Rewriting the chorus: An artist’s journey
It’s 9:15 a.m. on a humid day, and we’re in a villa in the middle of Jimbaran, Bali. 20 artists and producers have flown in from over eight countries in the Asia-Pacific. The challenge? A song a day, over four days.
Fresh from performing at the AXEAN regional showcase in Bali, I was included in a line-up of artists and producers matched up in a songwriting camp following the show, a first for me. It felt part reality show, part creative summer camp. By 7 p.m. each day, work is in: Submit your song and get it played in front of everyone.
First day pairings were made, and the first thing that came to mind was, how do I bring my songwriting process, a very personal space, into such an environment? How do we synthesize our individual “sounds” to craft something authentic? I’ve been used to writing songs at my own pace and in the comfort of my own apartment. Being thrust into such a set-up was disconcerting and uncomfortable at first.
But in the end, I realized how the process itself is akin to the journey we undergo in music creation and is a reflection of who we are as individuals—one of constant evolution and reinvention.
Turn discomfort into an advantage
Going from band life to solo came with a lot of changes. From the comforts of working with and relying on a regular set of musicians, solo meant experimenting and working with different people from one project to the next.
I arrived in Paris four years ago without knowing anyone or how things worked in the music world. Early on, I found myself attending open jams and playing at late-night jazz clubs, watching and hopefully spotting cool musicians to work with. It was exciting, it was exhausting. Finally, from an Instagram conversation-turned-coffee chat, I met the producer who eventually worked with me on my first EP. We recorded at one of the best analog studios in Paris, giving the EP its high production sound.
Earlier this year, I discovered I was set to play at SXSW in Austin, US. I had one month to prepare and had no guarantee of being able to fly home-grown Manila-based musicians. I decided to organize a full US-based band and flew in early to rehearse. On the first day of rehearsals, we struggled playing to the backing track I had meticulously prepared to plug and play with my new band. Eventually, we just went fully acoustic. It turned out that my band members could not only play their instruments incredibly well, but also had amazing voices as backup singers. I’d never had multiple backup vocalists in my set, and I absolutely enjoyed how our fully acoustic band turned out.
As an artist, I’ve learned the need to trust in yourself. If dealt with a challenge, have faith that if you’re meant to go through it, you will emerge and learn something from it.
When we broke off into assigned rooms on the first day of the songwriting camp, I remembered the need to trust myself and the creative process. It was not a straightforward process to work with each producer and ideate each unwritten song. We had our bumps and disagreements along the way, but eventually we created a song synergistic of our sounds.
Live with longing
I’ve now lived five years away from my first home. Every time I visited Manila, I felt everything was easier. I was constantly surrounded by family and community. However, constant comparison led me to be distracted from what was in front of me.
I finally learned to look at my situation differently: to focus not on the state of being absent, but on being present. I started seeing my multi-city life as an asset, and from there became more proactive and excited about the opportunities of multiple geographies.
I opened up new opportunities for myself in Manila and beyond—found myself playing for the Filipino athletes during the Paris 2024 Olympics, toured with visiting Asian artists in the U.K., and performed in festivals in Indonesia, Thailand, and the U.S.A.
Whether these be places, people, or previous identities that we feel we’ve lost, perhaps the griefwe experience never fully goes away. But we can learn to live with this grief and turn it into something meaningful for us. As Susan Cain writes, “If we could honor sadness a little more, maybe we could see it as the bridge we need to connect with each other.”
At the songwriting camp, each producer came in with their own skills, styles, and songwriting process. Initially, I feared ‘losing’ myself in the process—my sound, my style, my voice. Eventually, I saw it as an opportunity to learn. I allowed myself to be vulnerable in the process and detached from what I knew was ‘me’. At the end of each day, I realized I’d instead expanded myself as an artist, and that space allowed me to discover a new side of my artistry.
Embrace your story
In music and personal life, I’ve explored many paths. Classical music was my foundation as a violinist from childhood to my teenage years. Indie was my mainstay, being the violinist for The Ransom Collective. My first few tracks as Muri were neo-soul, and now have taken a turn towards indie pop. In my personal life, I decided to try a new life in Europe, seeking to make sense of who I was in a foreign country, away from my family.
Often, I would think to myself, am I on the right path? Through music, meditation, and reflection, I’d learned to turn inward and appreciate my own unique journey.
During Coldplay’s concert in Manila, I had the chance to meet Chris Martin at an artists’ welcoming event. We discussed moving to London and anticipated the challenges of being a musician. He said something I could not forget: there is no competition, because no one is like you.
At the songwriting camp, at the end of each day, whenever we listened to all the tracks played, we were all blown away by what we accomplished in a day. No process was alike, and yet each track had turned into something beautiful and uniquely representative of the process and songwriters involved.
In the world of music, I’ve gone into uncertain territory multiple times, felt perhaps lost somewhere in the middle, but emerged stronger, wiser, and more trusting in myself and in the process. Now it’s as if I almost always look for something new, something uncomfortable in anything I do, with the expectation to make mistakes and learn something from it.
Nine months down the line from the Bali songwriting camp, I find myself in my home studio recording the vocals for a new project, an electro-house music EP that we will tour in Tokyo and Manila together with one of the producers from the camp. I don’t know what Muri, the electronicera version, will be. She could mess up, make mistakes, and doubt a little, but I’m sure she’ll figure it out and make one fun ride out of it.
