Undefined but distinct
Founded 10 years ago, Up Dharma Down has been reaping accolades both local and international. It’s been called best local musical act, the Manila band “most likely to cross over to the lucrative Anglophone market of North America” according to BBC’s Marc Cole, and described as “genre-defying,” “thoughtful and sensual,” by TIME magazine.
Thirty years old now, Armi still retains that ingenue/indie aura from when she was 20. The tie-dyed headband might be gone, replaced by a more adult bob, but Armi still carries herself like a writer yearning to be understood.
This despite the success and the almost cult-like, girlcrush-level fawning that has followed her around. There are now 3 Up Dharma Down albums (Fragmented, Bipolar, and Capacities). There have been front acts for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Incubus, Bloc Party, The xx, Tegan and Sara. There are committed audiences that dutifully follow the request “Thank you for not smoking during the show.”
Their sound has been described as indescribable. In a Rappler story, Marga Deona writes, “It wasn’t rock, it wasn’t jazz, it wasn’t pop, it wasn’t techno. One thing was certain – Up Dharma Down was an alternative to alternative.”
Yet maybe the constant self-examination is the reason behind the success, and our fascination. In their official website there is a note: “We'll always be your awkward little band from Manila who just got really lucky.”
Inside out
The introversion is palpable. During the interview, Armi’s answers are short and riddle-like. Some big statements are repeated like the chorus of a song. And all throughout the Q&A, she unconsciously thumbs the side of her iPhone, leaving scratches on the casing.
Interviews are clearly not her ideal mode of communication. Songwriting is. In fact, it is survival.
“Without music I think I’d be in so much conflict, not being able to express myself, the things I feel,” admits Armi. “Often, when I feel something, it feels like I’m going to explode. Before that happens I need to write it, or else I’m going to suffer and go down with it.”
Before even hitting elementary school, Armi discovered the piano. In a previous interview with Rappler, she shares how her natural desire for solitude made her stay at home. In lieu of friends, she played with instruments. Her musical lexicon expanded to include everything from the kulintang and Japanese koto to traditional violin, guitar and even the drums – making an early portent of her future as a genre mixologist.
Her parents were initially unhappy about the music. Coming from a middle-class family with its standard checklist of doctor, engineer and accountant, Armi was expected to follow the beaten path.
Of course, she chose differently.
“I was trying to figure out what to do with my life. I was just thinking, I wanted to do something in the field of music. At that time, I was being groomed to leave the country by my family to pursue studies abroad. So I checked out the Berklee College of Music website. Of course that’s not what my parents wanted me to do.
I checked out the Asian Department there and they only had two faculty members and from the looks of their names, they weren’t Asian. So I said, ‘Hey why don’t I teach that stuff? Why don’t I do that because I’m [from Asia]; why don’t I learn it?’”
Songwriting was triggered by an experiment. “I was trying to write with my left hand. I was doing this for about a year, then I became ambidextrous. And I think it triggered my right brain, because after learning to write with my left hand, I just started writing songs.”
Creative tension
It takes someone who is so intimately aware and comfortable with solitude, to talk about the things we dare not even name.
Maybe that is why she is able to capture our universal demons.
If things broken could be rendered so beautifully, when the unrequited can sound so connected and complete, that’s where Armi Millare is.
“It’s the worst in between songs. When you’re in the song, you’re thinking of delivering it.
In between songs people are expecting you to do something – I don’t know, entertain them? I won’t call it a problem. It’s a problem for me, but not for most people doing that. I’d rather drink water than have to say anything.”
And to be human is to have spaces that cannot be filled.
What makes Armi happy are mundane things: being bribed out of bed with panizza, her belly being kneaded by her cat. Songwriting and entertainment came with contracts to an unpredictable life, but Armi has fully embraced the uncertainty.
“There are some songs that are still with me and would probably never see the light of day. For a long time back then, I thought there were some things that are very personal and I didn’t have to release it.”
And she is still in the quest of knowing. From reluctant songwriter, she has transitioned to mentor and teacher in the Elements Songwriters Camp.
She is set to travel to Europe very soon for “mental silence,” a term Armi coins. “It (the trip) might be helpful to gain some perspective.”
“I’m not sad. Okay, maybe I’m melancholic. My music is melancholic,” admits Armi.
A smile from her is like the sun prying cracks out of a steel gray sky. And if the music alone didn’t reveal her soul enough, you can tell from the big and small acts: of paying her respects at a mass grave in Tacloban 1 month after Haiyan, and of perfectly undone portraits of Meowmit and Sylvian in bed.
This is a woman who refuses classification. And we would all like to keep it that way.
So we leave her to her cats and wait for that next brilliant stroke. New music is on the way.
Labels as Freedom
We’ve seen how labels can hold us back. However, what if they can also be our redemption?
Can we make “bossy” work to our favor? Instead of an apology, can we turn “shy” or “introvert” into an asset and identifier?
We’ve seen how women have defied labels. But it’s interesting how certain women choose to define them. Rather than take the term for what it is, there is a way to flip it and make it something that you can be proud of.
These women can confidently wear the word “ambitious” because they have the success to prove it. These women can call themselves “stubborn” and have the defiant lives to show. These women exist: single moms who refuse to be called a shame, career alphas who refuse to be pigeonholed as selfish, and feminist activists who see beauty in being contrarians.
Labels are only words. Because frankly, you can choose to live on your own terms.