No matter how long your band has stayed together – whether it goes through roster changes, switches up the name, or grows bigger than ever – there’s always a good time to drop a self-titled album. We Are Imaginary has done all of the above.
The Manila-based rockers formed in 2008 as Your Imaginary Friends, consisting of Ahmad Tanji (vocals, guitars), Khalid Tanji (guitars, vocals), Apa Rubio (drums), and Vhall Bugtong (bass, vocals). They released two EPs under that moniker before changing to We Are Imaginary. Over the past several years, they’ve played numerous festivals and released several records under their current name, growing their following to thousands of monthly listeners and fans. Then, as of the release of their new record, they said goodbye to longtime bassist Vhall Bugtong.
So at the cusp of a new era, why not drop the self-titled record to mark the occasion? We Are Imaginary contains nine tracks of indie pop gold, channeling the sounds of the late Aughts (Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Death Cab, Two Door Cinema Club) and dressing them up in jangling chords, echoing distortion, and unfussy vocals. Every song sounds tight, which comes from the band members knowing each other’s vibes and becoming closer as a unit over two decades.
The new record has the added touches of fellow Manila scene musician Jerros Doino, who brings synth textures to the fold. Plus, Angee Rozul’s engineering and Joey Santos’s production bring clarity and power to every song. Ahmad describes the experience working with the band and production team on creating the new record: “We would exchange several drafts per song, stripping them to their most essential, capturing what arrangement works with the story.”
While the layers of production enhance the sound of We Are Imaginary, the raw arrangements still shine through, letting listeners into the emotional core of the record. Themes of doubt and clarity, the need for resolution and acceptance, and romance turning sour come up throughout the lyrics, which draw a solid line between poetic and conversational as well as outward and inward.
The leadoff track “Pinkish Hue” introduces the vibe of the record with a burst of shoegaze energy, describing the dying of a romance that was once vibrant (“You’re so far away, descending gaze as of late/I’ve been waiting for a lie to call me numb”) As the “pinkish hue” turns to “blue”, the band follows up with “Are We There Yet”, describing dressing up personal cracks and fractures in the relationship and wondering if the makeup can hide enough (“Can’t seem to dress up my flaws/Into shiny gems / Long enough before you crash/Like the rest of them”)
And while the cover-up may help, as the band plays on “Lost In Your Afterglow”, it can only work for so long before beginning to fade and reveal the truth underneath (“Circling differences ‘til we forget what it’s all about/We’re crashing down”). From there, the cracks grow larger, and the distance between both sides grows greater, as defined on “Talk. Talk? Talk!”: “It doesn’t feel right like before/That’s why I’m telling you/Then again what’s the use?/It doesn’t feel right anymore”.
“Like A Ghost” turns the absent other party of a romance into something haunting and anxiety-causing: “And it’s slipping, slipping through my nose/Then I scream, I scream it out/Out it goes like a ghost”. And when that other party returns, no matter how toxic things get, it’s hard to put up your guard instead of embracing what might have hurt before. See “Greatest Kill”: “Hold me down until you catch the thrill/Drown me out until it’s all I feel/Am I nothing but your greatest kill?”
And once the hunger strikes back up again, it’s hard to resist feeding it even at the cost of one’s own physical health and peace of mind. Enter “Object of My Affliction”. The lyrics play on the phrase “object of my affection”, painting the subject of the song as capable of causing both stimulation and suffering. The midsection of the song sums up its meaning: “She claims to taste divine, cinnamon and grime, moaning like a savior/Where do you draw the line of your own decline while praying for her favor?” Or, when does self-control kick in when pleasure turns into pain?
The record ends with two other observations on the end of romance: “The Year Of Diminishing Returns” and “Stockholm”. Both songs describe the notion of staying in bad situations, despite the pain, with the latter song’s track referencing the name of such a psychological condition (Stockholm syndrome). “The Year Of Diminishing Returns” is about things that once worked starting to fall apart, beginning as “the perfect cog in this machinery”, then catching fire and turning to “ashes”. “Stockholm” finishes things off, describing the feeling of sticking around even when everything worth staying for has gone away: “Staring at the abyss staring back at me/Terrified that I wear its crown so comfortably”.
To describe We Are Imaginary in one word: Cohesive. This is the work of friends who have trusted each other with music and emotions for years, making their last masterpiece in their original form. While each track holds up on its own, the album flows as one single work from beginning to end without any major detours in style or emotion. Likewise, the confidence each member of We Are Imaginary has in themselves as musicians and for each other as a band shines.
And while this chapter of We Are Imaginary may come to a close, their self-titled album ends on neither a happy nor a sad note, but simply as it is, with the subject just going with the flow in the tattered romance. Not everything gets closure.
Playlist suggestion: Songs from We Are Imaginary fit in with any fuzzy late-2000s alt-rock, and any one of them will do. But choice tracks include the three singles (“Pinkish Hue, “Object of My Affliction”, and “Stockholm”), along with “Year Of Diminishing Returns”.
Written by Will Sisskind
