic loss and misunderstanding, but also with healing (as in Vanessa, Wait For Him). It’s often accompanied by a musical shrugging of the shoulders, the resignation of a sad but willing clown. Songs like You Should recall the Beach Boys in its bouncy arrangement, while others conjure up Burt Bacharach (Friday Noon in particular). Not bad examples to follow. You can also hear traces of the Lemonheads’ slacker charm, sprinkled with some of Death Cab’s emotional vulnerability. But comparisons are otiose.

And musically, this is one classical-sounding pop record. Just listen to Justin Sunico’s lush slide parts in Vanessa… (or the layered doo-wops and vocal parts in the same song). Interweaving vocal lines sew up the finale to My Emptiness, while naggingly catchy choruses haunt Until It’s Cool and the anthemic album closer, The Last Thing I Want to Do. A song like You’ll Be Out of Here begins with a simple, strummed expansiveness, then takes off to new plains (new pains?) with its diminished vocal hooks. Looking for angst? Sometimes pain comes in the gentlest chords, not in detuned guitars and power ballads. And how strange the change from major to minor.

There are plenty of directions for Filipino music to go — there are metal bands, electronica acts, and traditional OPM performers, Riot Grrrls and R&B-flavored chillers. So there’s definitely got to be room for bands that respect the fragile, yet intricate, gifts of the pop song. Ciudad clearly does. - The Philippine Star

From Boys To Men
by Marian Joy Hernandez
(http://www.clickthecity.com/music/?p=3415)

There is a subtle case of cuteness and adorability to what Ciudad does, but their music is no cheap fare in a marketplace of manufactured musical reputation. Yes, it's poignant when boys who used to wax poetic about a toothbrush and revel in the coolness of being a nerd start growing up and claiming their proper alignment in the universe's grander scheme of things. But there’s more to growing up than adding years and being more serious. It’s actually about evolution than a mere shedding of playfulness. Relevance and meaning still beat years of routine and practice. Ultimately, wiser is still better than older. Fortunately, Ciudad is like fine wine—tasting better than they ever had in years and they have “Bring Your Friends” to prove just how good they are at becoming older and wiser.

You know a band has created its best work to date when they themselves do not tire of the songs despite having to play it numerous times in gigs. Mikey Amistoso, Mitch Singson and Justin Sunico have always known “Bring Your Friends” is the album they have waited so long to release. When something so desired finally happens, the most plausible response is to sit back, give a sigh of contented relief and observe how people would respond. So far, Ciudad has been successful in eliciting all the right reactions—ranging from manic professions of love via blog posts toward the refreshingly genuine lyrics and transcendent melodies, to random shout-requests of favorite tracks during gigs, and people slowly sway-dancing to the songs with their eyes closed and a smile on their face.

Listening to the band’s fourth LP and observing what they make people feel and do, I believe Ciudad’s music might as well be rightfully tagged as “meaningful-core”—a genre I associate with foreign bands Death Cab for Cutie, Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene, to name a few—which means that listening to their music convinces you that your life and their songs possess worlds of conjugal meaning and a compelling connection despite some cryptic lyrics that can probably be interpreted in a hundred profound ways. Whatever aversion you have to placing stereotypical labels on bands, it’s a good kind of genre to be in right now, given the myriad of artists who bombard you with supposedly meaningful narratives to elicit the proper ‘Awww’ response, only to disappoint you with lyrics you might as well have written during your first puppy love heart break.

Easily likeable tracks are “Until It’s Cool” “My Emptiness” and “The Last Thing I Want To Do,” which are predictably the songs the band will release as singles because these display the characteristic Ciudad wit and rosiness sans the overbearing drama.

There are, however, pleasant surprises in tracks like “Heading Back Home (From LA)” where a despondent Mikey tells it as it is without hesitation, fixating you to a plaintive storytelling that encapsulates all in one breath and offers no redemption in the end, just a melodious fadeout that leaves one wondering whatever happened to the guy in the story.

“You Should” is a gem of a song, which glistens more with every listen and shows just how much a beautiful melody can elevate ambiguous one-liners to a haunting mantra. The line, “Come out in circles ‘cos I love you more than I should” can accommodate a thousand interpretations but clearly translates a positive, jump-dance-sing feeling that just consumes you and whisks you away.

Ciudad has never been to disappoint, even with their previous releases—all of which were ahead of their time. And this distinction is exactly what makes them so critical. Nevertheless, “Bring Your Friends” is like catching up with a very good friend after a long period of absence and—despite the inevitable growth—still feeling like nothing has changed. It’s the same comfortable warmth you know you can always come back to and trust Ciudad with, even when they’re old and grey.

