10 music H&M sunnies, SM Mega Fashion Hall FOREVER 21 sunnies, SM Mega Fashion Hall NIKE cardigan, SM Aura BEFORE MAKING A NAME for herself and gaining traction across the country, BP Valenzuela was an idealistic rookie who wasn’t sure of the things she would eventually encounter as part of the independent music industry. In the years she’s been active, BP has joined and eventually left music collective Logiclub; spoken out about various issues revolving around politics, the LGBT movement, and intersectional feminism; and called out other artists online, the most prominent instance being her feud with SUD and the group’s infamous Pulp magazine cover portraying a male gaze for a lesbian couple. “I got very emotional about it, mostly because, ’yun nga, the Philippines is a very Catholic country that also sees women like that. I got frustrated and it led me to let go. A lot of people’s toes got stepped [on] because of what I was saying [online]. But then other people started to talk about it and I’m not sorry about that. I’m not sorry because people need to talk about it.” Internet feuds, especially with celebrities involved, cause people to take sides and put certain personalities up on a pedestal, which is what many did with BP against other “less woke” artists. Once, she found herself in an unwanted comparison with rapper Curtismith (who’s gained infamy for his public friendship and support of Sandro Marcos, grandson of the dictator) in a tweet that gained viral status. “With the political climate of today, everyone’s a little riled up, a little angrier so they look for saviors. I don’t like being put on a pedestal, as a musician, as a person, as a human being, but I feel like it’s necessary for people to [have role models]. I mean if you have a platform, why would you use that just for self-preservation? I’m also not careful as I should be. I can be very impulsive. I used to be very cautious and mild-mannered. But as I grew older, with the circumstances of what I did, I had to question myself, my goals, my beliefs, and what was necessary for me to just be an artist in the Philippines right now. I just wanted to be the kind of person I would look up to when I was young.” In 2013, I was about to enter the latter half of my third year of college, working under my school’s official publication and media outlet, when my senior gave me a set of videos she wanted me to edit. Ateneo de Manila University’s The Guidon had just started a new web series online called Pub Room Sessions, where the staff would invite a campus musician to perform inside the org’s space (named the “pub room,” hence the series’ title), and then put out the acoustic concert’s video on YouTube. My first editing assignment for this particular Pub Room Session was an episode about a university freshman called BP Valenzuela. Video editing is tedious work, but editing BP made it less so. Her quiet vocals held an allure that’s hard to resist. She tinkered around with foreign-looking pedals and knobs while playing guitar at the same time. She smiled and shook her head to herself whenever she made mistakes on camera, but determinedly continued with her covers of I Can’t Make You Love Me, Teenage Dirtbag, and Electric Feel. Instantly, I knew this girl was going to make it big, announcing to my friends outside school that they just had to listen to her. Staff members who were watching the day it was recorded could sense her potential. Back then, BP wore her hair short and sported glasses and loose clothing, with a pair of headphones perpetually around her neck. She made music at home solely for herself. Since then, she’s released an EP, grown her hair to waist length, put out a critically acclaimed album, performed countless gigs around the country, experimented with makeup and style, scored major motion pictures, became a social media icon and digital influencer, and cut her hair short yet again. At the time of this writing, she is preparing for her much-anticipated sophomore record. It’s 5 p.m. when BP rushes into the studio late, right after shooting with two other magazines the entire day. Her expression is wildly remorseful and she profusely apologizes to the team as soon as she shows up. The shoot goes well as BP gamely poses, following all the unconventional directions our artist gives her. We laugh with her when her eyes tear up from all the makeup and when we wrap her in cling wrap. BP still enjoys giggling at all her awkwardness (she does this a lot during the shoot itself) but holds herself more confidently, staring at the camera lens with a boldness I hadn’t witnessed in the girl I saw in 2013. This artist has grown up. This BP Valenzuela has gone and will continue to go places. Her sophomore LP “Crydancer,” due out on her 22nd birthday this <strong>July</strong> 7, sonically shuffles a bit further from her previous album, “The Neon Hour.” While her highly successful debut focuses on a more fixed pop sound, “Crydancer” is spaced out and far more experimental, with BP regarding her music for this album as a shared experience with her listeners rather than an outlet for herself. “It’s my form of therapy, so I made music with that mindset. Of course, when I started out, I didn’t know the amount of shows I would be playing. I didn’t know the amount of attention I would get. I didn’t know how many people would be listening,” she says. “This time, I don’t want any fillers. I want [an album] that people will enjoy because I really enjoyed [making it]. A lot of the music I wrote before was just for myself and whomever it was directed to, just so I could
music 11 “As I grew older, with the circumstances of what I did, I had to question myself, my goals, my beliefs, and what was necessary for me to just be an artist in the Philippines right now. I just wanted to be the kind of person I would look up to when I was young.” ADER ERROR sweater and top, adererror.com
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