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Noise and Sounds: An Artform

Throughout the years, Cebu has been a place of continuous experimentation and innovation.

Most people quickly dismiss unpleasant sounds and label anything they don’t usually hear as noise, but for some people, different kinds of sounds combined to produce a distinctive form of music can be considered as an artform. This kind of genre in music is very unusual; it’s not something you commonly hear, but it is an expressive use of sounds in an unconventional way that challenges the distinction of what is musical and non-musical sound.

Here, I ask some artists from the recent Meltdown 3.0 event about their perspective on how noise and sounds are an artform and how they create their own sounds.

John Caing & Sam Pipebomb, photo by Pj Ong

What made you decide to create this kind of music?

Lush Death: “My discovery of Japanese harsh noise immerse me to something until now I couldn’t explain well. My fascination with artist like Masonna, Hanatarash, Incapacitants, C.C.C.C. and Hijokaidan excites me and later on I decided to do Noise.”

Lush Death is noise killer artist from Binangonan, Rizal. He takes inspiration from almost everything around him. From his feelings, new experiences, films, arts, people and music. He started doing noise since 2008 with his first noise project called thera barra.

PGR, photo by Lush Death

Another Artist, PGR also known as Paolo, an Italian guy who grew up musically in Norway and graduated at Milan’s jazz music academy in bass guitar said, “I think it has not been a decision so far. More urgence. I needed something I didn’t know. I found it in those chaotic sounds.”

His inspiration in making Noise Music was triggered when he had to get a way to escape and find a comfortable shelter from the madness and the uselessness of what humans generate, since 2012 he continued creating this kind of music.

John Caing, photo by Lush Death

Two artists that hail from Cebu, John Caing & Sampipebomb, are known pioneers of Noise Rock—their band Bombo Pluto Ova. When asked why they decided to create this kind of music John said, “Same as everybody else, ganahan mag enjoy sa life while they can, this kind of music it is nothing new, for me this kind of music is rock n roll, just wanna have fun and enjoy.  to keep the blood thin.” He was inspired by his family and continues to play in the band since 1997.

“I think the reason was I just keep on exploring new music and experimenting sounds. keeping my open mind to the possibilities.” Future Teenager is a solo experimental project by Karl Lucente which explore and creates music from ambient to noise. Being a fan of Radiohead, Sonic Youth and Bon Iver, he develop his inspiration from the different level of frequencies such musics are producing but still you can totally grasp it. He started doing this since 2015 when his friends made a show called Abrupt Shift.

Chris Murillo, credits to Lush Death

How would you describe your music and how is it different from other genres?

“Rock n roll, sound art, I dunno. Call it anything you want, ganahan ra dyud ko mo tukar and have fun while mo tukar. I think pareha raman siguro sa uban naa passion tapos even wala naka time motukar pangitaan gihapon nmu paagi kay kibaw ka inig at the end of the day fullfiling siya para nmu, padayon gihapon ka kay malingaw man dyud ka.” -John Caing

“Noise worship” “It’s everything they try to avoid on a radio type of music.

“Feedback, static, glitches, unwanted frequencies and a lot of mistakes.” -Lush Death

“Medicine for life boredom. Honest. it’s just different, as luckily anything else is.” -PGR

“As of now, I’m not sure, Future Teenager is still rarely new. Just a different take on appreciating music.” -Karl Lucente

Lush Death

How does this kind of genre become art? Or how is this genre an art form?

“Well yes, it is art and there is a lot of discussions about this. But it doesn’t matter to me, if people recognized this or not as an art form or music. As long as I feel something in doing it and people who watched me perform live or listen to my record get some kind of a trip or experienced something, well that is more important to me. I tried not to over analyzed everything, art/music whatever they call it.” -Lush Death

“Music is Art!” -Karl Lucente

“Self expression, it takes time and patience para ma sharpen ug mugawas natural sa imuha ang gusto nmu buhaton, i think mao sad na ang art, padayun lang dyud permi until kung wala na gana mo tukar di mo undang na.” -John Caing

“I am not aiming to art and i don’t consider myself an artist. thus i cannot answer to this. Someone would say it’s art, but for me it’s just pleasing sound. something i like to listen to.” -PGR

 

PGR, Photo by Lush Death

What is your goal or vision when you create music?

