“Balikan” marks that sweet intersection between psychedelic Britpop and Filipino melodicism.
The Bloomfields’ new single, “Balikan,” takes a deliberate and studied look at time and its thief-like guile. It’s largely steeped in Manila Sound sonics, yes, but stripped of that era’s almost-predictable levity. What we get instead is a wistful, existential gaze at youth and mortality: the sort of weary pop that wears its introspection lightly but leaves a lingering sting.
Singer-guitarist Nathan Abella outlines the plot in the most prosaic of ways: a hangout in a parking lot with old friends. While in the throes of nostalgia, the song’s persona whispers and wonders, “Ang bilis-bilis naman ng oras / Nakailang pikit pa lang, bakit nandito na agad?” It’s a yearning to turn back – “Pwede bang balikan ang kahapon?” – but also an acknowledgment of its dead-end impalpability.
The result is a song that feels like memory itself: marred by a doubt-casting haze, improbably rearranged to favor the rememberer, imperfect but nonetheless necessary.
Stylistically, “Balikan” lands where psychedelic Britpop brushes up against Filipino melodicism. It’s an inevitable creative turn for the band, whose recent output has taken a more reflective tack while keeping their trademark polish.
If their earlier work carried the raucous energy of ‘A Hard Day’s Night,’ this one sits closer to the dreamlike states of ‘Sgt. Pepper’: a comparison I consistently make – for which I make only a few hurried apologies – but alas.
In any case, the tune is a more George move than a John or Paul, and I say that not in terms of mimicry but mood, in the way chord changes and harmonic work serve as stand-in vessels for emotion.
Lakan Hila’s production, meanwhile, is a quiet marvel: the verses move with a flowy, sunlit ease, before the choruses click-switch into more accented passages, the kind that makes you lean in. The bridge – all sigh and shimmer – is *chef’s kiss*, the sort of harmonic turn that rewards repeated listening.
There’s also the small but inspired detail of the hulusi, a Chinese wind instrument whose breathy tone adds a layer of wistfulness. It’s, ultimately, the sound of memory letting out a long-held sigh.
If past Bloomfields singles flirted with retro gestures, “Balikan” transcends pastiche. It’s childlike in intent but craftsman-like in execution: a well-rounded, complete, monolithic poem of a song that feels both familiar and quietly ambitious. The lyricism stays grounded in (what I like to call) brushstroke plainspeak, but the music drapes it in psychedelic color, creating a brilliant tug-of-war between vicious vagary and practical truth.
The band’s creative ecosystem remains richly collaborative: Louie Poco and Rocky Collado guided direction and arrangement, while Paolo Abella chipped in some lyrical ideas. There’s familial warmth in their workflow, and one senses a musical kinship that transcends tastes, tenors, and tempers.
If my earlier reviews of their Lilystars output constantly alluded to a “pop classicism with a restless curiosity,” “Balikan” feels like that very same curiosity has ripened even further. It’s the sound of artists looking back not just at youth, but at their own body of work: a summing-up of lessons, mistakes, and small triumphs.
As Lakan puts it, “Honing a craft is a lifelong journey,” and “Balikan” is solid proof that the trip – and the wait, for admirers of their work – will always be worth it.