When Melina Duterte, better known as Jay Som dropped her breakthrough indie-darling of a record Everybody Works in early 2017, she re-sparked an age-old debate around the definitions and merits of “Low-Fi” music, and more specifically what’s been so cleverly coined as bedroom pop. Though contested, bedroom pop is broadly considered to simply be D.I.Y. music recorded in – yes, you guessed it – one’s bedroom.

The notion of predicting an entire genre based upon the environment in which it’s recorded grows more meaningless with each passing musical year. Pretty much any artist with the resources to record and release an album from their bedroom is more than likely hammering away at the same EMS synth used at Long View Farm Studios by LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy on depressive-hipster classics such as “Someone Great”. As such, critics and fans alike began paying attention to the merits of Melina’s music rather than the confines in which it was created. What most found in doing so was a particularly pretty, off-the-wall-brand of dream pop with enough gritty realism to keep it tethered to reality. Now, on Anak Ko, Jay Som doesn’t so much expand upon her lavish-brand of a dream, but rather hones it in and paints the edges black.

Our first taste of Anak Ko came in the way of its shiny lead single, “Superbike”. A nostalgic piece of washed-out revivalism, the nineties-drenched track spends its duration rolling both the best and worst traits of the decade into one cohesively perplexing piece.  Kicking off with an irritating guitar riff that’s, more washed-up than washed-out, the next two minutes parallel a scrapped Alanis Morissette single before being swallowed whole by an epically distorted, thrashing guitar-solo in the last minute. What’s spit back out here is a sort of sonic lens from which to view the record as a whole, as like with “Superbike” itself, Anak Ko shines during it’s fuzzier, more brooding moments. A prime example of a moodier, darker Duterte can be found on the opener “If You Want It.” Driven by a groovy bass-line, lively vocals, and stiff guitar licks, it’s a great example of a more rich, adult take on a dream.

The appropriately titled “Night Time Drive” is another highlight, serving as the personal soundtrack for anyone who’s taken the back-road instead, beer in hand, watching the violet sky crash down from the windshield above. Lush and gorgeous, the mid-tempo jaunt plays like that feel-good road-trip before the inevitable existential depression kicked in. For a record that flirts with joy, it concludes with the decidedly melancholic “Get Well.” A beautifully mesmerizing and intoxicating tale of addiction. All Melina needs is a downtrodden bass, wobbly synth, and lethargic steel-pedal to invest you fully, muttering lines such as “Get well, I hope you can, how can you find peace, with a drink in your hand?” At their worst, tracks like this can come across as untruthful or pandering, but “Get Well” is delivered with such palpable, gloomy passion that you can practically feel the empathy emanating through the speakers. 

The streak of mature melancholy woven throughout this record is a welcome one. Melina prevails in not fetishizing the darker, more tortured tones and notions on the record. While it’s brighter, pop-centric tendencies displayed on tracks such as “Tenderness” contrarily lack the instrumental intrigue required to overcome it’s inherently bland, overused cliches. However, despite its high-spirited shortcomings, Anak Ko showcases Jay Som as one of the most defined artists in a largely ill-defined genre.

The post Jay Som keeps the dream alive with Anak Ko appeared first on Quip Magazine.

Pickathon was unique in more than one way. To begin with, it carried a lot of weight in performances but only had an attendance of about 3,000 people, with a large percentage of that crowd being volunteers or people working the event. The group with which I arrived, for example, was a mix of press, vendors, and volunteers. Secondly, the festival took place on Pendarvis Farm and had a small carbon footprint, a rare occurrence these days. Here there were no throwaway cups or utensils. Thanks to Klean Kanteen and Bamboo Studio, for a small price you could obtain a stainless steel cup, reusable plates, and flatware.

Pickathon was also extremely family friendly and communal. For example, at the main stage, referred to as Mt. Hood, people left their blankets and chairs behind all weekend for anyone to use, while the children roamed the grounds at night in herds that resembled Lord of the Flies’. Pickathon’s crowning characteristic however, was its schedule. Every band played at least twice, so no longer did the music nerds had to lament over sacrificing one set for another.

Something else that Pickathon offered that most festivals don’t was small, intimate shows coupled with an interview at the Lucky Barn stage. Lucky Barn seated about forty-five people, give or take. I was fortuitous enough to squeeze my way into one of the most marvellous sets I’ve ever seen: Huun Huur-Tu, a Tuvan throat-singing band. Their voices sounded unearthly and the rudimentary-looking instruments produced some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.

Woods was another stage on the farm, decorated by an entanglement of branches it was named after fact that it was set back quite literally, in the woods. The trees provided shade and a nice reprieve from the heat that bled down on the festival-goers and there were hay bales set up in rows for those who wanted to sit (or stand on top of and dance). I caught the Meatbodies in all their thrashing glory on Friday evening here while on Sunday I gyrated my hips along to the disco-eqsue tunes of A-WA, Israeli sisters who sang traditional folk songs over electronic music. The whole crowd pulsated before my heat stroked eyes. That day we also caught Jay Som at the Tree Line stage, a beautiful wooden structure created by the PSU architecture students.

The next day all my dreams came true: I had personal run ins with Mikal Cronin, Ty Segall and Kyle Thomas. It took all I could muster not to cry as I told Mikal Cronin that MC111 is one of the most beautiful records I own. Although Thomas wasn’t playing the festival he was helping out several bands with their sound. Another rarity of Pickahon is that the musicians are mixed within the crowd, waiting around for pizza or tacos, so it was easy to seize a chance to say hello, I know I’m glad I did!

Later on, The Priests performed at the Galaxy Barn. Covered by hundreds of string lights the stage was a fitting accompaniment to the band roaring across it in colorful prom dresses. Ty Segall, who is a huge fan of Pickathon, closed out the festival at the end of the weekend. All things considered, trouncing in a pit to Pangaea was by far one of my favorite moments of the weekend, that and Mikal Cronin asking for my name during a handshake.

Pickathon, while not technically in Portland, embodied a lot of what the city epitomizes about it self: keeping things local, small, green, community-centric, and of course, weird. While you may not see the likes of Rihanna walking the grounds you also won’t be waiting in lines or having the equivalent of a football field between you and your favorite artist.

The post Pickathon 2017: Not your typical festival experience appeared first on Quip Magazine.