“For me,doing noise is like a therapy. It helps me to cope with my anxiety and ruthless routine.” -Lush Death

“Inig tukar nako mag imagine raman ko, tapos ako e transort sa guitara after that imuha na i-let go ang outcome.” -John Caing

“As of now, I’m not sure about it but what in my mind while playing was i just wanted to share what’s on my mind” -Karl Lucente

“I like the fact that anyone can get to his/her own conclusion. the listening it’s open to any response. my goal is to have no goal.” -PGR

What is your creative process when making your music and what are the gadgets you use to create sound?

“For recording and live set, its almost the same set of gears. For recordings, I always have a title in mind first, before I record a track. Almost all of my recordings are raw and unedited. Usually its from various things I experience from day to day basis. I love the appeal of one take recordings. For live performance, its on the spot. I just make sure before the show that my gear is working perfectly. I use a contact microphone and feed it to a series of effects pedal. It’s pretty much simple, I try to fit everything. I need into a portable suitcase.” -Lush Death

Lush Death also uses a contact microphone while playing in his gig in Cebu. It amplifies vibrations and impact and send the signal to any inputs. Which is amazing when your an audience watching the set, trying to listen to the sound produced by every hand gestures.

“The process is totally improvised. on the other hand i know my set up quite well, so i know how to get this or that sound.  The set up is very simple. Contact microphones or microphones run into distortion and equaliser pedal. I like to use radio as sound source too.” -PGR

PGR, photo by Lush Death

PGR’s set the energetic one, he moved a lot and even stood up in the table while performing which resembels the energy of the sounds he produces. He also used an old mic from an hifi. Which he puts in his mouth to produces  breathing sounds, screams and other sounds to change the feedback frequencies.

“Both, there are times on the spot and sometimes i prepare before a gig. I loop, oscillate and reverb! I just combine it. Something holistic yet destructive kind of sound.” -Karl Lucente

Future Teenager, photo by Pj Ong

“Improvised tanan. Since bombo pluto ova nag start improvisation dyud na. During sa Melt gig wala dyud ko gadget kay ganahan ko raw siya. mas raw siya mas doul sa akong kasing kasing, mas nindot e manipulate ang noise together with rhythm and chords. sa ako lang simplicity sa set up, simple ug concept mas lingaw kaayu ug dali makabuhat sa imuhang imagination tapos imuha e transform sa music gamit imuha guitara, then let go. mao rana.” -John Caing

Throughout the years, Cebu has been a place of continuous experimentation and innovation. The music scene opens up new and exciting music while the crowd and the community always support each other.

“The crowd in Cebu seemed to be curious for something which maybe doesn’t happen so often in town. I am glad many people showed up. I am confident the other performers and me managed to plant some seeds in the adventors’ ears.” -PGR

“It always feels good playing in front of other people. It doesn’t matter where and to whom i am performing, as long as they are willing to be blessed with static,then we have a deal.” -Lush Death

Trying to grasp all kind sounds I heard that night I felt like my ears were overwhealmened but I am simply amazed on how creative we can be with different kinds of medium to produce art. All the artist produced very distictive music that I personally enjoy. When you listen carefully you can distiguish each sound produce by every movement, every click and every material that is being moved. That’s what made it fun actually listening to it. Just ignore what you’ve learn about how music has to be. Enjoy and feel it. Music is an artfrom, It needs to be felt, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

 

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Pasulong; Anton Quisumbing at the Yuchengco Museum

by Mia Durano | photography by Zach Aldave

There is something about walking into the Yuchengco Museum that sends a signal before you’ve even seen the artworks. Situated in RCBC Plaza, right in the middle of Makati’s financial district, it is an institution with a point of view — a forum as much as a gallery. So when the energy of an exhibition opening spills past the main hall and into the corridors, something tells you that someone has earned their way in.

Pasulong is Anton Quisumbing’s first solo exhibition in over two decades. Twenty-nine sculptures that took two years to complete, all cast in bronze, made from propellers salvaged from boats damaged by Typhoon Odette in 2021. Those who knew what that ill-fated period was like understand why the timeline matters. This is not decorative bronze; rather, it is marine-grade, built to resist corrosion and force. It is a material that does not yield to the ravages of the ocean.

