february bank on Culture and Hip-hop as Lived Experience

Countries to countries, roads to roads. With every step in his life, february bank shows that not only is music and the touring circuit about connections, it’s a connection to our soul.

We got to speak with the ‘Baduy’ artist regarding his musical journey, from starting roots, familial reigns, and starting influences, to the adjacent musical culture of hip-hop from his time in LA. From Cali to Vegas, South Korea, and then to the Philippines, there isn’t just the switch from one new gig and spot for the rapper and artist’s life, but a complete paradigm shift for his life, his persona, his writing, and audience — more layers to the purpose found in sound.

Tell us about some of your earliest memories with performing, being in the Philippines, and that immediate switch from California to Manila.

I worked a little bit with PURVEYR when I moved here in 2016, and the bond created during that time was truly something special. We put together a show called ‘On This Island,’ and the concept of the show was me, an Am-boy (“american-boy”) foreigner, who explored the creative culture in the Philippines for the first time. So as this newcomer (almost like a tourist), it was a good way for the audience to see the Philippines in a different kind of light.”

As a host or interviewer, I knew I had to showcase my skills well. I’m a natural conversationalist, so this wasn’t a problem, but as a hip-hop artist, something that an MC would have in their repertoire is having confidence when you hand us the mic. Connecting with the crowd, lecturing, preaching, storytelling, bringing the gift of gab. I didn’t have the local clout at the time, but I did have this layer of communication that takes people places—street culture, the hood, the streets, the uneducated, connections. That alone can bring a sense of swag, of talk, of slang. It brings this whole sense of ‘Yeah, this guy’s one of us.’ Things really started rolling in from there.

What’s the experience like, writing and performing with these two “sides” to your music, given your background of also being from the States?

I had to really understand being here first, you know? I’ve already been here for five years, but I’m not really ‘from’ here,  and it shows. In the beginning, it was a lot of “yeah, let me push, push, push and let me get my name out.”

I didn’t just come from the U.S., I came from California, Northern California to be exact. And the thing about Cali is that it’s so Hollywood, so global. Lots of people, lots of diversity, so as musical artists, everybody from the underground to the mainstream, would go to California to perform live.

Let’s take any genre that you listen to, zeroing in on hip-hop. Any rapper, any artist, who aims to make a name for themselves here, if you want that full experience, you get to see them live. What happens when you don’t get that, that instant connection? The culture, that vibe, the community for music stagnates. That first year’s experience of comparing the two sides, from the US to the Philippines, was so jarring — branding deals, sponsors and alcoholic brands, the ‘who-is-who,’ and ‘who-represents-our-product-better’ vibe, went against the mission that music has to offer, man.

And because of that kind of “pop-up” event culture, people aren’t partaking as they normally would; the support, it’s weird. Back home when performing, it was a crazy different atmosphere: weed in the air, strangers talking to strangers, breakdancing corners, people being free without the fear of judgment, that’s the energy that I really wanted to embrace and bring out, because that’s the culture, and the culture — is what made me a better artist.

How would you compare the musical performance and live performance between the two sides?

Just for a sec, let’s look at the Las Vegas scene — arguably better than LA. And let’s not forget, if you’re set for Vegas, you gotta check The Strip.

People from everywhere go there just to visit, to party, but for music? Big names, every day of the week. As an example, Usher, then Beyonce, then Ariana Grande, and that’s just the first three days. Could you imagine that in the Philippines? That, every week there was someone that you would love listening to, come to town and you get to see them live — how amazing would that be?

I got a guy named Dawson who has a studio in Vegas. He worked on Donda, and was the recording engineer for the project. Imagine working on music, with the artists you love, and how stimulating the environment would be. On top of that, you develop connections to those who have already made it. You’re regularly around artists like Kanye and Kid Cudi. Coming in, I knew I couldn’t bring all that I had into this culture, but I knew I had something else up my sleeve.

There was this idea that I was never going to be fully “one” with the scene here, you know? Yeah, I’ll perform, I’ll do shows, but I’m always feeling like I’m still “on the outside,” if that makes sense. What, be sikat, make a Tagalog rap song, and get everyone’s attention? No! Write what you know, which is that I’m the Am-boy with good English who’s coming here with what he’s got.

What stories draw you in the most in music and why?

I write about love. Because I’m so versed into so many different styles of music, have been so exposed to a lot of practices, and especially if you know Outkast — their influence has a huge stamp on the way that I express my music. André 3000 helped inspire the way I put changes in the voice in my music, whether its high-pitch and aggressive, or low pitch and booming, all me.

I’m very sensitive as a person, so the best part about writing is being able to say how I feel. Whether that’s me being frustrated, talking about my day, talking to a woman, writing about love, in general for someone specifically — all that. I consider myself a deep thinking, very emotionally inclined, spiritual person, who finds himself in moments, where my mind gets lost, from all these thoughts.

So, that led to me writing, where I can be in a place that’s truthful. A place where I can figure out what I’m feeling on the inside. I’d relay it like talking to a friend about a recent breakup, you’re out there with them, emoting, and you’re just going through it. Heartbreak hurts and that really shows when you talk it out with a friend. Therapeutic, healing, you know, to let it out that way — to yourself, where it starts to exist, from intangible to tangible, and then to the world where you can work on it. That’s the magic about music, where something that was once in your heart goes out with a pen onto a paper, and then into streams, then people’s phones and headphones. It’s so cool.

Your quarantine anthem ‘bye bye roos’ touches on the pitfalls and anxieties of keeping the music alive in an inter-pandemic world. How has the music making process been for you during this standstill?

“Hah — “bye, vi-rus.”

Yeah, it’s an affirmation. ‘Goodbye coronavirus!’ Because if it’s one thing that I’ve been since the slowdown of the pandemic, it’s one word: obsessed. This year, and the years coming up to this one, it’s all been about insights and making good music.

Later this year, I’m releasing about 30 songs, and 10 of them with a South Korean producer on a soon-to-be-released album. As a Filipino artist, I knew this was going to be a good look, knowing that an entire year went into this project. And the producer, J-Path, man — total music junkie. He came from a drum n’ bass, deep house DJ-ing background, but still produces stuff ranging from pop to rock to rap. And for real, if I took these things with a little more slack, I don’t think I’d have ever managed to accomplish that.

Here’s the thing: if I don’t think right, work right, eat or drink right, my whole system gets thrown out of whack, I’d need a period to recalibrate, set things right — and even then, what about if I got gigs, I got deadlines to make, writings to put out? What, am I supposed to just say, “Wait, I’m not ready!” No, man; the industry doesn’t wait, and neither should you. Being in the game means being on top of it, too.

Music is fun, it’s my lifestyle, but it’s serious for me. That’s why I really focused on getting those 30 songs done. This record with the Korean producer is just 10 songs. Can you imagine four times that? I wouldn’t be able to get that done if I let that pandemic-energy haunt me, you feel me? Remember, you’re competing against the rest of the world, and while we’re all in the same community, it’s still real life – this is my career. You have to be cutthroat about it, that’s just how it works.