Dama = Feel

Dama = Feel

I’ve mentioned before that my musical inclinations have, in recent years, leaned towards the stripped down, bare bones side of things. That simplicity and unfussiness of music has appealed to me due to, well, I wouldn’t say my age, but due to my bias for introspection and quiet. Simply put, I prefer acoustic singer-songwriter music on most days.

That’s why I’m a huge follower of the artists in the “3D: Danao Dancel Dumas” collective. Individually, the trio – Johnoy Danao, Ebe Dancel, and Bullet Dumas – does not need an introduction. All three have made names for themselves in local music history. All three have been success stories in OPM. All three are influential to the current and upcoming crop of guitar-wielding, whiskey swigging, lovelorn troubadours. And as a collective, as “3D,” the supergroup has definitely made an impact.

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Fire In The Hole

Fire In The Hole

This is bad. This is really bad.

I had no intention of doing anything else other than the one on my calendar. I only had one agenda yesterday: to have coffee with Bel Certeza. Money is pretty tight. Refer to the previous post as to the reason for my economic woes. But an hour or so before I left the house, I contacted a friend of mine from college. Her boyfriend’s band, Brisom, was going to play at Saguijo. I asked her if I can be added on the band’s guestlist.

Now, I’m not a cheapskate. I know how important door charge is to the bands that play a venue. If I have extra cash, I’d pay the door charge. But I do not. I told Marsha, the aforementioned college friend, that I’d take photos of Brisom in return. I didn’t get to. No, that’s not why things are bad. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

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The Search For That Ever Elusive Silence

The Search For That Ever Elusive Silence

What started as a passion project for Bel Certeza became a purpose. A mission. Seemed simple enough. Document the bands and artists whose music she loves, has saved her life. She’s been doing it for almost a decade, anyway. Armed with a handheld video camera that most pro videographers would probably scoff at, she traversed, and survived, the dangers that the music scene had thrown on her and kept shooting. Beer stained floors. Rowdy drunken assholes (and rock stars.) Strip joint-type venue lighting. Sardine packed bars that tempted the fates in becoming a fire hazard. Even personal demons and ghosts that’s been haunting her were survived.

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