There is a reason why metalwork is described in physical terms — it is cold, harsh, brash, forceful, and resistant. And when you walk into a room full of bronze sculptures, that experience becomes resonant. Propulsion, with its loops, arcs, and curves that rise, descend, and turn back into shape, embodies this. There are no right angles and no hard stops here. In this particular piece, the artist is remarkably aware of its sinuous movement and instead finds its voice within the medium.

This is the tension Anton Quisumbing works with. His practice has always tested what a single material can hold, allowing every movement to maintain the weight of its volume. Pasulong does not present a clean arc of recovery; instead, it delivers the full range of its intentions.

Sight, a warped figure with an almond eye and armor along one side, carries what the exhibition describes as a sense of lightness despite the weight we carry in our lives. The work stands with the authority of something that has found its own gravitas. The artist leans toward the idea that recovery is not resolved in one sweeping gesture.

Anton Quisumbing spent years away from sculpture, turning instead to painting as his primary medium. In Pasulong, he returns to bronze and to the physical demands of the material, which, in a way, becomes an act of pushing further toward his original vision. The outcome is an artist in full control of both subject and medium.

Anton Quisumbing ‘s practice as a sculptor is anchored in testing the strength of a single material.

The artist’s primary concern in working with bronze was its malleability.

Pasulong marks Anton Quisumbing’s return to sculpture.

Propulsion, bronze sculpture 83×44×35cm 2024

Sight, bronze sculpture 63×40×22.8cm 2024

Gilo Sarmiento, this writer Mia Durano and artist Ramon Orlina

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Arts & Culture

Kundiman–A Collaboration Between Charles Lahti and Francis Dravigny at the Qube Gallery

by Oj Hofer

“Collaboration is like carbonation for fresh ideas “-Anonymous

Kundiman—drawn from the Filipino tradition of lyrical love songs marked by longing, devotion, and emotional depth—unfolded not merely as an exhibition but as a dialogue between two artists whose practices, though formally distinct, share a common goal: that creation is never singular, never complete, and never entirely one’s own. The word itself carries weight. In the Philippine cultural imagination, kundiman is not passive sentiment but a mode of endurance—a way of loving what one cannot fully possess, of honoring what exceeds one’s grasp—and to name an exhibition after it is to make a claim about the nature of making itself: that art, like the song, is an act of devotion directed toward something larger than the maker’s intention. It is a form that does not declare but lingers; not spectacle, but the quieter and more demanding thing called intimacy.

The collaboration between Charles Lahti and Francis Dravigny operates at what might be called the threshold of language—the place where gesture becomes structure and structure, over time, turns into meaning. Their working relationship is less a merger of two styles than a negotiation between two modes of listening: one drawn to the decisive mark, the other to the patient accumulation of woven form. Lahti’s mark-making is grounded, deliberate, and unambiguous in its commitment to presence; his lines carry the quality of breath, each stroke an event rather than a flourish. Observers familiar with East Asian ink traditions will recognize this sensibility immediately, for in Zen ink practice and Japanese calligraphy, the practitioner does not decide what to draw so much as prepare the conditions under which something may reveal itself—the mark that emerges from this discipline is not decorative but testimonial, evidence of a moment of full attention. Lahti’s work operates within this logic even when the cultural references are Western, and what anchors it is not style but stance: an ethical relation to the act of making that distinguishes genuine presence from the mere performance of spontaneity, a distinction far rarer in contemporary visual art than it ought to be.

“The line is not drawn but revealed—through stillness, breath, and a quality of awareness that the discipline of reduction alone makes possible.”

Dravigny’s woven interventions introduce a different, though deeply complementary, temporality. Where Lahti works in the decisive instant, Dravigny works in accumulation—the slow building-up of material over time—and his use of abacá, a fiber indigenous to the Philippine archipelago, is not incidental. Abacá carries its own history: long harvested by hand, traded across colonial networks, woven into ropes and sails, and more recently reclaimed as a medium of cultural expression, so that to bring it into an art context is to activate this history without necessarily declaring it. In Dravigny’s hands, textile transcends its usual function as background or support and becomes instead an act of preservation—a material archive that holds within its weave the gestures of another artist. This concept, which the exhibition implicitly explores, speaks to something the atelier tradition has long understood: that a work of art may pass through multiple bodies and multiple intentions and still emerge with coherence, provided each maker brings to the passage not assertion but responsiveness, the capacity to receive another’s action and carry it forward without erasing it. Dravigny’s woven interventions propose a similar ethic, made visible rather than concealed.

