The vibe at Orange & Lemons’ ‘Now & Then’ was familiar rather than fiery, akin to a bigger-than-usual eyeball or a fairly modest con, not a mammoth rock show
MANILA, Philippines – Watching Orange & Lemons play a concert marking a quarter-century of music was heartening. It meant some things can weather the vacillating tides of fashion and opinion. It meant you could stick to your guns, no matter how single-minded your guns are.
It meant you could make both a living and a killing while miming lads from a small island whose glory, Bill Bryson wrote, is in its being “intimate and small-scale, and at the same time packed to bursting with incident and interest.”
Bryson was of course referencing Britain in that passage from Notes from a Small Island, but those very descriptors — an intimacy countered with “incident and interest” — might as well have been describing Orange & Lemons’ faithful converging at the Metrotent last October 18.
The vibe at Now & Then was familiar rather than fiery, akin to a bigger-than-usual eyeball or a fairly modest con, not a mammoth rock show.
In other words, it was a small community instead of a haphazard assemblage of names and faces, and that community’s statesmen — singer-songwriter Clem Castro, brothers JM and Ace del Mundo (on bass and drums, respectively), and relative newcomer Jared Nerona (I say “relative” because he’s already clocked in seven years of active post-reformation keyboard duty) — were in top form.
The mounting by co-presenters Gabi Na Naman Productions was tasteful, casting the band in a fun, casual light, rather than a holier-than-thou one. The set design was neo-retro: a hybrid of collage cut-outs, nature mood-setters, and Top of the Pops Warholisms. The fashions were mostly modern mod, and the three or four sets that the band played were bookended by interview videos.
My major takeaway from those videos is the band’s self-awareness regarding specific creative eras. Their 2003 debut Love in the Land of Rubber Shoes and Dirty Ice Cream was their cred badge; their 2005 follow-up Strike Whilst the Iron is Hot their ticket to the big leagues; and the 2007 swan song Moonlane Gardens their masterpiece; their Sgt. Pepper.
I am head over heels with 2022’s brilliant, brilliant La Bulaqueña, their first record post-rebirth — also their first all-Filipino release, as well as their first sustained stab at traditional forms like the kundiman —but maybe I should devote another essay on that altogether.
In any case, the decision to segmentize the show into album-specific sets was brave. The band knew they were playing to their congregation, not least-common-denominator types who’d pay to hear the Pinoy Big Brother theme on repeat. Also, albums are a dying breed, so this show being designed around them is defiant and ballsy.
The Love in the Land set was a fully charged onslaught, and it put the boys’ chops on full display. It’s frankly surprising how they can rock out with tunes like these; after all, jangle fests like “A Beginning of Something Wonderful” and “Just Like a Splendid Love Song” are neither headbangers nor dance triggers. But snarkier numbers like “Armageddon is Coming to Town” and “Hey, Please” are a reminder that, two decades prior, the sight and sound of Orange & Lemons live was an arresting (and irresistible) proposition.
Curiously, the by-album progression didn’t stick to chronology: after opening with their debut, Castro and company played the trad-but-rad La Bulaqueña, which (and I’ve said this in earlier stories) was a resolute about-face in tone and timbre.
Despite having been pegged as devoted Anglophiles for most of their existence, the band (and on their comeback release nevertheless) churned out a decidedly Pinoy project that spoke to their Bulacan countryside roots, as well as to the history of Castro’s family as rondalla players and educators.
The title track is infectious in a charming, old-timey way that’s not forced or cosplay-ish, and the deep cuts — the Manila Sound-dowsed “Yakapin Natin ang Gabi,” the transformative “Hindi Ko Sukat Akalain” — are just a joy to take in, full of melodic and emotional complexity.
When it came time for the Strike section, the boys’ energy was palpable. The album has some of their best-known material, after all, and they anchor their regular shows on its crowd-drawing capabilities. “Hanggang Kailan” is a damn fine karaoke staple, and its ridiculous mass appeal doesn’t take anything away from its sublimity. “Heaven Knows (This Angel Has Flown),” as Castro noted in a spiel, somehow caught second wind over TikTok, securing the Gen Z vote for top sing-along moment.
And let’s not even split hairs over Moonlane Gardens. It’s their most creatively ambitious project by far, and closing with songs from it is damn heroic. The title track alone, along with “Ang Katulad Mong Walang Katulad,” is worth the price of admission.
But above all, there’s the musicality. A band tenaciously devoted to a set of musical tropes — reverb-and-chorus indie; Beatle jangle; Macca-style walking bass work; glorious Johnny Marr arpeggios — shouldn’t be this varied and multifaceted, but they are.
After withstanding critical shifts like losing a lead singer; severing links from labels both indie and major; surviving an authorship scandal; and being compelled to rerecord their debut, it’s pretty clear that the Orange & Lemons guys are long haulers with the work ethic of saints and the derring-do of devils.
The fact that this show is flanked by tight in-between bookings — with not much ink spilled as to how busy they are, or how much they love doing this – you just know music and performance aren’t just esoteric things to Orange & Lemons. In their maturity, you know they’ve started appreciating it as hard labor, too. – Rappler.com
