Haiyan 2025

Remembering Haiyan

It was 2013—still raw with the chaos and heartbreak that Super Typhoon Haiyan, locally known as Yolanda, had carved through the central Philippines. Recovery efforts pulsed across the archipelago, and though we were far from the wreckage, Metro Manila felt shadowed. The skies hung heavy. The city’s usual hum was replaced by urgency: rescue, relief, resilience.

We, the members of Blackout Aurora and Shelterr, carried no supplies, no blueprint—only a pen, a handful of instruments, and the need to transmute despair into sound.

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No Blueprint

That day at Tracks Studios wasn’t meant for recording. We had just booked time for rehearsal. But the moment we stepped into that space—with its tight acoustics and my eight-track recorder humming in wait—something shifted. The room, modest yet immaculately tuned, wrapped around us like an invitation. Its walls didn’t just hold sound. They resonated with intention.

It was my first recording experience in TRACKS, a studio engineered for clarity and musicality. I’d worked in dead rooms, cavernous spaces, even bedrooms—each with their quirks and cleanup nightmares. But Tracks… Tracks gave itself to you. The way the drums bloomed in that room was almost poetic.

We didn’t have luxury—just precision and urgency. Four tracks went to drums: overheads, kick, snare. One for vocals. Two for guitar, with space carved out for a tender solo, another for bass. Aaron’s lyrics found their shape in the opposite corner of the room, shielded by nothing more than an acoustic panel and a Shure SM58 fighting off drum bleed. We ran the song four times. The fourth take had the ache, the lift, the breath.

Warmth and Emotions

There’s something sacred about live recording without overdubs. People talk endlessly about the warmth of tape vs. digital. But I’ve never found warmth in formats. I find it in presence. In the micro-reactions between players. In the call-and-response that unfolds in real-time. That’s where emotion lives.

I’m reliving this experience amidst another onslaught of the weather—this time not just recalling but responding. I’ve revisited the original track, layering strings and vocals to deepen the sentiment. There’s something hauntingly cyclical about it: grief, sound, stillness… then creation. And so, in a time steeped in sorrow, five artists wove together something honest. Something that held the storm, but also pushed through it.

We didn’t cure the silence—but for a fleeting moment, we warmed it.

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