What Kundiman ultimately stages is not the product of collaboration but its conditions: the particular quality of attention required when one artist’s gesture enters the field of another’s practice, and the willingness to wait that such attention demands. The Japanese aesthetic tradition names this interval ma—the generative pause, the charged space in which meaning gathers before it resolves into form—and the exhibition’s restraint is precisely its argument. There is no excess, no spectacle, no rhetorical gesture toward significance, only a sustained attentiveness to process that runs counter to the dominant logic of contemporary exhibition-making, in which legibility is prized and impact must be immediate. Kundiman refuses this, trusting the viewer to do the work of attending, and in this refusal it finds its deepest kinship with Zen aesthetics: the discipline of reduction, the clarity of intention, the respect for what is essential over what is merely present.

“What Kundiman proposes is more radical than most exhibitions dare: that the self, in the act of making, becomes temporarily permeable—open to the gesture, the material logic, the devotion of another.”

The concept of interbeing—rooted in Buddhist philosophy and carrying the understanding that nothing arises independently, that every form is the result of conditions and every maker is in part made by what they make—finds in this exhibition its material proof. What was created here does not belong to one hand alone. It emerges in the space between, where gesture is received, transformed, and returned; where material listens and form responds and meaning unfolds not as conclusion but as continuation. The exhibition ends. The dialogue does not. This is the space between hands: where making becomes meeting, and where interbeing quietly, insistently gives rise to form.

Charles Lahti with his latest works—layering print with bandana textiles to create tactile, hybrid surfaces where image, pattern, and material converge.

Francis Dravigny in his Cebu studio—transforming abacá and found materials into layered, sculptural weavings.

A wall of interbeing—where weave, gesture, and form dissolve into quiet harmony and non-duality.

A flat surface transformed into a quiet weave—drawing the eye inward, where structure softens into stillness and resonates with Zen practice.

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Arts & Culture

Kundiman After Dark: Traditional 19th Century Filipino Musical Genre Continues to Inspire

by Kingsley Medalla

The Kundiman is a traditional 19th-century Tagalog musical genre that served as a profound source of inspiration for many sophisticated, classically trained artists. The name is derived from the Tagalog phrase “kung hindi man,” literally translating to “if it were not so.” These musical pieces were often performed as poignant love songs characterized by smooth, flowing melodies containing emotional depth. Originating as a serenade in poetic Tagalog lyrics, it features a minor-to-major key progression expressing longing, devotion, patriotism, and a yearning for freedom.

Sine Pop, a boutique theater in a 1948 post-war heritage house located in Cubao, Quezon City, serves as a charming venue for cultural events and intimate performances with a small ensemble. Recently hosting Kundiman After Dark, a recital honoring the legacy of Nicanor Abelardo (1893–1934), a highly esteemed Filipino composer and pianist hailed as the “father of the sonata form in the Philippines” and a master of the art of the Kundiman. Carlson Chan, founder of Sine Pop, clarifies their unique model: the performances are open to the public and are, as such, complimentary, as its primary focus is to promote the performing artists per se.

The performances featured beloved Kundiman classics including Mutya ng Pasig (1926), Naku… Kenkoy (1930), and a personal favorite, Bituing Marikit (1926). These musical pieces were brought to life through the solo acts and live vocals of tenor Erwin Lumauag, Japanese violinist Shiho Takashima (who has since made the Philippines her permanent residence), and the renowned composer, pedagogue, and pianist Augusto Espino.

“Nasaan Ka Irog,” written in 1923, drew inspiration from a romantic tale shared by Nicanor Abelardo’s friend, who went overseas leaving behind his beloved in the Philippines. Years after, this man eventually became a doctor and, upon his return, discovered that the love of his life had been married to someone else. He also learned that the letters he had sent were never delivered to her, as they were kept by the doctor’s family, secretly away from her. A classic case of unrequited love. Kundiman serves as the heart and soul and the pinnacle of Filipino musical artistry.

Violinist Shiho Takashima and pianist Augusto Espino

Tenor Erwin Lumauag

Art patrons; Pacita Agoncillo Sode, Marilou Khan Magsaysay, Patricia Cepeda-Sison and this writer Kingsley Medalle

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