(c) Edward Yang, Yi Yi.
“I like to reserve it for commutes when the sun is setting.”
“I imagine myself sitting on my balcony looking out over the city and smoking a cigarette after a night of drinking.”
“Sounds like momol music to me.”
These are comments made by some when asked to describe a list of songs that shared similar qualities: slow tempos, pronounced bass, sometimes a little crackling throughout to emulate a needle scratching along the surface of vinyl. The type of music you’d sway slowly to in a crowded bar at 11 pm, another one said; it’s something you’ve listened to at a certain time and place and have thus associated it with ever since.
It’s 4:15 in the morning and my mother is knocking on my bedroom door, telling me to get up. She’s been waking me up a little earlier recently, and I attribute this to the fact that I’m not remotely a morning person, and it often takes several more knocks and scolding to get me out of bed. Everyday trips to school from my home in Cainta have to begin exactly an hour from the moment I’m woken up, or the Pasig traffic will keep us on the road for a sure hour and a half, maybe even longer. I resent the early hours of the day, and I relish the silence of my bedroom, save for the whirring of my aircon and the neighbor’s rooster crowing from his backyard. Then one day I get a song stuck in my head and am so desperate to get it out that I decide to use the oldest trick in the book—play the song itself. So at a time when I’d rather be asleep, I’m doing my rushed routine to the voice of Jess Connelly. Several songs and one playlist later, my pre-sunrise hours have distinctly improved, and I give thanks to R&B and all its kin. This is how I know that music.
(c) Grouper, Paradise Valley.
Now here’s the thing about alternative R&B, ambient, soul, vaporwave, and whatever fits the category—they’re fluid. Before 5 am is my primetime for Lewis Del Mar and B.P. Valenzuela, but a few mentioned earlier differed in that arena. Even you might disagree with the preferences and have your own. But we can agree on this: it all comes down to association and mood, and the umbrella term that is “chill music” is one of versatility. Take for example, the music of newcomer Raveena.
For me, the central idea was about music as a place you go to . . . there’s not somebody in that field leading you around; you find your own way.
- Brian Eno
Fresh on the American soul-pop scene, she has an EP slowly being added to on both Spotify and Soundcloud, Shanti. Consisting of dreamlike and sensual R&B jams reminiscent of Aaliyah and D’Angelo, as described by the artist herself, the songs have inspired different responses from a few people, and they look very much like the ones above. One person mentions how the music makes her feel wistful and in need of a hug (and maybe a little more), while another mentions the feeling of nostalgia for something he never had. Both valid and apt reviews, they were reminiscent of all the ones that came before them, and I found a recurring detail said about similar songs: no matter the image painted in their head, it was always something tranquil and sentimental, although the latter was always the hardest for them to explain. Even Brian Eno, one of the spearheads of ambient music, simply stated, “[it] is intended to induce calm and a space to think.” I think we can agree on that.
If you still don’t know what this category of music makes you think of, or you just want to disappear in that feeling again, try giving my early morning playlist a listen. Maybe you’ll find something on there you like, and if you do, I don’t mind a good conversation about it.