- www.clickthecity.com

Album of the year
Ciudad - Bring Your Friends

This is the Wonder Years soundtrack of our generation. Overlooked and under-appreciated, it nonetheless confirms that eerie phenomenon that befalls all great artists. Remember during the Summer of Love even Engelbert Humperdink beat them at the charts. But nonetheless, Ciudad will never need any more affirmation from me or any pundit. Listen to this album. Music like this will never grow old.

Song of the Year
Ciudad - My Emptiness

This is one of the most emotionally affecting ones I’ve ever heard this year. It deals in melancholy (and a genuine one at that—none of this “Take Me To The Other Side” crap) but is never despairing. It’s evidence of a settling maturity in the band’s music and lyrics, but also proves they haven’t lost their sense of humor. It’s got a disco beat but isn’t dance punk: rather, like The Itchyworms’ Love Team, belongs to the canon of possibly perfect pop songs made in this century.

Artist of the Year
Ciudad

It seems that Ciudad has always had an identity crisis of sorts. Their first album, “Hello! How Are You, Mico The Happy Bear,” had that major-label-trying-to-turn-a-unique-artist-into-pop-fodder feel to it. The second, “ ‘Is That Ciudad?’, ‘Yes, son, it’s me.’” saw the band exploring new musical directions and maturing as artists. The third release, “It’s Like A Magic,” can’t really be considered an album because it was mostly a hodgepodge of updated outtakes and old songs throughout their then-11 year history. This new fourth album, “Bring Your Friends” is Ciudad coming full circle, with the band finally accepting that they can never be pop sensations and unknowingly fulfilling their destiny as one of the most brilliant and unique bands in the country.
- The Philippine Inquirer/The Manila Bulletin/The Philippine Star

Golden years
THE OUTSIDER By Erwin Romulo

Not all kids are cute and, even if they sport dimples entertaining enough for an audience larger than immediate family (but no less annoying for that), chances are slim that they won’t look like former child stars when they grow up. It’s painful to witness those cherubic looks — all big eyes and curly locks — in an old photograph mutate into the catatonic stare of a corporate ID. Even more painful is hearing what that sounds like. (Hanson, Lil’ Bow Wow, Silverchair anyone?)

It’s misleading, although admittedly convenient, to declare Ciudad as the Ugly Ducklings of the local music scene. Even though their new LP “Bring Your Friends” may just be their best album yet, the band has been consistent since their debut in making songs remarkable for their infectious pop shimmy as well as the sophistication behind those shimmering melodies. Their first two records — “Hello! How Are You, Mico The Happy Bear?” and “Is That Ciudad? Yes, Son, It’s Me” — rank among the best of those years in which they were released. Their third album (“It’s Like A Magic”) was a collection of old songs they never properly recorded — with most of the material being written before they even put out their debut — enjoyable enough for puerile treats like Escape or Fixing The Radio. But with their latest offering, the band’s grown up, all right, and it’s certainly a good thing.

The threat of “maturity” in songs like Call it a Flick and Dessie Belle from albums previous is made good on “Bring Your Friends.” Although still sparkling with the band’s characteristic wit and humor, the album’s tone is decidedly autumnal, elegiac throughout but without being overtly or unnecessarily dramatic. In fact, much of its virtues are that it’s never despairing. The album’s standout track, My Emptiness, is particularly poignant, detailing as it does a growing misanthropy and social detachment, but never in a way that makes it any less fun to listen to. Lines like, “It doesn’t matter/I’m sober/I need my space/So if ever, don’t come by” or “Inviting somebody over/It’s such a joke/So it’s something I don’t try,” are sung with such sweetness and sincerity — and to such a danceable rhythm too! — that it’s difficult not to be moved and smile at the same time. First single Friday Noon is also a nice ditty full of regret, feelings of alienation and depression — but rather than be weighted down, the song traipses those minefields as if it were a windswept park in all its crepuscular grandeur.

But before the band is accused of being too clever, here’s the thing. It’s almost certain that they’re not being ironic. (Although, unlike Alanis Morissette, they would seem to be smart enough to know the definition of irony.) To put it down to that is inaccurate. Even at the risk of relegating them to that purgatory known as Adult Oriented Rock (or AOR), it’s only right to note that it’s not irony, it’s age. Rather than dulling the luster of the songs, it’s given it an expressive iridescence that all these mirror ball and neon lights of younger acts sorely lack.

From the inane to the serious, the clichés and the innovations, Ciudad takes them all and uses them accordingly, making songs that could’ve only come from their collective histories, without thought of trend or fashion. To be sure (and to demonstrate a point), there are songs here that are good enough to stand alongside Gary V.’s Growing Up — surely one of the greatest pop songs ever about burgeoning maturity and friendship. (That’s an un-ironic compliment, by the way.)

Here’s looking forward to the boys when they’re old and gray.

- The Philippine Star